Sartfield

A gentle stroll along the beach

Wednesday 22nd January, 2014

Last week we had a steep climb from the Snaefell Mine up the side of Clagh Ouyr and I mentioned that it was 500 feet in less than half a mile . . .  but the hiking book that I got the stats from was wrong.  I had a close look at a contour map and found that we had actually climbed at least 200 metres and (if my maths is right) that translates to approx. 650 feet.  So it was a relief to know that this week's walk promised to be dead flat . . . just a gentle stroll along the beach.

It was a dual purpose walk.  We wanted to see the recent damage to the cliffs along the north west coast and we wanted to photograph the remains of Passages, a fishing trawler that went aground in a gale near Jurby Head on the 3rd of December, 1931.

Dorothy wrote "The low tide is OK this week (08.31), for the walk on the beach and if we start walking from the Sartfield end we should see the wreck.  Might be covered up by the tide coming in if we start at Glen Wyllin.  Trevor suggests we meet at Glen Wyllin and go up to Sartfield in his car."

We arrived at Glen Wyllin at eight thirty and I had time to take one of my favourite photographs - early morning light on the sea.  No pink clouds because we were facing west but a lovely warm pastel glow above the horizon.

The first intimation that our best laid scheme might be about to gang agley coincided with our arrival at Sartfield.  The word "Road" on the large red "Road closed ahead" sign above the sewage works had been covered with black tape.  Then we saw that the footpath gate had been wired shut. Trevor never seems to be worried about details like warning signs - and there was nobody around to shout at us - so we climbed over the gate and headed down towards the beach.  Further on we came to a temporary barrier across the road.  Apparently intended to stop us proceeding any further and we climbed over that too.  The wooden steps down to the beach had been damaged by the storms but were still standing - more or less.  The others climbed down and I hesitated at the top - looking for a safer route.  The steps appeared to be the least bad option so I followed the others down to the beach.

Dorothy was in a hurry to get to the wreck before it started disappearing under the waves . . . 

. . .  but I lagged a bit - examining rocks and seaweed.  The weed anchored to the exposed rocks had taken a bit of a battering.

The cliffs hadn't escaped unscathed.  The combination of super high tides and gales had undermined the bottom of the cliffs and caused land slides all the way along the beach.  The heavy rain and run off from the waterlogged fields above hadn't helped either.

The approach to the wreck wasn't easy.  We had to tread carefully between the exposed rocks, avoiding pools of water and slippery patches of weed.  

I took a series of photos of the wreck from all angles but I lost interest before the others.  Also the tide was coming in and I didn't want to risk being trapped out by the wreck. 

So I returned to my photographic beach combing.  The wet pebbles and rocks were quite beautiful.

I rather liked this strand of seaweed.  The pattern reminded me of the tracks left by a mountain bike on a muddy path.

And I was confused by a number of egg-shaped "rocks" containing small pebbles until I had a closer look and realised that they were chunks of clay from the collapsed cliffs, that had been shaped by rolling around in the waves, and the pebbles were just embedded in the surface.

There were a few birds around too.  Rather too far away for sharp photos because there was a cold wind and it was hard to hold the camera steady enough using the zoom. 

Six mature herring gulls with one younger bird on the wet sand at the edge of the sea.

Oystercatchers scurrying along.

And above us, all along the top of the unstable cliffs, fulmar couples were booking nest sites.  I hope they don't live to regret their choice.

These blocks of weathered concrete must be the remains of some long forgotten attempt to stablise the shore line.  Now they could be mistaken for a cubist art installation.  Look upon my works ye mighty and despair!

We could see vehicles working on the beach ahead and the first operation was taking place at Killane, where boulders were being piled up to protect the bungalow near the old mill.

The water draining out of the Killane trench was running faster than usual but we managed to cross and then proceeded towards the Cronk.  

There were a lot of dog walkers along this part of the beach, including a woman with a magnificent pure black greyhound.  It is always rather odd when a colour is included in the name of a breed or species and they don't all conform to the colour - like black greyhounds, brown (female) blackbirds and lilacs which can be anything from white to wine red.

When we reached the Cronk it became obvious why the dog walkers were all walking north from the car park.
  
The mouth of the Ballaugh River used to curve around the front of the car park and the water flowed north, sinking gradually into the sand.  But a couple of tractors in the car park had obviously been busy dredging the mouth and cutting a new route across the beach. 

There was no way of crossing the torrent on our walk south without getting seriously wet.  The only solution was to walk along the road as far as Glen Trunk and rejoin the beach there.

So it was a few miles of road walking with nothing much of interest except for a group of disconsolate sheep which had been penned and were waiting for the vet or farmer to arrive.

We turned off towards Orrisdale and the walk became slightly more interesting.  Huge puddles in the road, reflecting the branches overhead, and even a couple of very early miniature daffodils already flowering.

There is a sign at the approach to the shore at Glen Trunk which reads:

DANGER CLIFFS.  RISK OF

DEATH OR SERIOUS INJURY.

UNSTABLE SANDBANKS

DANGER OF COLLAPSE

There was also some red tape across the path down to the beach.  We made our way round the tape and slid down a steep grassy slope to the little river which was giving a good imitation of a raging torrent.  It was interesting to compare the "access" to the beach now with the photo that I took when we were last here in early December.

With a helping hand from Trevor (who crosses rivers and climbs rocks and precipitous slopes like a mountain goat) we crossed the stream using some big boulders as stepping stones and continued towards Glen Wyllin.  

There was another river to cross at Balleira and we were starting to have doubts about the final river at Glen Wyllin.  The stroll along the beach was turning out to resemble an army training assault course.  

Trevor said that we should be able to use the new bridge at Glen Wyllin.  This "forbidden footbridge" was built a couple of years ago but is not open for use because there is no safe access to the beach from the north side of the bridge.

The river which runs through Glen Wyllin splits further up the glen with one side running through the trout hatchery.  So we had two more streams to survive before reaching the bridge.

Tim took this photo of me using some rubble as stepping stones and crossing very, very carefully with Trevor hovering ready to lend a hand.

And also this shot of Trevor climbing up to find a route to the bridge.

I thought it might be easier to climb around the rocks lower down.  It wasn't . . . but I got a nice photo of the river and the bridge.

We finished our nice gentle stroll just in time.  The tide was coming in fast and the waves were just about reaching the piles of boulders that protect the mouth of the glen.