Having recently read and reviewed Winter, I was reminded of the winter storms I experienced at Chesil Beach.
The wind is rising. I can hear it buffeting against the windows, thundering its way down the street like it’s throwing a tantrum. The cottage isn’t right next to the beach, but I can hear the waves roaring as they engulf the stony incline and hurtle over the peak into the streets behind.
I decide to walk to the cliffs to see this roaring action with my own eyes. Opening the door, I am almost swept back inside, the wind is so strong and I’m not exactly large in stature. With determination, I step out and force the door closed behind me. It takes a lot of strength to slam it shut. I make my way down the road, face half-buried in my waterproof and eyes already streaming.
Down at the beach, there is an almighty sight to behold. I stand on the footpath, not at the edge of the clifftop as that would be foolish. I value my life. No, this footpath is located about 50m back from the shoreline, on the gradual slope behind the boulders and behind the beach huts. Normally you can see the large pebbles, too big to be called shingle, just in front of the boulders, but they’ve disappeared. The water is covering them all.
The word storm doesn’t do this scene justice. The combination of a high tide and the strong winds has created a furious beast. It roils over the beach with passion, the waves crashing loudly and, when combined with the sound of the wind as well, I can barely hear my thoughts. I do manage to take a couple of photos, but soon retreat to hide in the shelter of a nearby wall. The wind is so strong that I actually have difficulty breathing, the air is whipped away and there is nothing to inhale.
It’s hard to believe that only the other day, it was a calm and tranquil beach scene here, the still blue surface stretching out to the horizon under bright skies. You can normally sit at the top of the beach, thirty or forty metres from the edge of the sea. If you were to sit there now, you would be immediately soaked and swept away. I can’t even guess how tall these waves are, I have never seen such monsters. And these are monsters indeed, devouring the beach, and even hurling themselves over the seafront pub. Later I will see a fantastic photo capturing this scene, and I still won’t be able to believe it happened. This disbelief will continue when I visit the beach again once the storm has passed, and discover that all of the shingle has disappeared from one end, revealing the underlying clay – a remarkable and rare occurrence.
The sea is so high that the Isle of Portland has truly become an island, the road back to the mainland has been flooded and the connecting beach is overrun with waves. I am rather glad not to be in work today, the educational centre where I work is only small building located, on the edge of the currently flooded road, probably about to be flooded itself. As I stand on the footpath, I can’t even see the centre from here, so obscured is the view by spray and cloud.
I have never before experienced a storm like this, and I wonder if I ever will again. Across the news, between the internet cutting out, I read about railway lines collapsing, beach towns flooding and the sad loss of life. That summer, I enjoy my time on the beach, both for work and for pleasure, but these memories linger in my mind as a reminder that while nature can be peaceful and beautiful, she can also be a mighty and dangerous force.
NB – there are better photos of the waves online, this photo doesn’t do them justice at all