coastline

When you live in a town where the ocean is just around the corner, it feels almost wrong to spend a sunny day anywhere but the beach. As a lifelong Santa Barbara resident, my favorite way to savor those golden afternoons is by doing exactly that: toes in the sand, waves crashing at my feet, a turkey sandwich in one hand and an Agatha Christie novel in the other. Honestly, does it get much better?

I’m here to tell you it does. Santa Barbara is a place of dual delights. And while the coastline tends to steal the spotlight, I’d be remiss if I didn’t also shine some light on the other side of town that visitors often overlook. Because here, we’re not just flanked by sea; we’re also cradled by mountains, which means that in under 20 minutes, you can go from your beach towel to hitting the trail.

That unique geography is what makes our mountains stand out. Unlike most of California’s coastline, where mountain ranges tend to stretch north to south, the Santa Ynez Mountains run east to west. This rare alignment creates dramatic, side-by-side views of both the Pacific Ocean and the mountains — especially breathtaking from higher elevations during sunrise or sunset.

And if that doesn’t convince you to trade your beach nap for an uphill trek — and you happen to be a nature enthusiast — know that Santa Barbara is one of the most biodiverse regions in the state, boasting a variety of breathtaking flora and fauna. Take the Matilija poppy, for example: visually striking and curiously reminiscent of a cracked egg. Or consider the California scrub jay, whose vibrant cobalt feathers never fail to turn heads.

While it’s hardly a novel take, I’ve always believed that the best way to explore a place is by immersing yourself in its terrain. Sure, the beach is tempting, and I don’t blame anyone for choosing the comfort of the sand over a sweaty excursion. But as someone who’s hiked every trail on this list, I urge you to give the mountains a chance — if not for the stunning views, then for the adventure.

The saying goes “curiosity killed the cat”, as if being nosy is a bad thing. As I stood knee-deep in the cool Atlantic Ocean, marvelling at the beauty and emptiness of the Plage de Port Lin, I decided this was nonsense: without this little detour, “just to have a look”, I’d never have discovered Le Croisic, on the Guérande peninsula. The downside is that time isn’t on my side: it’s past 5pm and I’m supposed to be at the big resort, La Baule-Escoublac, six miles east by now. But the presqu’île (a “nearly island”), as the French call it, tucked in the corner where Brittany meets Pays de la Loire, is calling out to be explored.

First, though, a late afternoon dip in the sea is too hard to resist, and I wade into the water, sharing a delighted smile with fellow swimmers. Two elderly women in flowery swimming caps nod a cheery “Bonsoir” as I take my first strokes. Afterwards, I wander up the coast a little way. A row of belle epoque villas overlook the rocky coastline, and I climb down on to the sand in front of them to look west at the enchanting view of the small headlands jutting into the sea and scattered black rocks in silhouette.

Back in the car, I hazard that I have just enough time to do a circuit of the peninsula if I delay my evening dinner reservation in La Baule, and so I follow the coast road west, spotting menhirs, small sandy coves and a golf course along the way. As I approach the town of Le Croisic, there are more people out for a stroll beneath the towering maritime pine trees and I park up again to join them for a while.

At the jetty that usually sees passengers boarding the foot ferry to the islands off the coast, such as Belle-Île-en-Mer and Hoëdic, I notice a crowd of people aren’t queueing, but fishing. Old men and teenage boys are peering over the railings, with nets lowered down on lines; there’s a jolly camaraderie and their chatter carries on the breeze.

In the sea behind them, I spot the Trehic jetty, an 850-metre stone pier that snakes into the bay nearby – its end point marked by a lighthouse – as well as the tip of the Pen Bron peninsula on the other side of the bay, which seems so close it could be within swimming distance. Its proximity reminds me what the two peninsulas embrace: 2,000 hectares (4,940 acres) of marshland and the salt ponds from which the famous Guérande salt crystals are harvested. The thought of sprinkling it on my dinner makes my stomach rumble, and so I head on to La Baule, taking a detour through the main town, along the pretty harbour front with its yachts and quaysides.

