Deadly Seas

5th October, 2023

This was the view that greeted us as we walked down to the beach from the top of the dune the following day (see previous post). The sea looked relatively benign (for these parts) and inviting. We chose our spot on the sand, planted our umbrellas, spread our towels and then headed towards the ocean for a dip. I choose the word ‘dip’ very carefully: it is rare that the sea on this Atlantic coast of the Bay of Biscay is calm enough to what one might term ‘swim’. Usually it’s all about picking your spot wisely (you need to know the beach and its currents well), observing the waves and timing your entry into the water. And a golden rule is ‘never turn your back on the waves’. Even on exiting, make sure you are glancing backwards all the time, a bit like when you are driving a car and looking in your rear view mirror: you need to know what’s going on behind you as well as in front of you to stay as safe as possible. 

At this time of year there are no lifeguards on this beach. They left at the end of September and won’t return till next summer. So you are really on your own and have to be extra vigilant. We tried one spot and decided it wasn’t optimal as it was a lagoon so we moved further to our left where the water was shallower. There was a bit of a cross-current here and we kept our feet firmly on the ground - the moment you lose touch with the sand you can feel the undertow tugging at you and it is all too easy to find yourself suddenly further out than is safe - unless you have a surfboard or flippers that is. 

The late summer sea is a beautiful temperature, having been warmed in the summer months, but is still cool enough to be refreshing and you always come out grateful that you’re still alive (my golden rule is ‘get out while the going is still good!’), but invigorated and happy. 

After our dip we wandered back up the beach to our towels and embarked on our picnic lunch. We were eating and chatting away when suddenly we noticed some young lads a little way in front of us rushing off diagonally towards the shoreline, followed soon after by another man from somewhere behind us. It caught our attention and our gaze followed them to be met with a group of people, some distance away, huddled around someone frantically doing CPR on a person laid out on the sand that, mercifully, we could not see, but where we had exited the water just 15 minutes or so earlier. Two dogs were trotting around the group, tales wagging, clearly oblivious to the drama but excited by all the people. It was a tragic juxtaposition of innocent animal pleasure, compounded by all the other lives on the beach which were going on as normal. We wondered briefly if the dogs belonged to the poor person on the sand, and if he’d been walking them along the beach when disaster struck, but it became clear that this was not the case and that he had been pulled from the sea by a surfer. 

I do not want to go into any more details about the human tragedy which unfolded before our eyes beyond the fact that the bystanders who were helping dissipated when the professionals finally arrived (not easy in this part of the world as the emergency services are few and far between): first the local police, then the firemen in black (who are the first responders in France), then some lifeguards in yellow and red from the resort many kilometres up the beach who’d rushed in their buggy as fast as they could to offer assistance, and then finally the medics, all in white. For well over an hour everyone did their very best, but sadly their efforts were futile. A happy day at the beach for two couples who’d witnessed the same beautiful vista as us as they arrived, ended in unexpected tragedy. The images I have in my mind’s eye of those three desolate people, united in disbelief, shock and grief will stay with me for a long time; the most humbling and poignant being the partner of the victim who had remained separate and hunched from the scene throughout, suddenly falling to her knees on the sand as she walked back from the formalities of the death as the reality of her loss began to sink in. 

I am aware how such trauma can leave its energetic mark and how the soul of a person who is struck down unexpectedly like this may get trapped, so before we left the beach that sad and surreal day, we went quietly down to the shore where the physical marks of all that human effort still remained as witnesses on the unwashed sand. At a slight distance, we unobtrusively offered up our own prayers and respects for the lost life of a stranger in this wildly beautiful but often deadly coastal landscape. I had a dialogue with the soul, the sea and the Universe to transform the trauma energies into peace and acceptance. My friend had no notion of what I was saying or doing as she gazed out to sea, lost in her own communion, but she said she suddenly felt icy cold with goosebumps on her arms. I pray that this was the release that was necessary, a transformation of energies brought about by unconditional divine love and universal wisdom together with the powerful respect and compassion that strangers can have for each other, so amply displayed on the beach that tragic afternoon. For my friend and I who return to this beach daily, usually giving us so much joy, it was also an act of closure as the grief we had witnessed touched us to our very core. Indeed, there was undoubtedly a silent sense of collective mourning, tangible in the air, as each and everyone of us came to terms with what we had just witnessed. Why had we stayed? Because there was a vain hope, just as the victim’s friends surely had, that a miracle would happen and we would see the happy ending that never came.

And as we walked away, the waves kept singing their rhythmic song and slowly washed away the sad story that unfolded on these golden shores one Thursday afternoon in October…