Notes on Nature: Fleshwick Bay

Fleshwick Bay, Isle of Man

The wind is so strong, we are getting a workout just by walking into it. Every five paces or so we have to turn round and face the other way to let a particularly strong gust whoosh past us. The hood of my coat is pulled tight around my face, crushing my glasses against my skin and allowing me a small peephole out into the world so that I have to fully turn my head to be able to see, like a horse with blinkers on. The trees that are scattered up the hillside are being whipped from side to side in a frenetic dance, and the sun is failing to force its way through the gathering clouds.

            Still, we are smiling as our skin is pummelled by the icy wind and the spittle of rain. We’re in a new place and that, in itself, is something to be celebrated. The walk to the cove takes us down a steep hill, past a lone house with daffodils that remain obstinately cheerful despite the weather, and to the very end of the road.

            This is where it peters out, the track stopping at the rocky beach, a small crooked smile hidden amongst imposing cliffs. It reminds of us a storm beach we saw years before in Dingle, on a warm, sunny day where everything was calm - unlike this roiling, foamy sea.

            Today, we can only linger a moment as the wind doesn’t want us to stay. It wants the bay all to itself today – there’s not even a seal or a seabird in sight. We look for a minute and then walk away smiling, knowing this won’t be the last wet, blustering walk that we share together.

If you enjoy this section of the newsletter and want to support it you can buy me a Ko-fi!