Last year, someone in our municipality had a rush of blood to the brain and decided that The Pipe needed a walkway to the beach. So they got one of their friends – no I mean – they put the job out to tender and the contractor got busy.
First some guys came and dug a trench through the dune. Then they dug holes and placed poles. They mixed concrete by hand and tossed the left-overs aside, next to the path. Then over the next four or five weeks they slowly built the walkway. They made a handrail by joining planks end on end with a diagonal nail, which of course lasted less than a week so they came back and put in a long plank. When they had finished the end of walkway was too high so, to use it you had to walk alongside for a few metres and then hop up. And of course, once the wind started, the dune filled itself out. By December the walkway was lightly under sand. Now, if you want to use it, you have have to climb a dune, slide down the other side where you have a couple of meters of walk-way before you get to leap off onto the beach doing a roll so as not to shatter your ankles.
OK so I have that off my chest.
Carol tells delightful tales of life in New York and her chats with Charlie as they walk their dogs. Well, my friend, you would love it here.
So here is the walkway.
This morning, instead of surfing I sat on the dune, in the raging South Easter and did this painting. I was chatting with Cosmic Mike who was trying to decide whether the break called for a longboard or something shorter.
I was attracted to the wind-ripples in the sand. In the early morning sunlight they made beautiful patterns. But painting these things is a lot of detail and my colours were drying too fast in the palette and on the paper. Anyway you can see the walkway disappearing under the dune.
As I was packing up, the painting blew off my board, down the beach. But fortunately I was able to redeem it. And here it is. My palette is slaking behind me and I guess I will just have to live with the sand in it.