The waves rolled in long and white fringed. The beach was such a shallow incline that even a child could wade out five hundred yards of more and still the water would be below their knees. In places a sand bar would raise them so high that from the shore they appeared to be walking on the water itself. There was no chance of those violent crashing waves that pounded the rocky shoreline only ten miles away, the ones that battered the sea-front houses and set their cars to rusting. At this beach a gale meant impudent swelling waves that thrashed but were as threatening as a watch dog on a short chain. So come rain, shine or near hurricane, this is where my grandfather walked everyday of his retirement, with his nutty ridgeback dog tearing in and out of the brine.