Seaford Head
I think one of the things that I’ve missed throughout the various lockdowns (aside from my family and friends of course) has been the sea. If I had to choose a natural habitat, I’d definitely go for the littoral zone, and I don’t know what this says about me. I just like a good transitory environment, the ever-changing space between the land and the wide-blue sea.
Unfortunately being in London means that the coast is always a bit of a schlep, and because of London’s frustrating transport geography even the bits that are physically nearby out in the estuary are an absolute nightmare to get to from this side of town. Generally if I’m heading for the coast, it’ll be somewhere in Sussex – back in the day we’d get the train down there, with plenty of stations to choose from all along from Chichester to Rye, but these days it’s a 90 minute trundle in the car.
Our target was Seaford which is, to my mind, one of the strangest coastal towns in Britain. Being by the sea usually means either being somewhere quite quaint and touristy, or somewhere deeply depressing, but Seaford is neither. It’s quite a pleasant place but it definitely isn’t beautiful, with a sort of forlorn homeliness to it. I remember taking Rachel there about 11 years ago and being slightly dismayed that we couldn’t locate a fish and chips shop anywhere in town, although probably we didn’t look hard enough. It used to be aligned to the Cinque ports back in medieval times and was regularly burned down by French pirates but, along with a number of the Sussex coastal towns, the port silted up and had to move to the west to Newhaven. Seaford fell into decline but its fortunes revived in Victorian times when the railway came and it became something of a resort town. Now though, it’s largely forgotten, and in many ways its all the better for it.
We parked up in the bright sunshine by the Martello Tower. This was the most westerly of these structures, built to protect the nearest parts of Britain from attack by Napoleon, and it’s now a museum (Closed of course, because of the C-word). Our main objective was to walk over Seaford Head to Cuckmere Haven, a classic walk that takes in some of the finest chalk cliffs in England. Slogging up to the summit of Seaford Head is quite a stiff walk but with plenty of excuses to stop and stare back at the view maybe not that bad. The cliffs here are steadily crumbling away into the sea and there’s now a rope to try and keep you back from the side, slowly squashing the path up against the golf course. I do wonder how long it’ll be until the path no longer has space to run – a fair bit of cliff has tumbled down since my first visit. The cliffs themselves are spectacular sheer walls of white and a huge colony of gulls and fulmar nest on them. The gulls make themselves most known up here, flocking out in huge swirls from the cliff face below and shrieking the whole time.
Once at the top of the cliff and past the golf course you reach the nature reserve as the path plunges down into a beautiful dry valley surrounded on all sides by scrub. At this time of year the blackthorn is in full bloom, with sprays of gorse and other plants. This is perfect territory for a variety of small brown birds, and at once the air was full of their singing, whether it was the scratchy warbling of the whitethroats, the sweet singing of stonechats or the trilling of the larks. As we descended the valley, the cliffs of the Seven Sisters ahead of us, the fulmars wheeled overhead soaring on the winds running over the cliff faces. The sea below was far bluer than it had any right to be and it was about as perfect a day as we could ever have wished for.
Beyond Hope Gap the path climbs once again before turning the corner and descending towards Cuckmere Haven. Ahead are the Seven Sisters (of course there are eight of them), a set of huge roller-coaster cliffs of chalk where the South Downs end abruptly at the sea. Beyond the dip at Birling Gap the cliffs rise again topped with the Belle Tout lighthouse, with Beachy Head hidden from sight around the corner. The River Cuckmere meanders through the valley below and on the side of the cliff are the row of Coastguard cottages famous from about a million photographs. We spent a few minutes savouring this view before heading back inland towards South Hill Barn on the hilltop above. Walking up the gravel track, the landscape opens up below with the vast sweeps of the Cuckmere River while on the left are bushes that fizzed with bird song. We spent a magical few minutes watching a couple of whitethroats dashing through the bushes, occasionally bursting into their scratchy song, completely oblivious to our existence. There weren’t any photographs, but to be honest the beauty of these sorts of experiences is just being there in the moment enjoying the natural behaviour of a bird untroubled by the humans watching it.
