beach scenes – derrickjknight

Hanging In The Air

On another dull, humid, morning Jackie continued garden maintenance while, since we may be approaching sufficient relaxation of Covid rules to necessitate un-crumpled attire, I made a start on the pressing ironing backlog.

Before lunch we visited Otter Nurseries for the Head Gardener to purchase potting grit and yet more bedding plants.

We then drove to Barton on Sea where the Marine Drive area was occupied by visitors and by a gathering of paragliders.

The gliders breezed along above the green,

seemingly unnoticed by the occupants of various benches, including one gentleman engrossed in The Sunday Telegraph featuring Queen Elizabeth’s message to the England football team ahead of tonight’s Euro 2020 final against Italy.

The aerobatic performers also enjoyed bird’s eye views of holidaymakers on and around the beach below.

This afternoon I watched the Wimbledon Men’s singles final between Novak Djokovic and Matteo Berrettini.

Before settling down to the aforementioned football match we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata and tender green beans with which she drank Awatere Valley Sauvignon Blanc 2020 and I drank Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2019.

Surfing For Fish

Jackie has a row of shells lined up on a low stone wall. This morning as she stepped into the garden to photograph

a pot of pansies underneath which are planted tulips she noticed that these shells have been tossed all over the place. This set her thinking that either the wind had wreaked havoc or that Eric the Pheasant who last year specialised in this wanton distribution had returned.

Sure enough, Eric was back.

Today’s weather was much brighter, albeit somewhat cooler. We drove to The Beach Hut Café at Friars Cliff for a hearty brunch.

After our meal we each produced a set of photographs. As a gentleman I always allow the lady to go first, so there follows Jackie’s contribution:

She first pictured the bay, creating a panoramic view with the Isle of Wight in the distance.

Beach scenes with huts came next.

Unbeknown to me she lurked around the corner of the promenade and caught me snapping.

I was intrigued by the waves and spray breaking on the rocks and sliding along sand and shingle.

A lone fisherman, the sun glinting on his spectacles, kept a vigil throughout and after our meal. I am not aware that he caught anything,

which is more than can be said for a small surfing gull family.

Dogs are not permitted on the beach between May and October, but, at this time of the year their owners make hay. Some time after I took this set three loose alsatian-type dogs raced around the beach huts. They belonged to the gentleman in the red jacket – not me. At the end of a row of huts ascends a steepish slope still necessitating me holding the rail as I begin the climb back up to the car park. I was not best pleased when one of these creatures bounded round the bend and narrowly missed colliding with me. Unfortunately the owner was out of sight and I hadn’t the energy to seek him out.

Before I began that ascent I witnessed the progression of a stone-throwing apprenticeship. A little boy with a man I assumed to be his grandfather picked up quite a large missile which he

handed over to his companion who,

watched by the lad, chucked it into the waves.

The junior then gathered up smaller stones and, with unerring accuracy tossed them directly ahead into the spray.

He was well into his task as I departed.

This evening we dined on pepperoni pizza with plentiful fresh salad.

Water Sports

The storm which began at mid morning yesterday continues to rage until, we are told, midnight today.

This was the view from our French windows 24 hours after we had laid down the furniture. We had left the blue wooden table standing because we thought it heavy enough to withstand the gales. We were wrong. Against the window behind the figure is wedged someone’s dustbin lid. To have reached its resting point it has to have sailed over a fence as if a giant’s Frisbee and slalomed along one or two of our paths.

Feeling as if I had joined Dorothy in the grip of a Kansas tornado, I made a very brief survey of damage. Aaron had firmly fixed the long, now broken, mirror lying on the gravel to the struts on the fence. Beside it flops clematis Campaniflora, also wrenched from its moorings on the arch spanning the path.

Between that fence and the patio stands an ornamental poplar. Its branches are being severely twisted. Out of shot is a hook attached to wire which is used to hold open the wrought iron gate. I clipped it into place to take the second photograph. With a thunder clap the gate slammed shut when the wire was snapped.

Here is a representative sample of crashed pots and a rose ripped from its ties. A final inventory will perforce be featured tomorrow.

