the day after

Aberlady Bay Local Nature Reserve, 20 April

I’ve been thinking about this post for some time. For those who know me, or who know this space, this title will mean something. You’ll understand the relevance of those three words: the day after. This title is also why this blog isn’t only about walks or places or landscapes. If this blog was only about walks, I’d have called this post something else, either referring to the location - Aberlady Bay Local Nature Reserve - or saying something about the beauty of this area. Or the fact that it was our first visit here, which is surprising in itself given that we’ve either lived in or visited East Lothian together for many years, while I grew up in this corner of Scotland.

But this walk takes us back to April, and to the day after Bracken left us. The day after the day when we became two. The day after our hearts were shattered, again, only this time we had no one to attempt to hold it together for.

Yet also, this was a very different loss and therefore also a different day to the day after Harris left us in October last year. Harris’s passing left me broken, with so much pain and also anger that I hadn’t expected to find rising within that loss, only there it was. Anger that our boy could have fought so hard, and yet the disease was stronger, and more cruel than we could have imagined.

With Bracken, we were spared this anger. At the close of our last chapter together, Bracken made it clear when it was time. We weren’t ready for this unthinkable day on Friday 19 April, but he was. And on this Saturday, as we walked below this dappled sky, the sunlight pushing through the clouds and glowing across the damp, rippled sand and the sea beyond, we found peace in this place. Just as the wild, churning, storm-fuelled sea of Saturday 21 October 2023 had mirrored our hearts as we walked onto the beach at Yellowcraig, so these calm and light-filled scenes on Saturday 20 April 2024 seemed to envelop and hold us within their quietness, as if reassuring us: he’s okay. He’s okay.

We’d chosen this location for a good reason. Aberlady Bay Local Nature Reserve isn’t dog-friendly, and we’d never walked here because of this. We’d walked to the other side of the reserve many times, towards Gullane Point, where there’s a sign that defines the boundary, but never from this side. Over the years of walking along this coastline, we’d got to know people, although almost never by name. We’d know the names of the dogs, but never the people. After Harris passed, naturally there was the question: where’s the other one? No one expected the answer as Harris had always been so… vibrant. It’s a natural question, I know, but a hard answer to give when you’re raw.

On this Saturday, we weren’t ready for any questions, so we came here instead, to a new place where we’d just be another couple out for a walk together; where no one passing us would recognise the void.

If you’re planning a visit to East Lothian, and you aren't travelling with a canine companion, make sure to plan a walk here. Aberlady Bay Local Nature Reserve was the first site in the UK to be designated a Local Nature Reserve back in 1952. Even knowing this coastline, we were surprised by the scale of the reserve. If visiting, give yourself enough time to explore and wander and to simply absorb this place. Because the beach is stunning - indeed, I’d suggest planning a walk for low tide to really enjoy this expansive shore.

The route begins are you cross the narrow timber bridge above, and the path beyond leads through the salt marshes, a coastal landscape rich in birdlife that includes over 30,000 pink-footed geese that arrive here from Iceland every autumn, before moving on over the winter.

As I look at these photos, I’m thinking about a few things from this day: the relief of having these fresh, unknown scenes that gave me something to turn to my mind to. For me, the act of walking in itself isn’t the balm for the soul; taking photos while walking is the balm for the soul, and I’m thankful for this.

Also, I can remember how strange and jarring it felt to see Richard alone on the beach here, his solo figure, when he’s always had a small figure churning through the sand behind him. Two small figures, but always with one focused solely on him. I felt the void so deeply when standing on top of this dune, looking down to the shore.

We walked on along the beach together, heading in the direction of Gullane Point, pausing to simply breathe in this openness. Inhale, exhale.

I’ve shared about the damage to the dunes along other stretches of this coastline after Storm Babet swept through in October 2023 , and that damage is evident here where metres of the dunes have been carved away. I wish I’d experienced this beach before Babet.

But this walk isn’t only about this incredible stretch of sand and dunes: if you relish discovering small, tucked away pebble and shell-filled beaches with striking rock formations, follow the path up the rocks at the far end of this shore and keep going towards Gullane Point. And if you fancy a longer walk, keep going towards Gullane beach. You could walk along to Gullane beach and then head up to the path that runs along the edge of the golf course, and on along the clifftop path, before looping back down, passing between the line of former WW2 concrete sea defences, to the shelly beach below that sits on the edge of the reserve, and then back through the reserve. Now that would be a great walk.

On a different day, we’d have paused here and taken time to really appreciate this scene, but we were striding out on this day, Richard ahead, within his quietness, with me behind, enjoying these long, layered views.

And when we reached our turning point at the sign that defines the border between the nature reserve and dog-friendly beach beyond, we turned back, retracing our steps, winding along the narrow paths as we re-crossed this rockscape to return to this beach, and the dunes, and the salt marshes behind.

This is a beautiful walk and one I’d highly recommend, and particularly away from the summer months, when you could explore here and perhaps only see a handful of other people, as we did on this Saturday in April. This area is now out of bounds to us again, with Raf, but I hope to return solo at some point, for a photo walk, where I can linger. I’d like to create some prints of rock, pebble and shell details, and I think this location would be a great place for those, particularly around Gullane Point. That’s an idea for early next year.

But the photo below: I wanted to close this post with this detail. I’m always on the lookout for interesting shells or pebbles on walks. Something will catch my eye, randomly, and I’ll feel drawn to that one tiny pebble or shell out of the hundreds and thousands that are layered along the shore. Of the ones I pick up and bring home, there are a few special ones - special to me that is, as no one else would spot anything different or unusual or distinctive. Instead, it’s about where or when I’ve picked them up, and why.

After Harris passed, I spotted a tiny pebble on Yellowcraig beach, almost black in colour and oblong in form; a piece that would roll around between your fingers, its finish not perfectly smooth but close enough, and with a single pale grey line sweeping diagonally around it to form a loop. I picked it up from the wet sand, feeling that smoothness and noting the simplicity of this veined loop, such a tiny pebble on this vast shore, and in that moment the pale line was a symbol of Bracken’s strength within the darkness. His ability to keep going without his life companion. So I brought the pebble home, and I placed it beside Harris’s tiny box. I pick up this pebble regularly, running it between my fingers, remembering.

On this day, when we reached the small shelly beach at Gullane Point, my eyes were scrolling the hundreds of broken and worn shells as I walked between the rocks. And I spotted this one, a clam shell, its form smoothed and filed down and smoothed again from however long this shell had been rolled back and forwards from sea to shore with the tides; its layers still adding texture on top, but smoothed around its edges. And here it was, a blue heart that carried the moody hues of the sea below a cloudy sky; a colour that carried our walks together over the years along this stretch of coast. And so I brought this shell home, a reminder of this walk on this day after, and placed it beside Bracken’s tiny box.

You might read this and feel sadness underpinning these words, but I’m sharing this in recognition of this connection between these places and us and our boys. And also the recognition of how these places can ‘hold’ us when we need to be held.

Aberlady Bay Local Nature Reserve, East Lothian, 20 April 2024.

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