Tag Archives: Jurassic Coast

‘Calm… caaaaalm’. It’s what you say to a hyperactive child. But it’s also what you observe as you scan a weather forecast: 3-4mph onshore southerly, backing southeast later. With sunshine too, it could be the Last Good Day of the Summer.
I left my moto just as they’re opening the gate down to Tyneham ghost village. From there the Mrs drives me on up the coast to lovely Lulworth Cove for a sneaky 9am bacon buttie. I do worry about my B12 sometimes.

“Oh wow!” squealed a little girl as she also arrived with her family at Lulworth beach. And you can see why; it’s an amazing natural feature which, long with others help make Dorset’s Jurassic Coast a UNESCO site. Within an hour the renowned amphitheatre would be standing room only but hey, it’s August on the South Coast; if you want a lone beach, pack a mac and go to the Outer Hebrides.

Red shaded area is army firing range which – land or sea – is usually closed.

Today’s plan was head east 9km to Kimmeridge Bay as I gradually joined the dots packrafting Dorset’s Jurassic Coast.
This time last year Barrington and I sailed here from Ringstead Bay near Weymouth, before getting sent into Lulworth Cove by a patrol boat. The following eastward section of coast is an army firing range that’s only open to the public on weekends or throughout the August holiday season. And even then, some landing spots are closed and inland you have to stick to the paths in case you step on or pick up an unexploded bomb. Tragically that happened in 1967, though thankfully only once and as a result, today warning signs along the footpaths are everywhere.

Once out of the cosy Cove, the first section should be easy enough, but if not I could hop out at Warbarrow Tout, walk a mile to the bike at Tyneham and ride home. Continuing all the way to Kimmeridge depended on confidence and energy levels, and how the sea actually looked once out of the sheltered Cove.

Today I’ve remembered everything, including my repaired Multimat floor pad. All you need is to get into a routine. And as I set off towards the Cove’s mouth the TXL definitely has its glide on. I have two hours before the tide turned and the wind with it, but right now the boat felt great. I even remembered to pull up my knees straps, and felt nicely connected between the TXL and my paddle blades

Towards Mupe Rocks I had the odd sensation of offshore waves bouncing off the cliffs – it made getting close tricky. I see on an online marine chart (below) the seabed drops off quickly here so the swell just rolls in and boings back out.
They say there’s a petrified tree here somewhere – or ‘Fossil Forest’ in over-heated tourist-speak. But I learn later it’s by a path on the cliff top where there are also periodic radars (left) and other sinsiter MoD installations.

Mupe Rocks turn out to be rather ordinary remnants of fallen cliff, not like the gleaming white chalk stacks I paddled last week near Old Harry. With no interesting arches or caves, I thread about but they’re a bit disappointing.

Seaweed streams reassuringly eastwards with the rising tide, and as I round the corner Mupe Bay opens up, revealing half a dozen moored sailing boats. Behind them rise the steep chalk cliffs which you can see for miles down the coast.

Mupe Bay and Warbarrow, a day or two later.

I wonder about putting ashore at a gap in the cliffs called Arish Mell because I can. But perhaps I can’t, even in August, if I have interpreted the map warnings correctly.
Behind the beach I spot some huts, shipping containers, pickups and activity. As it is, my equilibrium is disturbed by some strangely large waves rolling in across the middle of otherwise calm Warbarrow Bay. A submarine shelf? They’re not crashing ashore as far as I can see, but I decide to stay out in the Bay.

Turns out Arish Mell is off limits 24/7/365, using the proven UXO gambit which didn’t seem to be bothering the chappies ashore today.
Another possible reason may be that from around 1959-1990 give or take, ‘slightly radioactive effluent’ was piped out here from the former Winfrith nuclear research facility a few miles away near Wool. They’ve been decommissioning Winfrith ever since and we should be grateful that with much effort they saw fit to extend the outfall pipeline two miles out to sea. You can see the pipe on that marine chart above. Coincidentally, this week Japan started doing the same thing at the damaged Fukushima reactor, raising the ire of Chinese seafood enthusiasts. Meanwhile, this well-produced 1959 Atomic Energy Authority promotional film describing the pipeline project seems very proud of itself.

