There’s no darkness so complete as fog in the night. I was glad of the stunted blackthorns and the line of the borrow pit as Scout and I picked our way in silence on to the marsh. A half-moon was of no assistance, shrouded in a blanket of swirling damp. Not a light was evident and my head torch served only to confirm that visibility was less than 10 yards. I was navigating using remembered turns in the track and breaks in the hedge line.
Water sprayed off the toes of my waders from the dew-sodden grasses. Only the sound of breathing and the padding of the gun slip against my hip broke the silence. At the sea wall, dog and I scrambled up the banking. But there were no familiar sights or sounds from the
