There's an area roughly one-kilometer out from Jenny Brown's Point in South Silverdale which I recently discovered. It is situated on the edge of the bay and well isolated from any other notable landmarks. Depending on the light and atmosphere, you cannot fail to notice a group of large posts from the shore where people regularly set out on a popular coastal walk. You can see them quite clearly in one of the images from my first blog post titled 'RNLI Callout' standing darkly in the distance like a line of statues keeping watch over the sea. You may also notice them when passing between Carnforth and Silverdale by train, when the vast open space of sky and sea unfolds on one side. Any observers might conclude that "Whatever they are, it's probably too far and inaccessible, or else they're there for that reason alone."

When I first arrived at these mysterious posts, curious to understand more about them, I discovered that they were laid out in the form of a 'V' shape with one at the front, followed by a second single post, then rows of two, three, four and five, forming a triangle. Later I learned from Richard (a local man) that they were once used for target-practice by RAF fighter pilots during WWII. At low water and before incoming tides, it's a fifteen-minute walk before the stream fills. But it can be treacherous. Jenny brown's Point is notorious for its quicksand. So I had taken a much longer route via the mile-long sea wall passing close to the skear - a raised area of rocks protruding out from the sea close to one of the main channels - to get to the salt marsh. On this approach it's often more splashy and you can enjoy the salt water and mud beneath your feet. Otherwise if you wear boots then you can't tell when there may be sinking sand.

It's also possible to visit the skear, but only long before the tide is due in. This area was once part of the ancient Cross-Bay route from Hest Bank to Grange-over-Sands. You'll notice large chunks of land eroded from the saltmarsh. In its epic velocity and reach the sea washes over this land, but only during the big spring tides which rise above nine or ten metres. It's an expansive area consisting of many small pools and ravines which are deep enough to fall into and often too wide to cross. The scale of this grassland can be appreciated from various points on Warton Crag and Heald Brow. At ground level, however, it can be impossible to plot a way through this maze. Some of the large posts still retain their rusty hinges and many are covered by lichen and deep cracks formed in the wood over many moons.

You must take care not to venture too far as there are lots of nesting birds which can be easily disturbed. There was even a nest built on the top of one of the huge posts, with long sticks dangling out. The 'Eric Morecambe' hide is visible over at the nature reserve. That's an area of freshwater mosses and marsh with dense reed grass across the railway embankment, and it's a place for the wading birds and other wildlife - some rare and endangered - and for breathtaking starling murmurations.

The word skear generally means 'scar', and there's not many of them on the bay. The small one off the coast at Jenny Brown's Point is separate from the mile-long sea wall originally built for a land reclamation scheme, though it appears very similar in parts since the plan was unsuccessful due to a lack of funding and it was breached by the sea. However, all of these scars of rock now provide the birds with a safe place to roost at High Water. On my initial discovery of the small skear I was able to walk around it and explore the surface. But when I visited again a week later I noticed that the deep channel which separates from the river Kent three-miles North had flooded one side. This is how powerful the Morecambe Bay tides are, with millions of tonnes of sand and mud being shifted continually. Neither this skear nor the next, which is up to an hours walk away and has boulders the size of cars, can provide sanctuary at High Water as the fast rising tide will quickly cover them. It's not unusual to see previously buried skears, boats and cars re-emerge.

During my most recent visits to this small skear I had to carefully wade to reach the rocks, and on other occasions it was inaccessible due to the channel widening and making it into an island. Sand gets scoured around the bigger rocks, making it deeper. On the skear itself there are signs of past human activity, and the rocks are more crustaceous and grey from a dense covering of limpets. Wooden stakes and iron posts with netting now twisted and covered in algae and seaweed lay bent from waves and rocks colliding with them. Clearly it was once frequented by fishermen hoping to catch whatever the sea brings in. The sight of a human arm or leg bone suddenly makes this the eeriest place I've ever stepped foot. Many lives have been lost out here, and there are recent reports of human remains washing up. Murmurating oystercatchers lighten the mood. I can never quite comprehend the scale of what occurs twice daily. I'm walking where dogfish and rays will soon be swimming, arriving with the sea from as far away as eight to twelve miles.

The sheer vastitude of the bay itself reduces even the largest skears to meagre mounds. Here you can find an abundance of interesting objects which lay in its desolate setting. Among which are two vehicles presumed to be the remains from some of the last cockling activity to have taken place out here, when a group of cockle pickers drove out to Priest Skear on that fateful night over fifteen-years ago, never to return. Tragically, nearly all of them were quickly overcome by a fast rising tide. The place has been altered by this event, and the cockle beds left alone for an indefinite period - the cockles left for the oystercatcher to collect and prise open with its long bill or smash against a rock to get inside. One vehicle lies submerged on one side, and another on the opposite side with its steering wheel intact and its engine parts exposed.

These rusty shells now serve as a warning sign of the inherent dangers of venturing out to such perilous places like this, which was once the beginning of a dangerous crossing undertaken by many hundreds of souls each year, and it's been fished for centuries. There is a group of huge boulders scattered along the sea-facing edge, gradually becoming predominantly green with algae. There may be little sign of the sea approaching from the West, yet water will silently creep in and all around this huge sandbank. Fifteen-minutes of walking will seem much longer when the bore is visible right behind you. Nearby Redbank is a safer place to observe from and offers an impressive panoramic view of the bay. The coastal farm at Redbank has stood here for many centuries and now includes a cafe and caravan site for visitors.