THE DEE AN OCTOBER TIDE 



WET sands, crossed here and there by shallow 

 gutters, stretched seaward and across the wide 

 Dee estuary far as the eye could reach; the Welsh shore, 

 five miles distant, was hidden in thick mist. Nearly a 

 mile from the land runs a long sandstone ridge or reef, 

 which at high tide splits into the three islets of Hilbre; 

 the smallest and most southerly, the Eye, was our destina- 

 tion, as three hours before full flow we splashed bare-foot 

 through the remnants of thela st tide. Gulls were drifting 

 up the main, but the tide had not yet begun to fill the 

 gutters, which are seldom if ever empty before the next 

 inflow refills them. Away seaward a line of foam marked 

 the advancing waters, breaking over the East Hoyle; 

 the red and black buoys in Hilbre Swash heeled land- 

 ward; the big tide was coming, but there was still time 

 to cross comfortably from the mainland. 



Then between the two larger islands the lapping water 

 crept in swift trickles, first filling the ripple marks, then 

 swamping them altogether. Bare-footed cocklers trudged 

 back towards West Kirby, and two belated visitors to 

 the main island raced knee deep through the swelling 

 strait which now separated the two. We were left in 

 sole possession of our observatory, a few square yards of 

 turf clinging to the rocky outcrop, wave-washed in storm, 

 wind-swept at all times, but a great gathering- place for 

 birds. The advancing tide, running swiftly over the flats 

 of Liverpool Bay and the " sands o' Dee," drives flocks 

 and lines of gulls and waders before it; reluctantly they 

 leave each bank and spit, but with a 30- foot tide there 



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