So I set course for the conical headland of Warbarrow Tout at the far end of the Bay. The sinister waves subside and something else changes: the TXL glides across the smooth surface effortlessly as I am able to draw a long, slow, kayak-like paddle cadence, not the usual thankless spinning.
Later the GPS data revealed the combination of windless conditions and the Multimat helped the raft skim along at up to 6.2kph or 3.8mph. I’m not sure it’s ever sailed that fast so, even aided by the final hour of a modest, metre-high tide, that’s quite impressive.

Actually, I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Although I seemed reluctant to admit it at the time, the first time I tested the TXL with the Multimat in the Summer Isles, the evidence was right there (left), even if it wasn’t night and day.

As I neared the Tout I was anticipating some sort of disturbance from an eddy being pushed out by the eastern hook of the Bay. Sure enough, the TXL passed over a patch of incongruous clapotis without breaking it’s stride, but as I moved on past Pondfield Cove (a mini Lulworth) something changed again – the boat seemed to slow to a crawl. The coastline was creeping along but a check the GPS only registered a slightly slower speed.

As usual with winds, other anomalous currents and flotillas of irate pirates, I wondered if this would set in or get worse all the way to Kimmeridge, with get-offs but no take-outs along the way. I decided to carry on below the Gad Cliffs to the prominent Wagon Rock and if nothing changed, I’d turn back and walk out to Tyneham.

Gad Cliffs. Dorset’s cubist Mount Rushmore

But by Wagon Rock the countercurrent had subsided and the GPS later showed I resumed the steady 6kph pace. Sea paddling alone an inappropriate boat makes you more alert to minute changes in conditions which a sea kayak would carve through with barely a shrug. I later wondered if it was possible the eddy from the hook formed by Warbarrow Tout could draw back or suck in a current ‘beyond’ itself, as shown below. Who can fathom the mysteries of fluid dynamics.

Beyond Wagon Rock the grey sweep of Brandy Bay‘s oily shale cliffs plunged down to the sea. Up ahead I was reassured by the sight of Clavell Tower, just 3km away, marking the far side of Kimmeridge Bay. Less comforting was the breaking water between me and it: the ledges of Broad Bench spotted when I paddled the Igla here a few weeks ago. It would be alarming to have one of these rise up on you out of the blue (below).

As always, the solution to such unpredictable seaside disturbances was to paddle further out, even if the instinct (and interest) was to hug the shore. I aimed for the distant St Adhelm’s Head and safely rounded the churning maelstrom of Broad Bench, with the bedrock visible a few feet below. That done, the crossing was in the bag and I worked my way towards the beach where crowds were streaming down to the shore with their dogs. Nine clicks covered in less than two hours from Lulworth. Not bad.

A few weeks ago we walked the coast from Tyneham on a very windy day. At low tide the ledges at Brandy were a froth of white foam (above). Today, walking back 4km to Tyneham, the Long Ebb shelf delineating Hobarrow Bay was already emerging from the retreating tide. Looking back I was reminded the nearby big shelf (left) behind Broad Bench was worth a nose about for fossils or dubloons, even if MoD poles discourage this and you can only access it by boat. It’s one for next time.

Midday and Tyneham car park is already packed. Another section of the Jurassic ticked off or recce’d for another pass. Hopefully there’ll be a chance to do the 6km from Kimmeridge to Chapmans Pool before we roll up for the winter. That will leave the two points of St Adhelms and Durlstone for the next caaalm day.

Anfibio TXL • Dancing Ledge & Sea Caves

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Anfibio TXL Index Page

A winter storm sweeps the cliffs of Dancing Ledge

You wait weeks for a calm, sunny day to come along – and then one does. So in my back pocket I had a modest sea excursion planned for the TXL: the cliffs and caves west of Dancing Ledge.
It’s a mile’s walk from Langton Matravers village across the fields to the coast where the downs drop steeply to the former Portland stone quarry. From Swanage, about three miles to the east, Dancing Ledge is the first of the few sea access points along this cliff-bound Jurassic Coast.

At low tide the lower, natural ledge is revealed, making getting in and out relatively easy. But to reach it you still have to scramble down a small cliff (below). It was easier to chuck the packraft backpack down before descending after it. Alone, rolled up or inflated, getting this far with an IK would be a struggle. This is why we like packrafts – and sea-going packrafts, so much the better.

