Anthroposcenic: Landscape emblematic of processes marking the Anthropocene
Breezy summer nights roar. Surf and undertow cradle sleep. Ten feet to the cliff edge from salted glass, sound washes inside; over the two steps, the slippery mat, the kitchen corner, the banquette and bedrooms. Seaview caravans, the constant sea.
And on a winter’s night, sleep in trepidation. Unseasonal clinging as sea surges, banked up with northerlies, water lifting to low pressure. Atmosphere’s release, valves open, vans wobbling; metal gale-tested, rust salted. That which never ends proceeds regardless, to a possible fall.
Cliffs of till undercut, sodden soil slipping, trapped flints and bones seeing first light for an epoch. The caravan shudders, lists, slips a little, then some more. Fencing descends with the cliff-edge long grass, the trimmed grass follows, the van tilts to topple. A one-way rollercoaster to the beach. Cupboards fly, windows and waves break. Unrivalled sea views.
Things have fallen since things have been built on soft cliffs. Turn the lining of England’s east coast to find ex-places offshore. Boats net odd human remnants, ears claim phantom chimes. Melancholy gathers on the shore, haunting hubris. Treasure hunters rummage the wake.
And so human misery, and beachcombing joy, proceeds as it has proceeded. Yet the shore gathers new freight, other stories colonising floods and falls. Coast signals climate, seas rising for reasons other than their own. Humble tumbling vans catch in larger nets. As new epochs are labelled, the world becoming Anthropocene, sea views turn Anthroposcenic, their landscapes emblematic.
Labels enable, yet stain. Beaches colour with abstraction, miniature gaieties tainted by epoch. In seaside amusement, the penny drops. So enjoy it while you can, and don’t let it spoil the holiday. Keep choking on lolly-stick gags: the sand was wet, and the sea weed.
Holidays at East Runton; forty years ago, with predictions of a new ice age, and in newer hotting times. A beach mile from Cromer, rock pools and sand, the wave-cut platform and forest bed. A minute from door to paddle, cliff’s topping to North Sea summer icing; always a chill.
Once upon a horizon, seascape showed day ships and night lights; at anchor, or giving warning. Now turbine blades turn from shallows, nocturnal red twinklings. Ships and birds evade, seascapes filled to mitigate rising seas. Atmospheres dance in the cool night air.
The sewage outflow, marine direct, is gone. The bobbing turds of memory pass. Paddle with assurance in improved waters. Descend the beach from soft to firm, tentative over shingle and flints, to revealed sand, and sea collapsing on the ebb. Firm enough for a bowl.
Inshore craft beach with the catch, hauled by tractor to the slip; bathers descend, sea creatures ascend. Boxed crustaceans pique young curiosity, marine still life. Tides fall to platform chalk, miniature canyons for sea streams. Weed and whelks wait twice daily, crabs strand, anemones wave. Young fingers, nipped and sucked, touch knowingly.
Along the shore, exposed by retreat, mammoths emerge, laid down 600 millennia. Cohabiters of the ancient human poke from till. On this ‘Deep History Coast’, mammoth back and coastal bulge merged in logo, past surprises project, in Anthropocene resonance. Strollers glean relics.
Before descent, check the sea timers. The public served via provision of tide clocks: plan your day for high and low fun. Kites flown, castles moated, waters damned. Beach burial helps sharpen sense; sandy and damp, up to the apple, the vivid scenery of the stuck.
So diurnal turns accumulate, epochs meet through a fall, odd storms renew. Horizons fill, structures fall, words mark. Views become Anthroposcenes, emblematic prospects, as soft cliffs toast: ‘to the sea’.