This afternoon, to take her mind off the garden destruction – rather more than I photographed earlier – Jackie drove us to Mudeford, where I discovered that what breaks the heart of a gardener encourages pleasure seekers to rush to become blown about and thoroughly wet.

While their adults hunkered down in the car parks, the younger gulls bobbed about like rubber ducks in a wave bath.

Three or four of these unsuspecting youngsters suddenly appeared toting plastic packaging over which they squabbled.

From the quayside I was able to see both kite-surfers and sailboarders in the distance, operating from Avon Beach.

Crabbing was taking place as usual, however I was tempted to walk along to the beach for a nearer view of those engaged in water sports.

A gentleman rested his waking-boot-clad feet while his muzzled husky took a breather.

The powerful winds had been unable to uproot these secure mooring buoys.

Various groups wandered on and off the warm sands.

Skimming sailboarders and spraying surfers sped across stormy seas.

Races ensued;

other paths crossed.

While the winds were ushering me onwards, the walk to the beach had seemed quite a good wheeze. Not so the return during which, like the gulls in the air I laboured to stay still.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s tasty new “prawns and stuff” – “stuff’ being peppers, tomatoes, and garlic; with Tesco’s firm fish pie; her own piquant cauliflower cheese; and crunchy carrots. We both drank Definition Gruner Veltliner 2017.

Beach Photography

Yesterday our blogging friend Jill Weatherholt posted about EtchASketch. She asked what toys from our childhoods gave us nostalgic memories. Responding to my comment she prompted me to feature the birthday present I gave Jackie on 1st June this year. She happened to mention her father’s Christmas Santa gifts which were designed

something like this kaleidoscope. Twisting the lens would produce different rose windows viewed from the opposite end of the telescopic device. I, too, cherished childhood memories of such objects. This prompted me, with help from Elizabeth, to research the internet for a genuine antique, as opposed to retro, example.

By turning the tiny handle the lucky children of 1870 were able to produce their own variations.

My short walk on this hot and humid afternoon was

along the clifftop at Barton on Sea, where it looks very much as if there has been more soil erosion since I last tramped there. This pair of readers kept a sensible distance.

Another couple carried their dripping ice creams

to the nearest bench where

taking a large bite was in order.

A number of people brought their own seats. Perhaps the lone woman’s companion had gone in search of ice creams,

perhaps from Marshfield Farm on sale at the Beachcomber café. Someone has lost their bobble hat; the child through the fence has retained his cap.

As always, a number of mobile phones were being put to use.

Mallow and grasses border the footpath;

Photographers shared a crow’s eye view of the Isle of Wight.

Various groups gathered on the beach or in the water; paddling, building sand castles, launching balls for dogs, carrying equipment, or swimming.

Others indulged in photoshoots.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy and aromatic chicken jalfrezi; her turmeric pilau rice, fresh onion salad; and paratha from the little shop in New Milton. The Culinary Queen drank Blue Moon, while I drank more of the New Zealand Merlot.

The Magic Circle

Yesterday afternoon I was unable to find my camera lens cap. I searched everywhere, including the garden, to no avail.

This morning I spotted its outline in the hem of my dressing gown. I couldn’t fathom how it had got there, or how to extract it.

Slowly, it dawned on me. Two days ago I had photographed the garden whilst wearing the garment. Yesterday, similarly togged, I had spilt coffee all over myself. This had necessitated the Maintenance Department carrying out a magnificent laundering process.

Clearly I had pocketed the lens cap whilst using the camera in the garden. But it wasn’t in the pocket; and there was no apparent split in the hem –

not until I removed the garment and found a split beyond the neck.

The washing machine had behaved like a member of the Magic Circle and vigorously transported my magic circle.

On a warm and sunny afternoon we brunched at The Beach Hut Café at Friars Cliff.

A surprisingly speedy dredger sped off across Christchurch Bay in the direction of Mudeford.

The inevitable boy threw stones into the water;

a small girl stood by the shoreline contemplating getting her feet wet, took the plunge, and thought better of it;

another, having gingerly negotiated the stony beach, was relieved to feel sand beneath her toes;

others enjoyed digging;

or simply wandering about.

