Someone mailed me yesterday and asked me about the logistics of paddling to Red Sands Fort, out in the Thames Estuary.
To my shame, I can’t find the email and have no idea what I did with it. If you’re reading, any chance you could contact me again, please?
This striped 25m tower was built in 1832 near Fowey in South Cornwall, to distinguish Gribben (aka Gribbin) Head from neighbouring headlands, hence allowing safe approach to Fowey.
Because this is the internet, absolutely anything is possible, including building your own daymark.
The hunk of rock above is Out Stack, which happens to be the northernmost point of Britain. It’s located a short way north of Muckle Flugga Lighthouse, which is a short way north of the Shetland Isles.
I certainly wasn’t on my own, out on the water up there on top of the UK. The skies were full of gannets from the colonies on the rocks of Muckle Flugga, intermittently diving for food. Whenever one surfaced from a dive with a fish in his mouth, he would instantly be mobbed by scores of great skuas (aka ‘Bonxies’) who would harass and even physically assault the gannet until he dropped his food…leading to another ugly scrap, this time amongst the skuas.
Although time and tide dictated that I was supposed to be moving on, I spent a full hour floating in this one spot, watching this extraordinary and unending spectacle unfold around me.
This extraordinary granite arch is found on the islet of Enys Dodnan, located off Land’s End in Cornwall. It is a highlight of one of the best coastal trips in Britain.
The murky final image was taken on a rainy misty day last February, but is included here to show the whole isle. The jagged stack behind is the Armed Knight.
This fellow’s take-off was much more impressive than what followed. He got caught up in the gusty draughts in the cliff gulley and zig-zagged seawards out of control, barely avoiding the walls with manic flapping. In fact, I suspect that was what he meant to do…
There are only two on the Island; the Needles (above) and St Catherine’s Point (below). Both are spectacular to paddle past, in exposed locations and overlooking significant tide races.
Puffins, gotta love them. These guys on Skomer Island in Pembrokeshire practically came and stared down my lens…
Crossing between the mainland and the Isles of Scilly…
The Traffic Separation Scheme (TSS) will certainly give you something to look at. The TSS crosses the middle third of your voyage, a massive maritime motorway. The two ‘lanes’ that you cross (north going, then south going) are each 4.5km wide with a 3km ‘central reservation’. Despite the wide lanes, the big ships tend to form up in a single line cutting the corner from the Channel to the North Atlantic by the shortest route. The sight of container vessels stretching back to the horizon is pretty memorable.
Note to self: must cease interrupting training runs by stopping to take grainy mobile phone photos.
This morning I ran the local hills as per usual, but went a bit further; I followed the two Purbeck ridges into and out of the military firing ranges (they’re not firing this weekend, thankfully), via the beach at Worbarrow Bay. The highlight was a run along the top of the awesome Gadcliff, a series of epic overhanging precipices. The sun peeked above the horizon just as I was doing this, mindblowing. The lowlight was the gruelling hill from the beach back up on to the second ridge, effectively a 500 foot staircase…
When I staggered back through my front door, I’d clocked 15 miles and about 2500 feet of ascent in 144 minutes. I’m pleased that I survived this, but I do have to remind myself that the Ultra-marathon is just a month away, and happens to be well over twice what I did this morning. Nothing can go wrong (*sob*).
The final picture below shows the Gadcliff on a summer’s day, a few years back. The guy in front pretending to check the map (i.e. posing for the camera) is my friend Chris, who tragically died in a kayaking accident on the River Dart in November 2009. Part of the reason I have entered this ludicrous race and am habitually running around hills at dawn wearing ludicrous tights, is that I am keen to raise money for Dartmoor Search and Rescue Team Ashburton, who gave great and selfless assistance in recovering my friend. I cannot bring my friend back (and he is dearly, dearly missed by so many of us), but I can at least attempt to achieve something positive to honour his name. Please consider supporting the DSRT’s great work by sponsoring me…
One of my favourite images ever. Approaching 150,000 gannets on Bass Rock, in the Firth of Forth. We had been able to smell them from several miles back…
Presumably this little fellow is trying to figure out where (if anywhere) he is going to land. Presumably that’s him also in the photo just below, elated at having secured himself a spot.
