I don't know what you did over the weekend, but I took a train down to Eastbourne and went for a 10 mile walk along the coast. Because I'd never been before. Because the weather was blue-skied and perfect. And because it was a grand day out.
Seaside postcard 4: Seven Sisters It's 25 years since I last went on a proper geography field trip, so I thought it was about time for another. And the unspoilt undulating coastline to the west of Beachy Head was an absolute delight, as I and a handful of brave winter ramblers discovered at the weekend.
The Seven Sisters are a three mile stretch of chalky cliffs, visible from the English Channel as a rollercoaster of white. Western access is at Birling Gap, a small National Trust owned hamlet whose fishing cottages are disappearing slowly, gradually, into the sea. Most visitors seem perfectly happy to explore no further than 100 yards from the car park, either popping into the cafe for a cup of tea or scrambling down the rickety iron steps onto the pebbly beach. It's a perfect fossil-collecting spot, so I'm told, although I arrived at high tide so I didn't risk a cliff-foot stroll. And it's a naturist beach too, apparently, although February probably isn't the best time to see evidence of this.
I headed slightly inland instead, to scale the first of seven consecutive grassy peaks. There were several steep-ish ascents along the way, although those walking in the opposite direction seemed to have the harder job. To the north was very ordinary windswept downland, while to the south this suddenly, abruptly, vanished into thin air along a rippling fault line [photo]. A thin layer of grass and topsoil disguised the unstable geological truth beneath my feet, tempting me to walk closer to the chalk-supported edge than might have been wholly sensible. A biplane flew past several times, soaring across the sea but below clifftop level. I strode onward over each successive brow, disguising each panting pause for breath by standing to admire the evolving view.
I'm sure I'd counted eight peaks, not the pre-requisite seven, when I finally reached the end of the chain. Here the cliffs dropped back down to sea level, affording magnificent views down across the Cuckmere valley to Seaford Head. Scores of visitors were scuttling along the mile-long riverside path from the car park to the sea, enjoying a conveniently zero-contour afternoon out. But they were missing out on the valley's finest feature - a snaking series of textbook-perfect meanders - properly visible only from above [photo]. Throw in a smattering of oxbow lakes and you have, surely, a geography teacher's wet dream. But maybe not for much longer. Existing channel patterns are under threat from Environment Agency proposals to abandon the flood defences at the mouth of the river, creating a future landscape of saltmarsh and mudflats. So if you fancy a field trip to the East Sussex coast, come soon. Around here you never know quite how long the scenery is going to last.
Seaside postcard 3: Belle Tout lighthouse • The Belle Tout lighthouse was built on the southwestern flank of Beachy Head in 1828. Back then the arched front door that you can see in this photograph was at ground level, 100 feet from the cliff edge. • It soon became apparent that building a lighthouse on top of mist-prone sea cliffs wasn't a good idea, so a new lighthouse was constructed further down the coast, at sea level. • In 1902 Belle Tout was decommissioned and sold off as "a small, substantial 3-storey building.". It remains Britain's only residential lighthouse. • During World War 2 the lighthouse was abandoned and Canadian troops used the area around it for target practice. Their mortar damage was later repaired and the building restored to private use. • In 1986 the BBC bought the lighthouse to use as the setting for their award-winning adaptation of Fay Weldon's The Life and Loves of a She-Devil (Julie T Wallace's creepy character lived here). • By the time Mark and Louise Roberts bought the lighthouse in 1996, the cliff edge was only 30 feet away from their front door. A particularly nasty storm in 1998 took out another 20 feet, leaving their new home especially vulnerable to further erosion. • In 1999 the Roberts took the extraordinary step of having the entire lighthouse lifted up onto hydraulic jacks and moved55feet further inland. Crowds came to watch as the lighthouse slid slowly onto fresh granite foundations, and the brick outbuilding nextdoor was shifted across to become the upper storey of a new family home. • Today the raised circular scar where the tower used to stand is still visible [photo], but another big storm might see it tumble. The access road looks like it'll be next to go (I sat on the narrow roadside verge and dangled my camera right over the edge [photo]). • The Roberts now run a bed and breakfast from their unique clifftop home. It's probably safe enough for a good few decades yet, but would you dare stay the night?
Seaside postcard 2: BeachyHead Beachy Head boasts the highest chalk cliffs on the British coastline, which at 162 metres are half as tall again as St Paul's Cathedral. As one of the world's most popular suicidedestinations, it's all just a bit too convenient. It's possible to walk right up to the edge, in places at least, and gawp straight down onto the jagged white rocks below. The tiny red- and white-banded lighthouse offshore gives a clue to just how high up you're standing [photo], and how much damage you could do to yourself if you slipped. It's a challenging walk to reach here from Eastbourne, over the eastern tip of the South Downs, with a lengthy ascent which ought to deter potential desperados from any hasty action. But there are still more than 20 suicides in this remote spot every year, for which I blame the close proximity of a winding clifftop road. And the bus stop.
