What is it about walking to a coastal edge, the rockier the better, that makes you feel like you’re at the edge of the Earth, like you might just lean forward and tumble off into another realm? There’s something enchanting, magical about a rocky coastline. Maybe it’s the slight terror we feel at the way the waves break and crash against the sharp rocks, the formidable power of the sea – a terror that we can touch safely, knowing we are firmly on the shore and not swirling around in a little wooden boat.
Whereas a white sandy beach makes us think of holidays and cocktails in the sun, lightness and fun and retirement brochures, rocky coastlines conjure up the darker, more mysterious side of life, enchanting stories and creatures that are woven into our cultural myths and narratives – shipwrecks, mermaids, selkies, whales and all sorts of other creatures, known and unknown, fact and folklore, that live in the deepest, darkest waters. I just finished listening to Rhianna Pratchett’s Mythical Creatures programme which is such a great exploration into Britain and Ireland’s weird and wonderful folkloric beings – there are several episodes on sea-faring creatures worth listening to. There are actual mermaid experts in the world!
Do you think places live in our DNA somehow? That we are drawn to certain landscapes because of some inner knowing or compass? Or are we drawn to places because of an amalgamation of conscious or unconscious reasons, like maybe we read about a certain place in a story when we were young and it captured our imagination, or we love sea creatures and rockpool-hunting? Both, I imagine. For whatever reason, I love a rocky coastline and the drama of it all – the rough wind that runs its fingers through your violently swirling birds-nest hair, the galloping white caps and creepy hanging mist that you can imagine a tentacle reaching out of, the days when the mist descends in a thick blanket and everything in sight is turned grey. At the edge of this particular coast I find myself on, I’m actually wedged between two islands at the bottom of the Earth, about the same distance south as England is north – the winds funnel quickly through this gap, the Cook Strait, chopping the sea to pieces and shaking the wooden houses perched precariously on the hills.
But this day that I walked to the edge of the Earth (or so it felt), the day was drawing to a close and as the winds decided to take a break and the sun made its exit, a calm and pleasant buttery warmth descended on the coast, accompanied by the spicy-sweet smell of fennel. Sparkly blue seas – a bit Treasure Island-esque. There’s an old blue bench that looks a hundred years old and I thought about the people who’ve sat there over the years. The black-backed gulls flew circles above me – what a feeling that must be. They look like they’re having a great time, and who wouldn’t be.
It seems to be that it’s because we are nature that we are so moved and enchanted – whether we’re by a sea or a river, a mountain, a beautiful plant in our garden, a butterfly or a giant oak tree, we aren’t just a human viewing nature – this thing outside of ourself – but nature recognising itself. All connected in a big system of which we are one little piece. Connectedness that we are cut off from often. But that door is always open. Maybe it’s easy to be gripped by the formidable, powerful, gorgeous spectacles of nature, but once we see the aliveness in it all, it’s as clear in the smallest birds, the rocks, the rain, and the muddy leaves as it is in the grand waterfalls? 🐦 Thoughts welcome!
Here are some sea-themed things I’ve come across that you may enjoy:
Sea-Fever (John Masefield) – click for full poem
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
Planet Puffin, BBC – amazing podcast series all about puffins, recorded on the Isle of May, combines science with excellent storytelling and lovely audio clips (if you don’t know what a puffin sounds like, it’s worth it for the comedy alone)
Quote from Carl Safina, The View from Lazy Point – he says what I want to say about the coast but can’t really find the words for:
“The coast is an edgy place. Living on the coast presents certain stark realities and a wild, rare beauty. Continent confronts ocean. Weather intensifies. It's a place of tide and tantrum; of flirtations among fresh- and saltwaters, forests and shores; of tense negotiations with an ocean that gives much but demands more. Every year the raw rim that is this coast gets hammered and reshaped like molten bronze. This place roils with power and a sometimes terrible beauty.”
🌊