Beach Buoy and Another Dog arrived at the Park Car Park at 7-57 a.m.
One half of the team were keener than the other.
They went down the beach access ramp as the Village Church Bells rang for 8 a.m.
She loves it once she is out on the beach.
Sea swimmers went to join the others already in the water.
A man and his Border Collie headed northwards.
Sea swimmers and beach walker.
A group of three with two dogs led the way south.
The morning was as grey as dark grey.
Spots of rain came in from the sea.
The wreck today.
Up near the dunes, a man struggled to carry heavy-looking bags.
One blue.
One red.
He kept putting them down as he walked back towards his vehicle.
A man with a ball launcher walked back to the Village.
A couple overtook with their two small black dogs.
Each wanting the upper hand, the dogs not the couple.
A man with a purpose but no dog marches north.
"Morning Mate "
It was 8-39.
Beach Buoy added some stones.
He patted
THE
stone.
He sat on the driftwood plank with plenty of rust.
He watched a large ship passed The Gares.
The greyness of the morning had claimed the Wind Turbines.
"See you mate."
They continued south along the base of the dunes.
At times they walked, along the dune edge.
Gulls hung in the cold and damp wind off the sea.
Down to the Tank Traps.
A fruitless search of the scattered shingle.
They headed back.
It wasn't raining heavily as such.
Still, they were as damp as damp could be without being wet.
A lady launched a ball and her dog in Beach Buoy's general direction.
Even in the damp gloom, a beachcomber's discussion takes place.
Beyond, Metal Detectorists scanned.
The Beach Huts looked like coloured pencils that had rolled off the artist's table, into a box of charcoal.
They returned to the van.
BEACH BUOY.
