Random notes from an occasional sea kayaker

The beautiful coastline near our home holds a special place in my heart. In how many places on the Med can you can sit on the beach and gaze across at the opposite shore, seeing not even a single man-made structure? No buildings, no pylons, no jetties, no roads. You can do exactly that just fifteen minutes drive from our home, from our favourite little beach, where the waves crash onto the pebbles like the heartbeat of the sea. It’s one of my happy places. But sometimes simply observing isn’t enough. Sometimes I feel the need to immerse myself in the natural world - feel it, live it, experience what it means to be part of it.

So we take a little sea kayak adventure now and again. In this part of the world we don’t need to paddle far to find the energy of the wild. The wind is the first reminder. In the mornings the sea is as smooth as silk and our kayaks glide effortlessly over the glassy depths, the surface sometimes reflecting the sky like a mirror, sometimes translucent, revealing depths of deep turquoise. But around midday, very predictably, the gentle breeze starts to stiffen. It whips the tops of the waves into foamy crests, rolling the swell under the kayaks, forcing us to put in serious paddling effort in order to keep our course. The sea and wind have other ideas, they’d turn the kayak broadside if they had their way. It’s exhilarating, invigorating, working with their power, riding the rollers towards our goal. But even when the wind is up, some spots in a crook of the coast are sheltered - it’s a magic feeling battling the wind and waves in a kayak, then turning a corner and suddenly feeling as if you’re floating on top of an aquarium.

The wind is not the only energy that disturbs the water. A shapshot memory from a recent trip: the sea surface near the shore suddenly starts bubbling rapidly, almost as if it’s boiling, the disturbance moving swiftly towards us; then a shower of silver arrows breaks the surface, a three-dimensional shivering and sparkling. Dozens of tiny fish are leaping out of the water and splashing back. The shoal splits in two directions, then splits again, too quick to make out individuals, but they’re clearly escaping from something. Beneath the surface dark turquoise forms of four or five larger fish dive beneath the shoals, zigzagging as they hunt, scattering their prey.

There are many inviting little pebble beaches along this coast that are only accessible from the sea. The downside is that many face the prevailing wind, so landing can feel like a challenge if there is some surf. All part of the adventure! And for me, the upside of this constant elemental beating on the pebbles is the beach-combing. Along the waterline I find fragments of sea glass buffed and polished into pearly opacity - green, brown, aqua, like gemstones in the rough; tiny porcelain-like spiral shells, exquisitely patterned in brown and cream details; sea-urchin shells in ochre-pink and grey-green, ridged with regimented rows of spots; flat, smooth, coin-sized pebbles of varying colours - monochrome or striped or spotted. It’s like opening a bottomless treasure chest.

But it doesn’t do to become too relaxed near the the shoreline. When swimming from the beach we’ve learned to beware of the living sea urchins - spiny black balls that lurk on the sea bed where the water is around a metre deep. Stepping on one is a painful experience that nobody wants to repeat. This creature has perfected its self-defence mechanism! A reminder, perhaps, never to ignore what may lie beneath a surface of mesmerising beauty.

Photo credits:

1, 2. Anna Wedgwood

3. Julie Vural