It was Saturday Morning.
It was still dark when Beach Buoy loaded the van.
Loaded with Another Dog, Lead, Beach Book, Thermal Mug of Coffee and something to have with it :-).
A short trip, but every one of them an adventure.
A Lone Gull cried overhead in the darkness.
A dry fallen leaf scratched and scampered its way down the street, carried by the strong breeze; off to see the world.
A distant burglar alarm sang like a bird.
They set off.
They arrived at the car park at 6-34 a.m.
Beach Buoy drank coffee as he waited for light to come.
Soon it was light enough to make out the shape and size of the clouds that blanketed the bay.
The very same clouds that would hide the sunrise, though a crack of peach opened up over above Saltburn for a short while.
Twenty or so Gulls screeched into the car park like boy racers.
6-55 a.m. they headed for the beach.
A Border Collie couple headed north on the water's edge.
Up to the south a little, the 7 a.m club seemed to meet themselves heading in the opposite direction in a sea of time.
The beach ahead was theirs.
Some Dune Folk did bob up and down as they walked the dune battlements.
The breeze from the west was mild, mild for November in Seaton Carew.
Everything was calm and bright; Beach Buoy too.
There was no rush today.
The parking charges had ended until April.
The 9 a.m. start to the charges was always at the back of Beach Buoy's mind.
Today he could walk and walk.
He could keep walking until
31st of March 2022 , there would be no charge to pay.
Beach Buoy and Another Dog mingled in the shingle.
They headed for
Stubborn Dog Stack.
A rough sea had taken another bite from the dune edge.
They clambered up a partial slope that someone had made.
"Morning Mate."
he patted
THE
stone
then added some more.
Another couple of painted stones had appeared.
They are excellent.
Beach Buoy was so tempted to take them, but he left for them for others to find, thus maybe making their day?
After all, they weren't his to take.
"See you mate."
They headed back to the slope, then the beach itself.
Beach-trapped water made its way back to the sea.
The rock pools looked like splashes of paint from a giant's overloaded paint brush as he tried to capture the hues of the sea and sky.
Beach Buoy found a piece of sea-tumbled wall tile.
He loved the colour.
Like the colours of painted driftwood.
They never disappoint.
That beach shack.
That door.
That wall.
A surfer appeared from the dunes alongside North Gare Pier.
"Morning."
"Morning."
Beach Buoy had never seem a surfer this far south on the beach.
Unsurprisingly, the surfer headed for the sea.
He laid flat on the sand at the water's edge, doing exercises before entering the sea.
He headed out, then turned to round the Pier, then it all made sense.
Beach Buoy had often thought that surfers could surf the waves in the river mouth.
They would roll in a curve, tunnelled by the two Gares.
Just keep an eye out for ships and the like!
Two Joggers who had headed south, now headed north.
Beach Buoy headed back up to the stack.
It was 8-05.
As they stood there a muzzle-wearing dog appeared alongside.
"Hello there."
"Gottle of Geer ."
answered the dog before dashing off.
They headed back to the beach, back to the van.
A Jogger and his reflection splashed their way south on the wet sand.
The breeze had picked up a little more.
The Jogger and his reflection overtook them on the way back.
The reflection was winning by a nose.
Up ahead a man multitasked.
Carry a Rucksack.
Carry a bike.
Carry a bag for life.
Kick a football.
Beach Buoy was almost tempted to ask if he had a sponsorship form.
