place: stanbury mouth and rane

A range of shattered cliff stumps divide the two beaches of this second 'place', said stumps being labelled Rane Point on your OS map, and the location of this distinctive rock mark, which I have designated as the logo for Stanbury and Rane. A sleeping duck balanced on a gravy boat. Subtle, don't you think?

This stretch of shore is just slightly north of the unlovely but impressive GCHQ listening and eavesdropping centre that graces the Morwenstow parish, whereas the other place I featured in an earlier post (Kempthorn and Wren) is just south of the radar station.

If it were possible to turn the Squench Rocks on the north end of the aforementioned Wren beach, and then weave your way underneath Lower Sharpnose Point, skip past Reed Rocks and frolic through the boulders of Holacombe Beach, you'd arrive on Rane Beach:  I doubt it's been done – but in theory it might just be doable. 

GCHQ is thankfully not visible from the beaches, if I recall correctly: my eyes were elsewhere, drinking in the wonders of the littoral hereabouts. The picture below shows the beginning of the delightful walks to Stanbury Mouth (there are two ways, the other goes off left) from the ancient Stanbury farmstead parking paddock from whence I have invariably made my way down to the subject of this muse.

Stanbury and Rane then. Fantastic! What a shoreline. One or two visitors do get onto it besides me, I am sure, but on my explorations there I've only had to avoid one couple and even they managed to leave their dog somewhere else! They were swimming. Unwise in these bays, let me tell you! Lots of rips you see. I kept my own counsel: I doubt they even saw me… They accessed the site from the steep and slightly tricky path down the narrow valley whose stream discharges at Stanbury Mouth (the name OS plumps for) – the more northern of the two strands here described. They came not from the South, round the Squench Rocks, dear me no: put-it-from-your-mind. Too rough, too tide dependent, too problematic… tsch… I bet some damned smart arse has done it… but now such a traverse must remain for ever on my 'not achieved' list…>sob<.  But I digress.

S&R beaches are surprisingly broad, if one has timed the visit to coincide with a low spring tide. When those strands are submerged the foreshore can feel a bit intimidating especially if the sun is not in evidence: the cliffs glower like mad if one is within their shadow. Low water allows exploration of Rane beach to be achieved along the sea's edge, without having to negotiate so many ankle twisting rock and boulder fields, a consideration to be taken into account when one is becoming challenged balance-wise, like your author has now to concede is his lot, dash it. 

Three particular aspects of this spiffing location spring to mind and, I hope, are reflected to some degree in the images I have made of S&R. Firstly there is the sculptural nature of S&R as a whole, missing perhaps at Kempthorn and Wren; here there are stacks and large rocks one can reach and explore around, great ribbons of cliff stumps, deep traps and pools left behind by the receding seas, walkways, sudden vistas, cul-de-sacs and natural promenades. 

Secondly there are those wonderful sandstones again, smoothed and burnished here, with grade A striations of quartz and other minerals that have been squeezed through and out of the complex bedding planes. A joy to see, touch and even sprawl upon if the sun is warming or you have a repast to consume.

Thirdly there are the manifestations of time and tide written throughout the whole, vast aeons of geological deposition, uplift and distortion, syncopated by the unfailing rise and fall of tides, incessantly moderating the coastal setting . . . it simply is top flight here, A+ with honours! 

As at Kempthorn, one could spend a lifetime on this beach yet never tire of the forms and juxtapositions. Well I could, I can't speak for the rest of humanity of course. Colour, shapes, position, light, contrast, it's all here. My poor efforts with the Box-Brownie can barely lift the lid on the delights to be found . . . I am welling up, it's so darn gorgeous (and my public know I rarely would call anything gorgeous, it's a term I'm not inclined to reach for). When I come across folk getting lyrical about the The Big Sur of the Californian coast, (for example) well,  I just think, my dears, Stanbury and Rane, Stanbury and Rane! Enough said. 

