Sunshine and a sandy beach away from the grey

18th September 2023

We have woken washed and puddled and the grey overcast sky gives a heavy hint about delayed sunrise and only avoiding autumn for so long. The weather has been weirdly warm, a taste of summer slipped into September like ice cream on apple pie.

Overnight, however, there has been a system change, and while the west of the country paddles against an onslaught of storms, here, despite the grey sky, we hold on to a slightly damp twenty degrees.

And there are stranger things. As I walked up to the beach, I squinted against a fresh bright sun shining straight in my face. It was as if I was heading into a different place altogether, strong sunshine and a sandy beach quite separate from the grey I’d just left behind.

I walked over the shingle with Rupert and his mum and dad. He bounces so high at the excitement of the beach, it’s hard to believe that he won’t actually take off and fly off to freedom.

I’m fretful because I’ve forgotten my phone and without it won’t have the means of taking a photo to accompany this piece. I fret to Rupert’s mum and we decide the Canadian is the best bet for borrowing an iPhone. I’ve also forgotten my bobble hat, equivalent to having left my comfort blanket at home.

Most of the gang were already in the water, hanging out around the sandbank, beyond a low sea rippling with big fat rolling waves heading endlessly towards the beach. There were seven people in the water this morning. A remarkable number for us on a Monday. There used to be two or three.

The boatbuilder arrives and he’s faster than me. I go into the water with Rupert’s mum, standing sideways as the waist-height waves break near our hips, spraying our top halves before we’ve made a decision to fully submerge. And again and again and again.

The sand underneath our feet reflects the wave shapes above. Up and down and up again. It makes for concentrated walking in water that’s too shallow in which to swim, unless you’re prepared to crawl along just above the bottom, sand-scratching your knees getting a face full of wave break every few seconds.

At the sandbank it’s different. The waves are bigger, less fluffy, more dragon-skinned and better for jumping. There’s no better conversation than one that is punctuated by each of you in turn suddenly jumping upwards and over an incoming wave and landing down again without a pause in the conversation.

Until one of you miss times or miss places yourself and, instead of an effortless jump, is washed under the wave emerging wet-faced and abashed to the delight of those around you. It’s the same delight that makes restaurant staff cheer when one of their gang drops a plate.

On the far side of the sand bank, the water is deeper and it’s possible to swim properly or to be fully in the water riding the larger waves as they come in. You are lifted up and down, no break to wash you, a gorgeous deep water ride. The only caveat is that you must pay attention to the tide because you will be travelling as well as wave-riding whether you like it or not.

This morning we were being moved out further east, to sea and away from the beach, and to the north. There’s a strip of water not far beyond the sandbank in which the pull seems stronger and if you’re happily chatting on the wave ride, it’s easy to become distracted and, only by glancing back to the beach, do you notice how far you’ve travelled.

There’s a sudden intake of breath as you begin to properly swim back to where you thought you were, harder now because you’re swimming against the strength of the water that’s pulling you.

The always kind (and now dry-faced) Canadian loans me her phone and soon after sends me the photos I’ve taken on it.