Sea frets & Sunsets

SEA FRETS.

Also known as sea haar, sea mist or sea fog, they are a very common occurrence on the east coast of the UK. They are caused as pockets of warm air are cooled as they pass over the cold North sea, coupled with the breeze that blows this condensed air back onto the shore, it is only as the day warms up, that the fret disperses. More info here

Oh yes, I can remember the sea frets that lasted all day when, as a child I spent my summer holidays on Yorkshires’ coast.

We’d walk the half mile down to the beach from my nans’ house, which at the time of leaving, was bathed in sunshine, only to find the whole of the sea front was covered in a fret.

There were several other families in our ‘gang’. Undeterred, we’d all plonk ourselves down on the beach, get the deck chairs out and windbreaks up. The adults sat huddled under blankets, while my friends and I were off building sand castles, which strict instruction, ‘don’t go out of sight’, which sometimes meant almost sitting at our parents feet .

A post sea fret day.

More often than not, the fret would be gone by midday, but I remember times when, well after lunch, and everyone deciding to call it a day, we’d trek back to my nans’ to be told, ‘it’s been sunny here all day’.

So, on my recent holiday on the North east coast, waking up to a sea fret on some of the mornings was the reason we decided to move inland slightly.

SUNSETS

I learnt a little about kelvins (colour temperature) when I did my photography course, and also how light travels, so I’m guessing this has something to do with why sunsets are often red, but I think this article probably explains why.

Even as a small child, I loved looking at photographs of sunsets over the water, all my childhood holidays were on the east coast, and I never really understood why I never got to see one in real time.

In my teens, I went to night class to try to learn how to paint in oils. We had to take a photo/postcard to copy, my choice? a silhouette of Whitby Abbey against a bright red setting sun.

I never really took much notice, until later years when it started to puzzle me, as how an Abbey on the East coast of England had been photographed against a sunset. Quite odd really, and obviously caused by the lie of the land.

Here are my very own east coast sea frets and sunsets.

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A week in Whitby – day four

WEDNESDAY 23rd MAY

Waking up, bright and early, listening to the sea through the half open roof vents, yeah! life’s good 🙂

‘The sun has got his hat on….hip, hip, hip, hurray………

This tune started humming through my mind, as I opened the blinds to greet the morning.

Huh! Oh no he hasn’t!……..

I peered out, through the rear window at nothing, a grey swirling mass of nothing. Opening the side blinds, I could just about make out one or two shapes of the nearby caravans.

Funnily enough, my mind suddenly stopped singing sunny songs, and I had flashbacks to a film I had seen on the TV a few years previous.

The Fog – It tells the story of a strange, glowing fog that sweeps in over a small coastal town, bringing with it the vengeful ghosts of mariners who were killed in a shipwreck there exactly 100 years earlier.

Luckily, this was just a sea fret, well known on the North East coast, that usually burns off later in the day, though the Whitby area is notoriously stubborn for not doing so.

Never mind, our plan for the day was to go onto the nearby moors, so hopefully we’d escape it anyway.

After a breakfast of cereals, T decided he was going to cook himself a bacon sandwich as well, so I wandered outside into the swirling mass with Sal & Jasp.

Walking round the site, I didn’t see a soul, I was half expecting those ancient mariners to materialise from the eerie atmosphere.

I hurried back, to find T had eaten, washed up and was preparing the van for the short journey inland.

The sea fret had lived up to it’s name, no sooner had we driven up out of Whitby, there was blue sky everywhere, not a cloud in sight.

We knew exactly where we were going…………..well sort of.
Somewhere on the North Yorks moors, between Goathland and Pickering, is a ford, not just any ford, but the one that had an old series Land Rover driving through it, in the opening credits of the Yorkshire TV program Heartbeat.

Me, being the very ‘sad’ person I am, decided a few years ago I wanted to drive my Land Rover through this ford too, so, much to T’s total bewilderment at this odd need I had, we made a few enquiries in Goathland (Aidensfield to Heartbeat fans) and went in search of ‘the ford’.

We found it, in fact two years later in 2008, we found it again, so I could do it for a second time 😳

So, here we were again, driving through Goathland, which incidentally was heaving with sightseers, trying to remember which of the many moorland roads was the one we needed. All moorland roads look the same, plenty of heather and sheep, but not much in the way of landmarks.

I’m sure T has some sort of sat nav programmed into his brain, he tells me it comes from years of driving trucks, but I was totally gobsmacked when after many lefts and rights at various unmarked crossroads, we arrived at ‘my ford’

No, we didn’t drive through it, it hasn’t quite got the same effect with the motorhome, so we parked it up, got the dogs out, and set off for a walk.

The dogs welcomed a cooling drink, in fact, Sal who doesn’t drink much water at all, couldn’t get enough of it.

This was a totally stunning place to walk, the photos I took, just don’t do it justice. There was total silence apart from the stream running over the stones, and the twittering birds.

Hello Mrs sheep and baby lambkin, you certainly live in a beautiful place.

The ford, OK, I know it doesn’t look much. We later found out the area is called Wheeldale, so I guess it’s Wheeldale ford.

We ambled back to the van, put the kettle on, and made ourselves a cuppa, then sat down outside and listened to…………nothing. The sound of silence, wonderful!!

T had also got a request, this was to go to a little place called Beck Hole, where we’d called in after our second ‘ford’ visit. There was a quaint little pub there, and he wanted to re-visit.

So, back into Goathland, which was still heaving with visitors, turn left and half a mile down a steep hill, we were back in Beck Hole.

We parked on the side of the road and walked over the bridge to the Birch Hall Inn.

What an amazing little pub this is, walking in from the road, was like walking into the past. Stone flags on the floor, wooden church pew style seating, and a serving hatch to order the drinks from.

We’d left Sal and Jasp in the van, mainly because Jasps legs had almost seized up, but found they’d have been more than welcome there. Every dog visitor gets a dog biscuit, served with their owners drinks.

T insisted I took his photo, so he could show his mates where he’d been.

After a most refreshing drink, we slowly wandered back to the motorhome, I grabbed a quick pic from under the bridge, looking back towards the pub on the other side.

A short drive back to the site, and we were soon settled, ready for our free delivery of fish & chips from one of the local Whitby chippies.

We later watched the sun go down over Whitby Abbey. A very odd occurrence. Here we are sat on the North East coast, watching the sun set over the sea. 😮

Day four, and we have the evening bed making plan working to a T (literally), as I popped down to have a shower. 😉

The end to another fantastic day!!