The SE Wind has been strongly belying the confidence-inducing sunny skies. Air conditioners have remained at rest and only the fool-hearty have braved the seas to fish. I smiled up my sleeve, observing grown men stagger to shore and straight to bed, refusing to meet my eye, totally green around the gills. I am not the only one, woman or man, to succumb to the “reversible stomach syndrome” it seems.
Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday morning walks on the beach found Nelson and I slogging through heavy, wet sand and shallow beaches. High tides, together with the full moon and continuous tumultuous seas, had pushed huge amounts of litter, flotsam and jetsam ashore.
Monday’s morning mile was a stormy one, even though the skies were sunny and clear. The surf was thrilling, waves lashing the shore, one on top of another, racing wildly to lick up the sand. Undertow dragged heavy portions of beach back in its grip, the sea greedily reclaiming what she felt belonged to her. Nelson gave it all a very perplexed scowl:
- Where have my running, digging, wading grounds gone?
What a difference a day makes!
Tuesday morning, the winds had evaporated. The Sound was flat and calm. Gone were the “charging elephants”, the mountainous humps of waves on the horizon. The thunderclap of waves hurling themselves onto the sand was silenced. Today, gentle wavelet’s whispered ashore and sighed against the beach. Nelson had his open spaces of sandy heaven once more.
Wanna go fishing?