Category Archives: Beaches

Cross-Border Rockpooling with the Porcupine Marine Natural History Society

It sometimes feels like I don’t get out much – either socially or out of the county (Not that it’s a hardship to be in Cornwall!). So, I could barely contain my excitement at having the opportunity to attend the Porcupine Marine Natural History Society Conference in Plymouth. I packed my passport and set forth across the Tamar.

Not only did I mingle with the most amazing bunch of fellow marine wildlife obsessives and hear their latest findings, but the third day of the conference was spent rockpooling at Wembury in South Devon.

 

A prickle of Porcupines at work
A prickle of Porcupines at work at Wembury, Devon

While the environment at Wembury is similar to my home patch in South East Cornwall, a major difference is that Wembury has a marine centre, staffed by lovely people from the Devon Wildlife Trust. The centre promotes marine conservation and runs all sorts of public and educational events. It also provided a handy indoor base to set up some microscopes and a refreshment station. Luxury after my recent all-weather forays!

Coral, from the Marine Centre, was especially interested to know of any stalked jellyfish finds as past records suggest they used to be more abundant. Having spent the last few months doing stalked jellyfish surveys, I was starting to see them in my sleep, so I was happy to take a look.

Sure enough, there were plenty of stalked jellyfish there, the lower shore pools and gullies were ideal for them. One small clump of seaweed I looked at had six Calvadosia cruxmelitensis on it.

Calvadosia cruxmelitensis stalked jellyfish at Wembury, Devon
Calvadosia cruxmelitensis stalked jellyfish at Wembury, Devon

I also found several Craterolophus convolvulus, a species that I see less frequently, although it does occur in my home patch. It looks like it has four twisted coils of rope running down to the centre and has a wide base with a goblet-like profile.

A Craterolophus convoluvulus stalked jellydish at Wembury, Devon
A Craterolophus convoluvulus stalked jellydish at Wembury, Devon

 

Side view of a Craterolophus convolvulus stalked jellyfish at Wembury, Devon
Side view of a Craterolophus convolvulus stalked jellyfish at Wembury, Devon

This was my first visit to Wembury and I couldn’t bring myself to spend all my time looking at stalked jellyfish, lovely though they are. Having established there were lots of them, I set my mind to other things. 

Spotting a patch of a thick green, finger-like seaweed, Codium. I looked for the wonderful Photosynthesising sea slug (Elysia viridis). All my books say it loves nothing better than this seaweed, but so far I’ve always found them on other things. Today, for the first time, I discovered one that had clearly read the same book as me.

An Elysia vididis sea slug showing off its bright green spots and eating Codium seaweed just like it's supposed to!
An Elysia vididis sea slug showing off its bright green spots and eating Codium seaweed just like it’s supposed to!

These slugs retain chloroplasts from their food in their bodies, where they carry on photosynthesising to provide the slug with energy or other benefits. This one wasn’t a particularly vivid green, but it’s still pretty amazing to see a solar powered slug. 

Slugs were plentiful elsewhere on the shore too, although I didn’t come across anything particularly unusual. I loved this frilly little pair of Goniodoris nodosa.

Goniodoris nodosa sea slugs at Wembury, Devon
Goniodoris nodosa sea slugs at Wembury, Devon
A frilly sea slug - Goniodoris nodosa - at Wembury, Devon
A frilly sea slug – Goniodoris nodosa – at Wembury, Devon

This Berthella plumula was exploring the rocks and I saw the spawn of several species of sea slug, so there will soon be babies about!

Berthella plumula sea slug at Wembury, Devon
Berthella plumula sea slug at Wembury, Devon

In February, the only sea hares I could find were a few millimetres long. Today they’re several centimetres long and developing their adult leopard-spot colours.

Sea hare (Aplysia punctata) growing nicely at Wembury, Devon
Sea hare (Aplysia punctata) growing nicely at Wembury, Devon

The small clingfish species were abundant, but I didn’t attempt to check their teeth to see which species they were!

