Come hell or high water
THE best part of life in a rock pool —for us anyway—is that it can’t run away. There, in front of you, perhaps hidden by fronds of seaweed or under the shadow of the surrounding rocks, yet nevertheless miraculously to hand, is a fragment of another world. A tiny window into another life that needs no specialist equipment or refined stalking skills, but displays itself, almost as if for our pleasure, as a haven of riches.
‘Rock pools became the heart of Nature worship, a reassuring vision of creation’
When, in the 1850s, the English middle classes started to discover the delights of the shore, taken there by train, accommodated in the new boarding houses, fed with the deliciousness of real, local unadulterated food—the cream