There ought to be plenty of distractions on top of Beachy Head to divert the self-destructive mind. There's a Brewer's Fayre pub, for a start, plus a Countryside Centre (and gift shop) nextdoor. If these don't steady the nerves there's also a specially installed telephone box with its very own hotline to the Samaritans (something I've only ever seen before on the westbound platforms at Mile End station). Should you reach the grassy expanse on the edge of the headland you might still be challenged by one of the Beachy Head Frontline Chaplaincy Team - a group of volunteer Christians in luminous jackets (emblazoned 'Chaplain') who patrol the area seeking lost souls to becalm. If they don't stop you, maybe the floral tributes and small wooden crosses affixed to the cliff edge will make you think again about those you're about to leave behind [photo]. Alas, this intricate chain of precautionary measures doesn't always work.
But, despite the number of deaths at this unfortunate spot, nobody's ever considered erecting a sturdy safety barrier or barricading off the whole area. If these clifftops were suddenly out of bounds, potential jumpers would simply wander a few hundred yards in either direction and hurl themselves over the edge there instead. The natural beauty of this spot survives, untainted by any nannying risk analysis or Health and Safety regulations. Check the prevailing wind conditions and stand as close to the precipice as you dare, remembering that the entire fragile cliff face could quite easily tumble down into the sea at any time anyway. Play safe and the view from Beachy Head isn't deadly, it's fantastically exhilarating. Your risk, you choose.
Seaside postcard 1: Eastbourneseafront Nobody goes to the seaside in February, not unless they already live there. You won't find holidaymakers sauntering up and down the classy Eastbourne seafront, not yet, just elderly locals out walking their dogs or taking a midwinter constitutional. This is the retirement zone, where the afternoon pre-Countdown slot is best filled by a healthy stroll from the WishtowerTearooms to the terraced Italian Gardens and back again. I felt positively juvenile compared to most of the couples I met along the promenade, many of whom I suspect will continue their daily walks until the time comes to have their own dedicated memorial bench.
Eastbourne Pier[photo] may be open, but don't visit expecting to be entertained. Most of the shops and kiosks are closed for the winter, so if you've come in search of a tattoo or a lucky crystal you'll be disappointed. Artificial flowers and chips appear to be available all year round, however. The pier's owners are taking the opportunity to spruce up the external blue and white paintwork, and hopefully after they've finished they'll rub down the seagull-splattered deck seating too. At the end of the pier the Atlantis nightclub boasts live entertainment on the first Thursday of each month (perfect if a Village People tribute band are your scene, probably best avoided if not). A pair of forlorn grubby staircases lead up onto the nightclub roof, and then ascend again to a peeling wooden dome. Inside is the pier's pride and joy - a Camera Obscura - although at present the door is locked and this is just an unvisited, elevated dead end. It's all too quiet, from tip to shore. For those who work here, spring can't come a day too soon.
The Seven Sisters are a three mile stretch of chalky cliffs, visible from the English Channel as a rollercoaster of white. Western access is at Birling Gap, a small National Trust owned hamlet whose fishing cottages are disappearing slowly, gradually, into the sea. Most visitors seem perfectly happy to explore no further than 100 yards from the car park, either popping into the cafe for a cup of tea or scrambling down the rickety iron steps onto the pebbly beach. It's a perfect fossil-collecting spot, so I'm told, although I arrived at high tide so I didn't risk a cliff-foot stroll. And it's a naturist beach too, apparently, although February probably isn't the best time to see evidence of this.
I'm sure I'd counted eight peaks, not the pre-requisite seven, when I finally reached the end of the chain. Here the cliffs dropped back down to sea level, affording magnificent views down across the Cuckmere valley to Seaford Head. Scores of visitors were scuttling along the mile-long riverside path from the car park to the sea, enjoying a conveniently zero-contour afternoon out. But they were missing out on the valley's finest feature - a snaking series of textbook-perfect meanders - properly visible only from above [photo]. Throw in a smattering of oxbow lakes and you have, surely, a geography teacher's wet dream. But maybe not for much longer. Existing channel patterns are under threat from Environment Agency proposals to abandon the flood defences at the mouth of the river, creating a future landscape of saltmarsh and mudflats. So if you fancy a field trip to the East Sussex coast, come soon. Around here you never know quite how long the scenery is going to last.
• The Belle Tout lighthouse was built on the southwestern flank of Beachy Head in 1828. Back then the arched front door that you can see in this photograph was at ground level, 100 feet from the cliff edge.
Beachy Head boasts the highest chalk cliffs on the British coastline, which at 162 metres are half as tall again as St Paul's Cathedral. As one of the world's most popular suicide destinations, it's all just a bit too convenient. It's possible to walk right up to the edge, in places at least, and gawp straight down onto the jagged white rocks below. The tiny red- and white-banded lighthouse offshore gives a clue to just how high up you're standing [photo], and how much damage you could do to yourself if you slipped. It's a challenging walk to reach here from Eastbourne, over the eastern tip of the South Downs, with a lengthy ascent which ought to deter potential desperados from any hasty action. But there are still more than 20 suicides in this remote spot every year, for which I blame the close proximity of a winding clifftop road. And the bus stop.
Nobody goes to the seaside in February, not unless they already live there. You won't find holidaymakers sauntering up and down the classy Eastbourne seafront, not yet, just elderly locals out walking their dogs or taking a midwinter constitutional. This is the retirement zone, where the afternoon pre-Countdown slot is best filled by a healthy stroll from the Wishtower Tearooms to the terraced Italian Gardens and back again. I felt positively juvenile compared to most of the couples I met along the promenade, many of whom I suspect will continue their daily walks until the time comes to have their own dedicated memorial bench.
