Saharan sunset

Apparently it's dust from the Sahara that's creating the warm hued sunsets and sunrises of recent days. Very nice too.

Nearly groundhog sunset

Another mellow sunset from Barton on Sea. I'm always banging on about how every sunset is unique, how you'll never see 'that' sunset again, and of course that's true; but beyond some richer hues of colour, there was more than a passing resemblance between this evening's and last evening's sunsets.

Sunset

This evening's sunset from Barton on Sea.

Barton

 

We walked the coast to the edge of Milford-on-Sea and back this morning, about 11 miles. It was another grey drab walking day, we even had rain on our backs for a good chunk of the outward leg; that said, it brightened for our return. Nice walking whatever. I don't mind walking alone (other human wise, I mean), though not all the time. It must be nearly 18 months since I last walked with friends... and, that's a long time. Of course circumstances dictate, so no point moaning. I miss the walking talks though, where our long form conversations would range wildly; all those conversations 'we' never had I've still had to myself... I really do go on. Such turbulent times too, with so many topics and events to talk about, a period of huge socio-political, cultural, economic and environmental crises...and I've got opinions on most of them. Time with myself has me thinking my friends must be enjoying a welcome break from me.

Void in a groyne

 

Void in a groyne.

Clouds

The weather wizards had foretold of a clear sky at sunset, of course, they lied, or are just rubbish at weather wizardry. As the sundown drew closer, I knew there wouldn't be a sunset this evening. Still, the clouds were interesting.

Solitude

The beach was ours this morning.

Coastal defence

Wooden framework amongst the 'rock armour' at the base of the Barton slips.

Resistance is futile

The cliffs below Barton look like a battleground, all disturbed soil, exposed pipework, twisted and broken steel sheet pile. What your looking at is a war as old as us, a war waged between man and nature, and a war we're most definitely going to lose. The geology along this stretch of the coast lends itself to slippage, it's all marine clays and sands, topped with gravels, lateral slippage is inevitable. By the 1960's erosion was increasingly threatening/destroying property, and a massive civil engineering project was undertaken to stabilize the cliffs.  It never really worked. Well, it did to a degree, though slippages still occurred, they were less severe. A sort of temporary stalemate was achieved. That changed at the beginning of this century as over a few years the cliffs saw a number of destructive landslides and creeping slippages. It's appeared relatively quiet over the past few years, relatively. I often wonder when traversing this chaotic landscape, what the plan will be when the cliffs start moving with purpose again. Because they will. Same old battle? Or will we concede to the inevitable and retreat from the cliff top. 

Baby teeth

Fossils are continually eroding out of the ever seaward crawling cliff face, by the time they reach the intertidal virtually all of the fragile shells have fragmented and crumbled. Only the sharks teeth tend to survive. Although by the time you find them along the low tide line, unless you're very lucky, they're usually quite degraded. They've survived unscathed embedded in marine clays for 40 million years, though being rolled amongst the sand and pebbles for a few months soon wears them down...eventually to nothing. Still, even the degraded ones are cool, it's always nice to find something of that sort of age.

Sunken sentinel exposed

I can remember a time when you could crouch inside the remains of this sunken World War Two sentinel half buried in the intertidal below the Barton slides, you could still just see through it's embrasures too. That was many years ago now though. The sands regularly reveal and obscure this old pillbox on a whim, though never to extent I'm talking about. Thinking about it, that was probably 30 years plus ago now. We headed out for our walk earlier this morning to avoid the potential of a gathering herd, getting to the beach by 0730, our objective was realized. It was a good move, only a handful of dog walkers and trio of horse riders, and they were all at the bunny end of the beach, so beyond the sunken sentinel the sands were ours alone. Happy days.

The beach

Back at the coast again this morning. The tide was out exposing a 30m beach and a further 20m's of shin deep shallows, allowing for easy distancing. I've been reluctant to brave the beach fearing herds of walkers (Walking Dead reference intended) and even at 0800 the sands were dotted with day trippers, though still easily manageable. The sea's so good for Geoff, it's good for his skin, he gets to cool down in the sea, he enjoys a swim, and he sees other dogs, he loves it here, that said, he loves it everywhere. We walked from Chewton Bunny towards Barton, past the eroding cliffs which are returning the landlocked inhabitants of a vast 40 million year old lagoon back to the sea. It was lovely, the further along we walked the less folk there were, until it wasn't long before our beach walk was undertaken in solitude. Looking back though, towards the Bunny, I could see a herd had formed at the Highcliffe end of the bay and so decided to take an alternative route home. Too many people don't appear to understand and are dropping their guard. We're still shielding my wife and so the shit's still real for us, whereas the actions of many folk would suggest that everything was all right now, the 'Rona' a thing of the past, that lockdown was a memory and normality had returned. I wish it had, and I wish I had their confidence....but it hasn't and I haven't. 

