West Beach – Littlehampton.

You approach West Beach by driving up narrow roads that twist and turn, until you reach the River Arun. You carry on with the river to your left, outpacing the driftwood and detritus, until you get to the gaping mouth of the gaping river. You park the car, headlight pointing toward the Channel and head towards the gate, walking past the old public toilets.

At first the beach is out of sight. The gate leads to a wooden path, climbing up a dune. The rough blades of sea grass spike out of the dirty sand. The ascent is followed by a descent and you find yourself at the bottom of a valley. All around is sand and tufts of sharp faded green.

The path leads up another dune and leads you to the top. Now you can see everything. To the left is still the River Arun. Moving water escapes out, but hardly breaks the surface. To the right is vast nothingness. A nothingness that flattens the ground and the sea in to tiny ripples and waves. A block of air separates you and everything in front of you. The coast follows the nothingness along the water’s edge until you reach a curve and then a point.

You walk down the dune, toward the water. The waves wash and echo. It sucks and pulls, creating a rumble from a million grains of sand. The waves keep coming, over and over again, amplifying and repeating the natural friction. The dunes behind you block out the car park, block out the concrete toilets and hides everything else.

You follow the nothingness once more and your eyes end on a jut of land. It balances on nothing but the sound of the tide.