Hurst Spit, shingle wind and a long slog – first published 11 May 2014

May 2014 and my first visit to Milford on Sea. The sun had been going in and out of the clouds all morning and, as I stood looking at the steep shingle bank ahead of me it came out briefly, making the quartz in the huge black rocks sparkle. This seemed like a sign to keep going so I did. In hindsight this may not have been one of my better decisions.

11 May 2014

There was a short, dithering stop to look at some lichen, but the wind made taking decent pictures tough because I couldn’t seem to steady myself, especially with the shifting stones beneath me. In the end I decided to keep going forwards, despite my misgivings. The wind helpd me up the bank and, at the top, I had a wonderful view over Keyhaven estuary. There was an accidental photo, taken on the stumbling climb, all pebbles and greenery with the rows of holiday chalets lining the edge of the estuary at an odd angle. I may not have taken it on purpose but I quite like it.

The finger of shingle seemed to stretch on forever. People were stumbling towards me heads down against the punishing wind. For me things were easier because the wind was pushing me forwards but I knew every step I took was going to be a struggle on the way back. This was Hurst Spit, about two miles of loose shingle bank leading to my ultimate aim, Hurst Castle. The spit shelters Keyhaven and Pennington marshes from the sea and was originally formed from loose flint pebbles eroded from the cliffs I’d just walked along. In 1989 the spit was weakened to the point of breaching so the bank was rebuilt between 1996 and 1997 using dredged shingle. In my opinion they could have packed it down a bit tighter. My feet were sinking into the stones and, even with the wind pushing me it was an energy sapping walk.

Below me the grassy fields were swaying and I saw a little bridge with a walker sitting taking a rest. Right then I could have done with a rest but there was no respite from the wind howling around me. When I heard someone calling my name I thought I was imagining things until I saw Commando running down the path below. I waved but there was little chance of conversation with the wind taking our words away. Struggling on I watched him become a speck in the distance.

When the sun came out again I turned my attention back to the sparkling granite and the sea. The Needles seemed even closer now and behind me I could just make out Christchurch on the horizon. When I looked back Commando was gone but there was another bridge and the lighthouse ahead seemed a little closer but that may have been wishful thinking.

The bridge marked the end of the narrow band of water, whether it’s a canal or river I’m not sure. On the other side the water opened out and I could see mud flats and the tiny white dots of boats. On I crunched through the shingle. The boats seemed to be getting closer but I wasn’t making much progress towards the castle as far as I could see. There were houses on the tree line. What wonderful views across the water they must have.

Soon the little sailing boats moored close to the spit were right below me, a long row of them there in the sunshine. Looking down I wondered about the people who owned them, were they the ones I’d seen wandering about below or walking on the top of the bank with me? I could see the lighthouse quite clearly now but the castle was still just a dark shape at the end of the sweeping bend ahead. My eyes were drawn to a little speck moving towards me on the path below, was it Commando coming back?

It was and, when he drew level we had a shouted conversation, hampered by the noisy wind.
“…are you going?”
“I was trying for the castle. Did you get there? Is it worth the walk?”
“Shingle…energy…turn back…going….car…bring back to cafe…meet you.”
“Which cafe?”
“…bridge…will wait for you…phone when…get there…”
He ran off along the bottom of the bank. There didn’t seem to be much flat land to run on down there as far as I could see and I wondered if he’d get through. Was the tide coming in or going out?

The bank seemed to be lower here and I squinted towards the castle trying to work out how long it would take me to get to it. Crunching through the sea of pebbles was slow going. Commando, running back the way I’d come would probably get back to the car before I even got there at the rate I was going. The lighthouse looked like it might be worth the walk but I wasn’t so sure about the castle itself. I knew it was one of Henry VIII’s Device Forts, to guard the approaches to Southampton but I’ve seen one of his forts before at Lee on Solent and it wasn’t exactly awe inspiring.

Maybe it was the wind beating at me or the sheer effort of every step wearing me down but I decided to turn around and start following Commando back to the car. My stomach was rumbling, my quads ached and the thought of struggling back against the wind was not a happy one without adding another mile or more to it. If only I’d put some snacks in my bag instead of leaving my chocolate milk in the car. Maybe I could get a coffee at the little cafe that looked so strangely familiar.

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