The point where you scramble down overlooks the Bathing Pool (below). It was blasted out of the rock in the late 1800s by the strict headmaster of the local Durnford school in Langton. Pupils then trotted off to the pool each morning for the character-building ritual of ‘strip and swim’, but with a now reduced risk of being swept out to sea.
Decades later, James Bond author Ian Fleming attended the Durnford prep school and endured various torments before moving on to the more benign, towel-flicking environs of Eton. Unsurprisingly his Dorset years left a deep impression and later he named his 007 hero after a prominent Purbeck family, the Bonds of nearby Creech Grange. By 1999, when Bond 007 filmmakers had run out of Fleming’s dozen book titles, they chose ‘Non Sufficit Orbis’ or The World Is Not Enough, starring Pierce Brosnan. It was claimed as 007’s family coat of arms in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, published in 1963, but was also the real Purbeck Bonds’ 16th-century motto.

Back by the sea, even with wind speeds forecast at a lowly ‘4mph’ there was no balmy flat calm today, but that’s just the way it probably is with the wide open Atlantic to the west. Portland Bill or even nearby St Adhelm’s Head don’t do much to reduce the oceanic fetch driven by weeks of wind and squalls.

While setting the boat up I find today’s #ForgottenItem was the floor pad (left), which I was wanting to try again, despite being not entirely convinced. Two up, as we did near Skye last year, meant reduced legroom, but solo with my centrally positioned weight, I still like to think it will limit hull droop and floor sag to improve paddling response.

Alone, these exposed sea cliff paddles make me quite nervous, and a regular-sized packraft like my old Alpackas or Rebel would feel unnerving. The TXL’s 2.8-metre length reduces that impression with less pitching, but I never fully relaxed today, so was happy it was only a mile to Seacombe inlet at which point I could get out and walk back if I wanted.
Away from Dancing Ledge things calmed down a bit or I just get used to them, but elsewhere I needed to keep an eye seaward as bigger waves rose up.

With my old MRS Nomad S1, I learned that with longer, high-volume packrafts like a TXL, no matter how hard you pump them up with warm, ambient air, after 10 minutes out on cooler water, a crease develops midway along the side tubes as the air in the hull cools and contracts and the boat effectively loses a few fractions of psi. Though beginners might worry they have a slow leak, this is normal with inflatables.
Ashore, I made use of Bond’s Pool of Torment (said to be the next film title) to pre-cool the TXL but knew it wouldn’t really work. Flooding the inflated boat for a few minutes is probably the answer. A little hand pump can only pack in, say, 2 psi at 18°C. Any more air forced in may burst the pump or stress the boat’s seams if done too often. But once part submerged by my weight on 12°C sea water, the hull cools and drops to, say, 1.8psi. It won’t get any lower, but it’s enough to lose its edge and means the boat paddles less efficiently. We can’t be having that!

In my heightened state of anxiety at paddling a new, exposed locale, I was pleased to see a lobster boat passing my way (above). Later on I catch up and and meet the Chatty Fisherman. For a while I was worried the tide might turn before I got to drag myself away, but, Purbeck born and bred, he was a local quarryman who used his summer hols to snag a few lobsters and had lots to say about everything, including reduced catches of late.
“We used to get hundreds [of lobsters] here before the seas got warmer. Now I barely get a handful.”

There was no place to hop off and top up the boat, though I could always flip round in the seat and do it on the water. That said, I wonder if longer packrafts like TXLs could benefit from repositioning the inflation valve closer to the central seat, like my old Incept K40 solo IK. The MRS Nomad had the valve on the bow, which was handy. I suppose this might make expelling the air on rolling up more difficult, but we now have mini pumps with reverse suction settings, making valve position immaterial. With a passenger or another paddler alongside, on-water topping up is less of an issue, but had I thought it through before adding the second skeg patch, I could have glued it at the other end, as the TXL is symmetrical but then is the bow bag tabs would be at the back. So halfway down one side would be better, Anfibio.

