An improvisatory, essentially indefensible, randomly configured tragi-comedy
(no great revelations are likely to be accrued from its consumption)
17 December 2016
Come friendly fog and fall on Gwent!
Apart from the moan of fog horn and rifle crack of dew-soaked electric fence it was predictably quiet at Goldcliff. A few waders drifted in and out of the murk but nothing to write home about (13 Turnstone being the most notable); no disoriented seabird or grounded migrant appeared. Two silver linings, had the place to myself and I got to play 'possibles and probables' with more or less everything (animate and inanimate) between about 40 and 60 yards away. Beyond that it may as well have not existed, it may not have existed, everything within the mist may have been a writhing mass of transmogrification only taking solid form on looming into view,... who knows?
The vista from the third viewing platform was somewhat truncated.
It got a little better but never achieved 'crystal clear'.