Irvine Beach Park. Saltcoats. Ayrshire Coastal Path in a Storm.

 

                                                     ALL PHOTOS CLICK FULL SCREEN.

As a change from autumn colours in parks I decided a drive down to the Clyde Coast was in order as it's a while since I've been down to a beach. I always think the Ayrshire Coastal Path is at its wild best during a big storm so with one forecast for late autumn off I went. Irvine Beach Park first. Seen above.

It did have 70 mile an hour gusts and reasonable waves, attracting a few surfers, but it was not that impressive, mainly because the waves were not crashing into anything other than a flat shoreline beach so I headed slightly inland on the grass as wind driven sand was getting into my eyes along the coast.

Puff the Magic Dragon slumbering on his hill top got his usual friendly pat on the stonework then I turned around to head for Saltcoats.

A storm is always more impressive when it's hitting something so the rocky shoreline at Dunure, rugged Girvan to The Maidens shoreline, Prestwick, or Saltcoats are the best locations for that.

Saltcoats it was for me, where, as the name suggests, they used to collect sea salt, and still do in a limited modern revival. Other seaside towns, like Prestonpans, have a similar sea salt heritage, shallow coal heated metal pans being the preferred method of extraction as coal was cheap, plentiful, and locally available then in the days before widespread international travel to hotter climes. South Bay here, above. There's normally a wide sandy beach area here, stretching into the distance, but buried under the high tide waves in this photo.

I picked Saltcoats as it does have sea walls that the tide slams into in a storm and its always impressive in big seas. Harbour walls here. 

An old photo of the Ardrossan Ferry still running.

Frisky waves at the children's folly/small castle in Saltcoats.

As I arrived in between two periods of heavy rain with a two hour dry weather window forecast I just missed full high tide here but the aftermath looked impressive. Plenty of seaweed here for garden fertilizer. With an increase in big storms though I'd imagine the seabed itself and the creatures that depend on it must feel like they are stuck in a washing machine every few weeks during winter. I wonder if the seaweed has time to regrow in summer fast enough to recover the winter losses? Would this increasingly frequent event be labelled " sustainable", the current trendy buzzword for sea food?

Waves hitting the old promenade at Saltcoats. 70 miles an hour gusts but no rain.

I do remember however, in the days of the old half ruined promenade with only a metal railing where this concrete barrier now stands... it was far more fun. You cannot really see the sea now or the beach immediately below the wall. 

And as this photo demonstrates, during large storms now this entire concrete section is almost impossible to walk along, even with full waterproofs on, without getting drenched. A few years ago I watched them unload many tons of big washing machine sized boulders onto the beach immediately below this parapet, presumably to  break up the waves from full impact on the parapet wall but for some reason the spray is even worse than before over a much wider area. Probably because they might have raised the overall seabed level here by more than a metre or two.

Inside the wave spray. Present day view.

It's not my imagination either, as these old photographs I took several years ago prove. Only an open railing then and a lower beach ( no boulder infill) yet the waves are going straight up here into the air, despite an equally strong wind.

The old promenade, like many old things,  had real character. True it was falling apart in several places, as you can see here by spray spouting up through a hole and by health and safety standards it was probably unsafe but you could walk from end to end in a storm and, with careful timing, only get your feet wet. No end to end unavoidable curtains of spray, like today. 

In short, the old promenade had a real magic about it and was a lot of fun not only for photography,but just in general, even walking along it on a calm sunny day with no storm. A smell and a distinctive 100 year old industrial/ sense of history/ lives lived vibe that made it a privilege to be there. Granted, it may have been falling apart in places structurally but it had genuine charisma and an unforgettable atmosphere. Similar to the Erskine Bridge spanning the River Clyde with its impenetrable high suicide railings, worthy of a maximum security prison, compared to the older low level, waist high, railing. It may have successfully stopped numerous suicide attempts off the bridge but something has also been lost as well. That being a fun experience. I used to enjoy walking or cycling across that bridge for the fantastic panoramic views of Clydebank and Glasgow with the waist high railings giving comparative safety yet a tremendous feeling of air, height and space far below but that's mostly gone now, lessened behind two long rows of eight foot high security barriers with a permanent cage effect of vertical thick steel bars six inches apart, running the full length of the bridge, destroying any views. It's a prison view now- a cityscape far below, only partly glimpsed from inside this new addition long metal cage. Both these places are now much safer... and duller.... Similar sized railing here to the old bridge one. Were people happier and less suicide prone in 1971 when it was built? It obviously never occurred to them they would need higher railings but of course Glasgow's tower blocks back then were open to anyone. No door entry systems for tenants like today.

Modern life in a nutshell in some instances. At least I have these photos taken then as a reminder of that time. It was not an unpleasant smell by the way... just a faint one of old railway/ metal/oil/grease/... sun/ waves/ and sea baked concrete, reminding me of hot empty industrial back streets in seaside town Italy I'd wandered through another lifetime ago.

 

Wild seas at Saltcoats harbour.

Still exciting today mind you....

but different....

 

Reminds me of that old joke... How many folk singers does it take to change a light bulb?. Four. One to change the actual bulb and three to sing about how good the old one was :o)

But just maybe, sometimes, the old bulb fully deserved its tribute.