Storm Ciara blew into Deal early on Sunday morning, rattling the windows and whistling around the masts of the dinghies pulled up high on the shingle. Through the window I could see white water crashing onto the shore, starlings flung around the darkened sky like a handful of dry leaves. It was the first big storm since I’ve lived here.
I couldn’t resist taking the camera down to the shore, well wrapped up in my sailing jacket and waterproofs.
I didn’t quite need to be tied down by a length of stout rope, like ‘big wave hunter’ George Mortimer (whose eye-popping work featured in Turner Contemporary’s excellent Seaside Photographed exhibition last year). But walking was difficult as I was buffeted along by the wind, so I lay on my front and propped the camera up, watching through the viewfinder as the waves churned and roiled, throwing up a wall of salt spray.
It was pretty thrilling. I can see how you could get addicted to the thrill of big wave hunting, inching closer and closer in the quest for the perfect photograph of the perfect storm.
Further out at sea, I could see ferries sheltering by the Goodwin Sands, unable to dock. The port at Dover was closed; no sailing dinghies or fishing boats would set out from the beach today. Even the cafe at the end of the pier had closed, worried about customers and staff being blown away. I was glad to see that the Deal lifeboat was safely on shore, unlike their comrades down the coast at Hastings. It was not a day to be at sea.
This morning dawned bright, clear and cold. I ran along the sea path to Kingsdown with the sea gentled, long waves rolling steadily to shore. To my left, the golden sun rose clear over the waves into a pale blue sky, while on my right, the almost-full pale moon lingered over Walmer Castle, on its way down in the west. Between the two I enjoyed a moment of peace, before the next storm blows in.
Bloomsbury Bluestocking 