Nature Diary: Marine Lake

Marine Lake, West Kirby: This manmade lake brings joy to dog walkers, windsurfers and seabirds.

The path between the marine lake and the sea in West Kirby

Charcoal clouds smudge the still sky, stripping the islands to a bland, grey outline. Copper sand softens the fall of raindrops and the low tide reveals small salt pools which lie scattered across the beach, mirroring the salt marsh beyond the promenade. Clumps of seaweed and sand lie haphazardly over the car park, separating the lake from the beach. Two teenagers haul paddle boards off of their roof rack, and I watch the struggle of plastic against Irish winds until they reach the pontoon. Beyond them, on the path, is a man walking. He holds a lead out towards the lake, where his chocolate labrador swims parallel to the pavement. Here the sea meets a section of itself which has been tamed and controlled - this is the Marine Lake.

There are no low tides here and the borders of the lake create a safe, controlled environment for windsurfers, paddle boarders and sea birds. The sailing club and the RNLI station mark the corners of this landscape, but the scenery of the Dee estuary and the Welsh hills pans beyond my eyeline. Here is the most defined of liminal spaces; you can taste the edge. Walk this way and you may see broken crab and mussel shells on the pavement which surrounds the lake, and it’s possible to catch seagulls stomping and pecking at the crabs for their meat. There’s an abundance of food for them here, making it a Wetland of International Importance, as well as a safe place to eat your sandwich without the fear of it being nicked by a hungry gull.

The seagulls and kittiwakes elegantly descend onto the lake’s face when the wind dies down. The windsurfers can only dream of such grace, as they belly flop into the water once the wind abandons their sails. Mam always said that their call was a cry that rain was coming - ‘glaw glaw glaw’ - and the splash of raindrops hit my face. Spaniels with soaked ears trott past and their walkers follow behind, clinging onto their coats and hats in a desperate attempt to stay warm. The lake ripples in the winter wind and spits droplets at my feet. It kisses the lip of the pavement, again and again, each time as heartfelt as the last. On the opposite side, the sea flops its waves lazily and I notice its deeper, dirty green face. I circle around until I’m walking past a row of memorial benches that face the lake and the sea. Each one has a plaque with someone’s name, and though I know the benches are there for their families, I’m saddened at the knowledge that it’s only people’s placed value in nature that protects their existence.