As It Flows
A broad expanse of silt laden water, the Severn estuary carves its path through several counties, in parts
feeling tamed, crossed over and repelled, yet in almost the same space, it feels wild, desolate, uncontrollable
and ancient.
Driving through the industrial spaces of Avonmouth, watching the ebbing tide pull the sediment filled
mass out to the open sea, racing waters tear against the monolithic pillars of the Severn Bridge, here the
human touch is clear. A little further up-river, however, the land opens out to farmland periphery, swathes of
unbounded marshland grasses border deep banks of mud that bear the patterns of the tidal flow. With the
occasional sign decreeing the dangers of the fierce current, here the mentions of humanity are few, relics of
broken ships hint at an industrial past, the flow of time as present and perpetual as the tides.
Long discontinued nuclear power stations stubbornly remain along the south coast of the estuary,
jarring structures of concrete punctuate the largely flat landscape. The dismantling of which will take a
hundred years or more, these structures have also succumbed to time, but unlike the wrecked wooden hulls
lying in the ship graveyard, these complex symbols of power will be carefully managed into nothingness.
Further south, the estuaries breadth rapidly expands, now defined as different countries, the two banks
are separated by miles of open water. An area of reclaimed industrial land hosts a protected wetland, dense
reed beds surround sheltered pools, the tone of the scene somewhat fractured by the still operational gas
fired power station, looming in the near distance. The flatness of the region means the sight of overhead
power lines are ever present, these couriers of power cut their path with little regard for the sea level terrain.
Travelling upstream several docks are passed, some still thriving, although mostly recreational, a few
cling to their commercial past. Sharpness docks, whilst a shadow of its former glory, still operates for cargo,
with the railway line, little used today, remaining connected to the main Gloucester to Bristol route. A walk
around the docklands reveals mothballed rail stock, forlornly resting on retired sections of track that lead
nowhere. Edging the mercantile quarter, residential property still exists here, surely a quiet existence can be
found in this near post-industrial era of the docks.
Towards the estuaries beginning the river becomes serpentine narrowing significantly, the region feels
calm with hectares of farmland dominating the landscape. These are the floodplains where residential
properties stand against the wrath of the Severn Bore, a tidal phenomenon that pushes a surging wave as far
as Gloucester Docks. This section of the estuary carries an intimate feel, more river than sea, distinct from
the gargantuan span a few miles southwest, private stretches of land run down to the river's edge with a low
tide revealing wide beaches of course sand. The Severn estuary is far from one thing, rich in history, natural
power, and an array of landscapes, the currents can be ferocious, but on a warm summer evening it can be
calming, almost tranquil, watching the water, as it flows.
