A chilly day at the beach. 35 F, and blowing 15-20 NW, not enough N to give us any protection. But it was at least clear and sunny, where the sun reached the beach.
A helicopter of unknown origin flew over pretty low again.
Georgia and Skye in the shadows on the way back.
We ran into
Whitey at one of the groins along the way, the closest to Charlies steps. I hope he's finding enough to eat.
That is one tall bird, at least 4 ft. He let us get by with out flying away, although Skye clearly make him nervous.
And teeth. A tough day, between the high tide and the high waves, with Georgia in the lead 4-3, with the larger tooth, a Snaggletooth, and with the quarter, suitably corroded by the brackish water.
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