Unfortunately we couldn’t stay the whole day, so we carried on over the hill and back into Seaford where a very tasty ice cream on the sea-front was our reward for the walk. I say reward, to be honest, to spend a few hours in those surroundings was quite enough reward in itself!
Unfortunately being in London means that the coast is always a bit of a schlep, and because of London’s frustrating transport geography even the bits that are physically nearby out in the estuary are an absolute nightmare to get to from this side of town. Generally if I’m heading for the coast, it’ll be somewhere in Sussex – back in the day we’d get the train down there, with plenty of stations to choose from all along from Chichester to Rye, but these days it’s a 90 minute trundle in the car.
Our target was Seaford which is, to my mind, one of the strangest coastal towns in Britain. Being by the sea usually means either being somewhere quite quaint and touristy, or somewhere deeply depressing, but Seaford is neither. It’s quite a pleasant place but it definitely isn’t beautiful, with a sort of forlorn homeliness to it. I remember taking Rachel there about 11 years ago and being slightly dismayed that we couldn’t locate a fish and chips shop anywhere in town, although probably we didn’t look hard enough. It used to be aligned to the Cinque ports back in medieval times and was regularly burned down by French pirates but, along with a number of the Sussex coastal towns, the port silted up and had to move to the west to Newhaven. Seaford fell into decline but its fortunes revived in Victorian times when the railway came and it became something of a resort town. Now though, it’s largely forgotten, and in many ways its all the better for it.
We parked up in the bright sunshine by the Martello Tower. This was the most westerly of these structures, built to protect the nearest parts of Britain from attack by Napoleon, and it’s now a museum (Closed of course, because of the C-word). Our main objective was to walk over Seaford Head to Cuckmere Haven, a classic walk that takes in some of the finest chalk cliffs in England. Slogging up to the summit of Seaford Head is quite a stiff walk but with plenty of excuses to stop and stare back at the view maybe not that bad. The cliffs here are steadily crumbling away into the sea and there’s now a rope to try and keep you back from the side, slowly squashing the path up against the golf course. I do wonder how long it’ll be until the path no longer has space to run – a fair bit of cliff has tumbled down since my first visit. The cliffs themselves are spectacular sheer walls of white and a huge colony of gulls and fulmar nest on them. The gulls make themselves most known up here, flocking out in huge swirls from the cliff face below and shrieking the whole time.
Once at the top of the cliff and past the golf course you reach the nature reserve as the path plunges down into a beautiful dry valley surrounded on all sides by scrub. At this time of year the blackthorn is in full bloom, with sprays of gorse and other plants. This is perfect territory for a variety of small brown birds, and at once the air was full of their singing, whether it was the scratchy warbling of the whitethroats, the sweet singing of stonechats or the trilling of the larks. As we descended the valley, the cliffs of the Seven Sisters ahead of us, the fulmars wheeled overhead soaring on the winds running over the cliff faces. The sea below was far bluer than it had any right to be and it was about as perfect a day as we could ever have wished for.
Beyond Hope Gap the path climbs once again before turning the corner and descending towards Cuckmere Haven. Ahead are the Seven Sisters (of course there are eight of them), a set of huge roller-coaster cliffs of chalk where the South Downs end abruptly at the sea. Beyond the dip at Birling Gap the cliffs rise again topped with the Belle Tout lighthouse, with Beachy Head hidden from sight around the corner. The River Cuckmere meanders through the valley below and on the side of the cliff are the row of Coastguard cottages famous from about a million photographs. We spent a few minutes savouring this view before heading back inland towards South Hill Barn on the hilltop above. Walking up the gravel track, the landscape opens up below with the vast sweeps of the Cuckmere River while on the left are bushes that fizzed with bird song. We spent a magical few minutes watching a couple of whitethroats dashing through the bushes, occasionally bursting into their scratchy song, completely oblivious to our existence. There weren’t any photographs, but to be honest the beauty of these sorts of experiences is just being there in the moment enjoying the natural behaviour of a bird untroubled by the humans watching it.
Unfortunately we couldn’t stay the whole day, so we carried on over the hill and back into Seaford where a very tasty ice cream on the sea-front was our reward for the walk. I say reward, to be honest, to spend a few hours in those surroundings was quite enough reward in itself!
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