The rhythmic strum of the tide makes it hard to lose interest in the sea when it’s right outside your door. The waves crash and tumble, rain mixed with salty spray on some days. Everything rusts. And on other days it’s as calm as a millpond while the tide keeps its eternal promise to the shore. Their dance is a chaotic one, filled with flurries, twirls and surprises, yet it’s predictable. Testament to this is the accurate-to-the-minute tide-table that sits by my window; while chaos, ceaseless energy and authority abound in the intertidal realm beyond its panes.
After a morning completing some dreary-day tasks, a gleam of sunshine lulled me out. Twenty five steps and I was on the rounded pebbles of upper Borth beach walking towards the sea to meet its mood in a state of subdued restlessness. The dancers had parted after a brief but coarse embrace and recoiled in time to that ancient refrain. Sea and shore; lovers and haters, deposition and erosion, creator and destroyer. Life and death.
One of the most interesting aspects of any shoreline is where there are rock pools, wave-cut platforms and cliffs. Luckily, all exist at this end of the beach and I strode out across the mudstones and shale of the Aberystwyth grits towards large outcrops of rocks now fully exposed at the apex of low tide. The pools teamed with life. Small fish of unknown species darted between my feet as I hopped between exposed rocks, trying to keep from falling in. Peering into the shallows, the colours which met my eyes were hard to believe. Seaweeds at different depths glistened with purples, reds, greens and yellows, while pink anenomies stretched out their sticky tentacles in hope of some drifting food. Shrimp bobbed up and down as if suspended by invisible string, their opaque segmented bodies flicking attentively in the clear water.
Further towards the sea, where communities of plants and animals spend more of their time submerged, changes were afoot. The muscles on the rocks grew smaller, while worm casts grew in abundance. Different seaweeds clung to the sides of rock pools and I noticed the limpets cemented to the exposed rocks were now of considerable size. I speculated that this was due either to the longer foraging time enjoyed by these fellows compared to their upper-shore companions, or that somehow a smaller shell was advantageous for surviving for longer out of the water, for resisting predation by seabirds, or both. Either way, the most remarkable innovation of these shell covered creatures is their immovability. When disturbed, they adhere to smooth rock with more strength than human hands could hope to dislodge, rendering them more or less invulnerable to attack.
Climbing to the top of a large boulder densely covered in coarse barnacles I surveyed the view. Waves leapt at my feet from the foaming sea while the sky, dark and foreboding, brewed its next cascade of rain. I pulled my hood down and peered back towards the village. I felt happy to be on that rock and even happier that I could see my house from it. Drawing back a lungful of sea air as if it had to last me until next time, I clambered down the other side. On a distant rock a group of cormorants stretched open their wings to dry in the wind. I continued my journey along the shoreline.
It wasn’t long until I made a finding which completed my sojourn enough for me to turn for home contented. In places at the furthest point from the beach, the rock was marked with strange rings much like the Neolithic burial engravings I recently witnessed in Western Scotland. But these were not human symbols. They were the ‘home-scar’ of limpets. Limpets are herbivores and forage for algae when the tide washes over them, returning to the exact same spot on their rock when the water recedes, thus causing a deep ring-like scar to form over countless lunar cycles. So, the presumably dead limpets which once returned to these grooves twice a day for their entire lives have left behind a simple but bold legacy. Perhaps it was their permanence and fastidiousness that Neolithic Man admired in the humble limpet, enough to persuade him that a simple ring carved into a slab of stone was all that is needed to say “this is where I belong, this is my home”.