The books say to check the species by checking the teeth - not easy with a tiny clingfish like this one!
The books say to check the species by checking the teeth – not easy with a tiny clingfish like this one!

 

A small clingfish species (small headed or two-spot) at Wembury, Devon
A small clingfish species (small headed or two-spot) at Wembury, Devon

This male worm pipefish looked smart in his limpet-hat. He was carrying eggs in his belly-groove so I popped him straight back in his pool. 

Male pipefish with eggs wearing a limpet-shell hat at Wembury, Devon
Male Worm pipefish with eggs sporting a limpet-shell hat at Wembury, Devon

As you’d expect, there was no shortage of crabs. This tiny Anapagurus hyndmanni hermit crab caught my eye as it scuttled across the sand. They don’t grow more than about a centimetre long, but their right claw is about as long again and looks it’s wearing a huge white boxing glove. There were several around once I got my eye in.

Hermit crab (Anapgurus hyndmanni) showing it's huge white claw.
Hermit crab (Anapgurus hyndmanni) showing its huge white claw.

 

Anapagurus hyndmanni hermit crab at Wembury, Devon
Anapagurus hyndmanni hermit crab at Wembury, Devon

It was wonderful to share finds with other ‘Porcupines’, as members of the society refer to each other. The society is named after HMS Porcupine, although I’m more than a little vague as to why! One unusual discovery was this purple whelk, Raphitoma purpurea.

Raphitoma purpurea shell at Wembury, Devon
Raphitoma purpurea shell at Wembury, Devon

Inevitably I got carried away on the shore and didn’t think to have lunch until the tide was washing over my boots. By the time I’d gulped down a sandwich and some delicious M&S chocolate tiffin (a perk of having visited Plymouth!), all the Porcupines were assembled in the Marine Centre swapping notes and checking identifications. After a very pleasant half-hour checking other people’s stalked jelly photos and generally enthusing, it was time to cross the border back to Kernow once more.

I might not get to meet up with everyone like this very often – I’m pretty unlikely to make it to the next event in Newcastle for obvious reasons – but it’s inspiring to feel part of a national network of people who are all passionate about the same things as me.

So, a huge thank you goes to all the ‘Porcupines’ for making me welcome at my first conference, to Wembury Marine Centre and to my other half and Cornish Rockpools Junior for being patient with me while I nattered for hours about marine creatures with my new friends.

 Thanks also to you for sharing my adventures. Bonus photos follow for reading this far!

A lovely yellow Ophiothrix fragilis brittle star at Wembury, Devon
A lovely yellow Ophiothrix fragilis brittle star at Wembury, Devon
Close-up of a spiny starfish arm, Wembury, Devon
Close-up of a spiny starfish arm, Wembury, Devon
A black brittle star (Ophiocomina nigra) at Wembury, Devon
A black brittle star (Ophiocomina nigra) at Wembury, Devon
A Cornish clingfish over the border in Wembury, Devon
A Cornish clingfish over the border in Wembury, Devon

Happy rockpooling everyone!

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The Stalked Jellyfish World Record (for Portwrinkle)

“So is this a world record?” Cornish Rock Pools Junior has just found 26 stalked jellyfish and is feeling rightly proud of himself.

“It’s a record for Portwrinkle,” I tell him. “They’ve never been found here before.”

“But is it a world record?” he insists.

I take a moment to consider this. Only a moment, because my hands are frozen from holding my camera in the water and another snow flurry is starting.

“Yes,” I say. “You now have the world record for finding stalked jellyfish in Portwrinkle.”

From the leaping and cheering, I’d guess he’s satisfied with that.

Cornish Rock Pools Junior searches for stalked jellyfish at Portwrinkle
Cornish Rock Pools Junior searches for stalked jellyfish at Portwrinkle

If you follow this blog regularly, you may be starting to find the recent focus on stalked jellyfish a touch tedious. You wouldn’t be alone. Although I remember the excitement of finding my first one, the beauty of its markings and delicate tentacles, after seeing scores of the things and spending hours in freezing pools staring into the seaweed, they’re losing their edge.

