Chasing the moon in Charmouth

If it's the third weekend in April (or sometimes fourth when there's five weekends in the month), it must be roboteering in Crewkerne for Son the Elder and a bit of pottering around in Dorset for me. Like last year, I made for Charmouth to rehearse the poem I was due to read during the Lyra Bristol Poetry Festival closing event on Sunday evening in the sea's hearing. Unlike last year, it stayed sunny all day and was pleasantly warm.

Golden Cap in the middle distance

I also dug around in the shingle while I sat on the beach, amassing a pockeful of sea glass and some pebbles. A mindful trip through time and the rolling waves. 

Later in the afternoon, I decided to walk up the cliff path heading east, to see if I could get a closer view of Golden Cap from the top, and set off following the almost full moon that was just rising.

As I huffed my way up the steep path, I noticed a tiny piece of blue and white hoggin, which also made its way into my pocket.

I climbed and climbed past mounds and banks that reminded me of an iron-age hillfort, but isn't ... 

... and a ruined wall in the middle of a field to my left ... 

... and stunning sea views, with blackthorn and stitchwort, on my right ...

... with a steep drop on either side. 

a close-up of stitchwort

a scattering of bluebells

dog-violets

wild strawberries

first red campion of 2024

shining crane's-bill

gorse and the moon again

After about a mile and a half the path levelled out and skirted inland a little, a line of trees blocking most of the view up ahead, with the exception of the Isle of Portland. Sadly, I didn't have time to follow it or the moon any further, and what's more it was getting dusky, so I headed back downhill. 

Looking towards Lyme Regis and the Cobb

Although it doesn't show up in the photo, I could see all the way alond the coastline to Start Point in Southest Devon. 

more blackthorn and stitchwort

looking down on the River Char and a dewpond

Back on the beach, the last of the sun lit Golden Cap and the cliffs beyond. Maybe next time I'll even reach it.

 

A day out at Charmouth

Last year when Son the Elder wanted me to drive him to an event in Crewkerne, I drew up ambitious plans which entailed walking around a couple of hill forts and then driving a few miles south to the coast at Charmouth. The hill fort experience was amazing, but my son decided he'd had enough by late afternoon, so Charmouth had to wait for another day ...

... and that day was Saturday. No rookie errors this time; I headed straight for the sea, rejoicing in the weather forecast which had predicted rain but was clearly wrong.

Looking west towards Lyme Regis

The River Char crossing the beach

For a moment upon arrival I was confused. I was pretty sure I hadn't been to Charmouth before but it felt so familiar. Then I realised I was thinking of Cuckmere Haven in Sussex, where the eponymous river also crosses the beach, though the cliffs there are of chalk, of course, rather than soft silt, mud and clay.  

It was far from crowded, but most people were scouting for fossils near the cliffs so I plonked myself down on the pebbles and looked for sea glass instead, finding handfuls without even having to move.

Looking east with Golden Cap on the horizon

After a time I started to feel a bit dunched, so wandered along the beach ...

... and immediately found the fossil I wasn't looking for (part of a sizeable ammonite-y thing) ...

... as well as the perfect domed paperweight, grey with a white ring. 

I decided to explore the beach to the east of the Char next, and maybe ascend part of the coast path over the cliff to get a better view of Golden Cap, just as soon as I'd had a drink of Ribena back at the car, but the moment I got there, it started to spot with rain. Sitting inside until it went off, the minutes became hours and the hours became the rest of the afternoon and finally it was time to drive back to Crewkerne to pick up Son the Elder, who hadn't wanted to finish early this year, as it turned out. 

Never mind, I had a quantity of sea glass, an unlooked-for fossil and a couple of interesting pebbles to take home with me.  A good day out.

Lambert's Castle and Coney's Castle

Son the Elder needed to be in deepest Somerset for a spot of roboteering, so I dropped him off in Crewkerne and headed for the Dorset border. My plan was to park at the hill fort called Lambert's Castle and stroll over to nearby Coney's Castle, before heading on down to Charmouth for a sit on the beach, a scrabble for interesting pebbles and sea glass, and a sight of the sea, as a reward for my earlier burst of light exercise. 

Lambert's Castle is an Iron Age hill fort sitting atop the 840 ft high Lambert's Castle Hill. Unfortunately the day was hazy, so the views of the coast and other hill forts nearby were unclear ... 

... but there was much of interest right under my nose, which made up for it. Like the preposterous stands of beech.

(Other trees are available.)

It was possibly rather early for the height of bluebell season in this wind-scoured spot, but they were still something of a spectacle.

I had a leisurely wander about, to the trig point ... 

... and along its boundaries ... 

... as well as its Bronze Age tumulus, a damaged bowl barrow, where I sat for a bit, having first asked permission of its chieftain. 

Then I headed off along the ridge and a long descending lane that skirted Coney's Castle ... 

... along the sides of which grew a madness of wild flowers.

Sort of clockwise: Jack by the Hedge, white and blue bluebells, red campion, ramsons, dandelions, Herb-robert, bluebells, cow parsley, greater stitchwort, tormentil, wood sorrel, wild strawberries, violets and primroses, cowslips 

By the time I reached the bottom of the hill, it was quite hot for April, despite the breeze. I started talking to a farmer and he suggested I took a short cut straight up to Coney's Castle - 'other side of the horses, by the concrete - there's a bridge.' I retraced my steps, and sure enough, the ditch was crossable by a slab, after which an unmarked path wound its way through bluebells, but bloody hell, it was steep. (My photos give no idea of the gradient.) 

Just as I'd decided this was as good a place as any to die, even without being caught  in a storm of arrows, I reached the outer ring of banks ... 

... and then the top.

It was clearly more sheltered here than on Lambert's Castle, as bluebells were rippling all around the summit. 

Having crossed the fort, I headed back in the direction of my car, ready to hit the coast. My phone rang: it was Son the Elder. Could I pick him up? He'd had enough and didn't want to stay as long as he'd intended. 

So, no Charmouth then. My hips started to shriek that they would have preferred to sit on the beach ALL ALONG ACTUALLY, and momentarily I felt cheated. I watched a kestrel turn into the wind up by the pylon before being swept out of view. Though there's something to be said for an earlier night than planned, my hips continued, in a rather more conciliatory vein, and I had to agree, they were probably right.