Inverclyde Now Logo COAST And Country — At The Mercy Of The Wind And Waves

4 January, 2020 | Local

WATCHING waves crashing against rocks in an explosion of spray is a strangely satisfying experience, writes David Carnduff.

There is something about the raw force of the sea in its constant conflict with the land that resonates with many people, giving them a sense of awe at nature’s power. Even in relatively windless conditions, the sound of waves swishing over a pebble beach has soothing elements that can promote inner calm.

On a stormy day just after Christmas, I had little inclination to get philosophical as I walked into a southerly gale whipping the Clyde into a frenzy; getting back to the car parked at Lunderston and out of the wind quickly became a priority.

However, before I retreated, I was able to glimpse some eiders riding the roller-coaster waves a short distance offshore and a cormorant seemed to be finding solace by repeatedly diving.

Weather and ornithology are inextricably linked and, after my coastal walk, I thought about my visits to the Isle of May bird observatory way back in the 70s. On that far-flung outpost of the Firth of Forth, recording the weather, as well as bird sightings, is an important daily duty for the observatory visitors.

Wind direction and strength, sea state, precipitation and the extent of cloud cover are all noted. Back then, the island had resident lighthouse keepers who probably kept more detailed records of rainfall amounts and temperature.

We kept track of wind strength using the Beaufort Scale, devised in 1805 by the Irish hydrographer Francis Beaufort (later Rear Admiral Sir Francis Beaufort), a Royal Navy officer, and the method is still used today in shipping forecasts.

The scale rises numerically from a windless zero through slight and moderate sea states to gale force eight, severe gale nine, storm 10, severe storm 11 and the strongest of all, hurricane force 12.

On the day of my Lunderston walk, the wind was at least gale force eight — causing moderately high waves with crests breaking into spindrift, or ‘white horses’ as they are often called.

However, it was a mere breeze in comparison to the hurricane of January 1968, which left a trail of death and devastation across central Scotland. I was 15 and can still remember the roaring sound of the wind as the onslaught started early in the night, sending slates and chimneys flying, walls tumbling and trees crashing down.

Few people anticipated the consequences of the storm, with 20 dead and hundreds homeless across the country. On the Clyde, several ships sank or were torn from their moorings.

At such a young age, I was fairly oblivious to the consequences of the damage. The only thing that mattered to excitable kids like me was that schools were shut the following morning, giving us the chance to go exploring and clamber on trees felled by the hurricane.

Since then, we have had our fair share of storms but, to my knowledge, the West of Scotland has never experienced anything quite so bad since that fateful night 52 years ago. Could it happen again? With huge speculation over the future impact of climate change, who knows what lies in store?

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