The snow had remained on the mountains before me and Roscoe. Black clouds and distant sheet rain maintained a constant threat on the horizon.
The sea switched from calm to churning within seconds, but upon us arriving at our little hidden cove we were instantly rewarded with a brief but great view of an otter whilst the sun was out… all for about two seconds before hell let loose. The walk there itself wasn’t entirely pleasant. The trip was mostly all hail, the tiny kind that find little gaps in your winter clothes. The kind that stuck to Roscoe’s black pelt like a midnight sky.
I was freezing once again within a few minutes when I perched on my usual rock. Roscoe, ever restless, lumbered down to the churning dark water and then immediately ran as fast as he could over seaweed and rock when a large spray was aimed right for him, ears back and brown eyes wide with horror. My laugh had certainly scared most life away, if they had been out at all with the bad weather.
However, when I had eventually settled and Roscoe decided to wade into much calmer waters, the weather did decide to stay away from me for the duration of my time sat down. Sort of. I placed down my camera bag and binoculars, and tried to spot any life. Opposite me were two seals slumped on the rock, and peering at them through my binoculars I could see one in particular squeezing his eyes shut and bracing each time a spray of cold sea water slapped him in the face. Poor sod.
Apprehensively getting my camera out, I took another scope of my surroundings and yet again brooding black clouds circled me and Roscoe like a pack of dogs, snarling and spitting. I paused, deciding if it’s worth even taking the camera out, but Roscoe didn’t seem bothered at all, deciding a strand of seaweed was the best toy he’d ever seen. His big shambling body attempted to articulate over slippery rocks as he tossed the strand of seaweed into the air and then bolted after it when the high winds whipped it far out of reach.
Any attempts to take pictures of anything seemed futile. The light wasn’t the best and the dark clouds seemed to be crawling closer. Sheet rain fell over the smaller islands on the horizon. To my left, a male Shell duck bolted over the black sea, but my camera lens was spotted with rain and wind and so the duck was all but a white blob against other rain blobs that had started to now fall.
I admitted defeat, putting my gear back into my bag and hurled it over my shoulder, calling a now very sodden Roscoe to my side. In true Shepherd fashion he cried up at me, wanting to get up and moving again. He hates me being stationary for more than five seconds. I treaded over seaweed and wet rocks, and gave a final look over my shoulder to see the rain had just about cleared for a striking rainbow to curl itself over the island opposite.
I cursed, dropping my bag to grab my camera and run over lethal mounds of grass and rock to get a good enough position, but it was fading fast. I took a few pictures, but it faded quickly. I’ll take it.
The biting cold pushed me away again, and I tried to find my green camera bag amongst the green grass, which seemed impossible for five minutes in what was now torrential rain.
Grumbling, I followed a giddy Roscoe back down the mud trail towards the main path back home. So much for Spring weather.
Tide Notes 