The rain started as soon as I stepped onto the shore. But it was just a gentle drizzle, straight down; there was no wind. And the tide was high, the eelgrass at the edge still green and fresh. I walked south, filling my bag. Eelgrass bearing limpets, hydroids and tunicates; sea lettuce for the crab; stones covered with barnacles to feed the leafy hornmouth snails; green, knobby rockweed plants, mainly for climbing on. A small male crab to keep my female company. A couple of unusual Hairy hermits, very large, very hairy, and wearing the tiniest of breechclout shells. And a few periwinkle snails; Val, the big anemone, loves these.
And then I walked back northwards, taking photos. Grey water, grey stones, grey sky. It was beautiful, but no camera could ever capture it; the beauty compounded of the smell of rain on salt water, the whisper of waves, the feel of slow raindrops on my face and hands, the muted call of birds in the distance, the grey light and the glint of water on stones and seaweed.
I took a few photos, anyhow.
|A few walkers, well bundled up for the rain.|
|Sailboats at anchor. Barely visible in the distance, a line of geese with a few ducks.|
|A rotting log, colonized by barnacles, snails and hermits.|
|Three kinds of snails. And can you find the orange-striped green anemone?|
|Stones, barnacles, seaweeds at the top of the tide.|
|Grey on grey, with every other colour muted.|
|At the top of the beach, semi-protected by the cement walls, a sea rocket in full bloom. They seem to shed the water, even in a hard rainstorm.|
At home, I discovered that I'd brought back more than I'd thought, hitchhikers on the eelgrass; a blue anemone and more hermits and snails (some quite tiny). More on these, later.