Humans are embedded in the constantly changing landscape.

The impressive chalk cliffs of Flamborough Head showing millions of years of life (in the form of plankton), deformation (from the forming of the Alps) and erosion (modern). Atop it all sits a little representation of humanity, like an afterthought in the story of the earth.

Lonelier and lonelier, a poet's interpretation of Spurn Point.

Serenity and chaos: the lighthouse stands proud above a mass of rubble from the old coastguard houses.

Inside one of the derelict buildings on Spurn Point.

The more modern coastguard cottages, although not inhabited permanently, still house the local coastguard on rotational shifts.

Layers of time in rock will now not only show the history of non-human life, but will include our triumphs and our follies. What do we want to record?

At Flamborough Head, further north along the Yorkshire coastline, the rock gets harder and it is less susceptible to erosion. However, the environment is still harsh.

The presence of people is unavoidable in every landscape. We are part of nature and help shape it. Here at Spurn Point, our role in that shaping is sometimes more obvious.

Skipsea, where the erosion rates are highest: A road that once continued out and around the local houses now comes to an abrupt end. Here, the erosion rates are as high as 2 meters of land lost per year. In a single storm event, up to 8 meters can be lost. Eviction notices have been served by the local council to the community here, but many still remain with their families, living on the edge.

At Flamborough Head there is a lighthouse and a fog horn station, warning the nautical community of the perils of the North Sea.

Dennis Ruabon. Who was he? Now embedded forever in the landscape of Spurn Point.

Spurn Point is where material eroded from further up the coast is deposited, as the river Humber meets the sea and interrupts the longshore drift.

An electric fence erected to keep people out of an ever changing wasteland, populated equally by human debris and eroded bedrock. A paradox of conservation: The more we think of ourselves as disconnected from our environment, the more damage we are capable of inflicting.

A view of the location of the old coastguard cottages, in front of the current coastguard cottages (since 2012 no one has lived there permanently). The sea walls and old lighthouse remain. The coastguard used to live here permanently with their families, a community at the end of the world. Now, the local wildlife trust manages the land, with the goal of allowing nature to take its course.

She leaps for the vole that she later caught and buried. She allowed me to follow her in her hunt, almost like she was inviting me in to her world.

Ghost villages of communities lost to sea.