Still, given that one species is a recognised feature of my local Marine Conservation Zone and two more species have potential to be added, any evidence that they’re here might help to protect them. So far, all of that evidence has come from beaches in walking distance of my home in Looe because I’m pretty much the only person recording them. When I took Natural England on a stalked jelly hunt at Hannafore, they asked if I could help them search beaches at the opposite end of the Looe and Whitsand Bay Marine Conservation Zone.

An adult Haliclystus ocroradiatus with a baby next to it. This species is a recognised feature of the Looe and Whitsand Marine Conservation Zone.
An adult Haliclystus ocroradiatus with a baby next to it. This species is a recognised feature of the Looe and Whitsand Marine Conservation Zone.

It seems such a great idea. Leaving home in a snow flurry though, I begin to question my sanity. I’m not sure, in such circumstances, whether it’s a good thing to have a wonderfully supportive partner and son, but neither of them bat an eyelid at the weather. Wearing boots, waterproofs, scarves, hats, gloves, and just about every item of clothing we possess, we head for Portwrinkle beach.

Junior becomes less supportive when I find the first stalked jelly. I hadn’t realised how badly he wanted to find it himself and wish I’d kept quiet about it, but after 45 minutes of fruitless searching it seemed like the sort of breakthrough worth announcing.

The first find is a Haliclystus octoradiatus - the 'blob' (primary tentacle) between each pair of tentacle arms helps identify this species.
The first find is a Haliclystus octoradiatus – the ‘blob’ (primary tentacle) between each pair of tentacle arms helps identify this species.

“I’m useless,” he sighs. “Now I won’t get the world record.”

I try to reassure him. Surely we are a team and finding them together? But nothing is working. A little further down the rocks, where the pools meet the sea, I notice an arc of rocks forming a shallow, rock strewn bay with plenty of weed.

“Come and try over here,” I suggest.

He kicks at the rocks and mopes over to where I’m standing.

“Just try,” I repeat.

It only takes a second.

“Here’s one,” he screams, his voice easily reaching his Dad, in the distance across the rocks.

One of Junior's many, many finds. A Calvadosia cruxmelitensis stalked jelly. The white spots (which are stinging cells) trace the outline of the tentacle arms and form a 'Maltese cross'.
One of Junior’s many, many finds. A Calvadosia cruxmelitensis stalked jelly. The white spots (which are stinging cells) trace the outline of the tentacle arms and form a ‘Maltese cross’.

Seconds later, while I’m crouching to photograph his find, he tugs at my shoulder. “I’ve found another one.”

Junior finds another species, the Calvadosia campanulata, which gets its name from its bell-like shape.
Junior finds another species, the Calvadosia campanulata, which gets its name from its bell-like shape.

And so it goes on; Junior’s voice becoming more excited with every find. I can’t keep up. There are so many stalked jellyfish that Junior is finding three in the time it takes me to take a photo of one. They’re everywhere. As I’m taking the photos I keep finding yet more.

Two different species living together, Calvadosia cruxmelitensis (left) and Haliclystus octoradiatus (right)
Two different species living together, Calvadosia cruxmelitensis (left) and Haliclystus octoradiatus (right) at Portwrinkle

Now, I don’t like the cold. I may have mentioned that before? My hands, in particular, don’t cope well with being plunged into icy water or drying in an easterly wind. By the time Junior has racked up 26 stalked jellies and I’ve found a further 15, the pain in my fingers is becoming all-consuming.

Fortunately, by this time, the boys are more than ready to go to the pub for lunch.

“Have people actually looked for stalked jellyfish here before?” Junior asks as we head for the car.

“Yes, I think so,” I say.

“So it really is a proper world record?” he asks.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Junior glances around him and narrows his eyes at a dog walker.

