Field recording journal 5th October 2022
The wind vibrates the fence I’m leaning against and I welcome its warmth and physical connection to this space.
Carrats cafe car park is almost full with surfers’ vans and cars. Some drying and getting changed.
The wind is blowing hard (I check on an app that says 26mph but it feels stronger).
I walk towards the harbour arm passing surfers trailing wet footprints. The small turbines are spinning fast, blades cutting through the air, the deep whoosh phasing as I pass between them.
Light rain, tiny specks of sound against waterproof fabric, catch my ear and I consider turning back, but I push on judging it will only be a shower.
I arrive at the start of the harbour arm and the familiar sound of the gate swinging and clanging fills the air, with lighter, higher pitch clinks coming from the fence to the west. No whistling wind today, must be a different direction.
Looking to the east with a clear view that stretches along the coast, Brighton, Hove and the port seem squashed, closer together. Sense of perspective lost at this distance under these conditions. The sea is a light green blue, topped with white waves crashing against the beach, throwing up clouds of sea mist.
The sea roars all around me, enveloping me in wide range noise. I position my microphone and press record. I'm interested in the rhythm of the human made objects as much as the natural. The undulating sea taking up most of the space, the gates and fences a percussive out of time loop.
The wind vibrates the fence I’m leaning against and I welcome its warm physical connection to this space.
A walker passes in short sleeves. I’m wrapped up in fleece and full wind and water proofs. He walks along the deserted harbour arm, conditions too wild for the fishing that takes place most days.
The tee shorted walker returns from the end of the harbour arm. We exchange smiles and nods of heads.
The creaking gate sounds a bit like a farm animal. A donkey maybe.