I paddle onward. Most of the caves have too much intermittent swell rolling in to get close, but one twin-mouthed cavern (above) looks like it could be safely threaded in the nippy TXL without me getting lifted by a sneaky swell and knocking myself out on the cave’s roof.

Further west I see a few people wandering about on the foreshore ledges, announcing the inlet at Seacombe, another old quarry. As I get near, I line myself up to get lifted by a wave and dropped onto a ledge. It ought to be easy but ends up a bit of a bundle. Before I can climb out I get sucked backwards into another wave, which drops onto the boat. But though it looks ungainly, timing isn’t that crucial in a stable packraft that’s easy to hop out of quickly. Lord knows how a sea kayak would manage. Up on the ledge I drain the TXL before flipping it back over and giving it a few jabs of the handpump so it’s pinging firm again.

Putting back in, I’m alarmed to see my skeg lying on the rocks. My to-and-fro landing must have dislodged it. It is for moments like these (or, more commonly, distractions while packing up) that I wrapped it in hi-viz yellow and black tape. Had I lost it, the downwind paddle back would have been a bit squirrely, giving me something new to worry about until I realised the cause. Passing the twin-mouth cave I threaded earlier, the tide is already too high to repeat the stunt.

By the time I returned, Dancing Ledge was packed with day-trippers including groups of coasteering wetsuit-clad kids. They inched along the ledges, swam across cave mouths, and then clambered up to a narrow ledge to jump in. The next group was already lined up to follow so it all looked a bit sketchy and congested with just two guides for over a dozen kids (turns out it c a n be), but I bet they all loved it.

‘Beyonsaaaay! (or whatever kids shout these days).

As had happened so many times, a spell on the water without incident calmed the nerves. So I continue past the Dancing take-out and cast a wistful glance eastwards. It was only 2.5 miles, or an hour or so with the tide and wind and cliffs to the Isle of Purbeck’s southeast corner at Durlston Head, before a more sheltered turn northward to Swanage, another mile away. One for the next ‘calm’ day perhaps.

Anfibio Plus(+) fabric
Checking out Anfibio’s TXL page later, I see they’re offering the option of the TXL and similar long/double models in chunkier Plus (+’) fabric. It’s only 17% heavier but 80% more tear-resistant, depending on how you measure that, but costs only €70 extra. It looks like it might be similar to floor fabric or comparable with Alpacka’s much more expensive Vectran option.

Anfibio don’t fully explain why they’re now offering thicker Plus(+) fabric; has the standard proved a bit less durable? I admit Anfibio do focus a bit too much on the ultra lightweight side of things which, alone in a single-skinned inflatable, is not wholly where my priorities float.
From my experience with stiffer PVC IKs versus more flexible rubber kayaks, I do wonder if a Plus(+) TXL or similar might be more rigid on the water without the need to pack it full of air. It may even exclude the need for the 900-g floor pad. Along with what I estimate to be a <500g weight penalty, I imagine a Plus(+) TXL will roll up less compactly, but other than that it’s something worth looking into.

Quick-deflate seat
While I was never a fan of the mushy, twist-lok stem valves on the early Alpackas, I’m not a huge fan of the sprung, one-way inflation valves Anfibio use on their seats and backrests. Great for easy inflation and holding high pressures, but a pain to deflate when packing up; you have to jam a fingernail in the valve and scrunch the seat while it ever so slowly deflates. At least with an old twist-loks you could suck the air out. And anyway, you don’t need full pressure in a seat. Far from it.
There was talk of Anfibio modifying the seat valves for easy deflation but it’s not happened yet. Now the TXL is my sole packboat, I’m minded to set it up well. I failed to find anything other than Boston valves online. They’d work of course and will dump air really fast, but are a bit OTT and would need gluing in properly.

I had a spare dry bag with a neat twist lock valve a bit like Thermarest sleeping pad valves. But marrying it to the chopped off sprung one-way valve in the seat was tricky to do neatly. So I managed to do it not neatly (above left) with a bit of clear tube and lashings of Aquasure. Unfortunately the tube is narrow which slows things down or increases effort; win-lose. For the moment it works; I can unscrew the valve and roll up the huge seat, purging the air as I go. Looking back on this dramatic episode, next time I’ll just cut a hole and glue in a Boston valve (left) which are easily found online for under a tenner.