Sat upon a clifftop awaiting the arrival of churning salty madness, eagle eyed; vigilant. Well - not eagle eyed. I can never see rodents darting below when I’m in a helicopter. But then I doubt eagles would notice the shapes that I’m attuned to either. To each creature their innate gifts… My mate Boey was very patient beside me whilst I promised him ‘Just one more set’ repeatedly for an hour or more, firing off aperture ammunition at every sizeable lump that approached the shore in the shifting undertones below us. Each with its own persona, its own stunning crescendo, its own violent demise. Individual entities dancing in front of us as another winters day began to say goodbye. Eventually the light lashed and flared and diminished in its own fashion and we were left with no alternative than to head to the pub, which we did promptly and without complaint.