The Run

Living by the coast in an area seasonally popular with tourists you have to share; half a year belongs to the 'grockles' and the other half is ours, I'm happy to share, I don't begrudge them. We've until Easter to take advantage of the empty beaches, and no matter what the weather a walk on the beach is guaranteed to be glorious.

Beside the seaside

 

Oh I do like to live beside the seaside, oh I do. The view from the 'High Cliff' which gives Highcliffe it's current name; well, Highcliffe on Sea, if you want to pretentious about it, as some of our would be lardy da types do; delusions of grandeur really for a village which until the late 19th century was called 'Slop Pond'. Though I digress. From near to far we have; Christchurch Bay; Mudeford Quay, and the 'Run'; Christchurch Harbour and Hengistbury Head; Bournemouth Bay, with the just visible line of sand being the dunes of Studland Beach; capped off by the Isle of Purbeck at the western end of the Purbeck Ridge, including the high point of Godlingston Hill. Not a bad view really.

Doggers on the beach

If you thought I was going to be talking about clandestine sexual activities associated with the outdoors, you're going to be disappointed. Doggers are ironstone boulders (siderite) which have been deposited or have formed (I'm no geologist) in layers of Eocene strata. Through natural erosion over the years,  boulders have fallen from the cliffs and now lay along it's base.  Usually most of these doggers are covered by deposits of sand and gravel washed in by long shore drift, although during the winter season they're often exposed by stormy weather. During the 17th century considerable quantities of doggers were collected from around the Head in what was to be a failed project to build a pier, later in the 19th century the same doggers were quarried out, valued for their high iron ore content, luckily this exploitation was short lived as it caused substantial damage and reduction of the headland.

Pebble bank

Maybe it's the Head's geographical nature, it's position in the bay, maybe there's another mechanism of transformation in action that I'm not aware of.  Though the sandy beach, which covers the entire bay from the harbour mouth at Sandbanks is replaced by pebbles where Head rises and then peter out, becoming sandy again, towards the Head's end.  What ever it is,  the nature of the pebbles beach below the sandy cliffs is amazingly fluid, it's like living art, a shape shifter, and it can change form day to day. Currently the pebbles, already formed into a bank, have been pushed further back towards and up the cliff face into a narrow steep sided bank high above the sea. At a couple of points where the bank pushes against jutting cliff, weakening it and making it so narrow that it's barely there, it has succumbed to the rasping waves. It can feel wild and isolated out here sometimes (even though it's far from) with an wisp of danger, this morning was like that. We took a different route back, I didn't want Geoff going into the sea here, the waves would have potentially rolled him. That's not to say it we poor walking, on the contrary, it was an energizing walk.

Beach profile

At Hengistbury Head, beyond the Double Dykes, the beach turns from predominantly sand to predominantly pebble until the sand returns towards the long groyne and continues to the far end of Mudeford Spit.  This pebble beach stretch is fluid and susceptible to change, it's profile moving between a gentle gradient and a more acute gradient. Currently the winter waves have scooped up the pebbles pushing then back towards the cliff and piled them up, sculpting a huge step, so high as to obscure your view from the bottom, 2 meters plus, easily. The power of nature.

In memoriam

You may have noticed something blue in the bottom left of my recent photo of the pillbox remains. I checked it out this morning and it looks to be a painted stone, left by someone in memory of a much loved canine companion named Gilbert. I feel for them. 