After checking into the Hotel des Dunes, I wander out for dinner. There’s a holiday vibe in the town and restaurants are full of families and friends dining together, black-clad waiters whirling between them with trays aloft. I arrive for my reservation at Restaurant Le M (starter, main course and dessert from €18.90), and tuck into briny oysters from Brittany and grilled fish with Mediterranean vegetables.

La Baule-Escoublac first welcomed tourists in the late 19th century, after the opening of the railway line, and became a sophisticated resort. Today, it is a mix of modern apartments, belle epoque-era timber-framed architecture, cafes, restaurants and souvenir shops. Away from the main drags are desirable 19th-century villas shaded by the cypress and pines that were planted in the early 1820s to stabilise the dunes. It is undeniably touristy, but that’s no surprise for a place with such a good beach.

The next morning, I wander down to the seafront and inhale the ozone before wandering along the shore, sitting for a while on the golden sand.

Some 15 minutes north of La Baule-Escoublac is impressive Guérande – its name familiar from the eponymous salt – with its mighty walls, towers, moats and grand medieval gate, La Porte Saint-Michel. Inside, it is a delight: bunting flutters above streets packed with bakeries, arty boutiques and creperies.

The sun is shining, so I take a table in the main square on the terrace of the creperie Chez Lucien and soon I’m tucking into a crispy golden galette complète, with ham, cheese and a gooey egg at its centre, and a cup of cider. I might strictly be in the region of Pays de la Loire, but the identity here is resolutely Breton, and the salt harvested from the nearby marshes has been a key ingredient in Brittany’s famous salted butter for centuries.

To find out more about the fascinating process of harvesting the sel de Guérande, I head out to the marshes. At the shop and visitor centre of the Terre de Sel cooperative (salt marsh tours from €10.50), I meet Simon Pereon, a paludier or salt harvester, who has agreed to show me how he and his 220 fellow paludiers enact the process of salt harvesting between June and September. Salt has been prized in these parts since Roman times, when soldiers were sometimes paid in salt (hence the origin of the word salary), but the marshes as we see them today date from around 1,000 years ago.

As we drive to Simon’s ponds, I start to see the appeal of working under the big skies and open air, and the reason he followed in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps. “The government classes us as ‘farmers’,” he explains, “but we work with seawater and the whole landscape is balanced between the land and the sea.” With a long, toothless rake called a las, he moves the seawater between a labyrinth of shallow rectangular ponds that don’t drain, due to the clay mud beneath, coloured pink by the algae that thrives here. As the water moves between each pond it becomes increasingly concentrated as the sun evaporates the water and leaves the salt behind.

Simon sweeps the las across the ponds and the water ripples gently: the process is hypnotic. By the end of each day, he has raked the salt into neat piles on the dykes between ponds. “In summer, we harvest 50kg every day. The job has evolved over the years, with tractors and other machines, but for the actual salt harvesting, we still use the identical process that’s been around for centuries.”

The tranquillity has been passed down the ages: I hear little more than the calls from the avocets and ibis in the neighbouring lagoon. “I start at daybreak,” Simon says, “and for the first few hours of the day, I see the sun rise, listen to the birds, and there’s no one around. At the end of the day, too, I just watch the sun go down.”

It sounds like bliss and, after I take another detour later that day through the salt marshes – the clouds in the reddening sky are reflected in the mirror-like ponds – I am reassured that curiosity can only be a good thing.

The trip was provided by Pays de la Loire Tourism; accommodation provided by Hotel des Dunes in La Baule (doubles from €65 room-only). Brittany Ferrieshas crossings from Portsmouth to St Malo from £229 return for a car and two people, including en suite cabin on the outward, overnight leg

Amuse Bouche: How to Eat Your Way Around France by Carolyn Boyd is published by Profile, £10.99. To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com

When the fires this year upended Los Angeles and put into question what it even means to return to normal, I was reminded of a chapter in “California Against the Sea” that had expanded my own understanding of what it takes to truly adapt our built environment — and to reimagine the places that we have come to love and call home.

