So I've just been flicking back through past pictures, taking a look where my urbex forays began. My interest started probably much like a lot of the pre-social media folk - accidentally stumbling across something abandoned, and after visiting more places, realising there was something called 'urban exploration'. Because it wasn't a conscious effort and more of a happy accident, for me it was loosely-defined and merged with an interest in uncovering the remnants of local history left behind, however small or archaeological.
Back in 2011, every ruin known to man wasn't tagged on Google Maps, satellite mapping had to be printed out in advance, and exploring rusty shit wasn't cool. So even the more obvious places now, felt at the time like more unusual discoveries. If there's one positive about the exposure urbex has gotten since, it's that such places are now widely appreciated and documented (for better or worse), and that's all I wished for back then. Turns out it's pretty dreadful, so be careful what you wish for! Anyway, the Thames Estuary is where I've grown up and for the first 10 years defined my urbex career. It was @KismetJ and I's playground, and like every good playground should it once nearly killed us when we got stranded off Canvey Point at high tide. This gave me a certain respect for the sea which has stayed with me. The Thames Estuary is a foggy, grey, bleak wasteland home to shipwrecks, old forts, monstrous folklore and other relics, kind of like Pirates of the Carribean but with more pollution, and that's what I'm dedicating this to.
Shoeburyness' Cold War defensive boom leading to the endless Thames, 2012
Back in 2011, every ruin known to man wasn't tagged on Google Maps, satellite mapping had to be printed out in advance, and exploring rusty shit wasn't cool. So even the more obvious places now, felt at the time like more unusual discoveries. If there's one positive about the exposure urbex has gotten since, it's that such places are now widely appreciated and documented (for better or worse), and that's all I wished for back then. Turns out it's pretty dreadful, so be careful what you wish for! Anyway, the Thames Estuary is where I've grown up and for the first 10 years defined my urbex career. It was @KismetJ and I's playground, and like every good playground should it once nearly killed us when we got stranded off Canvey Point at high tide. This gave me a certain respect for the sea which has stayed with me. The Thames Estuary is a foggy, grey, bleak wasteland home to shipwrecks, old forts, monstrous folklore and other relics, kind of like Pirates of the Carribean but with more pollution, and that's what I'm dedicating this to.
Shoeburyness' Cold War defensive boom leading to the endless Thames, 2012
RED SANDS SEA FORTS
One of the recurring images that always left an impression was the Thames sea forts, as military defences were always an obvious draw given their number and ease. Appearing in The Prodigy's 'Invaders Must Die' music video, the Red Sands (nearer) forts resemble alien tripods, but are in fact symbols of a world at war rather than War of the Worlds. I'd always wanted to see them, but it wasn't until 2022 when I got the chance to take a boat trip out to them, with Shivering Sands (the further forts) in the distance.
I won't overdo the history as they're well documented and I don't want to just lump it in, but they're essentially heavy anti-aircraft batteries at sea, mounted upon the roofs of barracks. It was an excellent strategic position right along the Luftwaffe's flight path to London. It must've been a surreal experience to be billeted out on those in World War Two. The Maunsell seaforts, as they are collectively called, are named after their designed Guy Maunsell. They were built around 1942, unfortunately too late for the Blitz which hampered their effectiveness. Since the war, they were used for pirate radio in the 1960s and after, and in recent times are looked after by Project Redsands who have a maintenance office on one of the towers. However, trying to secure and protect such isolated ruins at the mercy of the sea has arguably lost before it has even begun.
So I must stress, this wasn't a DIY mission like the legends who did Knock John and the other seaforts by canoe. This was a much tamer affair involving a £20 boat trip off of Southend Pier. I don't know if driving up to something owned by someone else counts as a permission visit, although if urbex depends upon finding ways to see places, we had got ourselves there nonetheless. It was a pretty overcast drizzly day and it was nearly cancelled with the sea being moderately choppy. Nonetheless, the boat embarked, passing Grain tower, the Mulberry Harbour off Shoeburyness (to follow), and other sights. After a good hour and a half, we finally saw the forts appear. Keeping the camera steady was harder than expected on a constantly-moving platform, whilst getting covered in sea spray. However, I'm chuffed with the shots, and in fairness, the captain was excellent. Thinking health and safety would permit only a distant view, I was pretty impressed when he did several loops driving between the towers. It really was a surreal experience, seeing these enormous rusting constructs towering over you gives you a proper buzz. I think they're the most abandoned-looking things I've ever seen, and that's saying a lot. If you get the chance, absolutely do it.
SS RICHARD MONTGOMERY
On the way back, the captain took us past another wicked sight. The SS Richard Montgomery was an American cargo ship also from WW2, which became wrecked in the Thames Estuary after carrying about 1,400 tonnes of explosive munitions. The ship broke in half and has sat there ever since, with its masts poking above the water line. Ever since, it's been subject to controversy surrounding the likelihood of an explosion occurring in the event of the wreckage's decay. All I can say is that I haven't been taken out by a tsunami yet. They were meant to have cut the masts down a month after this trip to lessen the risk, but it seems everyone has bottled it.
SHOEBURYNESS 'MULBERRY HARBOUR'
When I started thinking about this report, another Thames Estuary wreckage came to mind and it felt right to include it. The 'Mulberry Harbour' off the shore of Southend-on-Sea/Shoeburyness was actually a Phoenix cassion; a concrete section of the larger D-Day Mulberry harbour off the shores of Normandy. It would've been connected to others and concrete barges to form a supply point in the English Channel, but this one sprung a leak on its way out from Tilbury Docks.
Taken at high tide on the boat trip to see the sea forts
Like the seaforts, the harbour was often observed from the beach as a kid, and I'd always wanted to go out and see it. Many people had told me about walking out to it at low tide, but given my tumultuous relationship with the sea I wasn't going to be doing this without proper guidance. In 2021, I tagged along to a walking club who were doing a route out to the harbour. It was absolutely pelting it with rain and I nearly bailed, but thankfully I decided to go solo and befriend some other photographers there who'd had the same idea of tagging along. With my trusty new waders, we walked right out into the estuary on the smooth sand, photographed the harbour and watched shipping boats passing by in the deep channel adjacent, before hurriedly returning to land and catching up with the larger group before we became shark bait. Another Thames legend finally conquered.
That's all folks
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