THE BINN

When Pauline suggested we have a trip to The Binn, I thought she meant clearing out my apartment and taking unwanted items to the trash. Not a great suggestion for a day off.

The Binn in question was, in actual fact, a small 193m hill across the Firth of Forth in Fife. I can actually see it from my apartment front window.

I have only known its name for the past few months, when Pauline first mentioned it, but I have looked at it often over the passing few decades since I moved to Edinburgh. In fact, anyone who has installed a TV aerial will know which hill I am talking about, as on its summit sits Craigkelly transmitting station mast, some 125m high, beaming out TV signals to a vast area since 1968.

We stepped off the train at the picturesque Fife coastal village of Aberdour, at its well kept little station, which has been in operation since 1890. Our first destination was the former shipbuilding port of Burntisland, just three miles away, along a foot and cycle path. I have cycled this way a number of times, but never walked the route, so it was a pleasant change. A ferry used to cross between Burntisland and Granton in Edinburgh until 1890, when the Forth Rail Bridge opened.

It hugs the shoreline, as does the railway line running parallel, and when I've passed this way on board a train I would regularly spot seals basking on exposed rocks. But on this day the tide was in, and there were no seals to be seen.

Rock carvings dating back 4,000 years have been found in the area, and there has been a settlement at Burntisland for 2,000 years, when the Roman commander Agricola set up a camp at nearby Dunearn Hill, using the natural harbour as his access point. In the 12th century a town had started to grow, known then as Wester Kinghorn, when the monks of Dunfermline Abbey owned the harbour. In 1601 James VI chose the town as an alternative site for the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, and it was at this time when the King James Bible came into being.

Our destination was the top of a craggy escarpment, rising steeply to the north behind the town. The Binn is the remains of a volcanic plug, formed some 300 million years ago, and serves to shelter the town of Burntisland form the worst of the northerly winds.

Very quickly we were on the slopes of the hill, and though the forecast was mixed, we enjoyed bright weather all the way. The path hugs the top edge of the crag as it curves across, and in under an hour we were passing the giant transmitter mast that I had seen from a distance for so many years.

In the distance dark clouds were gathering, which gave a sharp contrast to the sunlit field of corn beside the path. We sat a while on the top, taking in the uninterrupted view across the Firth of Forth expanse to Edinburgh in the distance.

As we neared the base of the walk a sharp shower came across, and as we sheltered under the trees Pauline pointed out that there was once a small settlement where these woods now stood. I had seen evidence of a building as we had entered but all other signs had long since vanished.

Finishing our little jaunt at the old Port building in the town centre, we headed for the railway station of Burntisland for our short journey home.

When I take the trash out in the future, and glance across to the TV mast atop The Binn, I will think of it in a different way.