I wore my rubber boots and they were awesome. Cruised toward the end of the beach way out by the surf. Uh oh - ran into a bypass of water that appeared to prevent me from going forward. Hey - I've got my boots on so I foraged ahead. Discovered the boots weren't quite high enough to breech the water as the surf and sand poured onto my feet. Ugh.
Continued on my way, picking up numerous sand dollars and assorted shells. I reached the end and turned back. At this point the water and sand in my galoshes were rubbing my bare skin raw. No choice but to continue on, feeling the beginning of blisters on my heels.
My only distraction was the absolutely beautiful blue sky above. It's going to be a wonderful day if the sky is any indication.
Two-thirds of the way back, I made my way to the rocky bank. For three days I've seen a mangled, rusty crab pot on the bank that was bound to be mine. Yes - it was still there. Rolling up my bag of shells, I stuffed them into the front pocket of my sweatshirt, along with my phone. Pulling the hoodie sleeve over my hand, I gripped the heavy metal and trudged toward the beach house. Dang that thing was heavy, or perhaps it was the combination of shells in my pocket, dragging the sweatshirt to my knees, my feet and calves being scraped raw due to those #$%& rubber boots!!
Finally the end was in sight. Slowly up the steps I went, towing that mangled, rusty, tetnus-riddled crab pot along, stopping every three steps to recuperate. Made it!! Dropped the pot, tore off the boots, and ran cool faucet water over my aching feet. Ahhhh....such sweet relief.
Sitting here recuperating with my coffee, blistered feet perched on the ottomon. Is 9am too early for a nap??
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