The Morecambe Bay Guide · Thursday February 9, 2006
Many lives have been lost on the treacherous sands of Morecambe Bay. The Chinese cockle-pickers, in the news headlines, did not expect the powerful tides of this part of the Lancashire coast. Directly across the bay from the area called Hest Bank, where the cockle-pickers went onto the sands, lives Mr Cedric Robinson: the official walking guide for this now infamous tidal area. I had the pleasure of meeting Mr Robinson, to gain some insight into his considerable experience.
For those not familiar with this part of Northern England, it’s directly south of the Lake District and about twenty miles north of Lancaster, travelling along the coast. From certain vantage points you can clearly see Ingleborough in the distance, the highest peak of Yorkshire, and at one end of the bay you have Heysham power station, the next major coastal landmark north of Blackpool Tower. Technically you are bordering the Irish Sea, although Morecambe Bay is so vast you don’t easily appreciate the oceanic location. It looks calm, peaceful, and – especially from where Mr Robinson lives at Grange-Over-Sands – an idyllic prospect for a leisurely walk, a little bird-watching, or even a paddle. And yet people have lost their lives in quick-sand, as horrifically as you see in any Hollywood movie, and because of the ferocious and unexpected tides.
Mr Robinson has been working on the sands since he was fourteen, when he participated in the fishing that is a regular feature there. He’s now 73 and emphasised to me that he’s fit and healthy and sees no reason to retire, nor has any inclination to do so, despite a heart bypass operation about ten years ago. He’s been a member of the coastguard for 23 years, and the official walking guide for 42. He safely guides many hundreds of people across the bay every year – coming from all parts of the country, from abroad, and from royalty. Prince Phillip once enjoyed his expertise, and Cedric’s been recognised with two honorary degrees for his life-time dedication. On the following day to my visit he was giving a lecture about his work, he’s published six books, and told me he has a collection of beautiful slides accompanying his lectures. I believe him; many years ago I took a BA degree at Lancaster University and recall the wonderful sunsets from the library, with high-level views across to Morecambe. As we walked along the grasses in front of his 800 year old farm house, I could see how the light and colour changed rapidly and beautifully, looking across the bay.
I myself experienced the frightening power of tidal changes on this coastline, fortunately as an educational rather than a mortal encounter (described HERE). Wandering the sands of Fleetwood, not too far away, I found myself surrounded by water within just ten minutes and had to wade back to shore against waist-high ocean. Had the sands been more treacherous, or the water a little higher – neither of which had occurred to me – it could have been considerably more unpleasant than it was. It took about twenty minutes to return to sodden safety, during which I recalled stories about the dangers of this coastal area – including the most infamous, the Chinese immigrants in 2004.
I said to Mr Robinson, “it looks so peaceful and enticing. You wouldn’t believe it”. Despite my experience at Fleetwood, to me it still looked a pleasing prospect for an enjoyable stroll. Indeed, in different circumstances I could imagine myself attempting it. Mr Robinson agreed and advised me “you wouldn’t believe it, would you? – and as the crow flies, it’s four miles over there”. As I gazed at the area in question, it was remarkably deceptive. What was – he informed me – an extensive distance of four miles, appeared a walk of perhaps just ten or fifteen minutes. And at that point he conveyed a story about a lone bird-watcher, who he was watching himself with high power binoculars, and what the outcome was. He’d departed, Cedric said, from a promenade area about half a mile from where we stood. He’d wandered out to the far extent of the sands, just as I had at Fleetwood. He was oblivious, Cedric told me, to a tidal surge with a white water front. “If he doesn’t go back now”, he said, “he’s in trouble”. And to his horror, not only did the man not retreat, but he walked further along the sand into the impending disaster. At that point Cedric dialled 999, alerting the coastguards located at the distant shoreline where he pointed. A small craft was scrambled onto the waters, they asked Cedric for a “line” – which he described as the sight from his farm house to a location across the bay – and the man was picked up and returned to shore, after shouting “help!” three times. He was lucky, suffering severe hypothermia but not the fate of the Chinese cockle-pickers. I forgot to ask Cedric if the man ever contacted him.
This is the location where the Chinese lost their lives:
When I first learnt of Mr Robinson’s work, I felt nervous. Would I entrust my life to the walking guide, if I wanted to enjoy the bay? What I didn’t appreciate is how he is constantly monitoring the sands because, as he said, “they’re changing all the time”. A tide comes in, and the hidden channels of water are modified. Massive banks of sand are there one day, but not the next. Safe passage for a picturesque walk is a constantly altered skill. And additionally, there are areas of terrifying quicksand where you would never venture. Mr Robinson has seen tractors disappear within minutes, never to be recovered. Several vehicles were submerged and buried, in the rescue attempt for the Chinese. Cedric explained what the equipment is, used to rescue people from such dire circumstances. “It’s a high power water jet”, he said, that blasts the sand way and I imagined what a wonderfully innovative idea that is. It’s the sand that traps and kills; flush that away and what’s left is water, within which people will float and can then be rescued. Although it’s not necessarily that simple, and Mr Robinson told me about one rescue where water was up to the neck of a sand-entrapped person, they were starting to use breathing apparatus as the water continued to rise, and the rescuers were themselves in mortal danger. Fortunately, on that occasion, the water jet was applied in time and within minutes the man was freed. There was no loss of life, but it takes time to scramble the equipment.
As we walked along the grasses at the edge of the bay, I reflected on his fascinating story. Officially, he’s paid £15 a year for his work. I asked him if he was consulted about the Chinese disaster, and he told me his telephone didn’t stop ringing until 1 am: Channel 4, BBC, ITV, all wanted to talk to him. I said it was “terrible” and he replied “terrible!” I noted his English reserve, that I myself provided the words he would not volunteer himself. And, he said, “I know exactly what happened” – and he described the sand bank on which they were trapped, and how and where they were rapidly surrounded by frightening tidal waters he would have predicted.