GI's on the beach

Serendipity; yesterday we passed the slighted remains of Second World War fortifications, and today, a short way along the beach, we encountered three World War Two American GI's amongst the dunes. At first I put our meeting down to us stumbling through a fissure in time and space back into the 1940's, although such notions were soon dispelled by the nearby film crew. Shame, I wouldn't have minded a bit of space time travel. Turned out it was Channel 5 were making a documentary about a particular African American GI in World War Two, I think I heard the name Walter Williams? If that's right, Walter Henry Williams Jr. is an American artist who served in France During World War Two. It got me thinking, you rarely see wartime footage depicting African American servicemen, even though there were some million black men who fought in American forces both European and Pacific theatres. Sign of the bias of the times? I think so. I'm not singling out the US, if you look at commonly played British footage of the period coloured faces are rare, although huge numbers of commonwealth soldiers saw action (10 million from across the Empire), if shown at all it's usually white commonwealth soldiers depicted. Recently you had the minor media furore when a Sikh shown in the film '1917', with calls that it was wrong and 'PC' gone mad, although historians pointed out it was historically correct. The whitewashing of history gives people a very skewed impression, underplays the importance and role of non white servicemen/women, which perpetuates and fuels the ignorance and hateful division indicative of current nationalism. An example of this ignorance, though on a very different tangent, was the propaganda of the far right in Britain of the early 2000's which was directed at Polish migrants, and used the image of a Spitfire as an iconically British symbol, though the Spitfire shown was clearly from one belonging to one of the 16 Polish squadrons who fought heroically through the Battle of Britain and throughout the war....pure ignorance, born of media depictions of the war, limited historical understanding and plain old bigotry.  Add colour to that cultural bigotry and the 'other' disappears almost completely from the history of World War Two; I suppose it made it easier for us to continue the segregation and abuse of minority communities, post war. I hope the documentary is well done, recognition and depiction of the coloured faces of World War Two has been too long coming, and essential if you are to understand history and it's webs of interconnection.

Dark Sky

It was a mistake not to take a coat on this morning's walk along Hengistbury Head, a mistake which only became apparent at the furthest point of our walk. When we set off on our walk the sky was mostly blue and it appeared my decision was the right one. It wasn't until we reached the big groyne at the far end of the Head that I turned to see the horizon to the west, beyond the Purbeck Hills, was leaden. And, it appeared to be coming our way... at speed. You'd be surprised how fast the clouds moved, you could see the wall of rain approaching, it was upon us so fast that even running we only just made it to the Noddy Train (that's what the land train which runs from the Double Dykes to Mudeford Spit has been traditionally known as) shelter as a ferocious hail rained down.

WW2 debris

Hengistbury Head was a hive of activities during the Second World War, there was a Chain Home Low radar station, gun battery, pillboxes, anti tank obstacles, mines, trenches and entanglements, the whole WW2 set.  After the war these features were broken up buried or removed.  Just before the head rises there's a jumbled mass of concrete and bar protruding from the cliff face. It's been visible for years. Recently, and most likely due the elements, several large pieces of concrete have slid from their resting place near the cliff top towards and onto the pebbles below. On one of the pieces you can clearly see a firing embrasure with what looks like a steep angle of downward fire, suggesting it was once a cliff top pillbox.  It's a real shame how we've been so careless with, our World War Two heritage. 

The Bay

As we walked along the Beach towards the Head the weather was in flux, changing from a wet leaden sky to what would become a near clear blue sky. The waters of the bay were choppy, all white crested and foamy, the waves crashing relentlessly upon the sands, sands which after recent storms still concealed most of the promenade, with lines of blown dunes clustering along the under-cliff.  It was a strange walk, it felt like we'd started it in winter and finished it in spring, quite a transformation in an hour, both in weather and temperature. Geoff loved our walk today, he does love a sandy beach and there were so many other dogs out.  

Cloudy start

A subdued morning at the Head, and a cloudy start to the day.

Water baby

Geoff loves indulging his Water Spaniel heritage.

The Long Groyne

King Canute understood, both literally and figuratively, and he tried to explain it to folk. Sadly though, nearly a thousand years on we still haven't understood our limits or our place in mother natures scheme. We'd make life much easier for ourselves, and her, if we did. So much wasted effort.

