Changing of The View

Think of the South Downs and one can guarantee the first image that springs to mind is the iconic view of the Seven Sisters' startlingly white chalk cliffs viewed from the Cuckmere River's outflow just east of Seaford.

 Things are changing though, with three projects in the pipeline that will all potentially change that view forever.

 In 2000,  the tidal Cuckmere flooded.  A combination of environmental factors created a perfect storm whereby the river could not escape to the sea and poured out into its ancient floodplain. Over the years man has tried to fight the river, fixing it's course, but within a few short days forgotten rivers flowed again, and the old floodplains were inundated, and while the Uck and the Ouse caused most of the damage, the Cuckmere blocks the major east-west route, the A27, at Sherman Bridge when it floods to this extent. 

The cost of maintaining the path of the Cuckmere at the estuary is £50,000 pa. Standing on the shoulder of Haven Brow it is clear to see where the river used to flow, with the cut-off meanders clearly visible and used for canoeing practice, while the tidal flood races down a narrow fixed channel. The decision has been taken to allow the river to run its natural course in this section of landscape, in the hope that if it can flood out at Cuckmere some of the pressure will be taken off higher up the river; and of course the Environment Agency will save a lot of money.

Secondly, there is a project to build a windfarm off the coast of Brighton. It'll be visible from all along the Seven Sisters, it appears will obstruct the view of the Sisters and Beachy Head from the West Sussex side of the bay that is formed by the Manhood Peninsula and Beachy Head itself. The farm itself is small, but the project has mapped up space for a significant increase in size. But what price a view? Even the Brighton Green MP supports the project, which will run an underground cable across the South Downs National Park to provide electricity to new homes in the northern part of the county. Of course, you can;t see the wind farm from here.

The company have seemingly tried to curry some favour by calling the windfarm 'Rampion', after Sussex's county flower. A nice ecologically sound name,  for a project who's benefits are questionable, both ecologically and environmentally. It is notable that Sussex is, at the time of writing, already in a state of drought, a situation that is only likely to become more frequent as climate change develops. I have yet to see a study or a suggestions  to how we are going to provide these new homes with water.

The third attack on this iconic view is Trinty House's decision to stop painting Beachy Head lighthouse in it's distinctive red and white stripes and to let it return to a granite grey. The argument is that with modern navigational aids shipping no longer needs the lighthouse to have its distinctive stripes. One could argue, tongue in cheek, that with these sophisticated aids that perhaps the entire lighthouse network could be withdrawn.

The stripes on the Lighthouse are as much part of the view, part of the experience as the chalk cliffs themselves. There's a cost of course, and a local campaign is trying to raise the money to have the lighthouse repainted, which will cost £45,000. The paint costing £20,000 has already been donated by a paint company, so just the cost of the work needs to be found. The Lighthouse needs painting every ten years, but Trinity House says it can no longer afford the £4,500 pa to carry out the work.

Whatever your feelings on each of the projects, the fact is that things are changing here on the South Downs, so much so that even iconic views aren't safe. While things are always changing due to natural influences, such as when Devil's Chimney collapsed in April 2001, we have three very different, but simultaneous attacks on what is surely one of Britain's most cherished views.

You can help the campaign to save the stripes here, and join with such luminaries as Julia Bradbury, Bill Bryson and Neil Oliver.

More about the Cuckmere Estuary Project can be found here http://www.sevensisters.org.uk/page82.html and here http://www.cuckmere.org.uk/

Finally, more about the Rampion windfarm, along with a map can be found here http://www.brighton-hove.gov.uk/index.cfm?request=b1159604 , here http://www.sussexwildlifetrust.org.uk/conservation/conservation/page00032.htm, and here are minutes from one of Eon's meeting regarding the wind farm.

Get on board with one of the projects, maybe sign up to walk round the lighthouse at low tide and help keep this iconic view iconic.

Click here  for a suggested walking route to get the best view of the Seven Sisters.

Beachy Head—A Spring Evening

 The women decided that we must go,

Packing our evening tea,
To the lawns at the head of the cliffs,
To a view of the lighthouse.