I introduced my learned colleague Dr Roberts to this locale one sultry summer's day. He was moved and he's not a man who is moved easily, I can attest. I recall the excursion ending in a massive thunder squall, thankfully just as we arrived back at Stanbury and our transport. Then some pints of fine ale consumed at Morwenstow if memory serves. 

I have been to Stanbury and Rane in winter inclemency but my memory always paints this place in sharp summer light. I have experienced the bay in a bit-of-a-bate at least once, you know, big seas, thundering surf, spume flying, inky black skies and specs obscured continuously by salt spray. My! 

footnote: technically the caption above probably should read (third line) '… certainly fit the bill' not fill the bill… but it's done now and I just don't feel like unpicking it and redoing it, you have to call time somewhere don't you? I'm sure you get my drift…

place: kempthorn and wren

I've been thinking about and reviewing places I might not get to again. Kempthorn and Wren for example. One of the best.

Surprisingly, this treasure is on the beaten track (for the South West Coast Path is just that, in many places, a beaten track) but rarely visited I suspect, as access to it is neither obvious or easy. Someone has wanted to get down there at some time: there used to be firmly anchored ropes to assist the descent down the disintegrating cliff-slope until some zealot from whichever authority 'manages' the shoreline here removed the ropes and closed the nearby path with unpleasant little notices. So on my last visit to Kempthorn (my name for this place, see panel below) I had to descend and, more trickily, ascend, without benefit of the previously installed lifeline: not that difficult but I'm not as confident now so maybe, probably, this place won't host my footprints again (I was not minded to be told what to do by the zealot's notices, then and wouldn't be now either).

Once down to where the tides reach, there is still scrambling to be done to gain the sanded areas. A vertical rock-strata band bars one's way like a wall. But it has its weaknesses . . .  The beach is backed with the usual (for this stretch of coastline) grey sandstone pebble swathes interspersed with the stumps of the land that once reached so much further westward, and which give so much sculptural joy to these south western shorelines. The beach itself is only seen fully at the lowest tides; it leads the eye to Kempthorn's Rock and perhaps to the remains of the shipwreck that breaks the surface at low water, just below Steeple Point.

There is, for me at least, a lot more to see amongst the rock ridges and beach edges. I've found some of my most captivating small landscapes down here. Like this one, (left). Statements in smoothed stone, mirror reflection pools, veined and striated ribs, foam lines and sunshine glisters. There's a steel mast hidden towards the northern end of the bay, I presume washed here from the wreck, still in the process of dissolving, but there is little else that is out of keeping. 

I have felt the real exhilaration of solitude here, experienced the transience of sudden scene change, counter-balanced by timelessness of the processes being executed by the sea. The evidence of that force, working with gravity, abrasion, wind and weather is visible and foremost at every point. One could spend a lifetime frequenting just this one short stretch of the littoral and still not absorb more than a moderate percentage of the mystery and beauty of the place. 

I regret that I've not been on Kempthorn in rough weather, storm, or at night. It does also have, to me at least, a slight air of menace. I've been very pleased to be there, but relieved too, to have regained the cliff top safely after the visits I have made to this secluded shore, taking as I leave, fresh insights into shore-line beauty that this superb location has in abundance. The colour there is particularly special, the imprint of time is simply quite singular. I like it there… I conclude though, that perhaps I ought not to risk another expedition to K&W, you know, decrepitude is gathering pace I fear, but I am content to have been lucky enough to have found Kempthorn and Wren and had it to myself each time. Result!!

I am planning to offer a flavour of this location in a flickr album called, what else: Kempthorn & Wren and that name will be a link to those images.  I shall say unto you: Click on it, go on, you know you want to, even if you think you know what you are going to find there… you might just see what I'm on about*, you never know…  BUT NOT NOW. Y'see, I haven't got to it yet, the lawn needs cutting (as it were). Watch this space!

* and you might guess correctly (what I am on about) as I have presented you with such a lot of pictures here, there might be nothing left for a Flickr album… Only I know whether that is actually true at the juncture.

Don't forget that by clicking on the images you can obtain a better view of them, if you can be troubled to do so.