Tuesday, 27 January 2015

Burnham on Sea Beach in January


Aside from walks on the hills north and south of Burnham on Sea this month, we have taken (or I have taken as I get rather bored being stuck indoors) walks along the beach during the last month. The idea is that we are getting in shape to do the Mission Mendip Walk later this year (whether I can take that kind of punishment I will know in a couple more weeks, it’s an 18 mile walk and my lumbar didn’t half complain the other day. However it may just be a case of building back up). But I digress.

When the sun shines ... and even when it doesn’t, Burnham beach always has people walking their dogs, walking themselves, running, kiting, land yachting, metal detecting , fishing or kicking a ball about.

Maybe it’s because there are no Groynes, maybe it’s because the town is almost an island right on the seas edge, self contained with a captive audience. I think I’m saying other beach fronts I’ve been to are busy, but none to my recollection have been quite so busy or well utilised as Burnham on Sea given the towns apparent size.

The pictures below are all from this month, taken by myself or Amanda. Amanda has taken some excellent zoomed shots; mine a little less exciting. They extend from our neck of the woods round by the river mouth (River Brue) out as far as the Lighthouse (mentioned recently in the Huffington Post as one of the world’s most beautiful http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/homeawaycouk/worlds-most-beautiful-lighthouses_b_3676915.html).


The mud can appear, silver, blue or tea coloured dependent on the light conditions. It can look like gently moving water or be pan flat depending on the previous tides conditions. The Quantocks can be erased by a subtle mist lit by a white sun, and the sea can be fearfully rough as it slams the steps and sea wall. There is architecture and interest, little quirks, and a sense of wholeness that belies that fact the seafront part of town is maybe only 600mtrs end to end (that’s the bit with building along it). Enjoy the pictures.







































Tuesday, 20 January 2015

Quantock Common

On Sunday last (18th January 2015), and in spite of us both being a bit ragged (I have a head cold thing that leaves me breathless, and Amanda has a knee thing that really needs a proper look at). We decided to head off to Steart Point to the nature reserve and newly flooded area.
Warm Breath Lets you breathe easy.
A hollow pond fed by run off, it may disappear in spring
However we missed the turn (no idea how) and I just couldn’t be bothered to find a way to turn around (the A39 heading west is busy and the side roads few and far between, as well as narrow). I just carried on to a spot we’ve driven past a few times, it’s between Nether Stowey and Holford and is a sizeable carpark just off the A39, with National Trust signage. The truth is I was under the weather and maybe Amanda should have been driving.
Birch, Beech, Oak and Bracken

The walk is steep in places starting in ancient oak wood, with the odd Beech and Birch dotted about and we only went as far as Shervage Wood, which almost exclusively Oak. The pictures are from below the wood, as it in itself is densely packed with stunted and twisted oaks. Very interesting from my perspective, as they are clearly a product of the wind that whistles over the hills from the Bristol Channel. As you descend the slope, the trees (probably of similar age but with relative shelter) grow tall and straight.

Rainbow ahead of cloud.
Both of us were suffering, I could barely catch my breath and had to stop every 50mtrs or so, and Amanda’s knees refused to warm up and get with the program. However we pushed on because ... well sometime you just have to.
Same cloud about to rain on Burnham on Sea (Hinkley Point Nuclear Power Station is the big square thing on the coast)
The Levels and the Mendips
View inland across the Heath
Pictures as ever speak a thousand words. But for clarity, it was freezing or below, the wind was light, the sun was fiercely bright. When we started out after our nice early wake up there was the remains of a minor snowfall, that in turn had been frosted over, giving the ground a sparkly white aspect. On the way up we had to remove the rubber feet from our poles to utilise the spikes because the rubbers kept on skidding on the frozen ground. But once the Sun’s rays had played over the ground for a couple of hours we descended in red mud and slippery leaf litter.
Horse roam free, breaking the ice with their hooves.
Twisted Oaks Shervage Wood

On the saddle between Shervage Wood and the earlier Trig point from where we took most of the panoramic pictures. We were approached by two horses, who demonstrated deft skill at breaking the ice on puddles to get to the water. It was a great short but steep walk, it helped me expand my lungs which just didn’t want to work, and I’ve felt significantly better since. Enjoy the pictures.
Massive open grown Oak, made into a giant branched Tepee 
Quantocks, Heath, Cloud, Sky, Mendips, Sea, Levels ... you can have it all.