This chapter, which opens with a radical shoreline reconfiguration just north of San Francisco, came not without controversy, but it provided a glimpse into what compromise might need to look like for so many communities struggling to keep up with climate change. Rather than hold the line with increasing futility, here was a humbling example of what can be possible when we transcend the throes of politics — and when we choose to set aside our differences and think beyond just reacting to the same disasters time and time again.

Since the book was published in 2023, the bridge described in the following excerpt has been completed, and the creek is finally free. Accommodating nature in this way called for some tough and unfamiliar changes, but go out to the beach today, and you can see the marsh starting to recover and the entire ecosystem gently resetting with the rhythms of the sea.

So much of the climate debate is still framed around what it is that we have to give up, but does it have to be this way? Rather than confront these decisions as though it’s our doom, can we embrace change and reconsider each effort to adapt as an opportunity — an opportunity to come together and build more bridges to the future?

Excerpted from “California Against the Sea: Visions for Our Vanishing Coastline” by Rosanna Xia. Reprinted with permission from Heyday Books, © 2023.

A few winding turns past Bodega Bay, about an hour north of San Francisco, relentless waves pound against a stretch of coastline in dire need of re-imagining. Gleason Beach, once reminiscent of a northern version of Malibu, is now mostly just a beach in name. Sand emerges only during the lowest of tides. Bits of concrete and rebar are all that remain of 11 clifftop homes that once faced the sea. A graveyard of seawalls, smashed into pieces, litters the shore. Here along the foggy bluffs of the Sonoma coast, the edge of the continent feels more like the edge of the world — a window into the future if California does not change course.

Los Angeles knows how to weather a crisis — or two or three. Angelenos are tapping into that resilience, striving to build a city for everyone.

These wave-cut cliffs, a brittle mélange of ancient claystone and shale, have been eroding on average about a foot a year, exacerbated since the 1980s by a hardened shoreline, intensifying El Niños and, now, sea level rise. With the beach underwater, the seawalls destroyed and so many homes surrendered, the pressure is now on Highway 1 to hold the line between land and sea. Year after year, residents have watched the waves carve away at the two-lane road — their only way to get to work, their only way to evacuate, their only way to reach all the rocky coves, beaches and seaside campgrounds that make this coast a marvel.

Broken concrete is all that’s left of a number of clifftop homes at Gleason Beach on the Sonoma Coast, pictured here in 2019.

(Carolyn Cole/ Los Angeles Times)

So, with every storm and every knock from the ocean, officials have scrambled to save the highway, pouring millions of tax dollars into a vicious cycle of sudden collapses and emergency repairs. From 2004 to 2018 alone, state transportation officials spent about $10 million in emergency defenses and failed repairs. In 2019, almost half a mile had to be reduced to one lane.

This lifeline for the region now hangs inches from the edge. The once spectacular coastline had seemingly morphed overnight — an apocalyptic transformation, decades in the making, seen with stark clarity now that orange caution tape and makeshift traffic lights mark what’s left of the shore.

“This is what unmanaged retreat looks like, and it is quite frankly a hot mess of septic systems, old house parts and armoring that have fallen into the intertidal zone with no real mechanism for cleaning it up,” Sonoma County supervisor Lynda Hopkins declared. “If we don’t start planning ahead and taking proactive measures, Mother Nature will make the decisions for us.”

With the realities of climate change looming ever closer, California transportation officials agreed it was time to try something different: make peace with the sea and move the crumbling highway more than 350 feet inland. They knew nailing down the details would be fraught, but, if done right, this would be the first radical effort by the state to plan for a reimagined coast — a coast that could support California into the next century. It was the rare managed retreat proposal that intentionally sought to both raise and relocate critical infrastructure far enough from the shore to make room for the next 100 years of rising water.

