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The sea sweeps us away with its beauty – and then its violent force The sea sweeps us away with its beauty – and then its violent force
(2 days later)
A young man washed out to sea at night in Cornwall. A woman dragged out by the waves at a North Devon beach. A drunken man pulled alive from the early morning surf at Aberystwyth, and threatened with a fine for his foolhardy behaviour. Tragically, we forget that the sea we experience in summer – with its associations of relaxation – can turn to a deadly environment. Today, as further storms break over Britain's western and southern shores, the authorities are warning us not even to approach the sea – as if by mere sight of it, we might be endangered. Such a fear speaks to a deep sense of disconnection, but also a connection, too.A young man washed out to sea at night in Cornwall. A woman dragged out by the waves at a North Devon beach. A drunken man pulled alive from the early morning surf at Aberystwyth, and threatened with a fine for his foolhardy behaviour. Tragically, we forget that the sea we experience in summer – with its associations of relaxation – can turn to a deadly environment. Today, as further storms break over Britain's western and southern shores, the authorities are warning us not even to approach the sea – as if by mere sight of it, we might be endangered. Such a fear speaks to a deep sense of disconnection, but also a connection, too.
In fact, our first reaction to the water is atavistic, instinctual; we know that it takes and gives. In David Copperfield (as Nick Groom reports in his new book, The Seasons), Mr Peggotty says of Mr Barkis: "He's going out with the tide. People can't die, along the coast … except when the tide's pretty nigh out. They can't be born, unless it's pretty nigh in – not properly born, till flood." The sea is both life and death, a recreation of the life cycle itself, with each turn of the tide, like the blood pumping in your arteries and veins.In fact, our first reaction to the water is atavistic, instinctual; we know that it takes and gives. In David Copperfield (as Nick Groom reports in his new book, The Seasons), Mr Peggotty says of Mr Barkis: "He's going out with the tide. People can't die, along the coast … except when the tide's pretty nigh out. They can't be born, unless it's pretty nigh in – not properly born, till flood." The sea is both life and death, a recreation of the life cycle itself, with each turn of the tide, like the blood pumping in your arteries and veins.
Most of us resort to the sea for restoration. But why should it be a restful element; surely it is quite the opposite? That which gives us life – the food we eat, the air we breathe – also represents death. It's why fishermen and sailors never bother to swim, reasoning that it would only prolong their agony in the water. Anyone who works at sea experiences that conflicted relationship. It is almost a mythic one. In The People of the Sea, David Thomson records Celtic tales of selkies, or spirit seals, and is told that "anyone that's born of the water is not able to sleep. 'Tis like as if the movement of the water was always with them in their head … For them that has the tides of the sea running through them from the day they are born until the day they die there is no such thing as sleep the way we know it." Most of us resort to the sea for restoration. But why should it be a restful element; surely it is quite the opposite? That which gives us life – the food we eat, the air we breathe – also represents death. It's why fishermen and sailors never bothered to learn to swim, reasoning that it would only prolong their agony in the water. Anyone who works at sea experiences that conflicted relationship. It is almost a mythic one. In The People of the Sea, David Thomson records Celtic tales of selkies, or spirit seals, and is told that "anyone that's born of the water is not able to sleep. 'Tis like as if the movement of the water was always with them in their head … For them that has the tides of the sea running through them from the day they are born until the day they die there is no such thing as sleep the way we know it."
The north Scottish coasts of which Thomson writes are not of a human scale, unlike the southern shores from which I swim every day. They are barbaric and brutal. There is no balm to their waters, only injury. Their lighthouses admit as much, many built by the renowned Stevenson family: "Battered by storms, ravaged by waves, built by Stevenson."The north Scottish coasts of which Thomson writes are not of a human scale, unlike the southern shores from which I swim every day. They are barbaric and brutal. There is no balm to their waters, only injury. Their lighthouses admit as much, many built by the renowned Stevenson family: "Battered by storms, ravaged by waves, built by Stevenson."
Thomas, father of Robert Louis, was fascinated by his appointed adversary, the sea: the force that determined what he built. Stevenson seemed to see the waves' power as bordering on the supernatural - "proof of the existence of something far greater than straightforward science", as his son wrote. He measured them, assessed their height and length and volume, using a wave pole and dynamometer, and asked lighthouse keepers to record wind speed, height of spray and water pressure.Thomas, father of Robert Louis, was fascinated by his appointed adversary, the sea: the force that determined what he built. Stevenson seemed to see the waves' power as bordering on the supernatural - "proof of the existence of something far greater than straightforward science", as his son wrote. He measured them, assessed their height and length and volume, using a wave pole and dynamometer, and asked lighthouse keepers to record wind speed, height of spray and water pressure.
He even sought to weigh waves in an attempt to encompass them, and published his findings in the journal of the Royal Society of Edinburgh. But Thomas Stevenson's studies of waves were only descriptive, as Rosalind Williams, a contemporary historian of science, writes. "He was not able to reduce their tumult to a scientific understanding robust enough to make predictions." Quite simply, the sea was beyond Stevenson, and beyond science, infused with infinite power.He even sought to weigh waves in an attempt to encompass them, and published his findings in the journal of the Royal Society of Edinburgh. But Thomas Stevenson's studies of waves were only descriptive, as Rosalind Williams, a contemporary historian of science, writes. "He was not able to reduce their tumult to a scientific understanding robust enough to make predictions." Quite simply, the sea was beyond Stevenson, and beyond science, infused with infinite power.
Obsessed by swimming in the sea as I am, I've often been reminded of its fatal force. Under the skeletal remains of Brighton's West Pier one dark November afternoon, I was picked up and tossed head over heels. In that instant, I thought, how banal, to die within sight of a dual carriageway and a burger van. In West Bay, Dorset, I came close to another disaster, which ended with my face scrunched in the gravel.Obsessed by swimming in the sea as I am, I've often been reminded of its fatal force. Under the skeletal remains of Brighton's West Pier one dark November afternoon, I was picked up and tossed head over heels. In that instant, I thought, how banal, to die within sight of a dual carriageway and a burger van. In West Bay, Dorset, I came close to another disaster, which ended with my face scrunched in the gravel.
Today, the spring tides are running high even along my southern beach. I know this place very well. Indeed, I swim here in the dark in winter. But such confidence is illusory, of course, if not an arrogant assumption. And today, as the brown surging waves thwack against the wall, far higher than I've ever seen it and beyond any measuring device devised by Stevenson, even I will think twice about diving in.Today, the spring tides are running high even along my southern beach. I know this place very well. Indeed, I swim here in the dark in winter. But such confidence is illusory, of course, if not an arrogant assumption. And today, as the brown surging waves thwack against the wall, far higher than I've ever seen it and beyond any measuring device devised by Stevenson, even I will think twice about diving in.
• This article was amended on 5 January 2014. It originally stated: "It's why fishermen and sailors never bother to swim." This has been corrected to: "It's why fishermen and sailors never bothered to learn to swim."
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