Issue 62 - The Longshore Drift Part 1
The breath of wind that sprung from the still air and drew across my sunburnt face like a silk sheet told me that the tide had turned. I, like my quarry the bass waiting at the estuary bar, was gripped with anticipation. The gentle slope on the hillside urged me on my way. I strode over the bouquets of delicate thrift not wanting to desecrate their beauty, treading only on exposed rocks and the coarse weather-hardened grass.
My first glimpse of the estuary was greeted by the startled cry of a redshank.
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