Depression and slaps to the leg

Friday 23rd August

The wind came and the dust blew and the buckets tipped over and the temperature fell.

A depression is blowing in (last thing anyone needs, tbh) in other words, a low pressure system. It presents itself as unstable weather with rising air forming low surface pressure which cools and condenses thus encouraging cloud.

In the Northern Hemisphere low pressure winds blow in an anticlockwise direction and, when they’re represented on the TV or in print, are illustrated with closely-spaced isobars – the closer the isobars, the stronger the wind.

Ta da. We have very strong winds and it seems quite depressing. I’m not a great one for strong winds at the best of times. As always, it’s wonderful to stand on the edge of the sea, look at the magnificence of the uninterrupted horizon and be able to breath fresh sea air, but the wind means that I can’t hear a thing and my hair blows in my mouth.

I’m dressed for swimming and standing roughly three strides into the water. At eight a.m, we’re just fifteen minutes after the first low tide. The water is very shallow, right up to the sandbank there’s an angry surface, pale and apparently bubbling as if someone is boiling it in a great big pan. Ankle deep, knee deep at best, three minutes in, my calves start to sting as they are repeatedly slapped by mean little waves.

Underfoot, the sea bed is soft rippled sand. It’s unpredictable, tricky to estimate whether your forward foot will land on a hidden underwater high patch or a low patch. It makes striding forward hard work, for me at least. I frequently fall over in the sea.

It’s definitely too rough and too shallow for swimming.

I watch half my gang paddling out beyond me. Not gently fetching water in a small bucket and tipping it into a moat around a sand castle paddling, but wading along through the impossible waves just in front of the sand bank as if they are heading off for a new life in the north. They wade along, are pushed back, wade along, pushed back again, sometimes one or more is knocked over and moves two hundred yards south in five seconds.

Beyond the sandbank, where the unbounded sea begins, the incoming waves are simply too big for even the most confident swimmer. High and intimidating, great towers of water being blown up and in and collapsing onto themselves in the direction of the shore.

I stand and watch, no attempt to go further and join my friends, sea sprayed, blown, rattled by the change in the weather, already sore from being slapped by tiny waves.

The air temperature is twenty one degrees and the water very nearly nineteen. Standing, watching, neither of these figures seem true. The wind, although it’s from a warm direction, is uncomfortably strong . The water feels colder because it’s been churned up by the wind and the overnight rain.

‘Would you like a hand?’ I thank our lawyer and tell him that I’ve decided to give it a miss. I felt as if a kind a friend was offering to guide me through a thick patch of nettles.

The Professor Perus and Cousin have also opted for noble standing and watching today. We will summon help if called upon. I am not alone.

Walking back off the beach, away from the stinging horror and delight, we see that the flag has been shredded to half its usual self, like the kind of flag you see on pictures of Scott’s epic journey.

Would I have come to the beach if I’d known it would have been like this? Of course. It’s the North Sea in the morning, the sea over which the sun comes up, even when you can’t see it. The coast that starts the day. Nothing beats that.

If you enjoyed reading this piece, it would be great for me if you could send it to someone who you think might enjoy reading it too. Pressing the ‘Share North Sea Fan Club’ button will give you the choice of texting or emailing a link to this blog. Thank you.