Compromise wasn’t easy. Officials studied more than 20 alternatives that tried to balance safety codes, traffic needs, fragile habitats, public access to the coast and other competing requirements that were tricky to meet given the topography. There were also all the nearby property owners who needed persuading, not to mention a skeptical, conservation-minded community that was averse to saving a human-altered shoreline with more human alterations. They ran into every argument and counterargument that have tugged, pulled and paralyzed other communities.

At its heart this project, like so many attempts along the California coast, called for a reckoning over what was worth saving — and what was worth sacrificing — and whether it was possible to redesign a treasured landscape so that it survives into the future.

Book cover for “California Against the Sea” by Rosanna Xia

(Heyday Books)

“It seems daunting; it’s a lot of change to cope with, but it’s also an opportunity for communities to think about, ‘What are the coastal resources we want to have access to fifty, one hundred years from now?’” said Tami Grove, who oversees transportation projects for the California Coastal Commission and spent years reconciling all the emotional meetings, the disagreements, the many stops and stalls and hand-wringing compromises. “It gets lost, sometimes, when people are worried about everything that we’re going to lose to sea level rise — but there are things that we’re going to be able to choose and enhance and design into the future if we start planning now.”

In what many described as a major coup in government bureaucracy, the California Department of Transportation (Caltrans), the coastal commission and county leaders set aside their differences to come up with a new solution together. By November 2020, they had hammered out a plan to relocate almost one mile of the highway — most notably with a new 850-foot-long bridge spanning Scotty Creek, a degraded stream that, choked for decades by the highway’s current configuration, rarely reached the ocean anymore. Rather than agonize over how to restore the landscape to some former, unobtainable baseline of “natural,” officials unanimously agreed that this bold re-imagining of the coast was the best way forward among no perfect options.

The concrete bridge (a monstrous overpass or a reasonable compromise, depending on who’s talking) will at least allow Scotty Creek to flow freely into the ocean again — making room for more red-legged frogs, Myrtle’s silverspot butterflies, and the passage of steelhead trout and coho salmon. Officials reasoned that elevating the highway would avoid paving over what’s left of the wetlands, which were already in desperate need of healing. By rerouting traffic onto a bridge, these drowning habitats would have the space to recover and migrate inland as the sea moved in.

State transportation officials also agreed, as part of the $73 million project, to pay $5 million to help clean up the mess of abandoned homes and failed road repairs. An additional $6.5 million will go toward wetland, creek and prairie restoration. Some of the old highway will be converted into a public coastal trail, and visitors will have access to a new parking area, as well as a beach that was once limited by private property.

Caltrans also set aside money to negotiate and acquire land from three private properties, including oceanfront portions of a historic ranch that will be most impacted by the realigned highway. Once completed, much of the open space will be transferred to Sonoma County to manage on behalf of the public.

This all came as a shock at first for Philip and Roberta Ballard, who own and live on the ranch, but they said they’ve come to understand the necessity of this project. The bridge still feels way too big — especially for this rural stretch of paradise that first captured their hearts more than two decades ago — but after years of meetings, questions and debating each trade-off, the retired couple decided to turn their energies toward making sure Scotty Creek got restored as part of the deal.

The creek, the largest watershed between Salmon Creek and the Russian River, has needed help since before they purchased the ranch, they said. In a past life, steelhead trout and coho salmon thrived in this stream. The once-abundant fish disappeared after the concrete culvert, installed in 1952 to support the highway, blocked their ability to migrate between fresh- and saltwater. The brackish habitat drowned over the decades. Then the creek, swollen after a series of big storms in the 1980s, flooded the lower plain. The stream banks were denuded of vegetation and the riffle crests obliterated as the choked stream tried to reach the sea.