One group dried their clothes on a breakwater, while

a surfing lesson was underway;

and distant kayakers approached.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s delicious spinach soup and fresh, crusty, bread. I would refer anyone who thinks that may not have been sufficiently substantial back to what we consumed for brunch. Mind you, Jackie did drink Wairau Cove Sauvignon Blanc 2017, while I enjoyed another glass of the Garnacha

Well Worth The Effort

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Regular readers may have noticed that it is some months since we enjoyed a brunch at The Beach Hut Café on the promenade at Friars Cliff. That is because I have been unable to make the trip down from the clifftop car park.

The first stage, from the car park, is reasonably level, but far enough for me at the moment.

The concrete rings have featured before. This plate explaining their purpose

is screwed to the rock to the right of this path bypassing the rings. The cyclist will slalom round the barriers down

the sloping footpath leading to the beach huts,

and the beach with its clear view of the Isle of Wight and The Needles.

The most difficult part of the descent for me was this very steep incline.

When I ran the fells in Cumbria I would much rather run up than down the slopes. And that was when my knees worked.

Having reached the promenade there is a straight, flat, section between the huts and the benches sited for those who wish to watch the waves;

taking us to the café, which was, as usual, full to bursting both inside and out, although the demography of the patrons is somewhat different from that in the school holidays. In fact, while Jackie joined the lengthy queue for service and I investigated the seating options, the only available possibility was sharing a picnic table with a friendly woman and her unobtrusive dog. Noticing my rather hopeless efforts at jackknifing myself into position, the kind lady offered to seek out a chair for me. She did so. I thanked her and sat down. Jackie then arrived to tell me that there was a free table inside. I thanked my new friend once more and took up a place inside. Shame, really.

The food was definitely well worth the effort. I couldn’t fit my plate containing two rounds of toast and marmalade into the shot.

After this, we had to retrace our steps. The rather bent elderly woman towing her shorn dulux dog kept up a pace neither of us had any hope of emulating.

Jackie had no trouble with the steep slope

but avoided the steps which were my preferred return route.

Our central heating has never really worked upstairs. Knowing weather was about to cool down, we asked Ronan of Tom Sutton Heating to sort out the radiators. He fixed a pressure problem and bled the radiators. A date was arranged for him to fit a new vent to one of them. The next day the boiler stopped working. Fortunately our shower is electric and we have an open fire and a kettle. We limped through until today when Ronan made an emergency visit. I won’t bore people with the technicalities, but we need a whole new system, which is what I expected in the first place. This will take 3/4 days, need bedroom floors taken up, and be expensive.
This evening we dined variously. Jackie chose Tesco’s pulled ham with mashed potato and carrots accompanied by Hoegaarden; my Tesco’s prepared dish was chicken jalfrezi; Elizabeth enjoyed the last of Jackie’s beef pie. My sister and I both drank more of the Pinot Noir.

He Could Have Fooled Me

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For lunch today Jackie drove us to Steamer Point from which we walked down to the Beach Hut Café for their plentiful breakfasts of excellent quality.

There was not much activity on the beach on this dull day. A small child was being photographed with a dog;

and rugby tackling practice was being undertaken. The older man told me that he was not athletic. He could have fooled me.

When we returned, Richard had set the new sink in place and was marking out the template for the finished top. His skilled draftsmanship would be sent to the workshop for the final fitment to be made. Everything he does is infused with his early training as a boatbuilder, and his immense pleasure in his work.

Later, he produced similar pieces for the worktops on the other side of the galley and around the former fireplace.

This evening we dined on instant vegetable soup and ham and cheese sandwiches. I drank more of the Cabernet Sauvignon.

“The Seventh Wave….”

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This morning Jackie drove us to Avon Beach at Mudeford and back.

Tossing up spray in their wake, the sage green waves

and the brisk winds offered a couple of surfers a splendid playground,

within sight of watchers on the rocky breakwater.

It was a day on which pre-school children wrapped up their grandparents well and took them for a bracing walk. One gleeful little girl enjoyed defeating the waves in their attempt to soak her. She was even more delighted when I displayed my water-filled shoes and socks and decidedly damp trouser legs. I had not been so nimble. My driver informed me that the seventh wave always ascends further up the shingle than the preceding six. I will try to remember that.