Along the edge of the crumbling chalk,
Lawn thatched walls that barred Caesar,
Pagan hues of spring on football-painted boys,
And with mysteries elevated, the girls met in vesper fresh dresses.
Those with thoughts just for one walked, hands-joined
To the head of the cliffs
“For a view of the lighthouse.”

With sandwiches, biscuits and tea
The young men and women
Sat talking with passionless curiosity
Of the ones who come without tea, without a friend,
Shrouding themselves in mists of grief
To the head of the cliffs, who stepped from the living
Losing a view of the lighthouse.

Evening burned hard the once blue sky,
Embracing light stretched out from the day.
We sat about on the brilliant green,
Lazily bathed by touches of warm sea wind,
On the lawns of the cliffs,
In view of the lighthouse.

Steve Taunton

A Sense of Place.

When I was at school I was hopeless at maths, it made no sense to me, and I never saw myself being part of a world where quadratic equations mattered. The only thing that pricked my attention was when we started playing with protractors and learning what was essentially resection, a navigational technique. As a child I loved maps, I would pour over them in the library, or follow the routes of the great explorers with a nail-bitten finger. I was soon drawing all over them and calculating angles and distances.

I consider myself lucky, I have a fantastic sense of place, a sense of where I am. I feel connected with that ancient ability to move through the landscape with apparently little to guide me. This doesn't mean that I don't know how to use a map and compass, far from it, but they often sit buried in my rucksack while I am walking. Generally, even in the Highlands, I read over the route on the map the day before I leave and tuck the map in a pocket only using it to confirm I am on the right track. I have often taken people on long mountain walks and they comment on how little I use the map.

But not everybody can do this, some people have a mental block, a fear of getting lost, or not understanding what they see on the map. I have been lost, on a couple of occasions wildly so, and I have kicked myself for my stupidity. It's often down to over-confidence, a case of 'oh this looks right', rather than digging out that buried map and making sure I am on the right track. Fortunately no harm has been done.

However, I think getting lost now and again is a good thing, it forces me to reconnect with navigation, and with my understanding of my position in the landscape. I am probably quite annoying to walk with, as once I have walked a route once I tend not to have to do much checking the next time. So getting lost, intentionally even, means that I have the opportunity to revisit those skills and put them into practice. As long as I am suitably equipped and don't walk off a cliff there's not much that can go wrong. So you might miss a train, or a bus, or end up somewhere new. That's all part of the fun.

When I teach people navigation I try to get them over this fear of being lost by explaining that they already navigate, albeit subconsciously. They drive home, or to their parents, they know that they live down the third street after the traffic lights. Navigating away from the built environment is exactly the same - there are just fewer man-made structures to rely on; so we look to natural features such as streams and crags.

Downland can be surprisingly remote, the South Downs are several miles broad, and places like Woolbeding and Ebernoe Commons, although close to habitation are easy to get lost in. It's important to be able to read the map, and retain a feel for where you are. It's also important not to panic. Sit down, have a drink and think things through. A panicked mind doesn't think straight and often offers up the worst case scenario. A rational mind, not hungry or dehydrated, will help you think through the process of how you got to be where you are.

As you walk make a mental note of things you see, this soon becomes second nature, you've crossed a stream, or maybe a minor road, you can hear a trainline, these are all things that may help you put yourself back where you want to be. Follow them on the map with your finger if needs be. Look out for the next symbol - if the map says you should be crossing a lane, or passing a stream and it doesn't happen, check your position again. It's like a little puzzle,  and like all puzzles, with  thought the clues can be put together and a solution reached.

The key is not to the let the fear of getting lost dampen your spirit of adventure. Venture out when you have plenty of time, when you are not pressed to get back by a certain time; relieve yourself of pressures that make becoming lost much worse than it really is. Walk slowly, think about the things you see, and remember to look behind you every so often. Things often look very different from another viewpoint, and if you are planning to return by the same path this will help you recognize the features.

