Take time out to scroll through these fantastic pictures.
Thanks to the Adam at Messing About in Boats for spotting them.
The Sea
On Steeple Point – “Treachery at Sharpnose”
Steeple Point
Jeremy Seal, in Treachery at Sharpnose, covers a story that I have wondered about since, as a small child, I first saw the figurehead of the Caledonia in Morwenstow churchyard. Somewhat taller than me at the time, holding cutlass and shield, she ignored me, looking blankly towards the sea.
Higher Sharpnose Point, February 2008
Higher Sharpnose Point is two miles north of Steeple Point, which I have written about before – here. I was christened in Morwenstow Church more years ago than I care to remember. This coast has deep meaning for me, just as it does for everyone born in the immediate hinterland.
The Reverend Hawker viewed our forefathers as ‘a mixed multitude of smugglers, wreckers and dissenters of various hue’. A colourful population in those days, obviously, but I wonder if this was the whole story.
Today, I am happy with the label ‘dissenter’, and I have done some casual wrecking in my life – (wrecking: a term used locally for scouring the shoreline for whatever washes shore – in my youth it was wood and various floating objects that had washed overboard from passing ships – nowadays it is plastic junk. Shipwrecks still occur but very rarely).
But ‘smuggler’? No.
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It is strange to read about your own locality. It never quite sounds like the place you think you know so well, and, although it is a pleasure to read about it, (like seeing your name in print), it is a shock to find that someone else sees it in another light.
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Above Hawker’s Hut, February 2008, The rocks that swallowed the Caledonia.
What happened to the nine man crew of the Caledonia, from Arbroath, on 8th September 1842 was truly terrible. The recently restored figurehead in the churchyard is a poignant memorial to those interred there.
The author tells of his research and the journey he took to find the ‘truth’ of what happened. In the end he comes up with definite facts through which he weaves an interesting story. I found the research fascinating; I was disappointed at his apparent dismissal of Hawker, and felt the fictional account of the final voyage to be ‘film-of-the-book’ and tending to take the edge off it – (a clue to this is in the title):
“He laid a hand upon his brother-in-law’s shoulder. It had been nine months, he briefly realised, since he had laid his hand there, on their departure from Rio. Then the business of the ship was calling and their reconciliation was done.
……. An hour later, somewhere off Boscastle, the storm hit them.”
That’s not my idea of real history. One of the problems I have with the book is that, by interpreting the facts in this way, the author is straying into areas that he has condemned the eccentric parson for entering.
But do read it. It is a good tale. I enjoyed it and read it straight through – beginning to end.
Higher Sharpnose Point, February 2008 – a fraction of the sea met by the crew of the Caledonia.
Acknowledging the past
On Boxing Day, at low tide, we walked on the beach.
Empty quay, Bude, Boxing Day, 2008
The weather was one of blue skies and crystal-clear visibility.
The views were amazing, but there is always more to a view than meets the eye – there is a history that rides with it.
Ceres, Bude
This is not a request to focus on the past, but to share it – to acknowledge that the past existed and that those who lived through it were no different from us.
They too saw the world change before their eyes and their old certainties lost to an unknown future.
Low tide, Bude, Boxing Day, 2008
Thus the toast this Christmas is the toast of Christmas’ past – “Absent Friends”.
Ceres, waiting for the tide, Bude
On Steeple Point – Low tide, Duckpool
Here are four images taken yesterday morning at Duckpool on the coast of North Cornwall.
A combination of low tide, bright sunshine, and a cold, easterly, offshore wind.
This is a wreckers’ coastline – to be avoided on a lee shore.
Yesterday it was a place to take the air after Christmas.
For love of a boat – on Cap Corse, Corsica
Macinaggio, Corsica 2005
Amazingly, you can hear sounds from around Macinaggio too.
For the origin of this series – here
Inward bound
I took a series of images of Cemluna inward bound on the last of the tide this morning.
Not my usual subject but the moment was right.
Whether you are interested in ships or not, I defy you to ignore the grace of such a large object being shepherded gently through the water
Then this evening, I was directed to Tugster’s blog – stunning images and a facinating site.
For love of a boat – in Crete
Photography is not always the answer
Photography is often frustrating because what you are able to record is a small fraction of what you want to record. Sometimes it’s what is outside the image that makes the image itself worthwhile. At other times it’s better not to try but to leave the moment alone.
This was the case the other morning when we set out to enjoy a short sail.
As we left the Sound, the wind strengthened and steadied from the west. We settled on a course south south west, Eddystone on our starboard bow – four and a half knots across a gentle swell.
The sky had been heavily overcast all morning – a dark layer of stratus that shut out the sun and promised rain. But, for now, there were clear patches of blue sky showing in the west.
It was that approaching blue sky that held our attention as, four miles out, we watched the coast come to life – cherished Cornwall unveiling in the sunshine.
First the Dodman, then the steep cliffs around Fowey, the green fields behind Polperro and on to the bright houses of Looe, sunlight flashing on expectant windows; Downderry sparkled along the water’s edge, pointing to Portwrinkle still hidden behind Rame, before the headland itself beamed out at us.
Silenced, we breathed in the startling November light, marvelling at the clarity of detail, excited by the intensity of the experience. Behind us the sea seemed to darken.
Suddenly, inland, the high chimney stack on Kit Hill stood proud in the sunshine. Next, a group of buildings on Plymouth Hoe, white beacons in the afternoon, overwhelming their less fortunate neighbours. In the foreground, the Breakwater leapt at us. And the whole stunning display moved eastward – scudding along the South Devon coast.
By now, Cornwall was dark again and disappearing fast.
Five miles out we turned for home, basking in our own ten-minute spotlight before, with the Cornish coast lost behind Rame, the gloom bore down on us. Dartmoor disappeared behind the city, leaving it without background – bleak, solemn and solitary, enveloped in drizzle.
We rounded the Breakwater in the murk, the band of drizzle mercifully lifting as we crossed the Sound.
A little later, dry and ashore, we watched the next band of rain cross the Cattewater, blotting out the familiar view.
It was a day to treasure – a day when there was more to sailing than the sailing, more images than could possibly be recorded.
For love of a boat – on the Dalmatian Coast, Croatia
For love of a boat – on the River Thames, England
Richmond Bridge, River Thames 2004
For the origin of this series – here
Beyond Steeple Point 