ABANDONED TREASURES

Gayle goes off to explore some old lime kilns, a salmon station and clifftop cemetery at scenic Boddin Point near Montrose

It’s a brisk, blustery morning when I set out to explore the abandoned treasures of Boddin Point.

The spur of rock juts out into the North Sea and boasts some fascinating features, all of which are being threatened by coastal erosion.

There’s the crumbling remains of three huge 18th-Century lime kilns, a ruined bothy and salmon fishing station, an old harbour – and, further along the coast, a curious clifftop cemetery with a “stinky stone”.

It’s a short stroll down to the coast from the tiny hamlet of Boddin, where there’s limited parking on the verge leading down to the point, or a bigger layby a few hundred yards back up the road.

I gaze in awe as waves crash ominously on the jagged rocks below, before checking out the remains of the old slipway and harbour and the rotting husks of wooden fishing boats piled up on the shore.

Looking closely, I can pick out the name “Sandra” on the bow of one boat.

The lime kilns on the promontory are certainly an imposing sight, although having been abandoned in 1831, parts of the structures are disintegrating.

So it’s no surprise to find a signpost warning would-be explorers of the hazards of entering. And of course, while I’d encourage readers to take this safety message seriously, I’m on a mission...

I’m hit by a wall of wind as I strike out across the blasted heath, climb up the grassy slopes of the main kiln, and peer down a perilously deep shaft. There’s a gaping hole at the apex and it’s a long way to fall. I crouch low to the ground, fearing I’ll tumble into the abyss, before carefully retreating back down.

Inside the kiln, the views through the main archway – across the golden sands of Lunan Bay to the ruins of 12th-Century Red Castle – are breathtaking.

The kilns at Boddin were built during the 1700s by the laird Robert Scott of Dunninald.

There was a huge market for lime back then, with farmers using it to improve soil – and at one point Boddin was the largest limeworks in Scotland.

Scott realised that by enclosing his fields, spreading them with lime and cultivating them intensively, he could greatly increase the yield of his crops.

In April 1697 the Earl of Southesk granted him the right to extract the lime, which was, conveniently, right on his doorstep.

Scott began quarrying the limestone immediately, and shipped in coal from Fife to fuel his limeworks.

Scott died before the scheme reached its full potential, although his brother Patrick Scott and sons took over.

Initially, a small harbour was built at Boddin, and in April 1783 Archibald Scott, the third generation of the family, applied for government aid to build a new pier to handle larger ships.

After a century and a half, the limestone at Boddin was depleted. The quarry was abandoned in the 1830s, although it’s possible the kilns might have continued to burn limestone shipped in from elsewhere.

By the start of the Victorian era, the kilns had fallen out of use and, since then, the North Sea has continued to encroach on Boddin Point, leaving the future of the limekilns in doubt.

The sea has already undercut the site and the kilns are beginning to collapse – so visit soon, before this rugged coastal gem vanishes.

Once I’ve finished my somewhat precarious nosying around, I head along the coast to an abandoned 19th-Century salmon fishing station. There’s a whitewashed bothy here, in seemingly decent nick, and a row of ruined terraced houses.

A BREATH OF FRESH AIR: Gayle at the lime kilns.

The spectacular Elephant Rock at Boddin Point.