A plaice in his story

Yesterday the tide was very low indeed. We walked along the beach which would not normally be accessible, the alternative being clambering over rocks to reach our destination, the sandbar.

The sandbar, a spit of sand almost connecting the land to the island in the middle of the estuary, only appeared at really low water. It was joyous, we stood where normally we might drown. It was almost deserted as the weather was overcast. But a man was fishing the sandy lagoon formed by the sandbar.

Told us that was the time and place for plaice. He knew his plaice.