A good fish day

It's a good fish day. That's my conclusion. I'm just back from a quick trip down to the fishmonger's. I went on the Mean Machine, my electric scooter. My, was it cold! At the moment I'm having a tea break to thaw out before getting on with preparing this evening's meal, some spicy salmon patties.

As usual I went along the promenade. The tide was way out. Wet sands stretched for miles across the bay to Barrow. Through the sand weaved bright bands of blue as the rivers edged their ways through to the sea. 

My eye was suddenly caught by an odd sight. As the sea reached one sandbank far out in the bay, there seemed to be a great wave crashing down, yet the sea, such as I could see, was absolutely still. 

I looked closer. Is it the bore tide starting its way up the estuary? No. I finally realised it wasn't water at all.

It was birds, a whole flock of them. They were flying close to the surface of the shallow water, presumably fishing as they did. As they came over the drier sand, they lifted up to the sky, showing their whiteness, curling round to once more fly close to the surface of the incoming sea. There presumably must be a large shoal of fish just there, that was attracting their attention.

I continued on my way. When I came back a little later the birds were gone. A few remained bobbing on top of the surface of the water, but no longer this whirling spray of activity. They made the trip even more worthwhile.