“What’s up?” I say.

“I don’t want lots of publicity. Do you think the newspapers and TV will find me? I’m not going to tell them where the stalked jellyfish are.”

I assure him that only people who care as much as we do about nature will ever read my blog.

He thinks about it for a moment and nods.

Despite the cold, I sneak in a few photos of other species. This is a baby sea hare (Aplysia punctata).
Despite the cold, I sneak in a few photos of other species. This is a baby sea hare (Aplysia punctata).
Decorator crab (Macropodia sp.)
Other Half found this fantastic Decorator crab (Macropodia sp.)
Painted top shell at Portwrinkle
Painted top shell at Portwrinkle

Tomorrow I’ll be off to the rock pools again, on the north coast this time, and I’ll be taking a day off from stalked jellyfish!

Junior and Senior doing our thing at Portwrinkle
Junior and Senior doing our thing at Portwrinkle

A Shell Collecting Bonanza on Looe Beach

After a week of ear-numbing northerlies, the low January sunshine is at last winning through. Junior sets to work with his bucket and spade, attempting to create a sand fort that can be seen from space while I take a stroll at the water’s edge.

Looe Beach - a herring gull is also checking out the pile of shells at the water's edge
Looe Beach – a herring gull is also checking out the pile of shells at the water’s edge

The stretch of sand that forms Looe beach is ideal for summer holidaymakers to lounge on, but generally offers little to the rockpooler, unlike the surrounding shores. Today is different; probably due to a combination of large tides and strong winds from an unusual direction.

Glistening mounds of shells are heaped the length of the shore, and are being nudged onwards by the incoming tide. They crack under my feet despite my efforts not to trample them. 

Shells on Looe beach
Shells on Looe beach

It’s not unusual to see the odd limpet or a few mussel shells here – the harbour is carpeted with them – but this haul of shells is not just large, it’s more diverse than usual. There’s such a kaleidoscope of blues, whites, oranges and pinks that I have to get in close to focus on individual shells.

Shell colours and patterns - a carpet shell (above) and scallop (below)
Shell colours and patterns – a carpet shell (above) and scallop (below)

Among the shells, emerald-green strips of sea grass glow in the sunlight.

Sea grass in the January sunlight at Looe beach.
Sea grass in the January sunlight at Looe beach.

Many of the shells are fresh, some still alive, while others are worn down to their mother-of-pearl lining. I throw the live ones back into the water although it’s probably too late.

A Grey topshell worn down to the mother-of-pearl layer
A Grey topshell worn down to the mother-of-pearl layer
A sea-worn turban top shell (recognisable by the crinkled, 'jelly-mould' shape to the upper face of the shell.
A sea-worn turban top shell (recognisable by the crinkled, ‘jelly-mould’ shape to the upper face of the shell.

Most of these shells are molluscs, either sea snails (gastropods) or clam shells (bivalaves), but among them lies a remarkably intact sea potato. These fragile urchins come from the echinoderm (‘spiny skin’) family and are related to starfish and sea cucumbers. When alive, sea potatoes are covered in bristly spines and live in muddy-sand burrow. These spines quickly rub off if the animal is washed out of its home. What’s left is this white potato-shaped shell.

Sea potato (urchin) on Looe beach
Sea potato (urchin) on Looe beach

I’m soon absorbed, staring into the mass of shells. There’s nothing particularly rare here, but I never could resist shell collecting.

A tiny cowrie shell - Looe beach.
A tiny cowrie shell – Looe beach.

I’m especially pleased with the cowrie and the Auger shell (easily recognised by its twisting tower shape).

Auger shell (Turritella communis) on Looe beach
Auger shell (Turritella communis) on Looe beach

Before long the tide’s rolling in and Junior wants my help to fortify his sand constructions against the waves. As the sun retreats over western side of the valley, the January chill returns and we walk home in the evening glow. Below the cliffs I can still hear the sound of the waves pushing shells up the beach.

