Shells to shells, sand to sand.

There’s something kinda satisfying about walking on mussel shells. With shoes or slops on, of course, nothing satisfying about lacerated feet! It’s in the ‘crunching’ sound, I think. And maybe being a bit destructive, as you help them slowly turn to sand. A bit like walking on bubble wrap, but very different.

Anyway.. I digress. I came across this long mound, indeed wall, of these shells, built up over millennia. It extended right around this whole point, actually. (Note to self - renew my mussel license. )

A mussel fest for seagulls and other birds. You sit and watch them collecting mussels, flying a few metres into the air, dropping them onto the rocks below to crack open and gorge on the delicacy. My dear mother used to pickle them. There was invariably a jar in the fridge, for finger lunches and snacks.

If you’re interested, I’ll share her time-tested picked mussel recipe with you.

This was the carpet of wedged shells, at sea level.

This was the “wall”, more than head-high.

Putting it into perspective. Note seagulls top right, in heaven. Quite remarkable, really, this natural build-up of mainly mussel shells, over who knows how long..

Shells to shells, sand to sand.