Mis bach du

So goodbye January, the wettest in living memory, and hallo February, little black month as its Welsh nickname mis bach du, translates.
The first day suggested that nothing has changed: gales were blowing, rivers were surging, tides were high, and sandbags at the ready.
Swathed in waterproofs, I had the insane notion to go and pick cockles at low water on Goodwick beach. But I found that the sand they live in had all been swirled away leaving bare stones. There were plenty of empty shells - the gulls must have gorged themselves on the exposed shellfish.
Some brave souls were heading out to collect razor clams on the distant surf line but with the wind almost lifting me bodily I didn't feel brave enough to venture out there alone.
This view, looking across towards the coast east of Fishguard, takes in the remains of a mediaeval fishtrap, a hook-shaped stone barricade that would once have been used to corral fish on the outgoing tides. More about that on my previous blip of its partner on the other side of the bay.

I am aware of a regrettable comment deficit on my part. I'll try to catch up tomorrow!