Brighton to Bognor – 1st August 2019
This is unlikely to be the most scenic and exhilarating section of the British coast, but all have their place in the geography and history of our landscape. Brighton seems to spread across this area of the South Downs, like some kind of encrusting lichen, settling easily on the flatter areas of land, but eschewing the steepest of the chalk slopes, which it leaves to nature.
The start of our walk from Brighton Station is however, not the start of our day. First we have a 2 hour drive to Bognor, where we park near the station, before loading ourselves and our bikes onto the train to Brighton. Prior to this we had to get up at 5.30am, in the hope of missing the soaring temperatures anticipated for the hottest day of the year.
In fact by the time we arrive at Brighton it is almost 10am and the mercury is already creeping skywards. Despite the heat, the tourists are already out, thronging down Queens Road towards The Lanes, or the beach. The homeless are also out begging for “change”. The homeless problem is acute in Brighton, with hike tents occupying any spare corner of pavement. In most cities you see little sign of their ‘homes’ during the day-time, but in Brighton it is brazen. It seems they have so little by way of possessions that they are happy to leave their tents unattended, as thousands of pedestrians pass by.
When we arrived at Brighton at the end of our leg from Seaford, it was in stark contrast to today. Back then, dusk had crept in to the city, which was awash with lights, although with the same homeless individuals asking for handouts, as we made our way to the station to return home.
We were on foot then, but today we are hoping to double, or even treble, our average mileage by utilising our cycles. Some of the sections of the UK coast lend themselves more to bikes than walking. Brighton to Bognor is flat, largely offers paved access and does not tick our scenic beauty boxes. So let’s just get a move on shall we? Today a bike also offers the relief of a breeze, as we pedal along.
Our journey begins close to West Pier, a structure set in the past
– whilst the i360 Tower is set firmly in the future
We don’t mount our bikes until we reach the Promenade – we are not keen on becoming a road casualty thank you. One of the strangest sights along this part of the coast isn’t the Palace Pier, but the skeletal remains of the West Pier. Only a few rusting girders mark where this once elegant pier entertained millions. Surely any rebuilding of it would only qualify as a facsimile of the original?
The British Airways i360 Tower is the latest architectural marvel to mark the city’s skyline. I daresay the view from the top is unrivalled, but architecturally it is nothing special. In fact I half expect King Kong to be doing pole dancing on it.
As we cycle westward we tick off the significant landmarks, including the Grand Hotel, where the IRA emulated the gunpowder plotters in their failed attempt to assassinate the British government.
A call from behind stops me in my tracks. Betty has stopped to collect poppy seed. Thinking this will be a grab-and-go type stop, I wait for 5 minutes, admiring the beautifully manicured bowling greens. Concerned about the lack of progress I return to where Betty is carefully cataloguing her find and storing the seeds in a labelled brown envelope. I question her judgement, but I think we are both feeling the heat, with the next 30 minutes of cycling conducted in brooding silence, each of us convinced the other is in the wrong.
As we re-join the busy road, we are more aware of the passing lorries than our interpersonal relationship. The road along the coast here runs alongside Shoreham Harbour. Old Shoreham, a mile or so upstream of Shoreham Beach, was the original harbour, but the mass of shingle carried from west to east along the coast, quickly moved the mouth of the Adur about 3 miles further east and contributed to the silting of the river. Victorian Shoreham addressed the problem by excavating the current harbour channel at Kingston. This cut prevents our westward progress along the coast. Fortunately a lock has been built, giving a floating harbour to the east of this channel, with the coastal walk and cycle route crossing here.
The eastern half of Shoreham Harbour ….
…. a small fishing vessel enters it through the sea lock.
The tidal River Adur, to the west of Shoreham Harbour, is home to salt marsh and a house-boat community
and Alas we have to wait 20-30 minutes for a fishing vessel to pass up through the lock and a second vessel to make the return journey. This is not a welcome interlude in the July heat. A large number of pedestrians and cyclists builds up on either side and it is a tribute to the stoicism of the British public that none of us starts screaming at the authorities to let us pass.
Beyond the lock the busy A259 to Shoreham awaits us. Once again we have to run the gauntlet of heavy traffic threatening to turn us into a road traffic statistic. It is with relief that we are able to turn off and cross the Adur Ferry Bridge to Shoreham by Sea on the south bank of the River Adur. The 2015 OS map confusingly calls it “Drawbridge”. It is actually a foot (and cycle) bridge with a 50m swinging section to allow boats to pass through. The views of the salt marsh and the numerous houseboats on the far bank are great.
We ignore the opportunity of going to the Old Fort guarding the harbour mouth and head due south for Shoreham Beach. One bit of beach looks the same as the rest along this coast – pebbles, groynes and half naked people, so we continue westward along the coast road to Lancing Beach, where we have the joy of turning off the road and onto a pedestrian/cycle path.
At Lancing Beach the presence of Widewater Lagoon Nature Reserve makes the coast a little more interesting, so we stop for an ice cream and watch the world go by. A man-made shingle ridge was built earlier this century, between the sea and the brackish lake, known as Widewater Lagoon. This protects the houses and low lying land to the north. At one time the River Adur estuary would have covered this area, but longshore drift lead to the build up of beach pebbles that diverted the river mouth eastwards through what is now Shoreham Harbour.
