Perhaps every feature in “Vectis,” from the matted festoons on its honey-combed rocks to the “witchery of its soft blue sky,” predisposes a frequent visitor to approve also of its pebbles. But it is an unprejudiced fact, that in texture and colour they excel those which are found on the Sussex beaches. And while I think highly of our Devonshire jaspers, I remember a jasper-agate, gathered some years ago at Sandown, which might challenge all such stones of native growth in our London museums, and bear away the palm.
Many a calm summer’s evening, many a stormy winter’s forenoon, have I whiled away in absolute contentment on that most interesting shore. In the hot noons of July the bathing is delicious; and after your bath, the shadow cast by overhanging cliffs, and a fanning breeze from the sea, make a ramble onwards irresistible. But I found winter as pleasant in its way. When the gust roared, and chimneys smoked, and the heavens looked dark and disturbed, it was inspiriting to go forth roughly clad, and to watch the fitful changes where the weather-gleam strikes upon Culver; or to mark how that treacherous mist would come creeping round Dunnose, till the “white horses” rose on the sea, and the heavy squall which had long been packing in the offing burst with a wild cry, driving in a yet heavier element with tatters of oar-weed and splinters of broken dyke against the face of the immovable cliff.
After passing Shanklin, the style of scenery as far as Luccombe and the Fishers’ huts, is quaint and picturesque. Here the “Gault” makes its appearance, and the hill-paths are in consequence slippery and dangerous. After this, succeed several miles of fairy-like beauty. And then, the stern grandeur of Black-gang, the coast-line trending away in a range as savage as that of Calabria. And last, the chosen home of the poet, sublime Freshwater, and rainbow-tinted Alum-Bay.
Having said so much on the pleasure of beach-rambling, it may be well to put tourists on their guard in two important particulars. The first of these touches personal safety. No one should set out upon what may prove a prolonged expedition without first ascertaining, on Kalendar authority, the hours of the tide for that day. There are sundry points on the coast of the Isle of Wight, for instance, where after a couple of hours’ progress, on scientific thoughts intent, the pedestrian may find himself hemmed in by a jutting precipice in front, while the advancing tide behind has gradually cut off all hopes of a retreat on “terra firma:” and as the face of the cliff is seldom such as admits of being scaled, it will then fare badly with him if he be not “the king of fishes.”
The other matter respects fatigue. Hearty exercise is desirable; not so that which results in utter exhaustion. My own experience is as follows:—I have climbed to the summit of Sca’ Fell, and then walked back, footsore and fasting, to Keswick. I have swum a mile before breakfast. I have ascended Mount Etna at midnight in December’s snow. But for sheer fatigue, pulling at the muscles, and drying up the marrow, there is nothing equal to ten miles of stiff shingle, while a foggy north-easter currycombs your face, and perhaps your shoe-leather has been laid open by the edge of an inauspicious flint.
If in addition to all this, forgetting “Cording,” you have sallied forth non bene relictâ parmulâ, your condition is by no means enviable. Therefore, whoever intends to go beaching in earnest should look to his outer man, and carry with him certain creature-comforts, not omitting to include in these a supply of good tobacco.
Yet one word more upon this head. Have a due regard to the well-being of your eyes. They are, as you will not fail to acknowledge, the working party on these occasions. Manage how you will, they must be subjected to a great stress and strain. Give them half an hour’s respite, if possible, while you sit down and inhale the “weed.” It is unpleasant to find, after too intense a service on the part of your “daylights,” as you return homewards along the meadow-path, that a beach you have left two or three miles behind you is all coming back, whether you like it or no, upon your organs of vision.
On the whole, summer is the most fruitful season for stocking a cabinet, on account of the more powerful illumination cast upon the objects of your search. But in winter the beach itself is very likely to be in better condition, for it is oftener agitated, and many specimens will come to the surface which in calmer weather lie buried under sand. It is important to train yourself to attentive observation, and after long habit the ear will listen intuitively.
If you hear the sea make a dull, booming noise during the night, be on the look-out two or three tides later, when the first shingle now thrown up has sifted and settled down. Large pebbles will then be found on the top of all, the process being much like that which takes place on shaking a basin of lump sugar.
But it will be well for you to be always on the alert. The seaside elements must be coaxed and humoured, if you hope to get anything by their agency. A beach itself is exceedingly capricious. On some days you may walk for miles and remark nothing worth picking up; perhaps the next day, over the same ground, so great will be the profusion of fossils as to suggest the idea that since your last visit a petrified shoal had returned to life, swum into the bay, and there been once more stifled in gurgling lime, or liquid silex, and penetrated by the metallic “moss.”