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Posted: 12 September 2012, 07:04 |
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Snip from the blog:
‘The beach unsurprisingly was also empty, not one human print in the wet sand, but a small, webbed impression of a one-way path taken by a seagull meandering its way, like me, down to the sea. There, in strong winds, wave after wave of choppy brine became exhausted on the shore and a myriad of spume creatures jostled towards the back of the beach. I picked my footsteps carefully over dark, seaweed-laden rocks towards the large caves, and as the spattering rain became a squall I sheltered in the dark, echoing depths of one chamber.
At the back, in the half light, I could pick out mounds of gently blowing brown froth, and above, jammed by heavy waves, was lodged a large silver beer barrel, visually apt I mused. A stream flowed down a slab at the entrance to the cave, then cascaded gently onto the floor, but as the shower hammered at the entrance I felt protected by the skin-like but slimy rock walls. The incessant throb of a distant helicopter, as always around here, reverberated around the cave, amplified by its walls. I hadn’t even heard it outside. I watched it hovering like a kestrel over a mouse, and then saw the first of two trawlers just below, pitching towards the safety of Holyhead Harbour a mile or so ahead.’
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