Believe it or not, I was up at 7:30 AM this morning to head to Atlantic Beach. We were hoping to find treasures washed up from the storm, but there were hardly any shells at all.
I was somewhat successful at capturing a picture of what I think is a sandpiper, although it took a couple of attempts.
Curses, missed! Hold still, birdie!
Gotcha!
And I was fascinated by the play of the sun on the water. I tried to capture it, unsuccessfully - but you can see my tattoo, kinda!
We ended up walking for miles - to the pier and back. The distances always get away from me on the beach - I keep thinking at I've hardly moved, and I'm leauges from where I started.
I was fascinated with patterns made by the pier too. (I'm easily fascinated, but you knew that.)
Last week, a friend and I went up (down? over? I have no clue.) to Beaufort and then took a water taxi to Shackleford Banks, which is a nifty little island. I didn't see any of the horses on the island - my eyes were glued to the ground, and my quest for shells. As I should have expected, I got so wrapped up in the shells that I failed to pay proper attention to the waves. I bent over at the perfect time and was swamped from behind by a sneaky wave. Turns out, when 90% of you is dripping wet, it's not really wading anymore. Anywho, here are most of the shells I found last week:
Also, some of them are broken, but spend enough time tumbling around that they are very smooth and rounded - a lot of them look like guitar picks. I found myself quite fascinated with these as well.
So they live now in a pretty candy dish and the shells live in a glass thing. I still have to figure out what to do with all of my new rocks. Anyway, it was a couple of very good weekends.
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