Framed pastel seascape

I must go down to the sea again

Says the old poem.

And I know why

Beauty and violence

Gentle lapping wavelets

And white horses.

Frantic families

Lost sailors

Storms and waves

So high they reach up, up

To the sky.

Birds skim the surface

Grab fish in their beaks

Puffins and Skewers

Cormorants and Choughs

Ever changing

Sometimes boring

I must go there again.

Drawing waves

Imagined waves. I still haven’t been anywhere near the beach, but I’m imagining a sea whipped up by a storm. Tuesdays #bandofsketchers prompt was waves. I’ve been to the seaside during storms, but not big ones. I think this could have done with more foam, but it’s hard to draw with a 6b pencil and black ink pen.

Still missing the sea

Sunshine, a stick of rock, sandy beach, bucket and spade to make sandcastles. The cool feeling of wet sand as you wiggle your toes in it…or the hard ridges of sand rippled by shallow water. Memories of collected shells, long thin razor shells, cockle shells, mussels, spirals and smooth. So many types.

All these memories were made on various holidays and day trips to beaches, looking out over the sea, walking through seaweed that littered beaches, sand flies and sand hoppers.

Remembering catching various trains, some of them were steam trains. Watching the countryside fly by, a river running on one side of the train, then the other. The train running past the caravan site we stayed at.

Sunshine, rain, home made cooking in the caravan on a tiny stove. Sleeping on a bed made of boards and cushions where the table had stood. Gas mantles that hissed when mom lit the lights at night.

The tiny crab that escaped from my plastic bucket and spade and hid in my shoe… And it’s pincers snapping on my little toe!

Memories and the wish to make more. Missing the seaside.

Go back to the sea.

Along the pier

Walk out to Sea

Across the tide

My life to be?

An old man thinks

Of times gone by

Boyhood days

Of gulls and skies.

Of storms and fog

Waves rolling high.

A girl goes skipping

The length of the pier

In the arcades

Candy floss, she cheers.

A woman now

Looks back in time.

Worm eaten memories

Are lost in rhyme.

From young to old

Each person’s regrets

Are tied together

In their own nets.

Sea and sand

Cliffs and rock

All remembered

As the gulls flock.

Water bottle

An up close photo of a plastic water bottle three years ago… I loved the bubbles in it. I don’t buy them very often because they cause pollution and damage the environment.

It might not sound like much, but billions of tons of plastic are getting into out seas, into landfill, being burnt, turning into rubbish that sea creatures eat by mistaking it for jellyfish. Micro plastic is getting into the good chain.

So. I will buy less plastic. Will you?

Memories of Boggle Hole

I was talking to a friend who had got caught in the tide coming in at Boggle Hole a few years ago and I remembered our adventure (not).

Boggle Hole is a small valley on the North Yorkshire coast. There is a Youth Hostel there. A couple of miles north is the pretty (but steep) village of Robin Hoods Bay.

We decided to walk along the beach to the village for a drink and evening meal. We knew we had to be back at Boggle Hole hostel before it locked up for the night. I kept saying we needed to go, and eventually we left the pub. We realised if we climbed the hill and walked along the cliff path it would take too long, so we decided to walk along the beach. This is made up of large slabs of rock and sand. The slabs slope slightly with the bits closest to the land dipping down. A stream runs out of the Boggle Hole valley and then north along the beach then out to sea.

It was starting to get dark and the tide was coming in. We walked, then started to jog. The water was now ankle height so we walked further out where the rock slabs were higher. The stream was backfilling as the seawater ran along it, and it was getting very dark. My hubby had a torch, and we decided to go on as we would never get to the hostel in time.

Suddenly the water was coming in really fast. The water was up to my waist and very cold. My hubby was wading thigh deep as he is a lot taller than me. A glimmer of moonshine showed the headland, we just had to get round it and then we would be on dry land! But the rock dipped down as we waded towards the valley. The stream bed was lower and we had to ford it…..

I was chest deep and starting to panic. Hubby was not much better off. Much more of this and we would have to swim… But the ground was rising as we waded. Soon we were out, freezing and soaking wet. We ran up the path to the hostel and got back with minutes to spare!

After drying off we slept soundly and went back down to the beach as the sun rose. The beautiful sunrise to the East was disturbed by a crashing sound…. Bits of cliff were falling off as the sun dried the earth! That part of the Yorkshire coast is notorious for crumbling. The cliffs are mostly blue mudstone called Blue Lias, where dinosaur bones and ammonites among other things are uncovered by winter storms.

We were young and healthy but I have heard of other people getting caught out at Boggle Hole, but it was a memorable visit!

Talacre 2011

Talacre is a beach on the North Coast if Wales 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿. Its really interesting because there’s an old lighthouse with a sculpted metal figure of a person leaning over the walkway at the top of the tower. There is no access to it, but it makes it look occupied. There are sand dunes around it and then caravan sites nearby. It’s a few miles between Prestatyn and Flint and is actually on the Dee estuary I think. I hope one day to go back. X