Since 2004, the Ballards, both professors emeriti of pediatrics at UC San Francisco, have been piecing together ways to restore the creek, one small project at a time. Full restoration would require grading and reshaping the riverbanks, bringing back the native vegetation, improving water flow and re-creating the pools that once provided shelter to juvenile fish. The $6.5 million that Caltrans promised as part of the final deal will go a long way, they said, to nursing this entire ecosystem back to life.

“A lot of our efforts have gone into trying to make the best out of something that is necessary,” Roberta Ballard said. “We’ve arrived at feeling reasonably good about getting the best mitigation we can get for this region and getting something reasonably positive out of it.”

Construction crews work on building a new bridge over Scotty Creek, as part of Caltrans’ Gleason Beach Roadway Realignment Project.

(John Huseby / Caltrans)

When we don’t understand and don’t allow for the ocean’s ways, we end up with homes perched on crumbling cliffs and seawalls still making a stand. Guided by a few mere decades of history and a narrow understanding of the California shore, many today know only how to preserve the version of the coast they learned to love. Rather than imagine a different way to live, we cling to the fragility of what we still have and account for only what we consider lost. Even remembering how wide a beach used to be, or how the cliffs once withstood the tide, glorifies the notion that resilience is measured by our ability to remain unchanged.

We fail to see how we’ve replaced entire ecological systems with our own hardened habitats, and then altered the shoreline even more once the shore began to disappear. Neither replicating the past nor holding on to the present is going to get us to the future that we need. Learning from the recurring cycles of nature, listening to the knowledge gained with each flood and storm, adapting and choosing to transform — this is what it means to persevere. Change, in the end, has been the only constant in our battle for permanence. Change is the only way California will learn how to live with, not on, this beautiful, vanishing coastline that so many people settled and still wish to call home.

Stefan Galvez-Abadia, Caltrans’s district division chief of environmental planning and engineering, is now attempting with his team to design a prettier bridge at Gleason Beach, one more fitting for the rural landscape. They’ve studied the arched columns of Bixby Creek Bridge on the Big Sur coast and other popular landmarks that have become iconic over time. They’ve conducted surveys on what color to paint the bridge — some shade of gray or brown, for example, or a more distinct hue like that of the Golden Gate Bridge. Donne Brownsey, who served as vice chair of the Coastal Commission at the time, remarked that the project reminded her of a concrete beam bridge in Mendocino County that spans the mouth of the Ten Mile River, just north of where she lives in Fort Bragg. “It was a new bridge, it caused a lot of consternation, but I didn’t know that the first few times I went over it — I would look forward to that part of the drive, because I could see the whole estuary to the west, and I could see the rivershed to the east,” she said. “You don’t even really see the bridge anymore because the swallows now all nest there, and it’s just part of nature.”

The bridge at Gleason Beach, facing similar design constraints as the Ten Mile Bridge, also has to be massive — a counter-intuitive twist to what one might think it means to accommodate the environment. Engineers had at first tried more minimal options — a shorter bridge, thinner columns, a less intrusive height — but many were not large enough in size or distance to outlast the coastal erosion projected for the next 100 years. And to give the wetlands enough space to grow back, the highway needed to be elevated at a landscape-wide scale.

The completed bridge and realignment of Highway 1 can now be seen at Gleason Beach, about an hour north of San Francisco.

(Caltrans)

Despite so many years of seminars and talks about climate change adaptation, turning an abstract concept like managed retreat into reality has been a delicate exercise in compromise, Galvez-Abadia said. There were few case studies to turn to, and each one he examined dealt with an increasingly complicated set of trade-offs.

“You don’t have many choices when it comes to sea level rise,” he said, flipping through almost two dozen renderings his team had tried. “Whichever way you choose, you’re going to have some kind of impact. These are the difficult decisions that we will all have to make as a region, as a community, for generations to come.”