Monday, 5 January 2015

St Audries Bay

It was our first day out of the New Year, a little tentative because of the weather, and Amanda’s knee problem.

Cold grey, quiet and empty sums ups the ambience of the west on Sunday; mist and fog that deadens noise, a chilling grey damp that reduces vistas to percentages of miles and sounds to eerie disembodied susurrations or ghost ship clangs. To qualify that: St Audries Bay is off the beaten track anyway. Only directly accessible through two holiday campsites that terminate on cliffs that the sea desires be made flat, or from beaches adjacent west three miles to Watchet, to the east you’d struggle to find a way down or up for another three miles unless you knew exactly where you were going (if you didn’t then you could wander for double that).

The danger; were you without wit is deadly on that stretch of lonely coast on a winters day. The tide comes as far as the foot of the cliffs, though in truth despite being the second fastest tide in the world, it has a long walk ashore. However were you foolish and you got caught between steps up those cliffs, you would be lucky to survive.

The feeling of emptiness, and other worldliness of St Audries Bay on that winters day is so difficult to describe. Green grass made grey green, grey tea colour sea, an almost featureless grey sky, all blended together by the ice cold damp of mist. I was reminded of the atmosphere of the film `The Road’ a deadly quiet you dare not break for fear of cannibals, or Jurassic park for fear of Velocirapters. But for all that, it was also beautiful and empty, the sea a long way offshore, a vast open beach of mixed geology explained in scientific detail below, courtesy of the UK Fossil Network and Wikipedia.

The forshore landscape is alien,  great bands of blue grey rocks all tilted fifteen or so degrees to the flat of the sea, great wide bands of red and grey. That on the vertical plain are simply stripes, but in the near horizontal plain form vast sheets of geological history 200 million and more years old, and looking for all the world like well worn giant cobbled stairs laying fallen. Between these steps of grey stones are runnels of smooth red mud and sand from softer bands of rocks eroding into fine silts washing out into Bridgwater bay and the Bristol Channel. Close in to the cliffs are rounded pebbles from the size of pea to bigger than a mans head. Many of these grey lumps are replete with myriad fossil remains. Between the less mobile rolling rocks and their smaller cousins are bands of beach quality sand. And littered all along the foot of the cliffs are whole trees bleached white, bark sloughing, skeletal roots trying to hold the remains of soil that once held them too close to the edge of the cliff’s top. Enclosed by mist your perspective, your view is shortened and this in turn encapsulates this view and creates an island world in the minds eye.

As you descend from the mobile-home park, that feeds the beach its visitors, in the summer you become aware of a waterfall a few hundreds yards distant. I was reminded briefly of falls as we drove through the alps. Ones that have so far to fall the water turns to spray before it ever hits the ground as a stream. However scale and volume of fluid play as big a part in that equation as plain old height. At about thirty feet the fall isn’t high and the volume of water is not huge, however on the day we visited the fall was swollen by days of rain and so we were treated to spray and stream, another layer of sound and sight to add to the entirely alien world we’d entered 29 miles from our front door.

Please read the exerts below, and or visit the sites. And if you’re down this way visit St Audries Bay, or Watchet and walk east a way, you won’t be disappointed.

