The Cove

Yesterday, I returned to the scene of a previous night-swim on a truly beautiful evening - green hedgerows framing clear blue skies, the gold-on-gold of evening sun on ripe fields. This being my first daylight visit to the cove, I began with a cliff-top survey. This is (part) of what I saw...


From the sea, the views are, if anything, even better. Rugged cliff faces fall steeply into the sea, their bases riddled with caves and sea arches. My favourite discovery of the evening was the sea arch in the centre of this picture: it leads to a hidden cove with a substantial south-facing shingle beach, almost entirely enclosed by cliffs. From the land, it could only be visited by abseilers, but from the sea, visitors have a choice of two fine arches or one (narrow) open channel. A magical, numinous place.

Outside the cove, wandering among islets and sea stacks, I came across two other swimmers who said they were hunting for crabs; I don't think their prey was in much danger though. The would-be "crab hunts" were armed only with children's hand nets. One of them was trying to dive; I would see the head duck down, followed closely by a disappearing bottom. However, a wet bottom was all that he could manage, and his legs would remain, disembodied, on the surface, thrashing frantically at the air, a little bit like a capsized sheep (well, if sheep were black, bipedal, and could swim).

I decided to have a go at crab-diving myself. The bottom was a mixture of bare rock, kelp-beds and white sand, and the water was extremely clear in the sheltered areas - swimming in fifteen or 20 feet (5 - 6.6 metres) of water, the visibility was so good that the sensation of height made me a little dizzy. Finding crabs was very easy - one should look at the edges of the kelp beds, where prospective victims have food, but only imperfect concealment.

Catching them wasn't much harder - I would drop into a vertical dive with only the tiniest splash, and reach "snatching distance" within a few seconds. The crabs turned out to be a fairly combative bunch, stretching their claws up and back in search of the fingers gripping their carapace. They turned out to be smaller than I expected - the water makes everything seem larger and closer - with most of their spiky shells about the size of my hand. The strength of their legs was amazing, though (comparable to human fingers, I think). The largest and most aggressive of the half-dozen which I caught (and released) did manage to make contact with his right nipper: but it closed on thick and nerveless neoprene.

Very, very good to be back in and beneath the water. I never get tired of the sheer otherness of exploring these "alien" places; of the strange beauty that I find there; of lifting from deep sands and rising weightless, without effort, to the rippling "sky".

Misadventure

I first saw them just outside The City - two bikers, southbound like ourselves, whizzing past the four-wheeled folk. Both with helmets; the second rider had a jacket, the first one just a leather waiscoat. I looked at their gloveless hands, jeans, runners - and their wheelies! - and shook my head in my best old-fogey style.

About three miles along the road, we met them again - this time, stationary. Biker No.1 - he of the bare arms with stylish leather waistcoat was lying in the road about 15 metres from his bike. Biker No. 2 had parked in front of him, and was standing beside him doing nothing in particular. Having called an ambulance as soon as we saw Biker 1 on his back in the road, we did our (amateur) best to assess his injuries.

These weren't nearly as bad as I expected. He was conscious, his limbs were all present and in approximately their usual configuration. However, he did have the following:

- A very deep abrasion on his left wrist, the blood from which had formed a crimson puddle about the size of a dinner plate on the tarmac below his hand, the fingers of which weren't nearly as pink as they should have been.

- A very large area of skin was missing from his left forearm. I think he'ld left it somewhere behind him on the road.

- A small but deep abrasion on his right elbow, with something clean and white showing at the bottom. Bone?

- A bloody mouth.

- Confusion: although conscious, he was apparently unaware of the extent of his injuries, he forcefully expressed the opinion that a visit to A&E would not be necessary, and that the (very promptly) arriving police were "all I f***ing need". I put this down to concussion.

In the end, there wasn't much we could do for him: we called the ambulance, positioned our car with hazard lights flashing so as to protect him from the traffic, and watched as an off-duty nurse bandaged the leakier wounds. Afterwards, watching his blood drying into my wife's blue jeans, I decided that getting a first aid kit and a warning triangle to keep in the boot would be a good idea.

Although I was glad that we gave what help we could, I could find only limited sympathy for this man and his injuries. Speeding, stunts, and very inadequate protective clothing? He didn't have an "accident" so much as an extremely fortunate escape (he was overtaking when he fell, and the car only just missed him).

