You're standing at the edge of a sea of sand, though the sea itself is out beyond the beach. Ahead of you, ridge after ridge of marram-clad dune rolls away under an enormous sky. This is Braunton Burrows, the largest sand-dune system in England, and it hides two very different treasures, one of wildflowers and one of war.
Here is the scale of the place. These dunes have been building for thousands of years, as wind piled lime-rich shell sand behind the great estuary of the Taw and the Torridge, and marram grass caught and held it. Today the Burrows form the core of the North Devon Biosphere Reserve, recognised by UNESCO, and a National Nature Reserve besides.
Behind the wide surf beach of Saunton Sands, the dunes shelter damp hollows called slacks and open grasslands that together hold an astonishing richness of life, over four hundred species of flowering plant. The Burrows have been shaped and held together by marram grass, that tough, deep-rooted dune grass whose binding roots are the only reason the sand stays put at all.
And there is a darker chapter written into this sand. In 1943 and 1944, in the run-up to D-Day, the United States Army took over the Burrows as an Assault Training Center, and here, on these very dunes and that beach, American soldiers rehearsed the Normandy landings that would help turn the war.
As you walk, look for a few things, and tread lightly, because this is fragile ground. First, the dune ridges themselves, best seen in low raking light when every crest throws a long shadow and the whole landscape reads like frozen waves.
Second, in early summer, get down close and look for the orchids, the marsh orchids and pyramidal orchids that stud the slacks, along with spiny blue-grey sea holly and the rare round-leaved wintergreen. Third, in those damp hollows listen and look for the natterjack toad, a rare creature that thrives in the warm shallow pools here.
Fourth, and this is the war's own trace, search among the dunes for the surviving concrete, the blunt mock-ups of landing craft and the gun emplacements the American troops built, half-buried now and softened by seventy years of blowing sand.
And fifth, out on Saunton Sands itself, take in the sheer sweep of the beach, a vast surf strand running for miles beneath the dunes, so flat and broad that the tide slides out an astonishing distance and comes racing back over the sand.
Now stand still for a moment and imagine it. In the spring of 1944, this quiet, botanist's paradise was anything but quiet. Thousands of young American soldiers, most of whom had never seen combat, waded ashore on Saunton Sands again and again under live fire and smoke, clambering over concrete landing-craft built here in the dunes, learning the brutal choreography of an assault landing.
Many of them would carry what they practised on this beach onto the sands of Normandy that June, on the day that began the liberation of Europe. The orchids and the toads have long since reclaimed the ground, but the concrete remains among the marram, quiet grey witnesses to the rehearsal for one of the most consequential days of the twentieth century.
From here the Coast Path skirts the Burrows and heads on toward Braunton and the estuary, following the water inland where the Taw and Torridge meet the sea. Keep to the marked paths as you go, both to protect this delicate dune habitat and because it's easy to lose your bearings among the ridges, and if you wander onto Saunton Sands, keep an eye on the tide. Take one last look across the dunes, and walk on. Walk safe.
