Camibeg

This is the first place you come to if you set out from Portlethen Shore to head south via the rocks. Here there is a small rocky shore with high cliffs at the south side and steep grassy slopes at the west and north.

Many years ago this shore always had an excess of flotsam, jetsam and driftwood being washed up there so we often managed to have regular bonfires above the high water mark. Many was the day (and dark night) that was spent in this small cove with a few bottles of “Hays” lemonade, and a selection of the finest tatties that we had pilfered from old Jimmy Milne’s garden ready to be thrown on the bonfire for roasting.  

Also at about that time the main sewerage outfall actually ran down from the village into Camibeg and although the remnants of that outfall can still be seen it has thankfully become redundant and is replaced by a modern day pumping station that takes the sewerage away from the area. In the 1960’s you might have been swimming near the point of Portlethen Shore and occasionally you would come face to face with a “floater” courtesy of the outfall pipe in Camibeg. Oh well, it didn’t seem to have done us any harm. 

I’ve been told that my first solo encounter of being on the rocks occurred here in Camibeg in 1963 when I was only three years old. Apparently one summer evening I had been playing in my front garden when I had wandered off alone and soon found myself down at the front of the village. I then have a vague recollection of being frightened by a motorcycle and hiding myself just off the road and on the slope that leads down to Camibeg. My next vague recollection is of being on the shore itself and throwing stones into the sea, so somehow I had managed to scramble all the way down from the road to the waters edge (a hundred foot climb over steep ground covered with nettles).  

Of course I had no idea of the consternation that my wanderlust had caused and as my parents (and most of the rest of the village) searched for me I continued to lob pebbles into the sea. Apparently one local did spot me just as the evening was beginning to stretch into night and I was retrieved quickly and safely. Most of the village were pleased that there was a happy ending but one old woman (who will remain nameless) was soon knocking at our living room window with her walking stick and shouting “Gie him a good hiding!”. For me, that was the scariest part of the whole adventure.