Jurassic Coast: The Final Leg and Entering a Firing Zone

The final leg of this journey was between Budleigh Salterton and Exmouth. The route took me past Otterton Point and then round Straight Point to the main channel into the Exe Estuary. 

It was a straightforward route, but inexplicably I failed to spot something basic.

Unaware, I passed the beach at the west end of Budleigh Salterton, with their elegant houses and flats.

Out to sea two fishermen conferred, as they attended to their lines.

I scanned the horizon.  Not many yachts were out there, but a large one with a junk rig caught my eye. I was making good progress and closing in on Straight Point.

It was at this point, however, that I saw a large launch speeding towards me. When it arrived the crew told me that I had strayed into the Straight Point Firing Range exclusion zone. I was told politely to return to where I had come from as quickly as possible. 

I looked out to sea again and about two miles out were buoys marking the outer periphery of the zone. I immediately realised I had to be a mile back and then round these buoys to continue my voyage, but I was running out of time to get into the Exe Estuary before the tide turned.

When I explained my predicament, the launch crew took pity on me and agreed to speed things up by towing me out of the zone. A large line was thrown to me with instructions to hang on to it and let go if anything went wrong. On no account should I make it fast.

We sped along very quickly with me just about hanging on with arm and streering with the other.  For good measure they took me back by about a mile and a half. They told me that this would ensure I got round the exclusion range without being swept back into it. The launch sped off, gunning up it's powerful engines.

 It felt like I was nearly back at Budleigh Salterton.

I rowed hard, at the same time trying to calculate whether I would make it. However, after about ten minutes, the launch came on the radio and told me that the firing had stopped and I could now continue on my way. 

I was relieved I would now make it. I rowed briskly without incident to Straight Point and then up into the Exe Estuary.

Subsequently I found out that the Royal Marines train using the range, fire live ammunition. I am still not sure why I did not spot the firing range on the chart.

Jurassic Coast: Sidmouth to Budleigh Salterton

 I had the chance to walk around Sidmouth. It is what I would call a genteel place, where you are more likely to have a round of putting or bowls than enjoy going to a nightclub. 

Eventually I set off and was surprised by the level of activity on the water, with many swimmers and people rowing.

I  am especially wary of the swimmers and the potential danager of hitting one with an oar.  One swimmer was being tracked by a canoeist.

Sidmouth beach seemed to fill with people as it receded into the distance.

The cliffs became more dramatic and monumental.

Rounding a final headland, they gave way to an inlet and a shingle beach, where people were picnicking. I had arrived.

As in the previous voyage, someone volunteered to help pull PicoMicroYacht up the beach and I soon had it derigged and covered up, ready to leave for the night.

Being closer to Exeter, Budleigh Salterton has more of an edge to it, with younger people looking for a good time in the evening, also on the beach in the high summer.

I have always associated Budleigh Salterton with my school history lessons in which the Elizabethians were mainly characterised as swashbuckling adventurers. This included Sir Walter Raleigh, a court favourite of Queen Elizabeth I, born nearby. 

His childhood is depicted by the pre-raphaelite painter, John Millais.  Looking closely, I see that Millias got the colour of the cliff correct, and I found out that he travelled to the town to paint on location, his two sons modelling for him. It would have been a bit too windy on that day to venture out in PicoMicroYacht.

 The boyhood of Raleigh by John Everett Millais, 1870, The Tate Gallery, London.

Continuing The Jurrasic Coast: Seaton to Sidmouth

I gingerly exited the Axmouth Harbour, situated next to Seaton, the tide sweeping me out through the narrow entrance. I used the oars only to direct the PicoMicroYacht into the river centre. Although wary of a confused sea at the entrance, I found it all comparatively docile.

As the light improved, I went a mile off shore, looking inland at the Seaton front.

The next major landmark was Beer Head, a last hurrah of chalk as I journeyed west, the striking cliffs formed much later than the surrounding red mudstone and sandstone that dominate the coast for miles around.

From Beer to Sidmouth takes you past the Branscombe beach.

This was made famous in 2007, when a container ship, the 62,000 ton MSC Napoli, was holed in a January storm and had to be grounded there.

The stricken MSC Napoli

A further storm washed many containers off the ship and onto the beach, precipating hoards of scavengers to descend on Brancombe to try and remove the goods, including high end motocycles and barrels of wine. 

A BMW bike on Branscombe

As I completed the voyage, the sea remained glassy, with a good view of the crumbling cliffs, including the Salcombe Hill cliff close to Sidmouth. Not a good place to explore the beach.

At Sidmouth, a kindly club member from the sailing club offered to help hawl PicoMicroYacht up the beach, the offer gladly accepted as I was fatigued from the row.

The friendly Sidmouth Sailing Club on another day.

