solo: part one

Gullane to Eyebroughy, 22 February

I don’t usually begin a post with a detail photo, but this walk was about honing in on the textures. It’s something I’ve missed doing for a while. Often I’ll get home after a walk and scroll through the photos I’ve taken, wondering why I didn’t take many, if any, details. But, generally, when I’m with Richard and Raf, our heads are on a constant swivel looking out for people, dogs, anything and anyone. I either have Raf on a lead, in which case it’s harder to pause and take photos, or he’s off lead and I’m keeping an eye on him while being really watchful for anyone else appearing, or he’s walking with Richard and I’m behind, taking videos and photos, but usually wider landscape shots.

With details, often something will catch your eye, but maybe you need to walk off the path or clamber over those rocks to explore that area you don’t normally stop at. You need to slow down, physically and mentally, to absorb the details around you. I realise now how easy this was when out with Harris and Bracken as they were always off-lead on these coastal walks, and I didn't have to watch them so closely. Bracken stayed alongside Richard, while Harris was always with me. I had plenty of opportunities to pause and explore.

It would be easy to say that this walk, on this sunshiny Saturday in February, was simply about that: a solo photo walk to give me the chance to focus on the details. But, in reality, I really needed a walk without reactivity. We’d had a couple of challenging days with Raf, and a triggering Friday, both for Raf’s head and mine. This reactivity journey with Raf has taught me a lot about my own headspace. I’ve known for a long time that I’m triggered by too much noise, by sound, just as I am by too many people. When at home during the day, I live in quietness. I don’t even play music when I’m at my desk. I realise many people struggle with quietness, struggle with the lack of background noise or interaction, but it’s my normal.

Okay, so how does this work with a dog who will, quite naturally, bark? Barking in itself isn’t the issue. I’m here for a bit of sass and conversation. Harris was always a conversational lad at home, and particularly if he had to express his Uncle Bracken’s need for lunch, dinner, or a snack. Meanwhile Bracken would warble as soon as Richard started preparing dinner. Emotions were high and emotions regularly got vocal.

But, outside, on our walks, in these quiet places, the lads were always quiet too - unless we paused on a log somewhere to enjoy a view, at which point Harris might have shouted for a chew. But there’s barking, and then there’s barking, the reactive, defensive kind. When Raf gets out the car at a destination he’ll bark from pure excitement. “I’m here everyone! I have arrived!” It’s a sassy, confident bark. But that isn’t the same as reactivity. That isn’t the same as defensive barking at people.

And my head struggles with that. I close down. It can take me 24 hours to reset my headspace, and in that time I feel altered and uncomfortable. Weeks ago, over the Christmas break, I was having a DM conversation with a friend who had suggested a meet-up with Raf, and she said something along the lines of: “Don’t worry, we’re bulletproof around reactivity.” And those words really clarified what I’d been feeling. I’m… whatever the opposite of bulletproof is. My headspace is 100% not bulletproof. And it’s important to recognise this, and finds ways to manage it.

So, on this February Saturday, after a tricky Friday, and having woken up feeling off-kilter, I went for a solo walk. I needed the sea and these big skies, and I needed to be out taking photos. We drove down the coast and Richard dropped me off at Gullane, and then he drove on to Yellowcraig with Raf. The plan was to meet at Eyebroughy, which we did a few hours later, only Raf didn’t walk without me so Richard ended up carrying him for most of the way - but it’s also important that Raf learns to walk solo with Richard.

Meanwhile, I headed along this familiar coastal route, only this time I explored off the paths and over the rocks, looking for the details. And as I walked along the shoreline on this bright, blue-skied afternoon, I passed people and smiled and said hello. Other dogs came to say hello. These simple things that were always normal, but which we haven’t been able to do in months. No hiding in the dunes, no need to avoid people, no need to apologise. Simply smiling, saying hello, and walking on. I needed to remember what this felt like.

Can you tell how much I was enjoying this walk from these photos? Yes, I was missing Raf bounding along ahead of me, alert and engaged with his adventure. When he isn’t stressed, this lad is an absolute joy to explore with.

But I was also relishing the sound of the waves, letting that ‘altered-ness’ of my mind unravel and recede. I was in my element here, absorbing the layers of textures and the constantly shifting light across the sea and within the clouds; soaking in the details of water-worn timber and lichen-painted rocks. This is also my palette.

The photo below is a spot, a rock, that I’ve maybe mentioned before. We paused here on Sunday 8 October 2023 for a few photos of Harris in what was another favourite spot for us. The sky was heavy with rain, and as I hunkered down to get the right angle, the first fat drops splashed across this rock. Harris had the look of a lad who knew that the heavens were about to open, as they did just seconds later, and we all got soaked hurrying back along the path to Gullane beach. But I took those few photos, Harris’s gaze strong and steady, focused on this thing that he always did so well; this thing that was our thing together.

Those photos, at this rain-splashed rock, were part of our last ‘normal’ moments. Our last photos before we knew that something awful had changed; the photos before the last photos I took of our boy. So this rock means something to me. I paused here on this walk to capture the layers of rock and grass and earth and lichen and cloud.

Having taken so many photos, I thought I’d share this blog post in two parts, and this feels like a good half way point. In reality, I hadn't walked that far yet. I’d just spent a lot of time looking at rocks and logs, but from here the route continues along the dunes, passing another few beaches before arriving at Eyebroughy, where I met Richard and Raf as the sun was setting, the sky tinged with a flush of orange and then, as we headed towards Yellowcraig, with the muted lilac hues of dusk.

Gullane towards Eyebroughy, East Lothian, 22 February 2025.

#gullane #eastlothian #scotland #coast