It just goes to show what a difference a tide can make. Last week we ventured up to magical Mystery Bay. Abby’s first time – only our second. And this afternoon the tide was waaaaaaay out. Oh – it was an utterly different landscape. Even more enchanting. Montague Island was crisper – especially through Mum’s wonderful new binoculars – and almost enticing to me who is terrified of boats. There was a funny gathering of birds on the far rocks – perched right on the jagged edge with their wings fluffed out like butterflies as if they were trying to catch treasures from the wind as it passed them by. There were rock pools galore – worlds for miniature people, mermaids, pirates, their ships and treasure. And the green. Oh the green. Sharp rocky fields of it. It was thick, velvety and so beautiful, turning the broken rocky landscape into an aerial landscape of lush green hills and valleys.
Mum searched for shells and driftwood … and made little movies with her iPhone to send to Grandad so many thousands of kilometres away. He loved it – especially the roar of the waves.
Abby watched the birds, inspected the sea’s washed up relics … and eventually settled down on the park bench to needlepoint. Oh my, she’s her mother’s daughter, isn’t she :-)
I – being the only one with bare feet and legs – explored the rock pools and was made chief shell washer. As I picked my way over the vivid green rocks and through the sun warmed pools, my mind was full of stories and plans to make the little felt people that could play them.
Wee fisher folk who catch the tiny, darting sparkling fish with the finest of fishing lines and nets. Rock fairies who dwell in the deep holes of the steep, black rocks – like the cave homes of ancient China – decorated with the soft pinks and greens of the rock pool gardens. Their little children who gather the sea snails and race them along the slippery rocks as the tide first slips away. Tiny but fierce pirates who know all the routes in and out of the miniature bays, hiding their treasure in the sharp crevices of dagger like cliffs. And plenty of merfolk who dart about the rock pool gardens, tending to the sea weeds and coral, and collecting the soft green moss for their beds.
I haven’t yet thought of a role for the blue bottles. There were plenty – such an amazing array of sizes and shapes but all with that exquisite colour. Always makes me think of the laundry “blue” that my Nanny Dougall kept to brighten the whites.
Doesn’t this just make you think of a face!? A sea troll who was caught out by the sun, doomed to squat there by the water’s edge for long centuries, the fierce, battering waves slowly wearing him away. First his limbs, then his body until all that is left is his surprised face until it too is no more, his story forever washed away.
Of course, this just has to be the bony spine of a long ago sea monster who was washed up one stormy night, too scared to crawl any further up the sand, to weak to return to his home in the sea.
Mum and I are both especially fond of the fragments of sponge and coral that are washed up, drained of their colour and life, but still so very very pretty …
And then, with the sun beginning to set, it was time to bump across this spindly, old beauty and head for home. Isn’t it such a delightful bridge. It’s wooden and rattly with the lake on either side filled with the most glorious of reflections, black swans, herons and egrets. Picture perfect every time.
Another magical day on the Sapphire Coast. Oh I am so looking forward to when it is my home.