…and the wind blew in, sand turned savage began biting our legs. What seemed like an easy wade across the river mouth before became treacherous as I began to sink, the sickly quick sand like slurry giving way beneath me to gobble up legs to the knee. I pulled myself free as the clouds rolled in and we ran for the cover, although I think some were secretly running towards lunch as our hooks remained empty. But lovely remote spots are wild like that, and that is their charm.

It was quiet, an aged man and wife sat on the pier with what looked like very impressive fishing rods indeed. They seemed intent on their lines dangling into the water below and unimpressed by the nosey newcomers grunting “chicken” when question about their bait.

All heads whipped as the dunes began to vibrate and a low thumping sound began rumbling from behind the reeds, the makers of the “doof doof” screamed into site, all four wheel drive and no brains, youths hanging out of every window, sunglasses and smirks. We looked from the narrow bridge, to the bull-bar of the car and lungs halting watched it skim inches past the couple, grim gargoyles with set faces.

On the search for pleasanter company, ie isolation, we headed in the opposite direction to the “doof doof” towards the ocean. We set up rods and waited, but then the cool change came in…