Surfing. On a kayak.

Back to the sea I went, on Tuesday evening. Came to the beach with a car full of gear; surf was good, but not great, so I decided to experiment. Out came an inflatable kayak (Lild, special offer, bought two). This isn't really a surf kayak - more a paddle-on-calm-lakes kind of vessel, with the paddler sitting on top rather than inside. The paddle itself is assembled from five seperate pieces, and the blades aren't particularly large.

I chose a quiet set to launch, and was pleasantly surprised - designed for novices, the kayak was so wide and stable than falling off was practically impossible. The slight flexing as waves pass seems to make staying on even easier. Best of all, armed with a paddle, I made short work of the trip out to the break, where more conventionally equipped surfers were waiting for their waves.

Result? I caught lots, although I did have some initial problems with weight distribution: waves were getting past me because my weight was too far astern. Leant forward on the next one and slid down the face - then the nose must have dug in, because the next frame on the video is full of bubbles... great fun. I did catch a few waves without incident though; my favourite was the one where the flexing of the kayak causing it to become lodged on the crest of the wave (rather than riding at the foot of the face, like a surfboard would). Fantastic. A leash would be a good investment though - the kayak travelled nearly as far independently as it did with me. See below, the video version of this post...

Return to the sea: A Tight Spot

After a long spell (too long) ashore, I returned last night to the ocean, this time in a sea kayak. We were a large group - a dozen or so colleagues, mostly novices (even my own modest paddling skills appeared relatively competent and economical). The boats were beautifully efficient, and perfect for novices: streamlined enough to let even weak paddlers maintain a good speed, but broad enough to be very stable.

The coast was spectacular: we explored the lee side of a long peninsula: sea cliffs all the way, riddled with caves and sea arches. The water was flat calm - at times we might almost have been airborne, so clear were the colours the rock and weed below. The paddles through the caves and the arches were magical. We had only two capsizes on the trip (neither mine). I did have one awkward moment, though, in a cave. The episode was typical me: the guide stopped at the entrance, which was large and very inviting. Curiousity propelled me forward, and I glided past her, into the gloom beyound the cave mouth, and found a broad and inviting tunnel. Moving deeper, the gloom became a pitchy darkness, navigating now by sound and touch. The walls closed in: I shipped my paddle, and used my hands instead. I slowed to a stop as the loud and hollow slop-splashing just a few metres ahead warned me of the end of the cave: a moment too late, as it turned out.

Above me, a huge rock wedge protruded unseen from the roof almost to water level. Sliding under it, I stopped below its lowest point just as the trough of the swell passed by. Then, the boat rode up and forwards on the surge of the following wave, and I found myself forced onto my back, pinned in the darkness between the deck at my back and the rock pressed into my chest, wondering how high the water intended to rise...

Patience and calm were rewarded: the crest came,and went, and a sharp shove to the offending wedge sent me smartly sternwards, back to the light.

Garretstown - Secret Shore

Another video post...

Two Falls - The Premiere!

As threatened, the video version of the last post...

Two Falls

In another diversion from the African story, a fishy tale from the hills...

Last Saturday, I returned after a hiatus of some years to an old haunt in the hilly country which lies 50 miles or so south west of The City - a pair of swimming holes filled by waterfalls which lie hidden in a cleft high in the hills. After several weeks of good summer weather, I arrived on a hot and sunny afternoon to find the water even clearer than I remembered it; minutes later, I was in it, giant-striding in from 5ft above, video camera rolling. It was all just as I remembered - below the surface, the peat particles perpertually suspended in the water warm the light into the most amazing shades of yellow, orange and brown: closer to the air, the ripples on the surface cast dazzling networks of caustics upon the rock and pebbles beneath.

The lower falls

On to the lower pool, entering from treacherously slippy rocks at the lip of the lower falls. A moment of anticipation in the air, as my body accelerated towards the water; then I am through the interface, into the other world, where gravity is no longer relevant, gliding among swirling storms of silver bubbles which gleam in the black of the deepness below the falls; is this what it would be like to swim through Guinness?

In the calmer reaches, I saw the flickering tail of my old friend the trout, hanging in the current beside a shady rock. In the shallow river which drains the pool, I floated motionless as a shoal of juveniles flashed all around me, even swimming right up to the glass port protecting my camera - amazing!

Coming soon, if technical difficulties can be overcome: the video version of this post