As he filed away his notes and prepared to break ground, he reflected once more on all the years it took to reach this first milestone. The process wasn’t easy. A lot of people are still frustrated. Even more are disappointed. Many tough property negotiations still lay ahead, but he hoped, at least, to see the wetlands and creek recover beneath the bridge one day. If the native plants reemerge, the salmon return, and there still remains a coast that families could safely access and enjoy, perhaps this new highway — however bold, however different — could show California that it is possible, that it isn’t absurd, to build toward a future where nature and modern human needs could finally coexist.

An American tourist visited Pembrokeshire, Wales, for the first time, and despite saying it moved her in a way that was hard to describe, she will ‘never forget’ the price of her ice cream

An American tourist famed for exploring different parts of the UK went to Pembrokeshire for the first time – before calling it ‘Wales’ most stunning coastline’.

Cara is the face of The Magic Geekdom YouTube channel where she has 76,500 followers and she started her recent vlog with the words: “I am spending a few days in Pembrokeshire. I have never been here before but I have heard a lot of great things about it. I just got to Tenby and immediately saw this view – it is stunning isn’t it.”

The travel guru also said it was her first time by the seaside in the UK and she was struck by how colourful and beautiful the surroundings were, especially the brightly painted buildings. And after taking in the views while sitting on a beach and listening to the waves, the tourist decided to buy an ice cream. This took her to The Stowaway in Tenby which is in the arches of an old boat store in one of the most iconic harbours in Wales.

And praising her refreshing sweet treat, Cara enthused: “I couldn’t resist getting a salted caramel ice cream cone.”

Giving it a try, she added: “Oh my god… that is so good. That is probably the best ice cream I have had over here. It is really good.”

However, the camera then cut to a few moments later, and it showed Cara holding an ice cream cone without any ice cream in it.

Laughing, she said: “Well, I was trying to take a picture of my ice cream cone, and a seagull stole the whole damn scoop of ice cream!”

Given it was so tasty, Cara returned to the shop, and decided to eat it inside this time to avoid another theft, meaning she ate one ice cream for the price of two.

She said: “My £4 ice cream became an £8 ice cream because I paid the bird tax but it was worth every penny. If you come here and want ice cream, definitely go to Stowaway, that place was amazing.”

Cara stayed in an AirBnb western-themed pod overlooking the countryside and day two of her trip saw her visit Pembroke Castle – and she described it as “fricking beautiful”.

The content creator also went to St Davids Cathedral and she said it was “so magnificent” before explaining how hearing the choir practising inside added to the “magic of the place”.

Making another observation, she added: “I love how quiet it is here this morning. There are a lot of people out and about but it is just very peaceful.

“Sometimes a place just moves you in a way that you don’t even know how to describe. It is hard to find words for and I think that’s what’s happening here. It is just so tranquil, just a good vibe.”

Cara also embarked on a boat tour from Martin’s Haven to Skomer Island where she witnessed puffins up close and she said it was one of the most memorable highlights from all her trips to the UK.

Summing up her stay, she said: “I have had an amazing time in Pembrokeshire. I have done a lot of firsts like that incredible puffin boat tour I just did. I had my first seagull steal food with my ice cream, I will never forget that.”

She added: “I cannot wait to come back. I have had an incredible time.”

After posting the video on YouTube, which you can watch in full here, one person replied: “Hello from the Welsh American Channel. We Americans of Welsh descent are very proud of our heritage, modern Wales, and its rich language. Thank you for the video. Cymru am byth!”

Another said: “Wales is an amazing place to live and visit.”

A third went with: “Wales is a beautiful country and people are friendly, love and respect from Scotland.”

