The sun is back and, for once, it has coincided with some big tides. Beach shoes at the ready, Junior and I scramble across the rocks, the clamour of the busy beaches far behind us, heading for our local pools. With Covid levels higher than ever in Cornwall at the moment, we’re hiding away from the crowds as much as we can.
We are so used to having to put on layers, waterproofs and wellies that it feels quite decadent to be able to wander about comfortably in shorts. The water is sparkling and the sun’s reflection on my camera screen is so strong that I can’t see the image properly, even when I adjust it to maximum brightness.
I might not be able to see much at first, but the pools are full of life. We cross the rocks to a wide pool fringed with oarweed and sugar kelp. We slip and slide over thongweed and step carefully into the cool water to avoid disturbing the wildlife.
A small movement reveals the presence of a well-camouflaged dragonet. Knowing how hard it is for anyone to detect it, the fish takes its time, gliding a short distance across the sand then taking a break, seeming to disappear each time it stops.
Among the delicate red seaweeds, there are plenty of stalked jellyfish (Haliclystus octoradiatus). Their colour range is the same as that of the seaweeds, so although they are bright and attractive, they are not easy to spot.
With every step I am getting deeper into the pool, but for once it doesn’t matter. Soon I am right in the middle, with water lapping up to my waist. A blue dragonfly zigzags past me, swooping low before turning back and disappearing towards the cliff.
I wade over to a tall rocky overhang while Junior enjoys a swim across the pool. There are several large fish flitting in and out of the kelp so I lower my camera a little at a time to see how they react. When this is successful, I decide to make the very best of the summer conditions. I pull my swim goggles on and lower my head into the water.
There is a nursery shoal of juvenile pollock down here. They hesitate at first. Winding their slender bodies through the kelp fronds, they watch me through wide yellow-rimmed eyes.
I’ve always thought of pollock as a silver coloured fish, but these youngsters are golden-green with shimmering blue stripes running from their head to their tail. Their jutting bottom lip makes them look open-mouthed, mid-conversation.
They are certainly a friendly bunch, swimming ever closer to the camera until their tails are brushing the lens. I have to keep lifting my head to breathe, but they don’t seem to mind.
After a while, I leave the pollock to talk among themselves and move on to an adjoining pool. A shoal of sand eels is patrolling here. These fish are of a more nervous disposition, turning, balling and flashing with silver at the slightest disturbance. If they spotted a predator, they would flee head-downwards, burying themselves in the sand in an instant.
I move slowly and give the sand eels space, turning my attention to the sea squirts and snails on the rocks.
When the tide turns, Junior and I retreat to the first pool, swimming and bobbing in the water, watching butterflies tumble past and swallows circling high above. There are boats, people and a whole world out there, but, like the pollock, we are happy in our rock pool refuge.
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