Exert cribbed from here UK Fossils Network

St Audries bay is most interesting for the geology of Somerset. To the East the bay exposes nearly the whole sequence of rocks from the Upper Triassic Mercia Mudstones and to the West of the bay, the beds succeed down to the Lower Jurassic Blue Lias beds. The Aldergrove beds (alternating gray mudstones and limestones) are well exposed. The Lower parts of the Blue Lias beds can be seen higher up walking further West.
http://www.audries.ukfossils.co.uk/Audries-Fossils-Geology/geology-guide.htm

and of course.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geology_of_Somerset

The Quantock Hills are largely formed by rocks of the Devonian Period, which consist of sediments originally laid down under a shallow sea and slowly compressed into solid rock. In the higher north western areas older Early Devonian rocks, known as Hangman Grits, predominate, and can be seen in the exposed rock at West Quantoxhead quarry, which were worked for road building. Further south there are newer Middle and Late Devonian rocks, known as Ilfracombe beds and Morte Slates. These include sandstone and limestone, which have been quarried near Aisholt. At Great Holwell, south of Aisholt, there is a limestone cave, which is the only one in the Devonian limestone of North Devon and West Somerset. The lower fringes around the hills are composed of younger rocks of the Triassic period, these are known as New Red Sandstone rocks which represent the deposits of large river systems that crossed a desert plain, and often contain irregular masses or veins of gypsum, which was worked on the foreshore at Watchet. The scarp is to the west with a dip slope to the east. The west side is cut by combes with broad valleys on the east. The hill tops are open heathland with woods on the slopes.

Several areas have outcrops of slates and between St Audries and Kilve, younger rocks of the Jurassic Period can be found. This area falls within the Blue Anchor to Lilstock Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI) and is considered to be of international geological importance. At Kilve are the remains of a red brick retort, built in 1924, when it was discovered that the shale found in the cliffs was rich in oil.[55] At Blue Anchor the coloured alabaster found in the cliffs gave rise to the name of the colour "Watchet Blue".

Wednesday, 31 December 2014

Happy New Year

It’s been a funny old year, circles or circuits  completed, ends beginnings, metaphorical repeats of previous years events or strange parallels  with the past. History repeating itself maybe (but not quite).
On this day last year we were in Ribamar Spain, looking forward to dinner in the company of Dutch, German and English travellers much like ourselves, looking for a bit of adventure and sun, before it’s too late to do so anymore. Before continuing our journey around Europe.

Today I’m in a double locked data center SCC (service control centre) in Woking Surrey. I’ve been living four days a week in a B&B opposite Woking station for the last month and a bit; sleeping in a child size single bed, eating take away’s or subsisting out of a Coop on the walk to this place of temporary work, while Amanda has been at home alone getting us ready for Christmas and keeping house ... in between going to work of course.

It couldn’t be more diametrically opposite last years situation; separated by work, stuck in one country miles apart. It’s a Yin to last year’s Yang, poetic justice administered by fate, a karmic backlash. The makings of metaphorical soup.

I’d like some space to get my head around all the changes and to re-cap and recount the year and the events since the last post and this one. But that wasn’t the purpose of the blog, and it’s not relevant (I may have a scribble for my sanity, writing certainly helps with compartmentalisation) , and I shouldn’t be looking to excuse our absence this last month or three.

What I’ll do, is prepare another photo set of the year and post it in the New Year. And we will live in hope that next year (when hopefully a full-time role closer to home comes through) that we’ll be getting out and about again looking at stuff.


In partial mitigation technology has let us down; both of our laptops were bulging at the seams with photos. Our tiny Netbook developed a fault, so I transferred the photos to a terabyte drive for safety. And the unit I’m using now had a Google Chrome induced illness (fixed now), that meant the hard drive was being tetchy so all the photos from it went to the terabyte drive (then compounded by me being away so much) so that as I write today I have no access to our pictures. I think in the New Year, I’m going to set us up some `Cloud’ space, and get our technology re-aligned. The `Cloud’ what a lovely metonym. I refer to the post before last; we generate so much data now that it’s simply become a scary prospect to have it all under one roof, fire, flood etc could see it all lost.


Final word: I’m working in the `Cloud’ or one of the Clouds, all six acres over two floors of it, the machine world where people tend and care for electronic property, the trillions of ones and zero’s defining every aspect of modern life including every word on this page. At this moment I am conflicted, by my loathing of this environment, the wonder at what it contains, and the terror of how much would be lost if an intergalactic EMP actually went off right next to our little planet.

Happy New Year to all those who work in the 24 hour, 365 days a year environments that we have created to make our lives simpler ... oh the irony.
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