These are the Goodrington Sands; for there on the left is the
projecting bluff of red sandstone, horizontally stratified, known as
Roundham Head, and beyond it in the distance we see Hope’s Nose, and
its two guardian islets, the Orestone and the Thatcher. On the other
side, the long wall of land terminating in Berry Head projects to an
equal distance, and we are in the bottom of the deep bight, nearly
equidistant from both.
Immediately in front of the debouchure of the little green lane,
beginning some way down the beach, and stretching away into the sea,
there is a mass of low black rock, leprous with barnacles, and draped
with ragged tufts of oar-weed and tangle and bladder-wrack, sweltering
and blackening in the sun. It is much broken up, and narrow winding
lanes paved with sand pierce it in all directions; and shallow pools of
quiet water sleep everywhere in the hollows. Sweet little sea-gardens
are these pools: bright green leaves of ulva float like tinted cambric
in the water; tufts of chondrus are glittering with steely reflections
of gemmeous blue; large broad leaves of dulse, richly, darkly red,
afford fine contrasts with the green sea-lettuce; and one and all
give ample shelter to thousands of vigilant, busy, happy, living
creatures. It is treacherous walking; for the footing is very uneven,
and the glare of the sun on the water renders it difficult to see where
to tread; while the advance and recess of the wavelets on the sand
between, give to the bewildered brain the impression that everything is
sliding from under the foot.