Out & About early to watch the sunrise at Amble’s breakwater. By some miracle of timekeeping, we reached our destination with scarcely a moment to spare, only to find that the most “pleasing” photographs were taken on the way, long before the appointed sunrise. Alas, we missed the so-called ‘blue hour’, that fleeting interval when the sky is supposed to take on an enchanting blue tint. Not, mind you, because the sun is particularly fond of blue, but due to some dull interaction with the atmosphere, which, like so many scientific explanations, serves only to make the romantic sound tedious. Today, however, the sky had no interest in being blue and opted instead for a rather striking orange.
For those so inclined, here is the scientific rationale. When the sun is beneath the horizon, its direct light is out of sight. However, some of the remaining sunlight scatters through the atmosphere. Shorter blue wavelengths scatter more easily, painting the sky with a magical blue colour. This mesmerizing twilight phase lasts just for a short while after the first signs of dawn.
Amble, we are told, is a “charming” town along Northumberland’s coast. It is positively desperate to be known as the “friendliest port in England”—a designation which I am sure was hotly contested. Its past as a coal-exporting port has been swept away in favour of the tourist trade. I once participated in a sea kayak race from here, back when such things seemed like a good idea. That was twenty or so years ago, if my memory serves. The race—well, it was more of a grand outing for club members than a serious competition—took us around Coquet Island, which is apparently teeming with puffins and roseate terns, though I do not recall seeing a single bird, not that was I inclined to look at the time.
The best part of Amble, in the end, is not its atmosphere, its charming locals, or even its birds. No, the highlight is the fresh fish shop on the quayside, where one could, and should, have scallops for breakfast. Quite delicious.
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