Sunday and Monday were leisurely days with Mum and Greg. Lunch at a local golf club meant we got to eat another roast dinner, although it wasn't a patch on The Sun, but it was still perfectly acceptable. We shopped at Marks and Spencer for food to gobble down while we were here and also to take back to America. On Monday, we crammed in another outstanding cream tea at Pamphill Parlour Cafe, then ambled around Wimborne Minster, looking at the old church with its Astronomical Clock, and the local charity shops.
Then on Tuesday after another full English breakfast, it was back into
exploring mode, and this time we were off to Lulworth Cove. We passed by the 2 gates that lead into Charborough House and the Drax Estate. I'd come across these in 2016, and knew Elliott would want photos. I was content to just peer through the gate at the amazing statues that line the driveway, and wonder what kind of lives lived behind these gates.
We arrived at Lulworth Cove, and parked the car in the visitor carpark before walking down the lane to the cove. It was extremely blustery, but thankfully, the rain was holding off. There were very few others braving the high winds, even down on the beach, there were only a handful of people.
Although the cove is mostly protected by it narrow opening to the sea, the waves determinedly pushed through, crashing on the rocks, throwing up veils of fine spray or curling wisps of water, thrashing out their energy before finally tumbling on to the beach we walked on. There are usually a few small boats bobbing on the water, but today, the bay was empty.
During the summer, Lulworth Cove is a popular tourist destination, with over half a million visiting the horseshoe cove annually. The beach is shale and limestone, the limestone looking a lot like the chalk from Botany Bay, the pebbles have the same soft, white, porous and holey appearance. There's many footpaths to follow along the shoreline, and inland, but the gale force winds swept those ideas out of our heads, and today, we were focusing on just the beach.
The tide was coming in when we arrived, but with quite a lot of the beach still accessible, we walked around the cove before the tide came in completely. This panorama shot shows the cove entrance, created when the sea smashed through Portland limestone and then eroded the clays behind that. We met a couple on this side; the young man was English, and his girlfriend was American, from Massachusetts. She was loving England, and the English people. We stopped to chat, and then slowly made our way back as the waves were encroaching further in on the beach. An elderly man was hanging on to a trailer at the entrance to the beach, his eyes watering from the winds, but thoroughly enjoying the waves. He clutched a camera in his free hand, and we spent a few minutes swapping information on photo processing software, before leaving him to his photography.
Back at the car, We made the dumb decision to walk up over the cliff tops to Durdle Door. It was only a couple of miles there, so we began the march up the long steady incline of steps. It was extremely blustery, and I battled against the winds to make headway, but finally we were up on top of the cliffs and looking down on to the cove just before Durdle Door. We were laughing as it was a real struggle to remain standing in one spot, the wind was hellbent on pushing and knocking us about. We felt the familiar pinpricks of icy rain on our faces, and decided driving to Durdle Door might be a better decision. And so we trekked our way back down to the car, the pebbled path now slippery from the rain, and our descent slower than the climb up. As we neared the bottom, a local man was walking his dog, and veered off the path to walk on the grass along the bottom of the hill, rather than going upwards. Sensible man!
At the carpark to Durdle Door, we had to trek down a hill to the beach, but it seemed a little more sheltered than our last arduous trek, and progress was made quickly. Durdle Door is one of Dorset's most photographed landmarks, and although it is open to the public, it's actually privately owned by the Welds family since 1641, and is part of the Lulworth Estate which also includes Lulworth Cove and Lulworth Castle. Durdle comes from the old English word, 'thirl', (meaning drill), which in turn comes from 'thyrel', (meaning hole).
At the top of the cliff looking down to the left is this strip of shoreline, called Man 'O' War Cove. The name
'
comes from the man-of-war, a sailing warship, and the animal's resemblance to the Portuguese version (the caravel) at full sail' These images on the Wikipedia page illustrate this, and now I can see why the cove is called this, the waves forming the same pattern as they rush towards the beach.
Looking down to the right, Durdle Door, stands proud in the bright sun, frothy waves crashing loudly on to the shore. Only a handful of people were down here, and I stood watching them for a few minutes as they were being blown along the edge of the water by the fierce winds. There were steep wooden steps to climb down to the beach, a few folks clambering up were having problems negotiating these while trying to keep their balance, as the strong gusts kept blasting us.
We stood patiently while these poor people stumbled and clung on to each other as they made their way up, taking advantage of the time to snap a slew of shots from the top while I waited. And then it was our time to climb down. Slowly at first, but I was getting impatient, and picked up speed, finally jumping down on to the pebbles, and then amazed, once I was level with Durdle Door, at how loud the waves were. They crashed and smashed against the rock arch, then clattered on to the pebbles on the beach with almost splintering explosions. I laid down on the pebbles to take some shots, but almost immediately gave up. You can see from the blurred, bleary areas in the photos that my camera lens was getting pummeled with sea spray.
It was interesting to take photos from different perspectives of the door; this last photo looks like the arch is tilting. The beach looks like a red sand but is in fact, tiny pebbles, which had the same consistency as loose sand to walk in. We were ecstatic that we could take photos with nobody's footprints in it, the beach smooth and untouched. It would've been lovely to be able to sit on the beach for an hour or so, and let ourselves be hypnotized by the constant awesomeness of the waves thrashing against that arch, but it was cold down there, and the gales were ruthless. But I still preferred this wild, almost desolate scene to one with blazing sunshine, a tame sea and hoards of tourists.
Even though there were no seabirds to be seen, likely due to the cold winds, a seagull had lost a feather here among the bladderwrack seaweed, maybe washed in by the sea.
The tide was tumbling inwards as we left the beach to climb back up to the top. This, for me, was a lot easier than going down. There was no handrail to clutch, but with a forward momentum I soon sallied up the steps. Man 'O' War Cove was still displaying its 'sail' formation and looked different from earlier on, without the sunlight shining on the water.
It certainly seemed duller and more overcast as we reached the car. It was bliss to sit inside, with no loud noise or cold gusts assailing my ears, the silence was heavenly. We sat and looked out for a few minutes, then spotted a man, loaded with camera bags and a tall tripod, beginning his walk down to Durdle Door. And as he passed the gate, the rain began to fall. But what a hardy guy! We looked and waited, yet he didn't retrace his steps tot the car, he was going down. Good for him, but we were finished for the day.
On the way back to our caravan, we stopped at a pub that couldn't be passed, since it was named The World's End. We chugged a couple of well earned pints of beer, and I was impressed with my dinner. I never eat belly of pork, because of the fat, but the waitress said it was exquisite, and the best thing on the menu, and so I chose it. And she was right, it was wonderful
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