A cool breeze woke Rodrigo just before dawn. He stirred, then lay still under the white canvas of his pup tent, listening to the sound of the wind and waves. He collected his thoughts and allowed his mind to clear and focus.

The waves were small, little breakers crashing on the beach not far from where he spent the night. From this, Rodrigo figured the weather would be fair, and therefore make a nice day for his journey.

The sooner he rose, the sooner he’d be on his way, so Rodrigo crawled out from under the canvas shelter. He didn’t consider himself old, but in times like these, he could feel age making its mark on his muscles and bones. He took longer to rise than he used to.

Rodrigo finally was upright, and with a stretch, surveyed the area. Billions of gallons of water to his north and west; millions of tons of sand to the south. Vast acres of earth and mud to the east.

After he made sure he was alone, he set about making breakfast, removing an aluminum pan from the outside of his pack and nestling it on a bed of dry twigs and leaves he’d collected the night before. He lit the tinder, covered in a scrap of aluminum foil, and carefully shielded it from the breeze. He was lucky today…some days, when the wind was rough, he couldn’t get the fire to catch and he’d only have cold food before his walk of many miles, up the beach.

The fire grew, and while he preferred to keep such cooking fires low and rare, breakfast was crucial. Smoke could be seen for miles so care must be taken.  

Rodrigo placed his last tin of Vienna sausages in a tiny bit of olive oil, and as they started to fry, he carefully poured some water left in his water bladder into his metal mug. He had two packets of instant coffee left, and intended to use them both this morning. He nestled the cup in the fire and ran his hand over his greying beard.

The water in his mug began to boil and he emptied the crystals into the metal vessel, and with a stir, let the beverage sit before sipping. 

The sand was cold under his feet, and he contemplated putting on his boots. He’d be in them all day, so he was content to sit barefoot on a big piece of driftwood and watch the waves while he ate his meager breakfast.

The sun began to rise – blotted out by fog and clouds – so he finished up and began to pack his belongings. While his cooking tools cooled, he bundled up his rudimentary shelter and rolled it under his pack. His blanket was coarse wool, a shade of mottled brown, but it was warm and served him well. The blanket, rolled into his tent, formed a tight but bulky bundle. Back at camp, he sewed loops on the bottom of his pack to make it easier to stash his bedding. After a dozen or so walks up and down the beach, he figured out what worked best.

Rodrigo buried what little trash he had and finally set to cleaning his cooking pots with sand and a bit of seawater. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked. After he checked all of his kit was ready, and after a moment of cinching and tightening the straps, it was time to make the long walk home. Nine miles to go.

This was a walk he had done many times before, and he knew the way.