Thursday extracts: fossil hunting

At the bottom of the cliff path we turned left and began to pick our way across the pebbles until I found a place that I thought was a potentially rich seam for my search. I looked around and found several larger pebbles that appeared to be weathered clumps of limestone. I knew they could contain fossils and explained to Dad why I had chosen them and what to look for. For once I felt that I knew more than him about a topic and it filled me with a thrill that I was delighted to experience. He was impressed with what I knew and wanted to learn from me, for once, rather than our usual roles. I hammered each stone, tapping gently until it broke open. Some revealed ancient shell forms and ocean animals from millions of years ago. Most were simply lumps of limestone. As I collected my first few specimens I dropped them into a canvas shoulder bag that was slung across my body. We continued to work our way slowly along the cliff foot and my collection started to grow. From time to time Dad would find a likely piece of stone and he would hand it to me, silently, or with a slight, questioning sound that implied that he was asking my opinion.

After a while we stopped and sat on two suitable boulders while we ate our sandwiches and drank our tea. The day was fine and the sun shone brightly, just over the edge of the cliff, so we were warm but out of the direct rays. It was a perfect place to be. The sea was calm and made very little sound as its waves lapped gently back and forth over the rocks. And all the time we could hear above the sea’s hum, the crash and boom of the gannets as they fished just offshore. I felt like I could have stayed there forever and Dad obviously felt the same way. With lunch finished, we packed away our flask and sandwich bags and continued our hunt along the cliff until finally Dad looked at his watch and said, “We ought to be getting back to the car if you have enough fossils for your project.” I assured him that I had made a great haul and agreed that we should go. We turned to head back along the cliff foot and suddenly realised our mistake. While we had been ambling along the beach the tide had turned and was headed back at an alarming rate. What was more, we had not noticed as we fossil-hunted that we had gone past a small promontory and we could not reach the seaward point of it before the tide did. We were going to be cut off very quickly.

The Wise Child
Anne Jeffery
2010
Download it from Lulu.com

Going to the beach

Everyone knows what you do at the beach: it’s all to do with sandcastles and paddling and eating ice cream. Well it is if you go there on holiday. But if you live at the seaside it’s different. For one thing you don’t want to share it with hordes of other people who come to stay and spoil the view and get in your way and don’t understand what it’s really all for.  People who sit in the sunshine with knotted hankies on their heads and expose their pasty, factory skin until they turn pink as peppermint rock, then slouch painfully back to their B&Bs with sand in their shoes and soggy knees where they didn’t turn up their trousers quite far enough before they waded in. They always look dejected as they return to their evening-meal-included and no-children-in-the-bar. Not like us.

We avoid the beach in summer. We wait patiently from Easter to October for them to leave, and then we have our fun. They never walk alone along the sand, leaning into a biting northerly wind, wrapped in woolly hat and scarf but smiling as the ocean air fills their lungs to bursting with life-boosting ozone.  They never see waves crash against the concrete defences and rise high over the railings before landing smack back down on the walkway. They never laugh and run, backwards, away from the torrent, to escape with just a smattering of spray across their faces, licking their salty lips, before turning, content, towards a harbourside café where they buy Bovril or hot chocolate and wrap their hands around the mug for warmth,  matching the glow of delight already rising from inside.

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I'm a bit busy at the moment and I'm not sure if I'll have internet access so I'm posting some things in advance. This was written a few weeks ago for Thinking Ten.

Beginning to feel homesick (or should that be sea sick?)

Poster of the Charles W Morgan (a whaling ship) at Mystic Seaport.
I took the photo and the poster resides in my bathroom*

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

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.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

*Though the photo was taken while it was propped up on the back of the sofa, so I could get a long enough focus on it.  

Sunday 160. I must go down to the sea again

Water lapping, waves growling, sigh of surf on shore.
Rattling pebbles across sand and slow drag of kelp over rock.
Scuttling shell creatures.
Sound of the sea.

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Exactly 160 characters (including spaces) for The Monkey Man.  Actually, we went to the seaside yesterday and it was wonderful.

The British on holiday

Umbrellas out, swathed in plastic sheet clothes, clutching ice creams, hot dogs, waffles: the British are determined to enjoy their holidays, even when it rains!

fff55:Shoreline

Shoreline.
Unsure line
Lapping waves
Draw a line in the sand:
Here and no further.
Erased by the next tide
High tide
A tide in the affairs of man.
Time and tide wait for none.
A time for change
A change of mind.
Leaving on the new tide.
New journey
New horizons
New shores.
Shoreline.



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FFF55 is a weekly challenge set by the G-Man over at Mr Knowitall's blog. You know the score by now. Go and see everyone else's offerings!