As the Mesolithic period tramped to a muddy close and the first hunter gatherers on the coast cast an eye over a bleak autumn sea, shrouded in mist and drizzle, the waves and cloud bleeding into one at the horizon, the beach must have been an eerie place.
Admittedly the sands at Ainsdale would have been a good deal further out to sea than they are now, but on low, grey weekends like this one, I often wonder what the hunter gatherers must have thought as they stared out at the cold surf and the unknown beyond, long, long before their minds turned to wheels and WiFi.
And I think I can guess.
I bet it was along the lines of "Surely we can persuade those guys in Ireland to tow their lump of earth and rock a few hundred miles south so we stand a better chance of a Yankee mega or two...", either that or "where the hell is my seabird passage?".
No sign of either this weekend at Ainsdale, although the morning gull roost is starting to build up as winter edges closer, with a few thousand birds strung out north of Shore Road, and a clear southerly passage of Skylarks today.
"Wrong winds" for us meant that although Wirral and the Mersey mouth scored heavily over the weekend, just the odd Great Crested Grebe and Common Scoter flock went past me at Ainsdale.
A long-winged small falcon that zipped south over the frontal dunes at 10am yesterday may well have been the Hobby that was at Marshside earlier in the week, but I couldn't get a conclusive look at it before it disappeared in a cloud of spooked Mipits and rain.
That's the way it goes sometimes.
Plenty of Mipits, Linnets, Skylarks and Pied Wags north of Weld Rd this afternoon, so that'll be worth a closer look and a Stonechat was perched up by the Coast Road between Ainsdale and Birkdale yesterday - my first round here since Mesolithic times.
Eyes to the skies everyone, eyes to the skies...