Having reached the beach we established that the other ‘S’ didn’t stand for Sun after all. All we could hear as we climbed the dunes was the roar of motorcycle engines.
We apparently had stumbled across a scrambling event; Lincolnshire’s answer to the Paris – Dakar was taking place on the sand. Not quite what we were expecting nor desiring. Thank goodness it was contained near the town centre.
So off we set walking down the beach in the opposite direction – wasn’t long before the sound reduced to a background buzzing somewhat akin to a distant swarm of bees. The beach in front of us appeared to go on forever and was totally deserted.
And much to our surprise even the sun had come out to play…not quite bikini weather (not that I wear bikinis you understand) but warm enough for T-shirts – not bad for a winter February afternoon.
Mischa (our dog) loved running on the sand. At first she appeared confused that her paws sank as she ran but that was soon forgotten as she chased dried seaweed blowing ‘tumbleweed like’ across the beach, heard squarks from seagulls that sounded nothing like the thrushes she’s used to and dug frantically at the razor clam shells liberally spread across the sand.
For my wife and I it made a wonderful change…whilst we do on a weekend end up in fresh air on some sort of walk, generally in the forest 500m from where we live, there’s nothing quite like meandering down a deserted beach, hand in hand.
Walking down a beach with nothing to hear but the sound of the waves crashing against the shore means it’s easy to forget everything, all your cares, for that short time, are washed out to sea with the ebbing tide.
I just wish it were a little closer – two hours in the car to get there is something not for everyday however in some ways that makes it all the more special.
Can’t wait for our next visit (and neither can the dog).