The Sussex Downs have features you can use to navigate, so that, once you have mastered the art, you are not tied to the map. This frees you up to enjoy a more natural, connected walk. Think about these things. In good visibility there are several clues to your location. If you are up high you can probably see the sea, in Sussex the sea is generally to the south. If the sea is north of you, you have a problem that you may need to ring the coastguard to help you with. The Downs themselves run generally east-west. The major transport networks tend to run north-south or east-west with little variation. There are few major roads, if you can see these in the distance and tie them up with other features you can start to get a feel for where you are. There are high masts at Glatting Beacon and Truleigh Hill that can be seen for several miles; on good days the Spinnaker Tower at Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight can be seen, as can Chichester Cathedral spire, the Amex football stadium, the Belle Tout Lighthouse and Sussex Heights in Brighton. There are single masts on Whitehawk Hill and near Castle Hill in Brighton, and again at Findon, on the west side of the valley. At night these are lit. They can be seen from a long way away, as can the lights of major urban centres, so even walking at night shouldn't be too fearful

I don't use GPS devices, I don't know how to, nor do I care to. I have a back up on my phone that can give me a quick grid reference. I've used it once in two years. I'm sure electronic devices have their place and converts love them. But I think a map and compass is perfect. You need to be able to use one in case the GPS goes down for some reason. So why carry the extra weight?

The thing is to overcome that fear, in the South Downs you are never far from habitation, and while the public transport network can be a bit hit and miss there will always be something to fit with your map.

I'm always happy to help people take their first steps with navigating. Feel free to contact me, I come very cheap - my fee is usually hop-based liquid refreshment. I truly believe these skills are latent in every one of us, and just need a little help to surface.

I recommend 'Mountain Navigation' by Peter Cliff, it's the simplest text on the subject, and the fact it's been in print for a generation underlines how good a guide it really is.

All comments, even negative are welcome. 

(c) Justin Norman 2011-12

The Run of The Downs

Rudyard Kipling was just one of many literary giants to make Sussex his home, and as the last of the poetry theme for now. I've included one of his many Sussex poems. "The Run of the Downs" is one of my favourites. I'm sure we'll meet Kipling again in this discourse. 

 

The Run of the Downs

Rudyard Kipling

The Weald is good, the Downs are best-
I'll give you the run of 'em, East to West.
Beachy Head and Winddoor Hill,
They were once and they are still.
Firle Mount Caburn and Mount Harry
Go back as far as sums 'll carry.
Ditchling Beacon and Chanctonbury Ring
They have looked on many a thing,
And what those two have missed between 'em
I reckon Truleigh Hill has seen 'em.
Highden, Bignor and Duncton Down
Knew Old England before the Crown.
Linch Down, Treyford and Sunwood
Knew Old England before the Flood;
And when you end on the Hampshire side-
Butser's old as Time and Tide.
The Downs are sheep, the Weald is corn,
You be glad you are Sussex born!

Arlington Reservoir

Crepuscular rays cut through net curtains of clouds like a golden rapier, a carrion crow, fingery wings silhouetted against the sun cackles by. Below, the water sparkles like a silver coin dropped in a downland hollow.

Flocks of common gull bicker like hormonal teenagers. The shrivelled remnants of rosehips attract clouds of chattering long tailed tits, and the occasional coal tit. Away to the south over the grey whaleback of the south downs rain heavy clouds rush by on a wintery westerly breeze.

On the reservoir wigeon  gossip happily among themselves, while a gravel voiced jay chases a straying squirrel from a small copse, before proudly preening himself on a sun streaked fencepost.

The sun is obscured and the waters turn the muddy brown of wealden clay, and the clouds lower and thicken with anger.

Coppiced woodland creaks and sways like the mast of ships port bound by woodland storms. Firle Beacon towers above, the highest point of the eastern end of the south downs, the northern escarpment shrinks away in shadow below the humped crown which kaleidoscopes from green to gold to grey and mauve.

A cormorant skims the surface of the waters, twisting and turning, feet inches above the choppy waves before rising off to the north and joining fifteen more forming a soldiery shoreside line behind a bemused corporal of a grey heron. They watch common and herring gulls wheeling in dogfights across the waters.

This place feels like what it is, forced and managed to the n'th degree, where signs welcome but guard against having too much fun. Algae and animals are out to harm us, and the mud is soft and dangerous, unless, it seems, one is angler or boatowner. In places black bags of dog shit decorate the branches of trees like the remains of some macabre Xmas celebration.

 As I leave a skein of canda geese honks its noisy arrival, and the sky comes alive with the fire of sunset