Regatta season is upon us once more. On Saturday we made our way over to the other side of the muddy banks for the Rowhedge Regatta. We were already on the wrong side of the river, and so it made sense to make this short journey across to Rowhedge.
As ever I managed to get time and tide all wrong. We were far too early. Regatta stalls were still being set up. Crowds were on the low side as young families were making most of the calm before the storm, and enjoying a cup of tea and a slice of cake by the quayside. I rather liked this low-key approach, especially with the Estuary Wilds' sun beating down.
Tea and cake were taken on a park side bench overlooking the quay. I say tea and cake - tea was bought from the nearby Rowhedge community hut, whilst I had already had the foresight to make a trip to Lidl for a couple of currant buns at £1.50 all in.
TUCK IN!
The tea was most certainly fine and was brewed to perfection. These minor points matter to me. The price was only £3. That sounds around fair, although I do bulk when thinking that I pay £2.99 for 240 tea bags from Home Bargains. Never let the finer fiscal details spoil a good day out, Jase.
We took a wander from one end of Rowhedge to the other. You could sense that the excitement was starting to build ahead of an afternoon of racing to come.
Local legend Mike Lilley was handed the mic and officially opened the regatta shortly after midday. I very much enjoyed his parting message of “good sailing, good drinking.” Tell It Like It Is, etc.
All we needed now was some water for the racing.. The tide is a very deceptive. What looks like a pathetic trickle of brown water surrounded by mud can soon become a bloody great expanse of fresh water.
The only nautical folk enjoying the water shortly after midday was a group of half a dozen jet ski riders. They are the Pirates of the North Essex Estuary Wilds. No one really wants to see them around.
My limited knowledge of these estuary parts made it quite clear that there was barely enough water to launch a kayak, let alone power a jet ski. I don’t think I was alone in secretly hoping that the Hell’s Angels of the Colne might get caught up in some of the crap down below. Sadly that comical moment was denied as the currents came rushing in.
Some bagpipes could be heard a little further down the Regatta front. Oh dear. We had other responsibilities elsewhere. The bagpipes were our signal to disappear.
And so that’s another Rowhedge Regatta ticked off, or rather not, as was the case. Similar to a cheese and cider festival that we enjoyed around these parts - where there was no cheese, or even cider for that matter - we witnessed the Rowhedge Regatta without seeing any sailing.
