A tree creeper flitted up and down searching the bark for morsels of food. The tackle was ready a favourite lure hanging from the rod. I enjoyed the quiet in anticipation of a couple of hours fishing ahead imagining the tide as it pushed into the boulder strewn shoreline below.
James duly arrived and we chatted as we descended to the beach. A gentle breeze wafted the smell of the sea as we approached, the sweet decay of drying seaweed and salty water. I paused to breathe in the air pleased to be released from a lockdown of a couple of months.
A scramble over weed and barnacle encrusted rocks brought us to the waters edge where we chose our ambush points. It was a delight to once again send a lure out watch it splash on the surface before settling into the rhythm of searching the water. The water was clear and calm; James glimpsed a good bass ghosting past along with several mullet.
I searched the water with both my lures and my eyes full of expectation. Thoughts of a troubled world erased temporarily from the mind. Gradually I became immersed in the location the vast waters that are the Bristol Channel. Pleasing cloud formations, sunlight on calm waters and the gentle lapping of the waves on the shoreline. The expectation of that electrifying jolt down the line as a bass seized the lure gradually faded as the early tide pushed inevitably in.
We walked back to the car talking of the next trip as we paused to admire the wild thrift that decorated the cliffs.