After lunch I deleted more images from iMac’s Photos

This evening we dined on Jackie’s splendid sausage casserole; creamy mashed potato; and crisp carrots, cauliflower, and runner beans. I finished the Paniza.

We Didn’t Chat For Long

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This morning Aaron, of AP Maintenance, tackled the storm damage. He replaced the back drive barrier plants; repaired Jackie’s screen covering the five barred fence; gathered up fallen branches; and tidied up the cypress,

Cypress

which now looks like this.

Sending wood-chips flying from his chain saw, our friend began by cutting up the branches stretching down to the ground.

Aaron had not brought his ladder with him. He opted to climb the tree rather than go home for it.

Anyone of a nervous disposition may prefer to look away from his exploits up aloft, as he showered me with wood shavings.

This afternoon, Jackie drove us to Lepe beach and back.

The skies there already promised a good sunset.

Photographer and dog

I was apparently not the only photographer who thought so.

So crowded was this popular beach that we almost gave up finding a spot in the packed car park, until, as we bounced over the numerous potholes to leave, another vehicle rocked its way out in front of us. Jackie was then able to stay in the warmth of the vehicle whilst I stepped out with my camera.

Many wrapped up families walked and played along the sandy shingle. At water level in the last of this group of pictures is The Watch House, with the Coastguard Cottages on the hill above.

Mother and child

A little girl, not much bigger than her younger charge, staggered over to their mother carrying the distressed infant who had fallen. Maternal solace was then administered.

Another mother instructed her daughter in the art of chucking stones in the water.

A small boy enjoyed throwing up spadefuls of sand, before trotting off to the shoreline and inspecting

the whipped cream sweeping in from the sea.

Leaving Lepe, Inchmery Lane snakes alongside the seashore where, visible through twisted branches, slug-like dunes rose from lingering pools.

We reached Tanners Lane in time for sunset.

As we departed for home, we were delighted to meet Barry and Karen who had just arrived to walk their dogs on the shingle. It was now so cold that we didn’t chat for long.

This evening we dined at Milford on Sea’s Smugglers Inn. We both enjoyed our meals. Mine was rump of lamb with minty mashed potatoes, carrots, cauliflower, and red and green cabbage; Jackie’s was spaghetti carbonara. I drank Doom Bar and my wife drank Amstel.

My New Haircut

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Today the temperature was unseasonably warm, and the skies overcast. Although we have a great number of flowers still blooming beyond their normal time, I chose this morning figuratively to pick

a bunch of dahlias from the garden.

On my way round my attention was drawn to a fallen leaf, twisting frantically in an attempt to free itself from the spider’s web from which it was suspended. This brought the arachnid scampering down its central line, only to be disappointed in what it had trapped.

I have recently featured developments in the West Bed, cleared of shrubs and an old rose by Aaron, and having two new roses set to climb the arch by Jackie. There is now a new bench ready for positioning on reconstituted stone paving.

Elizabeth came for lunch and dinner. This afternoon we all travelled to Friar’s Cliff Beach and visited the Beach Hut Café for refreshments.

A heavy haze restricted rendered the Isle of Wight invisible beyond a passing yacht.

From Steamer Point nature reserve I watched the couple seen in the above picture continuing along the beach in the direction of Mudeford.

Other dogs were frolicking on the beach;

one retriever in particular swimming like a seal,

its antics being filmed from the breakwater.

Even as far away as the clifftop car park we could smell the red seaweed that coated the sand

where a solitary gull wandered.

This bird was joined by another and quickly took off,

flying out to sea,

leaving the visitor all forlorn.

Bubbling eddies swirled around

the rocks swathed in green and red weed.

As the waves rolled in they were tinged with red.

The gull bobbing on the wave above leapt to avoid the next one,

and a wader flew off as I approached in an attempt to identify it.

I photographed my sister focussing on the water,

and she got her own back.

This served a dual purpose in that we could satisfy the request of LordBeariofBow to feature my new haircut so that he could pass judgement on it.

This evening’s dinner consisted of Jackie’s superb sausages in red wine, creamy mashed potatoes, and crunchy carrots and cabbage. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and Elizabeth and I drank Parra Alta malbec 2016.