Standing in One Place

Standing in one place

I feel this is what I need at the moment. To be still and take in all that I can see. I have a few local favourite places to walk, the one that best provides a point to stand in one place is at the end of The Street. I have written about The Street many times in this blog and in my previous one named, www.thesaltwayfarer.blogspot.co.uk

The Street, exposed on a low Spring tide.

The Street is situated off the North coast of Kent at Whitstable; it is a natural shingle bank that emerges at each low tide. The first few days of this week must have been Spring tides as The Street was exposed more than usual.

The Street from onshore.

It is at these times that it is even more magical to walk out onto it and savour the views. You can look further out to sea, towards the historic WW2 Maunsell forts and the modern wind-farm or turn around and see the land from an angle mostly enjoyed by sailors.

At the end of the shingle spit, looking towards shore.

At the end of the spit this time a rarely seen section of the Street was visible; it was full of seabirds and was noisy with their squawking. When I turned my back to them and looked onshore I could hear the gentle lapping of the water onto the sides of the spit and enjoy the view.

Seabirds on the second exposed 'island' squawked noisily.

The shore looked a long way away, sounds from the beach were carried towards me; dogs barking, children playing, and conversations hung in the air and softly floated out to sea. I am always amazed at the way that sound travels so well over water, I have learnt not to talk too loudly when swimming in the water with friends or walking out on the mud as the tide goes out, for what you expect to be private is fully known once you come ashore!

A runner appeared from nowhere!

As I stood still at the end of The Street, the world still moved around me. The tide was on the turn and gently lapped and took some of the land back for itself. A runner appeared very quickly beside me, she must have incorporated the shingle spit into her route, and stood for just a moment, looking out towards the horizon; she then turned and was off, running back down towards the shore.

Running back towards the shore.

She was replaced by a dog walker with two large black Labradors who darted in and out of the water. The seagulls squawked, the tide came in a bit further and I started to walk back, suddenly realising just how chilly I was.

Walking to the Same Place

The next morning I saw that The Street looked even further exposed and had many people already walking out on it, so I had to join them, knowing just how special these spring sunny days were, especially if the tides allowed the fuller length of The Street to be explored.

The next day...

This time it was warmer and I took my time to walk to the end. I have been out on this piece of shingle many times and each time it surprises me. There were traces of where the tide had moved smaller pebbles onto the Street at irregular intervals.

Tidal pattern of shingle on The Street.

It created a tidal pattern up that particular side of the spit which was easy to overlook if viewed from above but much clearer to see from a distance. This often happens with walking the same route, details of past experiences, such as this tidal rearranging of shingle can easily be overlooked but are subtle and a delight to discover.

Wading bird footprints.

Second visit, bird prints and shadow.

I took some more photographs of seagull footprints. They use the shingle bank as a hard surface to crack open shells. I often watch them pick up a shell, wheel high above the sea and then drop the shell down onto the shingle, breaking it open, then flying down and eating the contents.

Seaweed and shadow.

The tide had exposed even more shingle at the far end and I was surprised at the amount of seaweed that was exposed. Clumps of what I thought to be Pepper Dulse were dotted all across its surface. Red feathery seaweed moved with the tide, securely fixed in the shallows and longer thin red seaweed swayed in the deeper water.

Red seaweed, I must find out their names.

As I bent down to pick and eat some of the Dulse I caught the eye of another tidal explorer, he had slowly worked his way up the side of the street, wearing wellingtons and paddling in the shallows, occasionally bending down too, to investigate further. We said a cheery ‘hello’ and both got on with our preoccupations. I wonder what he was looking for if I see him again I will ask.

Moving Time

Being on The Street is a perfect antidote to my daily routine which seems to consist of rushing around. I can stand still on the end and look out to sea, over to the horizon and its interesting juxtaposition of the forts and the windmills. I can hear ‘real life’ sounds of people and lives and yet be in a relatively wild place where the birds calls, the rhythmic sound of the water slapping the shingle and the noisy wind can be total.

Lapping waves.

Living as I do, by the sea I am aware of the daily ebb and flow of the tides and the changes in the tidal heights and lows which change in accordance to the moon. Yet I don’t always remember, it is when I make time to walk out on the Street that I recognise this movement of time and then many other aspects of my life are able to be put into perspective.

Looking towards the east and onshore.

This walk out towards the horizon on a stretch of land that is only exposed twice a day feels very special, almost like a pilgrimage. I am not the only one who must feel its uniqueness. I have, in the past seen a couple out on the end, dancing together to a wind up gramophone, I have attended a memorial service out there where ashes and flowers have been thrown into the water and floated away, I have taken wedding photos of friends…my list can go on, and as I am rarely ever alone out there on this liminal stretch of land, others must have their own personal memories, attachments and connections to it too.