Between Aberystwyth and Cardigan the quiet coastline is sublime, with incredible sunsets, dizzying and spectacular coastal paths, gorgeous quiet beaches and dolphins. Start in Dylan Thomas’s old stomping ground, New Quay, and follow the coastal path south along cliffs and past Cwmtydu beach before finishing at gorgeous Llangrannog, where you get two beaches for one (perfect Cliborth beach requires a lower tide to access). Kayaking and surfing are great, and the Pentre Arms provides refreshments with a view.
Matt Lunt

A scenic parkrun near Sunderland

The Leas near South Shields (a few miles north of Sunderland) is a beautiful stretch of limestone cliffs and coastal grassland that is a haven for sea birds and wildflowers. There are footpaths and bridle paths across the Leas, so it attracts cyclists, dog walkers and runners all year round. The local parkrun uses the paths and it must be one of the most scenic in the country. The rock stacks along the coast are a great place for spotting cormorants, fulmars and kittiwakes among others. No matter the weather I love to walks these paths and feel the fresh sea breeze through my hair. A wonderful place.
Matty

The holy Crail, Fife

Fife is a glorious peninsula bordered by a brilliant coastal path that takes in a variety of beaches, fishing villages and is an area rich in wildlife and diverse landscapes. The area from Crail to St Andrews is of particular beauty, with several gorgeous places to stop for lunch, such as Cambo Gardens cafe near Kingsbarns and the Cheesy Toast Shack at East Sands in St Andrews. There are loads of places to stay and use as a base to explore the region. The larch-clad cabins at Kinkell Byre offer the opportunity to rest in style. And farther north are the wonderful forest trails and sand dunes of Tentsmuir.
Stevie Kirkwood

Cornwall’s Celtic rainforest

Wander the banks of the River Fal and Helford River in south Cornwall, through ancient Celtic rainforest, where the trees meet the sea. This rare habitat gives us a glimpse of prehistory, with lichen-laden branches, crisp, damp air and some of the UK’s rarest wildlife. It feels otherworldly, yet oddly familiar.
Amy

Electric waves of Ynys Môn (Anglesey)

Penmon Point on the easternmost point of Ynys Môn is a great place to watch for sea birds. The stunning Trwyn Du lighthouse looks out to Puffin Island, and if you’re lucky, one might fly right past you. But we have seen even more magic there when it gets dark. If conditions are just right, the waves light up electric blue with bioluminescent plankton as they crash over the pebbles. For refreshments, the Pilot House Cafe is nearby and has a fantastic view from its garden.
Chris Jones

Poignant history in Morecambe Bay

You need to consult your tide tables before visiting Sunderland Point on Morecambe Bay. This extraordinary place of sea-sucked mudflats, salt marsh and vast skies is cut off daily at high tide. I cross the causeway in May when the sea pinks (sea thrift) are flowering and the air is bright with the cries of birds – oystercatchers, curlew and redshanks. It feels remote, but in the 18th century Sunderland Point was a bustling port for Lancaster’s transatlantic trade, which brought prosperity but also inhumanity. A walk round the peninsula leads to the grave of an unknown child slave abandoned here in 1736, now adorned by visitors with painted stones. Its bleak beauty will break your heart.
Morag Reavley

Where the River Foyle meets the sea, Derry

I’ve been walking my dog on the same stretch of coast for four years and I never tire of the sheer strangeness of it. Culmore Point is where Derry’s River Foyle meets the North Atlantic. Some days you can see a line in the water where the silt-filled Foyle meets the sea. Beautiful old-money houses look out across the water to a power station and chemical plant. Farther downstream the weird treeless landscape of the reclaimed land of Eglinton Embankment catches the eye. Spare a thought too for the young men who trained on these river beaches in May 1944 for the Normandy assaults a month later.
Keiran

Fossils, tidal flats and birds in Merseyside

From West Kirby on Wirral, you can walk across the tidal flats of the Dee estuary to the red sandstone formations of Little Eye, Middle Eye, and Hilbre Island, a string of uninhabited islands offering naught but spectacular nature. In summer you can spot grey seals hauling themselves on to sandbanks, and three types of terns (common, little and sandwich) darting past. Listen out for skylarks and meadow pipits too. For an extra challenge, search for the Triassic-era Chirotherium footprint. Always check tide times carefully, and for extra awe, time your return to the sun setting low, framed by the distant Welsh hills.
Sarah