Razor shells burrow in the muddy sand near Looe beach.
Razor shells burrow in the muddy sand near Looe beach.
This thick-lipped dog whelk was still alive so I put it back in the sea for a second chance.
This thick-lipped dog whelk was still alive so I put it back in the sea for a second chance.
Time to go home.... A fishing boat returning to Looe harbour as the sun sets behind West Looe Hill.
Time to go home…. A fishing boat returning to Looe harbour as the sun sets behind West Looe Hill.

 

Fun and fish at the Lundy Bay Bioblitz

Bioblitzes have become a regular thing these last few years and I love them. These time-limited surveys of every living thing in an area are a fantastic way to bring experts and the public together, so I’m excited to join the Lundy Bay 24 hour bioblitz organised by the National Trust.

Getting started on the beach with at the Lundy Bay bioblitz
Getting started on the beach with at the Lundy Bay bioblitz

When I first walk down on the first afternoon to do a pre-survey recce there’s no beach at all. The tide is high and the waves are exploding against the rocks sending up a shower of spray that delights Cornish Rock Pools Junior. Fortunately, some intrepid friends from the Marine Biological Association and Coastwise North Devon arrived early and collected a lovely hydroid medusa (like a tiny jellyfish) and lots of moon jellies – so it seems likely there will be interesting things to find when the tide goes back out.

One of many moon jellyfish washed up by the strong swell. This species is harmless.
One of many moon jellyfish washed up by the strong swell. This species is harmless.

After an exciting evening and early morning of mammal surveying with Junior, I finally get to see the beach at low tide. It’s an exposed shore with sheer rocks and golden sand, which looks wonderful, but is a tricky environment to find creatures. Still, with the number of people we have taking part and the combined resources of lots of different organisations including kick nets and fish traps, we’re sure to find something.

I spend most my time near the event flags, helping people to identify their finds. Everyone is fascinated by the sea hare. These common sea slugs are easily recognised by the long tentacle ‘ears’ on their heads. Up close, you can see a leopard-like pattern on their bodies. If you upset them (which we don’t) they can squirt out purple ink to confuse predators.

A small sea hare explores my tray.
A small sea hare explores my tray.

The find of the day is a creature none of us expect to find tangled in a discarded fishing net. This slow worm (a legless lizard) probably came down to the beach to hunt at low tide and became caught in the ghost net. It has a lucky escape and is released safely.

This slow worm was found tangled in discarded fishing gear.
This slow worm was found tangled in discarded fishing gear.

The nets bring up lots of tiny baby flatfish that were hiding in the sand in the shallows. Most are probably plaice and this one looks like a baby turbot – with a much wider body-shape. I’ve never seen one this small before, it swims onto my hand and rests there, looking around with bulging eyes, opening its lop-sided mouth a little. If it makes it to adulthood it may eventually weigh 10 kilos or more, but it has a way to go yet.

A tiny young turbot swims into my hand.
A tiny young turbot swims into my hand.

 Everyone loves a cheeky tompot blenny. There bold fish are unmistakeable with their fat lips, colourful eyes and television aerial style tentacles on their heads.

A tompot blenny giving its typical toothy smile.
A tompot blenny giving its typical toothy smile.

Other highlights include toothed crabs (Primela denticulate), celtic sea slugs, which are present in huge numbers on some large rocks around the point, and a lobster lurking at the back of a deep overhang cave.

Built like miniature tanks, the Celtic sea slugs cover the rocks in places.
Built like miniature tanks, the Celtic sea slugs cover the rocks in places.

After the strong winds and rain of the previous day, the sunshine takes us by surprise. Conditions are perfect and the turnout is good, but before long the tide is racing back in. By the time we make it back to base, the short, intense Bioblitz is coming to an end and the stands are being packed away. Soon this will be a remote empty field again, but I’ll be back sometime soon to explore this wonderful bay some more.

