What I love most is the truth it reveals. When the tide goes back out, you see what was hiding: lost sunglasses, a single flip-flop, and a lot of broken shell. But during high tide, there’s no hiding. Everything is right there, in your face. You can’t pretend you’re on a wide beach because there is no beach. You’re standing on a footpath that has temporarily become a seaside attraction.
It’s a great equaliser. The local billionaire in his yacht? He’s floating out there, trying not to hit a buoy. The retiree with her flask of tea? She’s wet-socked too. Nature doesn’t care about your social status. She just wants to see you skip.
So next time you’re at Lee-on-the-Solent and you see the water creeping up, don’t run. Embrace it. Take off your shoes. Let the cold water lap at your toes. And if a seagull steals your sandwich, just remember: you’re part of the story now. A story that ends with salty, sandy feet and a smile you can’t dry off.
That’s the magic of high tide. It’s the only time the ocean gives you a free dance, and you don’t even need rhythm. Just a good sense of humour and a spare pair of socks.