Widewater Lagoon, adjacent high value housing and beach visitor car parking
The low lying land here is in a precarious position between the rising sea level of the English Channel and the ever increasing risk of river flooding from the Adur. The Environment Agency has had to build up sea defences to the south and river defences to the east. This is a classic modern dilemma that accompanies climate change issues. Should nature be allowed to find its own balanced state, or does man interfere for the benefit of the local community? Not surprisingly, it seems the sea defences are considered inadequate and the Environment Agency are looking to improve them. However, this creates a conflict with the friends of Widewater who are fearful that such sea defences will have a negative impact upon the wildlife of the lagoon.
Whatever the environmental issues, there is no doubt that today the area is a mecca for visitors and their cars. Many of them arrive only to decide to turn back. This provides us with the comic spectacle of watching the British car driving public indulging in complex manoeuvres.
Fortunately cyclists have no such problems, as we glide easily along the promenade towards South Lancing. An old rusting winch is all that is left of the fishing fleet that would have sailed from here at one time. Fishing boats do still beach at the western end and along with the ubiquitous sea kale, red valerian and vipers bugloss, provide a bit of colour to the otherwise monotonous beach material.
Lancing Beach – eastern end rusting machinery….
western end – fishing boats, equipment stores and urban development.
As we approach Worthing Pier the crowds once again begin to swell and our progress is impeded. All the south coast holiday resorts compete for business, with Worthing investing in its own version of the London Eye (WOW). Worthing Pier and the beach are an excellent place to visit, but not when the crowds are at this level, so we press on past West Worthing and Goring-by-Sea. It is impossible to distinguish between the different settlements, as they run seamlessly into each other.
Worthing Pier and its typical south coast pebble beach….
and the Worthing Observational Wheel – WOW
At Goring-by-Sea the sea front does change, with large expanses of grass behind the beach, but the crowds gather unabated. However, relief comes once we enter Ferring, with the road being forced inland away from the sea. Only those prepared to walk more than a couple of hundred yards from their car occupy the beaches here. Alas at Ferring they don’t seem to appreciate cyclists, with bikes banned from the footpath. We decide to stop for lunch, with a cool sea breeze compensating for the relentless heat from the early afternoon sun.
Being good law-abiding citizens we of course can’t possibly endanger the small numbers of pedestrians on the footpath. This seems a tad ridiculous since we were allowed to cycle where the masses walked, but not here. We decide we don’t want to push our bikes in heat, so are drawn inland into a modern housing estate.
Had we thought to consult our map, we would have realised we were asking for trouble. We soon become hopelessly lost on the estate. Eventually, with Mr Google’s assistance, we find our way along a footpath and across a footbridge over Ferring Rife. Despite the lost time, the diversion is most welcome and is one of the quietest sections of the whole day’s cycle. The footpath takes us across fields to Ferring hamlet, before a minor road and track take us back to the coast at West Kingston.
I have to admit that Littlehampton is a most disappointing place to cycle the British Coast. I suspect the local council has yet to appreciate the merits of long-distance cycling. Walking is quite acceptable to them, with a well-manicured green sward used by hardly anyone. This makes no sense to me. Why spend public funds cutting grass that virtually no-one wants. Surely they should be investing their resources attracting responsible cyclists instead. Ironically all the car-based tourists are busy at the easy to access fun beaches. So Littlehampton council, put in a 2m wide tarmac cycleway between yourselves and Worthing and we cyclists will come in our droves.
Thatched contrasts. Ferring hamlet – authentic rural pile …
West Kingston millionaire mansion.
Driven away from the beach at West Kingston we note that the official blue South Coast Bike route signs send us a mile inland, not along the coast. In desperation we try to find our way through the West Kingston housing areas. However these are all estates of millionaire’s mansions, the owners of which are at pains to point out that the road is private. However, Mr and Mrs Belligerent-on-a-Bike decide to run the gauntlet, aware that we might be apprehended at any time and asked for our ‘papers’ by the local Gestapo.
OS maps are of little use in urban areas, whilst Mr Google’s maps are not detailed enough for us, especially as I can’t see the poxy little screen in the bright July sunshine. Why is it that when you try to zoom in to read the road names, the roads get fatter and fatter, but the names steadfastly refuse to grow?
We keep returning to the coast at every opportunity, but are perpetually regaled with signs saying “no bikes”. Eventually persistence prevails and we reach normal public roads for a mile or two, before one final return to the coast, where we find to our delight that bikes are acceptable along the bustling promenade at Littlehampton. Me thinks I see the cause of the problem. The so-called ‘Greensward” is adjacent to the millionaire estates of West Kingston. It is these good people who are anti-bike, keeping the grassy greensward to walk their poodles on (and let them shit of course).
Littlehampton and the River Arun from the footbridge …
which retracts into a trench.