If you would like to join a Bioblitz there’s another one coming up in North Devon on 17th September at Croyde with the fabulous Coastwise North Devon team – see http://www.coastwisenorthdevon.org.uk/news/summerbioblitz-time.html

Kynance Cove: A rock pooling challenge

There are many fabulous rock pooling beaches around Cornwall and this isn’t one of them. The smooth serpentinite rocks of Kynance Cove on the Lizard peninsula are colourful and create breathtaking scenery, but they’re mostly devoid of places for creatures to shelter. Realistically there’s not much here, but it’s one of Cornwall’s loveliest places and experience tells me there’s always something if I look hard enough.

It's easy to see the snake-skin texture that gives serpentine rock its name.
It’s easy to see the snakeskin texture that gives serpentine rock its name.

One thing this beach does have is caves. Junior strides ahead of me, clutching a geological hammer and chisel, shining his torch along the smooth, damp walls.

Cornish rock pools junior explores the serpentinite caves
Cornish rock pools junior explores the serpentinite caves

He’s on a mission to explore every centimetre of these rare rocks, forced up millions of years ago from deep under the oceans, exposing the upper layer of Earth’s mantle. While Junior hammers away at history, cave-dwelling periwinkles not much bigger than grape pips are undertaking their own explorations.

This tiny periwinkle species lives on the upper shore in dark and damp places such as this cave.
This tiny periwinkle species lives on the upper shore in dark and damp places such as this cave.

A steady swell breaks against the island stacks and scattered rocks of the bay. Barnacles cling to imperfections and overhangs, joined by beadlet anemones and black-footed limpets.

A beadlet anemone next to dog whelk eggs. Barnacles and limpets also cling on to this small overhang in the smooth serpentinite.
A beadlet anemone next to dog whelk eggs. Barnacles and limpets also cling on to this small overhang in the smooth serpentinite.

I watch a limpet slamming down its shell on a barnacle’s feeding arms and wonder if it’s if it’s after a more substantial meal than its usual fare of micro-algae?

Sea slaters scuttle among the barnacles together with occasional flies and even a centipede. I assume it has journeyed down from the top of the grassy island to forage at low tide.

A centipede visiting the shore
A centipede visiting the shore

An oystercatcher watches me cross the beach, preening itself with its orange chopstick bill. It watches as I climb a shelving part of the lower cliffs where several deep bowls have been eroded from the rock.

A lone oystercatcher on a rock at Kynance Cove.
A lone oystercatcher on a rock at Kynance Cove.

As I approach the pools, a gaggle of small fish jostles against each other before darting away below a ledge. I take up position beside the pool and wait. Sure enough, after a few minutes, a shanny’s head pops over the ledge, propping itself on its clawed pectoral fins to get a better look. Others soon join it as they return to their basking positions at the shallow edges of the pool.

A grinning shanny propped on its pectoral fins watches me from a rock pool.
‘Say cheese!’ A grinning shanny propped on its pectoral fins watches me from a rock pool.

I lower my camera bit by bit until it’s almost touching the surface of the water. The fearless shanny stays put. After a few attempts I manage to capture one of my favourite things about these common little rockpool fish: their extraordinary chameleon-like eyes which can swivel independently in all directions.

Being able to do this must be a huge advantage when looking out for prey and predators.

I spot a Montagu’s blenny in the pool, easily distinguished from its larger cousins by its radio mast style headgear. It’s too shy to have its photo taken and I’m called away to help with  Junior’s mining exploits, but it’s been a rewarding morning. It shows how much is there if you look.

Barnacles on a beautiful piece of banded serpentinite.
Barnacles on a beautiful piece of banded serpentinite.

Scarlet and Gold Cup Corals -A Treasure Quest

The sea, viewed from the top of the steep valley, is a distant pool of blue decorated with a scattering of rocky islets. Here ‘my people’ (as my other half puts it) gather, unperturbed by the intense hail shower that sweeps over us. We pull on our wellies and waterproofs in the shelter of our car boots until the storm slinks away, uncovering a cleansed sky.