Water Lilies

I thought how the 'Head' has changed over the years as I walked through memories and time there this morning.  It feels as if Hengistury Head has always featured in my life.  Childhood days out with kites, or Noddy Train rides and the beach.  A favoured adventure land in my young teens, skiving school, jumping the Noddy Train, being chased by the Noddy Train drivers as well as the first place I wild camped. It appeared much wilder then, it was much wilder then, more removed, that said, it's still wild-ish now. It became a different type of adventure land in my later teens, substances ensured that. It's always been somewhere I've walked too. When I worked in the engineers department at the local authority we'd survey the Head regularly to record the rate of erosion, it took a couple of days, and we did that a few times a year. Nice work as I remember. Halfway down the harbour face of the Head are ponds above the waste tips created by quarrying in previous centuries. These, now thriving wildlife ponds, used to be near lifeless murky puddles, in fact the whole landscape had a tangible post industrial feel to it as I remember, a bare nakedness beyond first colonisers and invasive flora. So many memories connected with this place, I'm connected with this place. And, I know I'm just one of many over the centuries to have felt that connection. Hengistbury Head has been the focus of human activity for millennia, 14,000 year ago Upper Palaeolithic hunters utilized the headland, as did the our Mesolithic ancestors, the Bronze Age saw the harbour developing and the promontory was a focus of Round Barrow burials, the Iron Age saw the harbour port continue to develop as an important centre for trade, this continued throughout the Roman period. Later centuries saw smuggling, quarrying and defence all feature, in-between long periods of pastoral obscurity. So I'm not just walking through my history, I'm walking through the history of the country, human and natural, and I just love that. 

The Marshes

Another local walk today. A local walk for local people, Christchurch can be a bit that way. I think in reality, everywhere can be a bit local, it's human nature. Today we walked over the marshes, that'll be Stanpit Marsh. Man, we used to be over the marshes all the time, there are so many memories connected to this piece of land bordering Christchurch harbour, and Hengistbury Head over the harbour. The 'Head' was the first place I wild camped when I was 14, disastrous of course. It was lovely walking here today, it's decades after I first set foot over here, and to be honest little if anything has changed, and in our current ever changing world that's a rare achievement. Strangely reassuring and comforting.

The dump

I've seen Christchurch grow and change over the years, in some respects beyond recognition as time and unrestrained urban sprawl marches on relentlessly. Often the changes feel negative, as if something is being lost, which is usually true as pockets of nature are nibbled, bitten off and consumed. This afternoon I cycled into town, along the coast, past Mudeford Quay and over Stanpit. When I was a child Stanpit was the site of the dump, an open council rubbish tip. I remember grubbing about amongst the rubbish like 'Stig of the dump', finding all manner of curiosities, well, it was the 70's. Years later the whole site was buried and landscaped, and subsequently turned into a 9 hole golf course. That golf course has now gone, and the landscape turned into a wildlife area, only in it's infancy the area has massive potential and is a fantastic addition the natural character of the harbour. From the former golf course's raised position you've got great views over the reed flanked rivers of the Stour and Avon, across the marshes, and over the tidal harbour to Hengistbury Head, and all around you nature has already begun to exert dominion, reclaiming what's rightfully hers. This is a positive change I can happily embrace.

Cold lesson

I made a rookie error today, especially for someone who has spent the majority of his life living on the coast. I didn't check the tides. Rookie, mistake, man. I'd planned to take harbour side route out round Hengistbury Head, and was pledged to my path by the time it disappeared into the harbour, even the bridges (whose position was marked by their balusters) were under water. The water looked shallow, and there grassy island dotted about, so I though carry on regardless. For the most part the water was shallow-ish though reaching mid shins at points, and at first I thought the waters were quite bracing, that swiftly shifted to cold, soon becoming painful, I was committed by now, the prospect of going back less appealing that soldiering on. Moving through the water as quickly as I could without ending up in a deeper hollow or such, I rested on the grassy islets, when I could to allow my feet to warm (warm not really being what they became, just less cold). It was worth it though, just to have done it, the near empty sands of Mudeford spit were a bonus.

A walk to the shops

The changing season and changing weather brings new walking opportunities, even the regular mundane chore walks can take on new dimensions. I had several chores to attend to today, in a range of places. My travels took me along along cliff tops, sandy beaches and across 2 ferries, I crossed 2 rivers, one via two ferry rides and the other via a ferry ride and 2 bridges, I enjoyed a harbour walk, a wander amongst water meadows and reeds, I visited a museum (and could have visited another), passed a range of important prehistoric settlements, through an ancient Saxon Burh, by a Norman Keep and a priory which survived Henry VIII, as well as that I visited old haunts and again collected nettles for soup.  Thirteen miles, in all, a wonderful walk. As I walked I reflected on how lucky I was to live in a place where the walk to the chemist, shops and food fortress, can cover such wonders. 