Delighted by the ease of progress along Littlehampton ‘Prom’ we wiggle our way through the masses licking ice-creams and brandishing spades until we locate a suitable drinking hole and down a pint of cider each. Twenty minutes later we are wiggling our way in a more pronounced manner, to the footbridge across the River Arun. This is a great hunch-backed affair, allowing the masts of sailing vessels to pass beneath it. It is only when we reach the far bank that we realise it is actually a sliding bridge, with the last span of the bridge withdrawing along rails into a trench.
We are tempted to cycle down the metalled road to the old fort at West Beach, but there is no obvious route along the coast from here to Climping Beach. However, the map does suggest that a public footpath follows a trackway direct to Climping Beach, so we opt for this seemingly superior alternative. It turns out to be a very overgrown and narrow path on top of an embankment.
The next half mile is one of the most exhilarating I have experienced upon a bike for years. It is essential that we keep moving, in order to retain our balance, but moving brings us into constant conflict with low branches, brambles and nettles. Thank goodness for cycle helmets, but my arms and legs are covered in scars by the time we reach Climping Beach.
With some relief we find there is a proper road alongside the pebble beach, but are surprised to note that large numbers of beach pebbles appear to have spewed down onto the road. On further investigation we discover that the top of the beach is some 3 metres above us, with pebbles projected over its cusp and onto the road at high tide. It suggests that the low lying land beyond would be inundated with seawater, were the pebble bank breached.
Climping Beach is the only easily accessed beach between Littlehampton and Middleton-on-Sea. A narrow lane takes would-be bathers to a large car park at Atherington, where I note a home-made sign accusing the Environment Agency of pressing for the beach’s closure. Beyond the car we are able to follow a rough path alongside a field of ripening wheat. Once again I note that the field is below spring high tide level, evidenced by masses of pebbles carried into the fields and areas of salt resistant Goosefoot replacing the planted wheat. This is literally the English coast living on the edge.
High tides carry beach material onto farmland
salt water favours goosefoot over wheat.
A line of tank traps sit behind an old flint wall. This suggests World War Two invasion defences. Adjacent to this the large concrete blocks, weighing several tonnes, have been scattered across the beach by the immense power of the sea. I notice two Environment Agency vehicles and decide to engage the two drivers in a spot of enquiry.
One of the two is a bearded Geordie in his 50s, his shirt removed to absorb a sizeable dose of vitamin D, the other is younger and is happy to let his older colleague answer my questions.
“This section of coast looks very badly eroded”, I suggest – pointing towards the section we have just passed along, ,“do you plan to work on this soon?” adding “we’ve just passed a bit where the sea obviously came over the top”
“Politics – high above my head.” He laments and indicates with his hand, how much above his head it is.
I ask him about the tank traps and he confirms that the line of these went much further along the top of the beach, until 4 years ago, when the scattered blocks were just ripped out by the sea.
“You see those wooden groynes? They used to be completely buried.” Pointing at the wooden skeleton-like sea defences, now some 3 metres high. “My boss says that we are quickly losing the ramp that was once the beach. There’s nothing left to keep the sea out.”
several-ton tank traps
scattered by the sea like beach litter.
We thank them for sharing these observations with us and leave them to their conversation. From here on the beach has been built up significantly by mechanical diggers, shifting hundreds – or even thousands – of tons of pebbles. The seaward end of the beach is protected by masses of enormous blocks of igneous rock, forming groynes of what is often termed ‘rip-rap’. On reflection I suspect the high politics he referred to is the resistance of the owner of the car park at Atherington. This must be a nice little earner for him, judging by the numbers of cars parked. The Environment Agency would have to close the beach whilst it is strengthened. Doubtless he does not want to lose this income, with the two sides locked in a legal or political struggle before a resolution can be found. I wonder if the owner will change his mind when the sea takes his carpark and livelihood away, forever?
One of the eroded beaches reveals some strange lines of vertical sticks projecting out of the sediment. They look like the sort of rudimentary groynes that might have been put in a couple of centuries ago, when Victorian holidaymakers first started bathing along this coast.
Travel along the beach towards Middleton becomes too difficult, so we head inland along roads parallel to coast, until we eventually find a decent promenade surface into Bognor. Once again the holidaying masses gather on the beach, with the added boost that the Butlins holiday camp brings with it. I once worked at Butlins, Filey, residing in one of the lines of original old chalets. No sign of these at Bognor today. Instead the site is dominated by a huge white tent-like structure.
Early Victorian wooden groynes still doing a job.
Journey’s end at Bognor and its stunted pier
After several hours in the sun I am starting to wilt a bit, as we pass the rather stunted looking pier at Bognor. With some difficulty we negotiate the town centre and the traffic to relocate our car. I’m sure I have a bit of heatstroke.
This has not been the most inspiring of traverses along the coast, dominated by a largely urban landscape, the searing July sun and teaming masses of holiday-makers. The most objectionable aspect of this stretch of coast is the lack of provision for cyclists along the sea front between Ferring and Bognor. The only people that seem to matter are the lazy masses who roll up in their cars and pay large amounts for parking, ice-creams and amusements. I suspect cyclists can “Go Hang”.
George V’s dying words sum it up for me – “Bugger Bognor”.