Completing the Jurassic Coast - The Triassic

This summer I was able to finish my voyage along the Jurassic Coast, from Swanage to Exmouth.

I  had left the western end of the Jurassic coast is called the Triassic Coast, situated in East Devon. It is the oldest part of Jurassic coast, formed in the Triassic Period, just over two million years ago. It cameafter the Great Dying in which it is estimated that 90% of our planetary species were wiped out, preceeding the main age of the dinosaurs. 

Triassic early dinosaurs - artwork by Highlights For Children / Oxford Scientific/ Jupiter Image

I had the privilege of voyaging this coastland, part of a world heritage site on par with  the Great Barrier Reef or the Grand Canyon. This post describes the first of four trips along the coastland.

I started from Lyme Regis.The leaden sky yielded subtle greens and blues in the background, the calm weather enabling PicoMicroyacht to be left outside the harbour on the pontoons.

I  then voyaged to Axmouth Por, rowing along a wild looking coast. The wildness is caused by frequent land slippages in which layers of greensand and chalk slide into the sea over a further layer of water impervious clay. The land become almost impassible as wild flora form an almost impenetrable rain forest type enviroment.

The ever dangerous coastline is littered with wrecks, some beached.

Some six miles down the coast from Lyme Regis,  the Axemouth Port is small and challenging. I had to wait until the tide had nearly finished exiting.

A convenient buoy was situationed outside the harbour.

I then felt my way in to avoid grounding. Once inside, the water turned a brown colour due to the deposits from the River Axe. I was able to moor up in the calm waters of the local sailing club.

 

On Chesil Beach

 For a while I have been wanting to visit Chesil Beach again. 

Chesil Beach is the line extending in the middle of the picture, separated from the mainland by water.

This 18 mile pebble beach in Dorset presents a challenge for any form of boat, being a lee shore in the prevailing south westerly winds.  In days gone by, hapless ships would be embayed off this shore, driven onto the grinding pebbles of the beach, and destroyed by the crashing waves and undertoe. 

So I had to go when there was calm weather, a smooth sea and little wind, preferably blowing offshore. 

I started ten miles west along the beach, at Abbotsbury. To access the beach, PicoMicroYacht had to be pushed between a gap in some rocks.

It was then dragged up the back of the beach ready to be slid down to the sea the next morning. The beach is about 11 metres high. 

As the sun was rising I started to row eastwards.

On the horizon was the St Catherine's Chapel, built by monks in the 14th Century as part of the Abbotsbury Abbey.  I was curious about the name and found on the internet that St Catherine was a persecuted Christian from Alexandria, canonised as a patron saint of philosphers, amongst others. The Abbotsbury monks had venerated her.  I discovered she was murdered, her punishment for her faith being tied to a wheel and set alight, the origin of the firework name 'Catherine Wheel.'

I rowed onwards, with mile upon mile of shingle on my right. I have read that some find this monotonous, but I was marvelling at the changing patterns of the shingle bank. 

Although isolated and mainly deserted, along the way are boats for sea fishing, reached by ferrying across the stretch of brackish water that separates the bank from the mainland. 

My destination was the base of the Isle of Portland the stone island that splits East and West Dorset into different sailing areas.

After about three and a half hours of rhythmic rowing in calm waters I was at Chesil Cove, nestling under the island.

Beaching PicoMicroYacht in the very calm sea was still not straightforward due to the steepness of the bank. Eventually I was able to drag PicoMicroYacht above the tideline and erect a small tent for shelter.

That night I sensed moonlight from inside the tent and looked out to see the moon rising over Portland Island.

The next morning the wind had got up, blowing offshore. I put the PicoMicroYacht masts up and fitted a new bowsprit I made recently.

PicoMicroYacht was slid out into the sea. As I readied the boat for sailing back to Abbotsbury, I was quickly blown out to sea and the waves began to make their presence.

The extent of the wind meant I did not need to row, so I got PicoMicroYacht under control and used the sails to slowly angle back to the shore where it would be calmer. 

I skirted along the beach. Again, it was relatively deserted, but I did spot a solitory walker. I know from accounts of walking the beach it is heavy going along the shingle, and I was having a much easier time of it.

The Isle of Portland was now several miles away.

The odd fisherman was to be avoided, their lines extending well out to sea.

Onwards I went, the beach stretching into the distance.

Eventually, the presence of beach people indicated I was now back at Abbotbury.

On arriving, a family came and helped PicoMicroYacht up the beach, instructed by the father. Feeling fatigued ,I thanked them profusely. 

When they finished, the father touched elbows and spontaneously said: 'God Bless you Brother.' It seems strange to write this, but being blessed by a stranger was a positive for me.

All I had to do now was slide PicoMicoYacht back down the other side of the beach and I had finished my adventure.