Keep an eye out for these on your morning walk on the beach

Inside the shells of several sea snails, the hermit crabs sit tight, one of which kept ducking back so violently you could hear it back into the rear of the shell with a clicking sound! (Ouch! They are supposed to have soft bottoms, which, to protect, is why they usurp the shells of others for their residence!) The barnacle-encrusted rocks, ever ready to lacerate you if you misstep, are festooned with what looks like splayed open oyster shells, without the pearls, of course — the nacre gleaming up you, dazzling white with tinges of sky blue. They seem stuck as firmly to the rock surface as are the barnacles.

In the tiny pools at the tops of the rock are minute plants, most rooted, and some with succulent-looking leaves, others looking like water ferns. The narrow crevices of these rocks are crammed with tiny shells – all of which seem to be firmly stuck to the rocks. And then you notice something really strange. On three or four rocks are perfectly circular holes — like those made by Lilliputian cannonballs. They look as if they’ve been drilled into the rock with a hand drill by an expert stonemason. There’s water at the bottom of these mini-wells (about two inches deep), again crowded with tiny shells.

As for birds, there are several out and about. On the sand, small parties (five or six strong) of diminutive Temminck’s stints spurt and scutter in their mincing manner, leaning earnestly forward for half a second before snapping up something invisible from the wet sand. Sometimes, they seem to stir the wet sand with their feet, but in many cases, what they pick up lies much too far away for any vibration to indicate their presence. This probably means that they are using sight to target their prey, which, to me, were completely invisible! Again, if you stand stock still, they will dart quite close to you, unmindful, and too busy with their breakfast on the beach. They are accompanied by common sandpipers, wagging their tails up and down in approval as they snap up tidbits from the sand. You can only be gob-smacked by the astonishing beak-eye coordination this must take! A pond heron arrives in a flurry and looks dourly at you: its grey-brown plumage is anything but glamorous but does help it meld with the background. It is soon joined by a partner, and then, like the star of the show, suddenly making an appearance, a snow-white, long-necked and reedy-legged reef heron lands on the highest rock. Its neck is slender as a lily stalk, its demeanour proud, legs clad in yellow high stockings. You’ve seen its ash-grey avatar on this beach before. This one now stalks along the beach with the air of nobility making its way through the riff-raff (the stints, sandpipers and pond herons!).

In the sky, terns scissor swiftly back and forth and gulls (probably black-headed) fly up and down the territories they have marked out. Occasionally, a tern would suddenly brake and side-slip and dive spectacularly to try and pick us something from the tidepools — perhaps an incautious crab. Swallows, trilling sweetly zip deftly across too, banking and jinking stylishly — and though the sky looks empty of flying bugs, they must be out there. You noticed the same thing during the rains, with dragonflies zipping to and fro across a seemingly vacant sky, assiduously patrolling their airspace.

By now, the mist has evaporated, and the sun is well up, washing the sky and sea a beautiful powder blue. You trudge back to the shack for breakfast, watching the stray and pet dogs, freaking out across the sand. A little brown and white spaniel is having the time of her life as two labrador twins watch on calmly: Been there, done that baby!