The sea cures the scorcher

Friday 11th July 2025

The verges have been buzz-cut again. Their too-short new stubble quickly getting bleached in the sun.

It’s a scorcher. Heavy, headachy, heat. Tractors back on the road, tall, skinny dry land tyres; maniacs overtaking them. The sea becomes the cure again.

At eight am, it is more than two hours after the first low tide but the water is still shallow and rippling, the colour of ancient over-polished pewter.

It’s the sky’s fault of course. This morning, fat and pervasive cloud has dark blue ripples. It appears to be supporting and filtering a huge sun, fully risen at this time of year, while allowing it to throw an elegant line of glitter to the shore.

This sky makes for an enchanted seascape and delicious swimming.

Last evening, less than twelve hours ago, a bright orange moon rose over the horizon. It marks the midpoint of the lunar cycle and in folklore is a Buck Moon, signifying growth and regeneration. Who couldn’t do with some of that?

The still low water creates a wide sandy strip between the shingle and the shoreline. It looks dark golden and has two parts. The higher part, adjoining the shingle, is rough trampled mostly by gulls and people, judging by the footprints, although there are canine prints in the mix too.

The lower section of sand is smoother, fresher-looking, it’s been uncovered with this morning’s low tide. There are fewer footprints and the occasional left-behind moon jellyfish that didn’t wash out to sea quickly enough when the tide went out. Like transparent side-plates stuck in the sand,

Getting into the sea feels like a gentle walk onto a soft sandy path that takes me all the way to the sandbank and down the other side. The water temperature is seventeen degrees now. A cool bath.

It feels soothing, healing, a temperature that won’t shock but initially feels slightly cold.

We are summer swimming now. New friends and old, those that have chosen not to take the ‘year round swimming’ option but are comfortable with seventeen degrees rather than holding out for a potential twenty around the turn of August / September. It’s delightful to have the Canadian back.

No one sees a jellyfish although I do feel one against my ankle as I’m swimming away from the sandbank on the deep side. It feels wonderful to be completely submerged, reaching out into the cool water, allowing it to hold and support me.

Bikini swims hundreds of yards away in her anti-jelly suit and, when she’s back on the beach, reports that she felt three.

While I’m changing on the warm shingle, the fisherman, in shirtsleeves above his oilskin dungarees, hauls the boat out backwards with his buoyed lines, through what must be a hidden channel in the sand. He heads out, directly east before turning sharp north and motoring off, beyond the old rig, away from our sand.

He’s followed by a loud clutch of herring gulls shouting for breakfast even before he’s had a chance to catch anything. Presumably they’re hopeful of snapping up tasty morsels churned up by the movement of the boat.

The kittiwake nests are established now, a carefully-spaced terrace around the edge of the old rig. They’re circled by large and noisy herring herring gulls, ever the snapping chancers.

As we leave the beach, the flag shows half hearted wind off the sea.

I’ll be away from the sea (or away from the chance to write about it) for the next three weeks. I’ll choose my favourite past posts (read the dates). I’d love to know if you like them, it’s easy to comment.
Also, please share with anyone that you think might like them too.

Thanks, as always, for reading my words. x