Once so frequently found running in the wilds, now so entrenched, the boys were once again cajoled into leaving their cyber world for an excursion to the coast; our destination, Chapmans Pool. Chapmans Pool, nestles quietly in the wrinkles of the Jurassic Purbeck coast, often overlooked, in fair weather or foul it retains an air of the wild, of mystery, of history and of being. Its 400ft cliffs have been sculpted and shaped by fluid and fixed geology, aided deftly by the raging elements; on one side the clays slides of Houns tout, on the t'other the crumbling limestone cliffs and scree's of Emmetts Hill and between them in their wild embrace, a small secluded cove. The light is clean, as is the air and the views, the views along the Jurassic coast West from West Hill were outstanding. A grass flanked path of viscus clay slip leads you down, down to 'the Lake', a small stream flowing through Hill Bottom and beyond to the rough sandy beach.
The path around the coast to St Albans head has been eroded in several sections, the going is hard and intensive; the walking is uneven, either soft slippery clays or loose irregular pebbles and rocks. The boys, know when I say 'short cut' that the going is going to get harder and they will have to endure a longer walk than anticipated. The pebbles and boulders of the slipped path sections lay within the intertidal and are sharp and irregular, the detritus of humanities inability to not to litter is, deposited, tossed, strewn and scattered, wedged amongst and about the shore line; a filthy reminder of our slow evolution. The remaining fragmentary segments of path clung to the cliff base, determined not to suffer the fate of their neighbours, bound by sturdy stunted plants, they comprised of cracks, loose rocks, slippery clay, grass and invasive thorny shrubs to hinder ones progress. We took a detour, another short cut, following animal tracks, up over the boulders, now smothered in tangled plant growth, we climbed, coming to a seemingly impenetrable thicket; too high to go over, too low to walk under, a tightly woven mass of spiky imperviousness. The going was tough.
The only option was a long crawl amongst the thicket, through brambles, thorns, up the clay and rock strewn cliff side; complaining, minor injuries, frustration, we made our way upward, after 40m's or so of arduous crawling we finally emerged into the light. A brief scurry up through the rough grass and we reached to top of Emmett Hill; having scrambled, climbed and clambered our way up 400ft. From the summit you could see for miles; in the distance was Mupe, Lulworth, along to White Noth and beyond, on the horizon, the distinctive silhouette of Portland. Stunning day.
Once so frequently found running in the wilds, now so entrenched, the boys were once again cajoled into leaving their cyber world for an excursion to the coast; our destination, Chapmans Pool. Chapmans Pool, nestles quietly in the wrinkles of the Jurassic Purbeck coast, often overlooked, in fair weather or foul it retains an air of the wild, of mystery, of history and of being. Its 400ft cliffs have been sculpted and shaped by fluid and fixed geology, aided deftly by the raging elements; on one side the clays slides of Houns tout, on the t'other the crumbling limestone cliffs and scree's of Emmetts Hill and between them in their wild embrace, a small secluded cove. The light is clean, as is the air and the views, the views along the Jurassic coast West from West Hill were outstanding. A grass flanked path of viscus clay slip leads you down, down to 'the Lake', a small stream flowing through Hill Bottom and beyond to the rough sandy beach. 
The path around the coast to St Albans head has been eroded in several sections, the going is hard and intensive; the walking is uneven, either soft slippery clays or loose irregular pebbles and rocks. The boys, know when I say 'short cut' that the going is going to get harder and they will have to endure a longer walk than anticipated. The pebbles and boulders of the slipped path sections lay within the intertidal and are sharp and irregular, the detritus of humanities inability to not to litter is, deposited, tossed, strewn and scattered, wedged amongst and about the shore line; a filthy reminder of our slow evolution. The remaining fragmentary segments of path clung to the cliff base, determined not to suffer the fate of their neighbours, bound by sturdy stunted plants, they comprised of cracks, loose rocks, slippery clay, grass and invasive thorny shrubs to hinder ones progress. We took a detour, another short cut, following animal tracks, up over the boulders, now smothered in tangled plant growth, we climbed, coming to a seemingly impenetrable thicket; too high to go over, too low to walk under, a tightly woven mass of spiky imperviousness. The going was tough. 
The only option was a long crawl amongst the thicket, through brambles, thorns, up the clay and rock strewn cliff side; complaining, minor injuries, frustration, we made our way upward, after 40m's or so of arduous crawling we finally emerged into the light. A brief scurry up through the rough grass and we reached to top of Emmett Hill; having scrambled, climbed and clambered our way up 400ft. From the summit you could see for miles; in the distance was Mupe, Lulworth, along to White Noth and beyond, on the horizon, the distinctive silhouette of Portland. Stunning day.
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