I've been there some years ago, but still remember this place.
Highest cliff in Britain, I believe.
I'm not usually too bad with heights... but that photo is making me a bit dizzy.
That is one impressive stretch of coast.
It's the view straight down that bothers me...
I have a scene where such an act is in question - on Beachy Head. This is giving me chills!
A lot of people have taken that step.
It makes me feel queasy to look at because the beautiful expanse of 'please run on me' grass just...stops.
It makes me wonder whether people ever fall off by accident. (A quick google tells me some dogs have and some dog owners have complained about the lack of preventions for this.)
There are places that invite suicide.
I remember reading about a house where several people had taken the plunge from a high tower. The writer went to check it out and nearly went over him/herself. He/she said it seemed as if distance had been abolished and it was just a few inches down to the ground.
See, I would have built the lighthouse up there.
They had that idea and built a lighthouse on the next hill along- only it wasn't adequate (I'm not sure why)- so they built the one you can see at the foot of the cliffs.
That photo makes me want to lie down and cling very tightly to the ground so I don't somehow get drawn over the edge!
I didn't stay very long in that position.
A fence would certainly ruin the landscape...that is amazing!
I think the same. If people want to jump they'll do it- fence or no fence.
If you feel like stepping off into eternity the National Trust isn't going to do anything to to stop you.
I like the way you managed to take this picture with no ground underneath the camera's feet.
That was a completely instinctive choice.
Come on, sir; here's the place: stand still. How fearful
And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!
The crows and choughs that wing the midway air
Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head:
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark,
Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy
Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,
That on the unnumber'd idle pebbles chafes,
Cannot be heard so high. I'll look no more;
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong.
Set me where you stand.
Give me your hand: you are now within a foot
Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon
Would I not leap upright.
Hadst thou been aught but gossamer, feathers, air,
So many fathom down precipitating,
Thou'dst shiver'd like an egg: but thou dost breathe;
Hast heavy substance; bleed'st not; speak'st; art sound.
Ten masts at each make not the altitude
Which thou hast perpendicularly fell:
Thy life's a miracle. Speak yet again.
But have I fall'n, or no?
From the dread summit of this chalky bourn.
Look up a-height; the shrill-gorged lark so far
Cannot be seen or heard: do but look up.
No samphire gatherers these days- more's the pity.