Shelducks are back in Granny’s Bay. Distinctive, handsome-looking chunky ducks; bigger than a mallard, not as big as a Canada goose. Heads down, shovelling through the soft silt for tiny snails, worms and plants they occasionally stop, have a look around, tidy their feathers, and then back to more shovelling.
Fairhaven Lake and Granny’s Bay to Lytham Windmill is a regular favourite walk that’s never the same.
Autumn offers special pleasures. Big skies speckled with skeins of chattering geese on their way to wintering territory hang over the Ribble estuary.
Waders, waddlers, and a metal detector, sift the estuary’s rich pickings for their different treasures. Tractors and tethered fishing boats adjust position with the ebb and flow of the tide.
A crow stands on sentry duty. Lytham Windmill stands proud. I’ve reached my destination.
The return leg is like being on a completely different walk. The tide’s on its way. The light’s changed. Shelducks, en masse, have taken flight. Nothing stays the same.