To the sailing club! For the second time in two consecutive days!
A combination of bright blue estuary wild skies and also favourable high tide times was the lure that was too good to resist.
But where to paddle to?
Downstream and the great unknown? Upstream and the stinky poo smell of the Hythe? Or perhaps even a rare excursion up the Roman river?
The Roman river, it was.
We were keen to avoid what might have been a bit of a Gig Fest assault. Both boats for the rowing club had made their way earlier in the day over to Brightlingsea for the Gig Fest race downstream and back. The Roman river looked like it would be the quieter option.
It was a gentle paddle, making our way upstream and then cutting across the muddybanks for the Roman river.
We did pass one brave fella who was out wild swimming with his luminous yellow floating device. He was on his back and was actually scrolling away on his phone. Now there’s confidence for you.
We reached the mouth of the Roman River. It took some delicate manoeuvring to make our way around the mysterious brown patches.
That’s shit, etc.
Soon we had the tranquillity of the curves of the Roman river all to ourselves. We were even treated to a fly pass by three swans. You could feel the rush of air as they made their way ten meters or so above us.
Some paddle boarders then approached us from behind. This was a leisurely row for us. We came seriously close to the embarrassment of being overtaken by a couple of paddle boarders.
The Canadian geese could then be spotted sunbathing on the muddy banks. They deserved their rest, having earlier made a rifht old early morning racket, waking up half the town.
We reached the mill that signifies the end of the Roman river that is passable. We had timed the tidal times to perfection. We were carried out on an incoming tide, and we’re now ready to head back to the sailing club, floating along on the outgoing waves.
“Can you take some shit pictures?”
…asked my rowing companion.
“No, I don’t take shit pictures”
…came my reply.
“I’m a semi-pro photographer.”
“No,”
she said.
Can you take some pictures of the shit?"
The dirty dog.
The river traffic picked up as we headed back towards the sailing club. There was plenty of kayak action out around the Estuary wilds. We had the first spotting of the season of the ferry. I’m not sure what the aquatic equivalent of Chapeau is.
