Oystercatchers at Marloes

Lots of choughs at Marloes, they said. If you see them anywhere, it'll be there. So off we went.

First, though, a pit stop at Little Haven, while waiting for the beach at Marloes to emerge from the falling tide.

Except that Little Haven is seeing to its flood defences at present - very wise with Chief Climate Change Denier in the White House - and it was a bit too noisy to contemplate having lunch there.

So we contented ourselves with watching some swallows feed their young under the eaves of the pub while wondering, over a swift drink, how the middle classes can afford wet suits for all their children ... 


... before moving on to the pub in Marloes village. Which has an excellent juke box.

Marloes Sands is about a half mile walk from the National Trust car park. The lane was lush with flowers.

I immediately wanted to live HERE. And if I couldn't, I wanted to rent it for three months to write in, undisturbed apart from the sound of birds and the sea pounding the cliffs below. And all the holiday makers clattering past. Out of season preferably. 

Gateholm and Skokholm Islands

I can't really describe how stunned I was by Marloes - the geology is breathtaking, and no photograph can capture the astounding shapes of the cliffs in all their diversity. 

This is the northern end of the beach.

We walked south, however, as far as the receding tide would permit ... 

... remembering to look in all directions as we went.

It made me long for even a basic knowledge of geology ...

... to explain things like this. 

I was fascinated by the seeming contradiction between the symmetry of some of the formations ... 

... and the sensation of compression and contortion. It's as if there's an extremely pissed off stone giant trapped in there until he finishes his geometry homework. 

'What are you on about?' grinned Ted

Still no choughs. But right at the end of the beach, some very noisy oystercatchers. Which also have red bills and pinky-red legs. 

And a massive shark!  😁

As we returned along the beach, a fine spray hung in the air, just visible above the jagged outline of the rocks up ahead.

Hemlock marking the course of a stream

That Winifred Nicholson moment

And back to base with many inadequate photos and a clutch of hagstones from a most remarkable beach.