The winds that battered the French coast last year have left a startling legacy, writes Graham Tearse
IN THE early morning of January 23rd, 2009, the most powerful hurricane-force storm to hit France in a decade came howling in from the Bay of Biscay.
With wind speeds of up to 200km/h, cyclone Klaus struck land at the point of the estuary of the river Gironde, near Bordeaux, then charged southeast to Spain and across the Mediterranean to Italy. It left 26 people dead, flattened forests and power lines and caused massive destruction of buildings and roads.
But it also left behind an extraordinary creation at the very point where its devastation began, causing the townsfolk of Royan, a fishing port situated at the mouth of the Gironde, to rub their eyes in disbelief.
Seven miles out to sea, along the frontier between the Atlantic Ocean and the estuary, an island had risen out of the boiling waters. It had a surface area of 4.5 hectares above the highest sea level, and a base of some 100 hectares at low tide.
Locals soon called it l 'isle mysterieuseafter the novel by Jules Verne.
“What is so remarkable about this new island, apart from its sudden apparition, is that it has since remained intact in what is often a very violent, hostile sea environment,” said Guy Esteve, a retired local geomorphologist. “It could well become a permanent feature.”
The nature of its appearance was all the more fantastic given that it emerged close to the location of the lost island of Cordouan, once home to the Tower of the Black Prince, a legacy of English occupation during the 100 Years’ War.
Cordouan, inhabited from Roman times until the late Middle Ages, disappeared below the waves after the erosion of its limestone rock. France’s oldest lighthouse, completed in 1611 to replace Edward of Woodstock’s tower, now stands at the site.
Situated 1.5km east of the lighthouse, created amid Klaus’s fury from submerged sand and sediment, the new island quickly attracted scientific interest, offering a unique opportunity to study the creation and development of its ecosystem.
In the mouth of a large estuary that still retains a predominantly natural environment, surrounded by exceptionally rich marine life, the island lies along a busy migration route for birds including species of waders and terns. Within months, it was colonised by vegetation, insects and gulls.
“So far, we’ve recorded the appearance of 12 different plant species, and some 30 invertebrates, of which about a third have a sustainable existence on the island,” said Jean-Marc Thirion, an environmental scientist who heads local conservation group OBIOS. “The resident invertebrates feed off the rejections of sea gulls and on tiny flies that themselves are finding food in the clumps of sea rocket.”
Thirion has even discovered spiders, which he deduces were windborne, and ants, probably carried on flotsam.
“You would normally only get the chance to record all these developments with a volcanic creation, and I can’t think of anywhere else in Europe where an opportunity like this has occurred in recent history.”
“It has proved a fantastic testimony to the strength and renewal of life,” commented Bernard Giraud, deputy mayor of Royan.
In February this year the region was hit by yet another and more devastating storm, cyclone Xynthia. In the aftermath, Thirion and his colleagues were delighted – and surprised – that the island largely survived the battering from giant waves, hurricane-force winds and exceptionally high tides, which moved it 50m eastwards and ripped 1.5 hectares from its summit.
But now, 18 months after its creation, it faces a greater threat than the weather. Unlisted on any map, and without a name, the island does not officially exist. As a result, what Thirion describes as a “wonderful biological laboratory” cannot be protected from being trampled underfoot by increasing hordes of curious day-trippers, sometimes numbering several hundred, who can reach it in powered dinghies within 20 minutes of Royan.
It has even been used as a target landing strip by a parachute club and as the scene for a rave party. “The weather in June turned bad and public trips to the island became impossible,” said Giraud. “As a result we found that birds had nested. But in July, conditions were fine again, the day-trippers returned and the nests were abandoned.”
Despite intensive lobbying of government departments and the Bordeaux port authorities, Giraud and Thirion’s efforts to obtain an official status for the island have so far fallen on deaf ears.
“No one seems to be taking this seriously,” said Thirion. “They haven’t grasped that this is an island, not a sand bank.”
As part of a long-planned government project, the Gironde estuary is next year due to become part of a protected maritime zone. “Our only hope now is that its existence will be charted and recognised within the zone,” added Thirion.
Surprisingly, neither he nor Giraud have found a name for the island. "I still just call it 'the island', but we're working on it," chuckled Giraud. – ( Guardianservice)