Postcard from a beachcleaner

11 hours ago , by Richard Lutz

from Richard Lutz

Shore walkers don’t usually approach me. I’m part of the seaside landscape with my rubbish bag, my litter picker stick, my gloves. And, of course, who knows what’s inside that plastic sack I’m carrying. There’s the ocean, the waves, the sand, the happy kids shouting and running, the boats, the beachcleaner.

It’s a 2.5 mile round trip on the curve of the Ayrshire beach. I don’t pick up much glass these days, less and less each year. And that means, less weight in the disposable bags (they can get heavy) and, crucially, no dangerous shards of bottles that can seriously injure someone.

After a hot weekend, the detritus is nighttime party leftovers. That means loads of cans and plastic bottles, mostly of beer and fizzy drinks. Then comes cartons of fast food off supermarket shelves. I shift through the remains of fire pits to find junk that won’t burn.

Beer cans, plastic bottles, tee shirts, doggie bags….

On the return trip- the patrol is 1.25 miles each way- I go into the high grass. This is where the wind and the waves push alot of garbage to a final resting place. The stuff is easy to find as a lot of it is a ghastly orange or horrible purple. I’m getting good with my grabber at snaring the tangled up mess that’s stuck in the tough shrubbery or stubborn rocks that line the uppsr reaches of the shore.

Of course, this is where lazy pathetic dog walkers throw their doggie waste bags. It’s the bane of all litter teams. These people diligently round up their pooch crap, neatly tie it up in the little baggies, then chuck them rather than take them away to a rubbish bin. Yes… the volunteer litter squads pick them up. Though I do want to track down these selfish dog owners and personally shove their deposits through their postboxes.

Back to the run of the mill stuff such as abandoned or lost clothes. If they’re not too drenched (they can be heavy) I’ll pick them up: swimming trunks, a lonely running shoe or plastic clog, a tee shirt, a baseball cap. And there’s intriguing flotsam from the sea, bits of a boat that’s gone overboard and carried away by waves, miles of ocean rope buried deep in sand, a hunk of wood or a yellow sea boot.

Wire, nappies, tissues, bbq trays, a sock…

Sometimes, I will get a nod from some of the beach walksrs. A brief acknowledgement as if to say: ‘Thanks, I guess someone’s got to clean up the mess.’ One woman, with the inevitable terrier bouncing around, asked if I get paid. Another stopped to say how clean the beach is- as if it was all down to me and not the tireless volunteers and all the courteous and careful beach goers who carry their rubbish home.

Yesterday, a robust pensioner in his eighties stopped me as I scrounged around in the tall tough grass and explained that he’d been holidaying at this beach for seventy years. ‘Used to be fishing boats in the harbour before it silted up’ he remembered. I told him my late father in law owned one of those busy trawlers he saw.

We both scrunched up our eyes to look west into the sun and the sea, him with his seven decades of memories. Me with my bag of rubbish. ‘Well, see you soon.’ he said as his terrier pulled at him. ‘Happy hunting..’

~ The writer is a member of the Maidens Litter Action Team