A few years back I hosted a Coastwise North Devon field trip to the south Cornish coast. Today I’ve been invited back for a north Cornwall foray with this dedicated group of marine naturalists. There could be no more serious band of rockpoolers. Should there be any unusual species on this shore, they are about to be discovered.

The walk down the valley to Porth Mear beach never disappoints, even in the muddy aftermath of a hail storm. Our party is accompanied by the trills of the first skylarks of summer and the first swallows dancing over the marshes.

Porth Mear beach at low tide.
Porth Mear beach at low tide.

My main objective today is to photograph the corals. Like so much of our colourful marine life, the scarlet and gold cup coral (Balanophyllia regia) is barely the size of my fingernail and prefers to live in the most awkward spots possible.

When I last found corals here, I crawled into a damp overhang on my belly, discovered the space was too small for my camera’s waterproof casing and removed it so I could hold my camera at arm’s length into the dripping cave (it died soon afterwards). The resulting photos showed blurred bloblets. The colours were lovely but beyond that you had to use your imagination. I suspect my new camera can do better.

Scarlet and gold star coral
My very best blurred bloblet photos from last year…. can I do better?

The water is slow to run out today. A swell is building in advance of a storm and waves are rushing into the gullies that I was hoping to explore; the ones where I last saw the cup corals. Despite that, it’s one of the best tides of the year, and with so many expert eyes on the case it’s not long before a shout goes up and people gather round. 

In a shallow pool at the back of a rocky grotto are dozens of scarlet and gold cup corals, spots of colour as bright as a sunset. Each one has a central disc of fiery orange fringed in rays of saffron yellow tentacles. I can only see this by lying down and pulling myself over the rocks until my head is wedged in the overhang  so deeply that salt water dribbles down my forehead. I have a small head, small enough to wear my child’s bike helmet; just occasionally that’s useful.

Scarlet and gold cup corals growing all along the base of the overhang.
Scarlet and gold cup corals growing all along the base of the overhang.

This time my camera fits easily through the slit in the rocks and after a fair amount of wriggling I find a way to position it in the water and focus. A clear shot of the cup coral, translucent spotted tentacles and all, appears on my screen. I bang my head on the rock in my excitement, then take fifty more photos – just in case.

Scarlet and gold cup coral at Porth Mear
Scarlet and gold cup coral at Porth Mear

I could spend all day here, except that the spray is already breaking over my back from the waves pounding the seaward rocks. Soon the tide will swallow this gully once more. The cup corals need these fierce currents to bring them food, but I wouldn’t last two minutes in them.

More scarlet and gold cup corals
More scarlet and gold cup corals

We carry on our explorations, making more discoveries and enjoying the sunshine, so unexpected after the morning’s hail.

There may be places where the sea shows its treasures more willingly, where large, colourful wildlife swims all around you without having to clamber over slippery rocks, lift boulders or traipse back up a steep hill at the end of the day. But I prefer this. Just as adventure stories would be dull if the quest were over on page one, finding marine treasure would be less fulfilling if you didn’t have to work at it; or so I tell myself.

Finding and managing a decent photo of a scarlet and gold cup coral has taken me nearly forty years. Even now, I’ve only managed it thanks to having ‘my people’ around me, sharing my fascination with these creatures. I couldn’t ask for more.

Scarlet and gold cup coral in a Cornish rock pool
Scarlet and gold cup coral in a Cornish rock pool

30 Days Wild: Cornish Rock Pool Junior’s First Day

Cornish Rock Pools Junior has signed up for the Wildlife Trusts’ 30 Days Wild project.  Here’s a video of his first challenge – a walk to Millendreath beach in a raging gale.

He loved it and wasn’t at all fazed by the rain and wind. He scored 100% in the online ‘test of wildness’ which was no surprise to anyone.

If you haven’t already done so, get involved and commit to doing something wild every day in June.