High Cliff

Never has there been a more appropriate nomenclature. After due consideration and, bearing in mind the almost perfect conditions, I decided to start to walk north-west and see how far I got. I ended up going all the way.

The dunes atop the headland occasionally sported growth. Larger heath scrub had roots exposed by the weather while flora closer to the ground had flowers that were tiny, almost microscopic. I guess they had to be to survive out here where rain is almost something you only hear about in fairy tales. It is a constant fight for them just to stay alive, as it is for everything else. Also, you couldn’t see them, but the lizard, wallaby and a few birds were exposed by their footprints. There was a dog as well that someone had taken for a walk and ripples in the sand. Life was on a knife edge out here but it made for some interesting scenery, if only you kept your eyes open.

Mostly the walk was on reasonably firm ground but, from time to time, soft dunes had to be negotiated and a couple went alarmingly close to the edge so I headed inland for a short distance. Right then I wished I had a tractor.

Because of the Dreadnoughts, the beach below is protected and just a nice little wave rolls in, quite benign compared to what else happens along this coast. A lone fishing boat was obviously finding something just beyond the last island because it stayed there the whole time I did the walk. A lone osprey rose, maybe for the first time on his morning rounds, wings beating due to the lack of air currents; they would come later.

Getting nearer to High Cliff the scene changes significantly. No longer do the rocks look like ships strung out in line astern; now they’re all heaped on top of one another and the sound of the sea rises with the soft