A cycle by the sea in Aberdeenshire

Cycling along the North East Coastal Trail from Portsoy to Macduff in Aberdeenshire is my idea of heaven. In stunning coastal countryside you cycle through charming fishing villages with historic harbours. I’ve spotted dolphins, porpoises and seals on the route. On a rocky coastline just beyond Macduff, there’s an old tidal pool at Tarlair. Though no longer used for swimming, its beautifully restored art deco tea pavilion is the perfect spot to refuel before your journey back. While there, take a short wander to the secluded Salmon Howie beach tucked behind the cliffs – it’s such a beautiful spot.
Peter Diender

Winning tip: fin-du-monde vibes in East Yorkshire

When, as a child, I read Z For Zachariah, I imagined a landscape with the exact fin-du-monde energy of the East Yorkshire beach from Ulrome to Bridlington. On this stretch of Holderness, you’ll find neither the Norfolk chalk boards of iced latte and shakshuka nor the monastic ghosts of farther north. But if six miles of uninterrupted beach walk – in the company of nothing more glamorous than pure air, weather and proper decay (not the genteel sort) – is your thing, this is a place you should visit. Morcheeba soundtrack optional. Tired legs and a cleansed soul guaranteed.
Eliza Ainley

The famous Northfield Beach festival was cancelled in 2024 due to lack of funding but the community has rallied to bring it back to life just in time for Summer 2025

For over ten years, the manmade beach in a city suburb has been a hub for families of all ages to gather and enjoy. The Northfield Beach festival is a free event that features arts and crafts, theatre acts, circus performances, live music and more.

The festival has been a longstanding summer staple, but, regrettably, the 2024 event was scrapped due to lack of funding. Luckily, it’s set to make a triumphant return in 2025, thanks to tireless efforts from the local community.

2024’s cancellation left many families downhearted, prompting organisers at Northfield Community Partnership to initiate a Crowdfunder to resurrect the beloved event. Northfield Community Partnership gained charitable status in July 2014 and for 14 years, it has delivered a range of services from its hub in the heart of Northfield.

Rebecca Debenham, CEO of Northfield Community Partnership, made an emotional plea on the Crowdfunder: “We know how disappointed many families were last year that we were unable to bring you the Beach.”, reported Birmingham Live.

READ MORE: Underrated UK seaside village with bags of charm and huge beach

“This year, we need your support to help bring the Beach back! Please consider donating to our funding appeal. No matter how small your donation is, it will help us make sure we can bring the Beach back. Let’s work together to ensure this much-loved tradition returns! Thank you.”

Excitement buzzes as it’s been confirmed the beach will reconvene for summer 2025. The fundraiser marches on, aiming to finance a spectacular array of events for families to revel in. Donations are still welcome on the Crowdfunder page.

The Crowdfunder page is full of glowing and heart-warming dedications to the festival, outlining its importance to the city. “There were so many inclusive and accessible activities for everyone to enjoy! It’s heart-warming to see such dedication to making sure everyone feels included and can have a blast,” wrote one community member.

Another shared: “So great to bring wheelchair dance to the people of south Birmingham. Hooray for inclusive community events inspiring the next generation of disabled dancers!”

One community member called Northfield Beach “the most inclusive event” they’ve been to in all of Birmingham while another applauded the “thoughtful” event.

When is Northfield Beach 2025?

Mark your calendars, the event will run from July 24 to 27. It will take place in Victoria Common, Church Road, Northfield, Birmingham B31 2BB.

There’s a car park on Church Road and additional parking at Northfield Shopping Centre, which also provides access to the park. Visitors can easily catch the bus there too.

The park boasts a playground, an outdoor gym, a football pitch and open fields perfect for games and picnics.