Dave ("Sound of the seagull") from UKRGBS was working at the Big Factory and staying at the Seacote in St Bees; as close to the beach as you can get without waking up with sand between your toes. And he was hoping to find a willing partner-in-crime to make his week working away from home worthwhile...
Of course, as anyone who knows me will tell you you, I'm a complete tart when it comes to getting on the water and so it was, after a couple of emails and texts, that we met by the lifeboat station, said our hellos and got on with the business in hand. If Carlsberg did dogging, this is what it would be like!
We launched off the very bottom of the slip at just after 6pm so about half an hour before HW Whitehaven, virtually on LW neaps. The sea was far calmer than over the weekend when Sue and I had been out and we made rapid progress round around the South Head and across Fleswick Bay. Despite a few boulderers below the lighthouse the birds were quieter than at the weekend (busy day in the office maybe?) and we plodded on under the North Head and across Saltom Bay, straight-lining toward Whitehaven harbour. Having stood off to avoid the myriad of fishing lines that came flying off the harbour wall, we beached on the "Golden Sands" and stretched our legs whilst munching cereal bars and Dave recorded the Welsh invasion by photographing the statues recalling John Paul Jones's somewhat earlier invasion of April 1778.
After a chat with a couple of locals (Eee, it'll be reet lumpy on t'way back; enjoy your "row"...." we turned the boats around and once more braved the volley of lead and nylon flying in all directions from the harbour walls. Despite the warning, progress across Saltom Bay was good, with a short chop but nothing to worry us. As soon as we turned the North Head though the bad news arrived as if by Express Delivery; the wind had built to something more than a breeze - and we were paddling straight into it. Thankfully there was a slight run to the south but this also gave us a little wind-over-wave action so it wasn't just a stiff paddle but a wet one as well. Given that the water temperature was around "cool bath" (technical term) this wasn't a problem; the burning sensation in my deltoids was though! Crossing Fleswick Bay at a sprint was the killer - I guessed that around full-on 200 paddle strokes would maybe do it, but stopped counting at 300 and dropped the cadence by about a half. Dave had stayed within 30 metres of me all the way but soon closed up and restarted conversation from that point on...
It was just 9 o'clock as we hit the sand and I walked up to bring the car down for boats and kit. A relieved Sue answered the phone; I'd obviously missed the usual evening natter!
A good evening, opportunistic paddling and a solid workout over 13 miles, plus an invite to give Dave a shout to paddle North Wales anytime we head down there. Once more, whether you see it as Karma or paddling tart, it works for me...
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