Hengistbury Head

Out of sight, out of mind, maybe. Though nature and time ensure that burying our past doesn't mean it's gone for good. Along the seaward face of Hengistbury Head, structures of our Second World War past continue to erode into the present. The Hengistbury headland was heavily utilized and fortified during the war years, and of course post war many of the associated feature were removed, or as I allude to, buried, whilst others, notably infrastructure elements such as the concrete and brick conduits which carried communication and power cables, already invisible underground, remained where they were. Many of the sturdier structures, Anti Tank Obstacles (ATO's), Pillboxes and Gun Emplacements were broken up and buried or used as hardcore. In the cliff face, just as the headland rises, some elements of those broken and buried structures are being exposed by erosion. The photo shows what I believe to be a destroyed Artillery Pillbox with some heavily corroded and concreted ironwork, whether associated with the pillbox or not, I'm not sure. I say an Artillery Pillbox as the embrasure (the aperture to fire through) is too substantial for small arms, offering a broad arc of fire; such a large embrasure would have left men inside with just rifles or light machine guns too exposed. It amazes me how clean and well preserved (except for the intentional damage) these structures can be, just look at the concrete, it looks recent, not 70 odd years old; and these structures were thrown up in haste too, with often not the best materials. As the cliff erodes I'll see if any more diagnostic features emerge. I also had a look at the surrounding fill for any smaller artefacts, though none revealed themselves. A walk that stimulates the mind as well as the body is twice the walk. Nice.

Head space

The wind blew threatening clouds towards us as we walked out onto Hengistbury Head this afternoon, threatening clouds who, once we were at the furthest point of our walk, carried out their threat. I sought shelter amongst the stunted wind sculpted trees of the head and found myself transported through time back to the late 1970's, when the 'Head' was one of our playgrounds. Good times (for the most part). I read more and more articles these days about young people suffering a type of 'nature deficit' through a lack of interaction with nature, and how this is to their detriment and to the detriment of our natural environment. I have to agree. 

In my early teens I began wild camping, sounds good, well it was and it wasn't. Hengistbury Head was one of those early camping sites, and the spot I found myself sheltering in today was one of our old favoured camping spots. A gully tucked away on the amongst the remnants of quarrying, long overgrown when we camped there, and even more overgrown and naturalized now, we had the opportunity to learn camp craft. The reason I see that young people don't interact with nature is they're not given the opportunity to become socialized to it, the spectre of stranger danger, new distracting technology and a lack of opportunities through development of open spaces and the imposition of restrictive regulations and laws. Yeah, lots of the things we got up to as kids weren't strictly undertaken within a legal framework, and certainly there were restrictions and dangers. Although from a legal standpoint our transgressions (riding mopeds over common land, camping, scrumping) would have only resulted in us being told to bugger off, or threats to tell our parents or at worst a clip around the ear, and that would have even been from the Police too! Now though a minor transgression too often results in criminal sanction. I've seen kids (those who get out) hassled for building camps over the common, or digging dirt jumps (both mainstays of my youth); yeah, the kids get it wrong sometimes, but hey.  We had the opportunity and space to make those mistakes and to learn through them. 

As I say, camping was both a good and bad experience, but we learnt and we developed.  We got wet, and learnt how to build better shelters. We got cold, and learnt how to build fires, and more importantly, how to respect fire. We learnt the places to camp and not to camp, to look at a landscape and understand it and how best to use it and its resources. Not only that, but we were socialized to nature osmotically and came to love and respect it. And those opportunities are missing for kids now, where's the space to learn and develop naturally...gone! I find that sad. One of my great fears (beyond the harm modern life does people and the experiences they miss out on) is that young people are not socialized to nature and to love her, and increasingly will not really care when a woodland is cut down for a car park or a common consumed by development, as they have no investment in it, no bond to it and no connection.  

Wild camping for all!