Merrily to Berrow

The forecast was for rain later in the morning, and we hadn't got up as early as we'd intended, and the traffic would probably be trying as it was Easter Monday but we went to Berrow anyhow in search of big skies and sand and light.

Looking back at St Mary's with Crook Peak in the distance

over the golf course

'It's busy there today,' said a fellow dog-walker we encountered as we meandered along the sandy lane to the beach. When he was out of earshot, I reminded a concerned Northerner, who'd clearly forgotten there are no cafes, ice cream vans or toilets for miles around, that we usually had the seven mile beach entirely to ourselves, so busy could be as many - or few - as twenty people. 

St Mary's and Brent Knoll

And so it proved. Four horses, a considerable number of dogs, and maybe two dozen people scattered from the gap in the dunes where the footpath ends to the cars parked at the southern end of Brean.  No wreck of the SS Nornen, though, as it was high tide.

Generally, Cwtch isn't interested in fetching balls or sticks, at least not for long and definitely not when we're somewhere with a lot of distractions, like a field with smells and tussocks and anthills and wooded paths and so on, but when there's just sandflats, she's up for a bit of chasing and fetching ... 

... if not surrendering the ball once she's brought it back.

She's still not keen on the sea, though ... 

... and showed no promise when it came to weaving through the wooden piles comprising the breakwater, like those collies who are amazing at Agility do at speed. 

As we turned back, we noticed the rain was drifting off the Quantocks towards us, an hour later than forecast but still heavy-looking and almost certainly wet, so we headed for the footpath at the gap in the dunes - or at least where we thought it was, because it turns out the wreck is the point I take my bearings from and with the tide high and its yellow buoys removed, who knows where along the beach it - and by extension we - were, exactly. We did find it without too much trouble in the end, though it seemed further down the beach towards Burnham than usual.
 

Then the winding walk back under the brush, through the slacks and over the golf course to the Church and the car.

It was a longer-than-usual drive home through heavy rain and traffic (due in part to a (not serious) accident on the M5), my pockets stuffed with translucent shells and a piece of driftwood like a breaching whale and my eyes full of the not-quite-sealight of the Somerset coast. 

 

Ticking boxes in Weston-Super-Mare

Like - I should imagine - most people who believe it exists, I'm not convinced the pandemic's done with us yet, so it's a question of ticking the mother box while we can. Last week it was a trip to Nottingham with my children; this week, as she's in Weston for a few days with my niece and her fiancé, I drove down my aunties, Mollie and Janice. 

Except the trickle of relatives became a tsunami, with the two locally-based brothers and their wives joining us. Which meant that by the time I arrived in Weston with the aunts, having diverted to an industrial estate on the outskirts of the town to try to find an emergency toilet for one of them, there were six elderly people, with a combined age of 496, and my rather nonplussed niece and nephew-in-law, who weren't actually nonplussed at all for long, hooray, as they are a nurse and an OT respectively, and, although working in paediatrics, very capable indeed. 

Luckily, it wasn't raining and there was a park two minutes' walk from the rented flat, so we got everyone there by a mixture of car, wheelchair and walking stick, and my niece and her fiancé went off to get fish and chips, fruit juice and compostable plates and cutlery, while I organised another toilet run. And the fish and chips were deemed Very Good Indeed, as were the views from the park and the flat, and they all caught up with each other (with the exception of my aunts and uncle in Devon and Cornwall). And it felt good to facilitate that during this horrible Time of Separation. 

Birnbeck Pier in dire need of some love

Beach, mud, Grand pier, marine lake from the flat

Pier, mud, Brent Knoll, Brean Down

Brean Down and Steep Holm

Steep Holm, Flat Holm hidden behind the trees, and the coast of Wales

A road trip to Berrow

A few weeks into full lockdown, a 10-mile round trip from my home on the outskirts of north Bristol to Eastville to deliver some shopping was a road trip. I remember looking at the mass of hawthorn blossom on Purdown as if it was the Alps. I've travelled a little further afield since then, but still pretty much in or only just outside the city. So it was exciting finally to fill up the petrol tank and head down the M5 to Berrow. 

The light was quite beautiful and quite unearthly by the time we made our way through the churchyard and along the footpath to the beach ...

... and there was no problem with social distancing either. It was lovely.   

Ted quite forgot his advancing years and chased the ball as eagerly as ever. 

The sunset wasn't quite as glorious as we'd hoped on account of a big bank of cloud in the west, but it became increasingly atmospheric. 

At one stage the lighthouses at Nash Point could be seen quite clearly beneath the band of cloud.  

No trip to Berrow is complete without a pilgrimage to the wreck of the SS Nornen. 

Unusually the sand around it was firm rather than mud, so it was possible to walk right out to the stern.

We walked along to the groynes ...

... and then it was time to turn  back. 


Ted marking the spot

I never mind leaving the beach because the walk back through the dunes is so lovely.

St Mary's Church and Brent Knoll

Hemlock water dropwort

Wild parsnip

It was a bit windy for flower photography but I persisted.

Clockwise top left: cranesbill; yarrow and sea radish; great willowherb; sea rocket; tall melliot; red clover; white campion; slightly pink white campion 

Colder than the Scales on a Mermaid's Tail

The forecast was brilliant sun, with a temperature of 5°C, so we promised Ted we'd take him to the beach for a nice long run the next morning. 

It was tipping with rain when we went to bed. So we didn't expect to wake up to snow all the way over to the Cotswolds. Still, the forecast still said sunny all day, and 6°C at Berrow, so we decided we Might Just Risk It. 

Once in Somerset there was a smudge of snow on the Mendips too, though not on nearby Brent Knoll.

It was sheltered winding our way along the sunken footpath between the thickets of thorn and sea buckthorn. Ted, who had sulked when we got into the car because he hadn't really understood the beach bit, brightened dramatically and led the way to the shore. There, however, a northerly wind was biting ... and it had put its teeth in. 

We'd arrived bang on high tide. Not only could you could see the sea, it had waves in it. There was snow on distant Exmoor ... 

... and on the probably-not-quite-as-distant-as-the-crow-flies Welsh hills ...

... but the freezing cold didn't put Ted off. 

In fact, it didn't put any of us off. We were having a lovely time. 

There was no sign of the wreck of the SS Nornen sticking up through the waves, even though the beach is very flat and the yellow buoys which mark the site looked as if they were close to the shore.

And the sanderlings which had been scurrying along the high tide line departed sharpish when Ted materialised. The oystercatchers hung around a little longer, though. 

We could only bear to walk into the wind as far as the first set of groynes. Up in the dunes, however, it was much balmier, and the views were gorgeous. 

Over to Steep Holm and the coast of Wales

Up to Brean Down

Over to Brent Knoll ... with a raven overhead

In fact, there were lots of ravens.

Looking down to the Quantocks

It was a mercy to turn our backs to the wind and walk back down the beach.  

Already the dark was seeping up from the ground as we made our way back through the dunes to the churchyard. But we were full of light.