The sea, the sea
It took a while for me to decide which local location I wanted to share first. There have been so many, both old favourites and new discoveries which have been islands of peace, sanity, restoration during the last year or so.
However, one evening crystallised it for me. More on that below. In short, it’s the sea. Including the amazing beauty of the skyscape above. There may be a lot of superlatives coming.
For those reading from further afield, my local ‘sea’ is the English Channel. When I first moved here I was underwhelmed. Lacking the drama of the crashing waves of the Oregon coast, and its long glorious sand beaches and charming rocky coves, here at Deal the beach is a huge long stretch of shingle. It covers around ten miles from where the cliffs of Dover finish at Kingsdown northward to Pegwell Bay, where the Stour river makes its way to the sea and the pebbles peter out into marshy, silty sands. The other side of the bay, the land rises again in white cliffs at Ramsgate. Ten long flat miles. Not of glowing pale or golden sand, but stumble under your foot pebbles, in various shades of tan.
Typical view of the sea on a day when not much is going on.
Before too long, as I got over the lack of green crested thunderous waves and seafoam, I grew to have an affection for the many moods, colours and textures present in this shallow sea, as it proved itself an ever changing landscape with a drama, albeit often more subtle, all its own.
Our first flat, though not particularly near the sea, was up on a hill with large Georgian windows looking seaward. I used to watch the sun colouring the sea in many shades, the fast moving cloud shadows and wind-derived textural changes with fascination.
From our current home of seven and a half years, it’s a mere three minute walk to the water’s edge at high tide. I timed it because I recently found myself not wanting to walk through the streets to get there. Having grown up in the country in relative solitude and then practically becoming a hermit during the winter lockdown, I found it easy to stay in for days and not want to walk through streets with people and buildings. The three minute timer proved how silly that reluctance is when such a short journey yields such a huge change of scenery.
I did enjoy many exhilarating winter walks along the shore, during the day when the sun shone brightly on water in various shades of blue. However, I must confess it is the intimacy and colours of the dusk which have really endeared it to me.
We’ve definitely utilised the beach more than ever since spring 2020. Beach bonfires, picnics, getting fish and chips or Chinese takeaways with friends once this was possible, walks with friends when permitted and alone when not.
Recently we enjoyed a picnic meal with friends in our usual spot and the nearby sailing club was out in force, so we had the bonus of live entertainment through our meal, watching their manoeuvres at sea.
This particular bit of shore is a slightly new discovery for me in the pandemic era. The seafront walk, which is paved from Sandwich Bay nearly to the edge of Kingsdown is extremely popular with residents and visitors alike and I have walked on it countless times, alone or in company. However this past autumn and winter there were occasions when it was so teeming with people that the point of taking outdoor exercise for health seemed defeated. So I took to going down onto the shingle, where there was untold space and no one on it. I discovered if you go right to the water’s edge, you’re in a new world…..because at this particular spot the shingle bank is so high that you can no longer see the houses. Especially at low tide. Deal pier and town are visible, the cliffs of Ramsgate behind, the cliffs of Kingsdown nearer at your right and in front of you is a vast expanse of water and sky.
One memorable evening during my first week back in the office after the winter and spring working from home, I walked down to the sea after work. I walked along the ridge of shingle with waves pulling at it, tumbling little columns of shingle in. A gull flew alongside as if encouraging me to move a bit faster. I stuck my arms out and ran along with it laughing, freed to be playful by the knowledge I was out of public view.
Larking about led to sea singing - I just let my voice ramble about toward the gulls and the waves, free-form vocalization which was incredibly empowering and restorative. Indoors, I am conscious of the shared walls and the sound that transmits through them. The inanimate sea and space there allowed me to let my voice out of the box.
As I wandered along the shore heading back toward home, a fine mist-like rain set in which was pleasant and invigorating. I felt surrounded by the evening’s beauty as if by a cloak. The sounds of the sea, gulls, shingle, the mist, freedom, music in my head and the ability to vocalize - transcendence is not too strong a word for the simultaneous peace and ecstasy.
The evening that brought home to me the outstanding majesty and splendour of the sea and its definite place as my top ‘Near’ was a picnic dinner evening at St Margaret’s Bay. Unforgivably foolishly, I had left my camera and phone at home, so when a stunning rainbow appeared I was reduced to borrowing an older phone. None of these photos can do justice to the astonishing beauty on display for us, a celestial light show unparalleled by any I’ve experienced before. Try squinting to see if you can get the jist.
Men who looked unused to taking scenic photos held up their phones, criss-crossing my path up and down the bay, similarly enthralled. The sunset deepened, the sea turned green, and the sky was aflame.
As dusk set in, the angle of the sun changed and it seemed the sky curved toward us as the nearer clouds lit up. The rainbow itself seemed closer and practically tangible despite its translucence, a celestial object rather than just a play of light.
I close with a few shots from the end of March. This was another amazing evening to which the pictures can’t really do justice, but at least I had my good camera. It was a day when the sea and sky blended together as the dusk came on, a fine layer of pale green stood out which could have been either.
A nearly perfectly flat surface for a rowing team.
From the top of the shingle bank, back on dry pebbles
