Searching for Spotty

A late afternoon lesson in camouflage.

It’s late afternoon right at the end of summer. The season seems to stretch out further every year; a lengthening shoulder that is wonderful for a coastal life in a tourist town, but comes with a quiet awareness of changing climate clutched to the coat tails. Some days I ignore the voice inside and cherish these bonus sunset swims when most visitors have returned home and the swimming spots become peaceful again. There are a few people dotted along the shore or in the park for sunset. They’re barbecuing sausages. Occasionally someone has a guitar. These are gentle afternoons at ‘Yalls’.

On this day three of us throw down our towels and light summer layers (very different to the layers required for this swimming). There is chatter. Always chatter. It’s like the anticipation of swimming unhinges words and energy the closer we get to the water. The larger the group of swimmers, the more words, the deeper the giggles. More than once we have been chastised for having “too much fun”.

We’re swimming in the pre-dusk light because we’ve heard a rumour:

The Wobby is back.