Battlefield

It began well. 6 Slavonian grebes out in the Bay, and a great crested grebe as well (less common than Slavonians here). Then in my telescope I spotted some waders on this spit of rock, exposed at low tide, at the end of the beach I don't usually visit.

When I reached the spot they were nowhere to be seen, but perhaps if I just go on to the ridge of rock by the spit, they'll be hiding in the next bay. Sure enough they were - turnstones and oystercatchers - but I was looking at them and not where I was putting my feet. The ground rose up and struck me hard on the nose. Both nostrils bled profusely into the rock pools, polluting whatever life existed. By the time I had staunched the bitter-tasting flow the rocks looked like a battlefield.

I'm fine now, the nose isn't broken, but is impressively bruised, grazed and swollen. And still bleeding. And my knees hurt.

Happy Valentine's Day.