Oh Buoy!

Geoff was suspicious of this sizeable oddity on the beach in front of us this morning, approaching tentatively he periodically stopped watched for any movement and gave a unconvincing warning bark. The object wasn't at all bothered. The object turns out to be a visitor from the United States of America, a 2 ton buoy (phonetically 'boy' to us, or 'boo-ie' to America) which must have broken free from it's tethering chain (the remains of which can be seen attached) somewhere off the East Coast and bobbed across the pond. That's quite a journey, and quite a moment when even maritime furniture decides to flee Trump's America. When it arrived it had a structure on top, a light and 'x' symbol, where they've gone, I don't know. The coastal flotsam and jetsam never fails to prick the imagination.

Sunken Sentinel

Sunken Sentinel on a stormy shore.

Windy out

An old familiar returned to today. For the first time in weeks, it was windy. Living near the coast wind is usually an ever present feature any time of the year, this summer though, it's been noticeable by its absence. This is far as I got along the foreshore under the Barton slides, the tide was up and the waters licked at the base of the slowly eroding the Eocene horizons. I sometimes feel I neglect the coast, I live so nearby, though go through long periods of not visiting. I think it's just that we're spoilt for walking opportunities around these parts. That, and you can sometimes overlook what's right under your nose. And, for part of the year the foreshore is crowded with people seeking communion with the elements. Still, I really should try and get down here more frequently.

Tenacious tree

You have to be a tenacious tree to live by the sea.

Coltsfoot

Coltsfoot (Tussilago farfara) reminds me of asparagus spears with dandelion flowers on.  Round these parts they flourish on the unstable mud slides of the Barton under-cliff, and around now swathes of yellow/orange flowers are opening to the spring sun. Their leafless stems (the leaves will form later)  have pushed up through the grey mud of the Eocene sea bed slowly making its way home, to dot a monochrome landscape with spots of gold.  Years ago we used to collect flower heads here to make a white wine, nice it was too. We used to use the leaves in other ways too, mostly as a constituent of herbal teas, we were right into that.   The German government banded the sale of Coltsfoot, still a popular herbal remedy, after recent studies showed toxicity causing liver problems, though they mainly appear to have been in infants. Still, worth bearing in mind. Can't hurt you looking at them though.

Winter Solstice sunset

Well, that's that then, the year is over. The final sunset of the year marks the end of shortest day, the last day of the Holly Kings reign. The Oak King takes the throne now. If we're lucky a new sun will rise tomorrow and a new year, another cycle, will have begun. I will not mourn the years passing, although there were good times, and good memories were made, there were too many hard times and too many sad times. It's only natural, I know, that's the nature of life. For the most part I count my blessings, I'm not stupid I understand the complaints of first worlders lack credibility in light of global suffering, but still, our woes are our woes, personal and still real to us; it's all relative. A world in chaos, a failing climate and the prevailing political paradigm shift to the right, seems to make the shit hit harder though, make it harder to pick yourself up. Maybe that's age, as experience and cynicism colour our perspectives. I suppose hope is all we've ever had, though it increasing appears a forlorn hope at best, and a weapon against us at worst. Still, here's to hope, and something better. I wish you flags, flax, fodder and Frigg, and all you'd wish for yourselves in the new cycle.

Home

It's taken time, 40 million years in fact, but this Eocene shell has made it home to the sea at last. To think this little shell last enjoyed bathing in a sun drenched sea 38 million years before our earliest earliest ancestors stood upright. Crazy. 

Eocene beach

I was walking in the Eocene this afternoon under the unseasonally warm sun, which reminded me that when these layers were laid down this area was a tropical lagoon. It's been a while since I'd walked these ancient horizons, and the landscape has changed noticeable. There are still land falls, slips and slides, and some are quite substantial, though for the most part the fluid landscape has been temporarily stabilized by colonizing plants and shrubs. Very successful colonizers are the Cat Tails, which now cover swathes of the wetter areas, Willow trees who I was surprised to see growing in quite some numbers, their canopies filled with bird song, and many of the areas which were exposed clays are now covered in a layer of tough grasses and horsetail. Still, there were enough exposed Eocene horizons to keep my eyes occupied. The entire surface of these exposed horizons is covered in shell fragments, as well as plenty of complete shells in various sizes and of various types, and the occasional sharks tooth. The 'Barton Beds' as they're called are well known in palaeontological circles, are an important research resource and some impressive specimens have been collected here. The best time for fossil hunting are over the coming months of bad weather, when land movement is common and virgin horizons exposed. Care needs to be taken as the area is dangerous and you can find yourself knee deep or even waist deep and in need of rescuing with one careless step; even today when the surface is still quite dry and stable, care was required. A great walk though, so much to see and think about.