Shrimping in shallow waters at low tide means a long walk with some fairly hefty shrimp nets. Even on a neap tide, the water was probably more than half a kilometre out and can retreat as much a 1 kilometre on a good spring tide.

A calm day thankfully, imagine if these were catching the wind.

You dont have to wade out into deep water. Many people managed wearing just wellies. Brave souls had bare legs but not bare feet.

Sandy bays are the favourite haunt of (Lesser) Weever Fish (Echiichthys vipera) so footwear was mandatory. The weever buries itself in the sand with eyes and head protruding. It has a venomous dorsal fin which if stepped on can be as mild as a bee sting or as serious as an Adder bite.

Lesser Weever with dorsal fin raised.

You can see from these photos that the bottom of the net is pushed along the sea bed for as long as you can hold back your curiosity as to what you might have caught. Out there on the low tide line you are held between land and sea and sky and boy, you are tiny speck compared to the vastness of it all.

Going it alone

The shrimps were a decent size and extremely abundant. there were also baby Dover Soles and small Plaice and of course we put these back as quickly as possible. Shrimping is such an enjoyable experience and it provided a feast for everyone who took part.

Shrimps, Plaice and Soles.

What's a nice Plaice like you...?

Plenty of bushcraft involved in the next bit. Finding cockles that have buried themselves in the sand when all that is visible is a little dimple…

What you are looking for is a dimple in the sand...

The great thing about a communal forage is that it usually adds up to more than the sum of its parts. We found more than enough cockles between us for a feast.

The man in the camouflage jacket has no appendix. It burst a couple of weeks before. Despite that, there he is washing our haul.

Ideally we would have left them soaking overnight in a sack suspended in clean seawater so they ejected all their grit and could not take in any more. Still they taste so sweet, what's a little grit between friends.

They are finally boiled in water with a dash of white wine and a knob of butter – until they open. Then, well, you’ve never tasted anything like them. Nothing like from a seafood stall, do it yourself!

“O Cockles,” said the Carpenter.
“You’ve had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?”
But answer came there none –
And that was scarcely odd, because…
They’d eaten every one”

Thanks to Carol (and Lewis Carroll)