The wind wafts the kittiwake guano scent over us

8th May 2023

We swam to the sandbank today, for the first time in this nearly-spring. The surrounding over-watered countryside is absurdly abundant, comically rich in a blend of greens sprinkled with occasional clusters of polka dot dandelions, sometimes bright yellow, sometimes deceptively delicate spherical clocks. Each verge looks as if it has been inflated, cushioned so that you’d be bounced back if you took a wobble on your bike.

The tide was a couple of hours after low. There was a deep stretch of shore sand leading to the water’s edge like there frequently is after heavy rain, the lighter shingle washed back into the sea for reworking.

The sand bank isn’t far out. We see it easily from the beach thanks to the rolling waves that hit on it on their journey into shore and get turned over, prettily looping into and out of their own little beach front.

It isn’t much of a swim today, to be honest. Me, the boatbuilder and Rupert’s Mum, followed by our lawyer are only getting started when our feet hit the sand on the bottom. Then begins the haul to higher sand, quite hard work, determined, funny, like participating in an freestyle aqua fitness class. We get there. It’s lovely. Not mucking about lovely as it is in high summer but lovely because of the view of the beach we’ve left behind and of the surrounding waves.

There’s a degree of mental effort involved in adjusting to water at nine degrees. It not only feels cold but it misleads, dupes through the strength of the sun, fooling us all into thinking it will feel like August. It looks like August, feels like April. The air temperature is around twelve degrees with a light south westerly, there’s a pull north. When you’re standing anywhere exposing wet skin to wind, even a light south westerly, the water evaporates, your skin gets quickly cold.

We wait and watch the fisherman bring his boat behind and around us, single-handedly twisting it over the sandbank before righting it, climbing to the bow and jumping off to pull it over and link it on.

The kittiwake nesting site on the old rig, one of the most significant in the UK, sits just to the side of us when we’re on the sand. Without being rude, it’s time for the baby kittiwakes to get fresh nappies. The south westerly wind wafts the kittiwake guano scent directly over us. It’s nice to be part of nature, but a couple of minutes is enough. Wind on damp skin and the stink drives us towards the beach again.

The fisherman is on the beach just before us. By the time we’ve chatted and changed he’s back at his base. It’s a royal bank holiday, a free day off. We buy fish and crabs, so fresh they smell of the sea.