How to roam Jersey’s incredible (but dangerous) tidal shores


I’m standing a little slack-jawed in a scene reminiscent of The Martian when my guide, Trudy, hands me what looks like a chunk of smoothed triangular plaster.

“Just picture prehistoric man, crouching behind rocks out of the cold, waiting to ambush a wooly rhino,“ she colours for me in her slightly muted German accent.

We’ve been walking for over an hour across this growing stretch of barren wilderness in Jersey, sloshing through rock pools and stopping to look at the plethora of interesting things that Trudy has spotted along the way – dead catfish, tango-coloured crumb sponge and the brutal nature of the netted dog whelk have all featured.

In the short mile or so of the tidal zone that we’ve…

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