Andrew Millham takes us for a walk around the Essex Wildlife Trust nature reserve of Tollesbury Wick, the land of plough and sail

Distance: 5.8 miles

Time: Three hours, including time to stop, snack and stare

In that veil between winter and spring, there is always that one day that stands out like no other. A blue sky peppered with friendly looking clouds; a coat tied around the waist; buds swelling on the ends of branches. Nobody can deny that the prevailing mood is one of regrowth, regreening and renewed hope. The season has changed overnight.

It was one such day in April when I set out with my dog, Indy, for Tollesbury – a place I had only ever visited before by boat. Parking in the free Woodrolfe Green car park (choirs.crucially.mulls) on the road down to the marina, folks were fixing up their boats, members of Tollesbury Sailing Club were prepping RIBs and the weatherboarded sail lofts rose high above – all signs that sailing is a way of life in these parts. The Loft tearoom looked particularly nice but was closed on this day.

Rounding the bend, the bright red of the Tollesbury Lightship (LV15), called Trinity, is blinding against the rusty-brown of the marshes, which curl left and right into a tessellating brain-like structure (engraving.elevate.flip). It is a landmark that can be seen for miles around. Duckboards extend into the marshland to where the forgotten, decaying ribs of lesser-fortunate craft poke out of the silt and resemble oyster shells. Turning left (argued.villas.pulse), we entered Tollesbury Wick nature reserve, owned by Essex Wildlife Trust and consisting of 600 acres of coastal grazing marsh, sea walls and saltings.

Algae covered the marshes with a layer of slick green, like weathered copper, and flocks of geese flew overhead in regimental V-formations, as if rallying for some distant waterfowl battle. Wave upon wave caught sunrays like a purse of gold coins in Woodrolfe Creek as we walked along the grassy seawall, whilst the square concrete sea defences along Tollesbury Sound were broken and scattered like giant blocks of Dairy Milk. Skylarks shot straight up from tufty grassland and hung in the air like dust spots, producing a complex volley of calls, before returning to their private nest and allowing one of their peers to rise and continue their complex song.

In the far distance, Bradwell Power Station is clearly silhouetted across the Blackwater Estuary and – less clearly – the shape of the Chapel of St Peter-on-the-Wall can be determined. Looking northeast, the iconic row of pastel-coloured beach huts on Mersea Island casts a hazy sun-altered line of pinks and blues across the horizon. At Shinglehead Point (crouches.daffodils.leaves) we reached a WWII pillbox, where the water opens out to unlock the full panoramic spectacle of the Essex coast. Eventually, we found a small shelly beach and looked onto the Ross Revenge in the estuary – the home of Radio Caroline – and I listened to the radio station on my phone for a few minutes.

All around were brown and white Ronaldsay sheep, which are well-suited to rough grazing on the marshes – a sign that the marshes are managed traditionally. By the time we had circled back into Tollesbury, the dog-friendly Tollesbury Café (riverbank.hammer.homing) looked all too inviting and we recharged our batteries with well-deserved tea and cake. Before leaving, we of course had to see the Lightship up-close, and en route met a gleaming white dog who looked like a mirror image of my all-black dog. ‘It’s like a negative photo,’ her owner joked.

After an expensive restoration, the Tollesbury Lightship (retired from service in 1988) is now an activity centre with an inspiring team who mentor young people and provide unforgettable experiences – especially on the water. And, what’s more, she still floats on every tide.

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