The Causeway

This is the Causeway at high tide.  Never attempt to cross when it is this full.  Always obey the safe crossing times table.

 

Last week Pearl hired a cottage on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne to share with half a dozen female friends of long standing, mostly morris dancers.  Mrs Farmer had to leave mid-week for a wedding so there was a bed free.   

On Wednesday morning I sent this email to my Blogalert list.

“Off to the Holy Island of Lindisfarne for two nights this evening.  I shall be setting off after picking Ferretfingers up from the Rising Sun, and fetching the bread.  According to the tide tables the causeway should be open from 19.20 so there's no rush.  Sunset is at 17.56.  Moonrise is at 18.11 and it's a full moon, so let's hope it's not cloudy.  It will be the first time I've crossed the causeway at night.  I'm intending to get there early, hoping there won't be too many vehicles waiting to cross on a weekday evening.”

 

I set off in Shylock (which is what I call my car) at 6pm.  I realised that I couldn’t remember the last time I drove so far in the dark.  When I first had a car, and until I stopped morris dancing, I often drove in the dark, going to and from work, or practices or social events; in the past seven years, not so much.  Fortunately I missed most of the rush hour so, once I was out of town heading North, there wasn’t that much traffic to contend with. 

 

Miles and miles of the A1 are restricted to 40MPH because of roadworks.  It was a relief to reach Beale and turn right off the A1 onto the small, unlit, high hedged, winding road to the Island.  

I turned the heating up and wound my window down to smell the night air, and to listen for any trains that might be approaching the level crossing.  As I drove down I was reassured by a handful of vehicles coming towards me as they suggested the causeway was open.  There aren’t that many properties between the turn off and the start of the causeway.

I broke out of the high hedges onto the foreshore at exactly 7.19pm by Shylock’s clock, which was quite satisfying.   

Stopped and listened; a little breeze in the reeds and the cry of a curlew. 

Then it struck me.  

Whilst I’ve crossed and driven over the causeway several times since 1976, it’s never been in the dark.

I was aware of what I could have seen had it been daylight, or even if the moon wasn’t clouded over. 

The vast expanse of sands and mudflats, and water close to the road, hopefully but not necessarily retreating.   

It was very eerie knowing that was all out there whilst being unable to see it.

I rolled down the passenger window as well before proceeding, cautiously, at exactly 19.20.

 

Even at low tide one part of the sands has a creek running through it.   

There is a single track bridge over it with a high refuge for those stupid enough to cross at the wrong time, and wise or lucky enough to stop and find a place of safety.   

I stopped just before the bridge to allow the handful of cars coming off the Island to cross it.   

Not just out of courtesy but more to reassure myself that the road ahead really was clear.   

Then proceeded to cross and carefully drive on, with just the sound of the engine and our tyres on the road as company.

With a strong wind from the North water was still being blown over the road in some places.   

As usual there was lots of sand, in some places enough to obliterate the road markings.  

Until the headlights picked out the sand dunes of the Snook it felt as if we were driving through space – but without the stars.   

Even after I could feel and see the road gradually beginning to rise out of the flat there was still a lot of shallow water and sand.  

Lindisfarne’s tidal range is anything up to 18 feet (5.5 metres) so you’re a long way onto the Island before you’re truly out of its reach.

All around the crescent of the Snook with dunes to one side and foreshore on the other until the final little steep rise to find solid land either side.    

Then I turned into the huge, but almost empty carpark, where Pearl and Fay were waiting for me.  Fay for a quick hail and farewell before she drove home to Berwick after a day visit.  Pearl to guide me to the cottage.