The location is Elegug Stacks in South Pembrokeshire. Guillemots galore…
Lundy Island seen from Mouth Mill in Devon at sunset, back in 2007. A friend and I had just landed at the end of a great days’ paddling; whilst I fiddled with the camera, my mate got the dinner on.
Approaching Bishop Rock Lighthouse, Isles of Scilly. There is nothing past this, but America.
Whilst the Stevenson family lit up remote shores of Scotland, construction in England and Wales was dominated by Trinity House Chief Engineers James Walker and James Douglass. When James Walker replaced the 1776 lighthouse on Pembrokeshire’s Smalls Rock (constructed using wooden and cast iron piles), he protected his granite tower from the waves with a stepped base. Walker adopted the idea of iron piles when he built on Bishop Rock, a tiny outcrop on the fringes of the Isles of Scilly. This proved a failure, being washed away by a storm in 1850. He recommenced work, completing a 37m tower made of conventional granite in 1858. Over two decades of use, the tower suffered wave damage and developed cracks. James Douglass had been responsible for replacing Smeaton’s Tower on the Eddystone reef in 1882; he now recommended encasing Bishop Rock Lighthouse inside a 49m tower, with the innovation of a massive (11.6m high and 12.5m thick) stone drum to protect the base. The work was completed in 1887 by his son William (the Douglass’ were another lighthouse ‘dynasty’) and the tower still stands in defiance of the Atlantic’s full force, arguably the crowning glory of the lighthouse age.
All along the Purbeck coast into the late twentieth century, limestone was quarried away. This industry has left significant gaps in the cliffs. These now disused quarries extend back into the hillsides behind; there are numerous vast caverns measuring hundreds of metres in length. These are dangerous places to visit, with crumbling ceilings and shaky roof supports. Seriously, don’t try this at home.
Occasionally, illegal(?) raves are held inside Purbeck’s caves; playing loud noise from booming speakers whilst hundreds of folk jump up and down, strikes me as the perfect definition of ‘natural selection’…
Pleasant bimble today, on my favourite river, which gave a National Park its name. I will never tire of it.
Dartmoor Search and Rescue Team Ashburton were out after dark yesterday searching for some overdue paddlers (whom I understand turned up safe), and they were out training river crossings today on the upper reaches. They do great work for paddlers, please consider supporting them. Which reminds me, I have to go out and run now.
The English Channel seen early morning today from Swyre Head, whilst trying out a new toy.
For years I’ve ridden hardtail bikes, and my backside has grown accustomed to incessantly having a saddle rammed into it. However, I recently realised that the front suspension had long since died on my bike, and that the reason my downhill rides were routinely characterised by barely-in-control-white-knuckle-terror (whilst my friends effortlessly shot off ahead) wasn’t entirely down to my riding incompetence. The ‘logical’ solution was, buy new front forks. The ‘bloke logic’ solution was, buy a completely new and exponentially more expensive bike.
He who dies with the most toys definitely wins.
Like the title says.
Perhaps my favourite local spot is the hill of Swyre Head, located a lungbursting 3.5 mile crosscountry run/ cycle from my house. I’ve been seeing a lot of it recently, due to training for next month.
However, I only recently noticed that it isn’t the only spot named Swyre Head in Dorset; the pictures here show another Swyre Head, located just a few more miles down the road near Lulworth Cove. The photos were taken on a wet and windy Christmas walk. The coastal path hereabouts is ridiculously steep, going up and down repeatedly; I’m particularly familiar with this, as it was also the route of the muddy 14.5 mile coastal trail race I recently survived.
Local winds averaged 50 knots, with gusts of 70 mph around lunchtime today. But here is the English Channel on a relatively calmer day, last week.
