The main aim for the WivGigs Thursday Social row was to avoid the rain. We could all see it coming on our various smart prediction apps; we could all see it and smell it in the Estuary Wilds air as we gathered down at the Sailing Club.

Actually, we couldn’t see it. There was a thick layer of mist hanging over the Colne, late afternoon. If this was a weekend row with the Sailing Club Cadets doing their dinghy thing, then navigation would have been a problem. But for a Thursday afternoon, we had the whole bloody estuary to ourselves.

I was put on stroke. I felt fine, but wasn’t really up for setting the pace. The crew was a mixture of experienced old sea dogs, and some new hands. I found it tricky finding a suitable compromise.

We weren’t helped by rowing through a channel full of shit. Suddenly the water turned brown. Bits and bobs of brown texture were rubbing against the oars. This was no time to start splashing around with some power strokes. Put a peg on your nose instead.

Whatever. We pressed on. Buoy 18 was reached. We had a little extra time and tide, and so decided to push on and turn at Buoy 16. The visibility weakened, yet still there was no rain. We powered back to the Sailing Club along a very high tide. Audacity was wrapped up and put to bed.

Yep - we beat the rain.

Another day, another walk. Live to walk, walk to live, etc. Of course I’d rather run, but I’m still partially crocked with my dodgy calf.

It’s been over three weeks now since it first pinged. I was foolish enough to attempt a pickleball game one week after the initial injury.

OUCH. That bloody hurt. I was back to square one.

I’ve slowly, slowly been building up with the walking each day. The 5km-ish route stays pretty much the same. I’ve picked up the pace to look like a right twat as I power walk around the town.

It’s done the job. I feel ready to return to running. But I’m increasingly cautious in all areas of my life as I age. The weekend has been pencilled in for a return to pounding the mean streets of CO7 once again.

The walk today was quite lovely. The harsh coldness of the past few days has disappeared. The snow and ice has gone. We’re waiting for the next weather phase with rain and wind incoming.

But for today, a brisk walk to the top of the town, and then back down along the Quay was what I needed.

I walked it all the way to the other end of the Trail and onwards towards the Hythe on Monday. I was in desperate need for a swim and a stretch. The ice and snow was still heavy along the Muddy Banks. I wouldn’t have fancied riding along there.

And so I crunched along at a pace, wearing my walking boots. You get to see a whole different perspective walking the Trail, rather than riding it. No shit.

I approached Windy Corner opposite Rowhedge. Slowly, slowly on the horizon I could see a bloody great big barge being tugged along the river. This is quite a rarity. It reminded me of my early 90’s student days up in the Towers, watching Russian shipping boats heading up and down the Colne.

Those days are long gone, with a silted up river, no shipping industry to speak of around these parts, and, erm, Russian ships not exactly being welcome right now. At the time I was probably reading a first year politics textbook about how the end of the Cold War would lead to a brave, safe new world.

But anyway - the barge thingy being towed up the Muddy Banks on Monday. It looked a little perilous. The tugging thing pulling it along looked like a contestant for World’s Strongest Man that had arrived a little underprepared. It was swaying from side to side, still trying to keep the big old bastard of a barge moving.

I pressed on with the walking. I reached the Hythe, and made my way along King Edward Quay. Ahh - so that explains it. The community of house boats now has a few gaps. The barge was being moved from the Hythe to Gawd knows where. Brightlingsea? There’s certainly no room for it in Weird Wiv.

The City Council had a particularly spiteful policy just before Christmas of hiking the morning fees for the close knit community of house boats down by the Hythe. It looks like the gathering has now been split up, with gaps appearing along the quayside.

A decent walk. I should take in these ramblings and observations more often.

High water down at the Hythe as I cycled through on Friday morning. Which can only mean one thing: Haven Road is flooded, innit. I don’t quite understand the physical geography of why Haven Road cops it, whilst King Eddie Quay somehow gets away with no extra water. I don’t think the stalled Hythe Taskforce does either. I’m just grateful for having a safe passage and the opportunity for a few cheeky sunshine snaps.

An icy ride along the Trail for Saturday morning. It’s the first time that I’ve braved the bloody Estuary Wilds mud for a few weeks. My reasoning this morning was that it would all be frozen over, making for a smooth passage.

Instead I found the frost starting to thaw, but still leading to some delicate handling. This wasn’t the occasion to time trial it along the Trail, even if it was deserted shortly after 8am. The only other company I had was a gathering of lapwings flapping around in the mud.

It was a good job there was no other traffic along the Trail. My bicycle bell had frozen. Some of my body parts felt the same. It will be spring soon, right? Please tell me it will be spring soon.

Wishing the days away.

Some hit and miss snaps from a random Christmas Day walk, through Wivenhoe Woods, Ferry Marsh and then back to base via the Quay. My camera of choice was the Olympus PEN-F - just perfect for the crisp, blue sky conditions. Straight outta the box, no editing. Point, shoot, publish, move on etc.

We had TWO crews out along the Muddy Banks for a WivGigs Monday social row. And this included carrying a passenger in one boat, as a game of musical chairs took place on board as we made our way downstream towards Buoy 16 and beyond.

A little bird spotting took place by those that were bothered. Apologies, but a bird is a bloody bird. I’m here for the water, and hopefully a little peace and quiet.

That said, the flyover from a flock of geese was half decent. They might have been pigeons, but the personal touch as they made a flight path directly above us was a bit of a moment. I wasn’t alone in looking for geese / pigeon shit on my club clothing once they had buggered off to the other side of the Muddy Banks.

It was incredibly mild out there. The musical chairs meant that I found my way towards the front of the boat and on stroke. I refused to take off any layers. That boat can be full of crap with all the mud. My OCD mind would meltdown at the thought of river shit soiling my clothing.

Keep on moving, Jase. Keep on moving. Which meant that soon I was coxing. In a boat full of females, I held off with my OH SO FUCKING FUNNY cox joke. It was probably for the best.

Bateman’s Towner and Brightlingsea was soon within sight. Buoy 16 was reached.

“Anyone fancy the Rat?”

Oh go on then, Why not. Rat Island was entered. Here Be Rats, etc. We took the opportunity to stuff our faces with festive food.

The row back to the Sailing Club was a bit of a slog, tbh. I had a pressing work shift and wanted to get a move on. This was no time for bird spotting.

Oh.

I had to do a runner at the end on the Sailing Club. I took some water in on my wellies.

Arse.

To Brightlingsea!

I’m currently crocked with a particularly painful calf ping. Running is not an option. It’s too damp around the bloody Estuary Wilds to take on any cycling. And so a walk out to Brightlingsea sounded like a good idea. A quick look of the fixture list, and HEY! Brightlingsea Regent are at home. Job’s a good ‘un. If we get a shifty on then we can make it in time for KO, right?

But I never get a shifty on. I’m always stop, starting as I snap away at the exact same locations and wildlife shit that I have been capturing on camera for the past fifteen years. Oh well.

At least there was a bloody high tide as we strode out purposely past the Sailing Club. One of the rowing club boats was out, one was back at base. Soon we could see Audacity emerging on the horizon, battling it back to the Sailing Club hard on a crisp midwinter morning.

In the shared AirPods was Robert Elms, soon to handover to Gary Crowley. The four hour run of programming on BBC Radio London for a Saturday morning is as good as local radio gets.

The WivGigs crew was replaced by a flotilla of kayakers. I counted half a dozen paddling downstream in a formation. We thought at first that they had a bluetooth speaker and were having some of a pre-Christmas rave. It was a right old bloody racket. It turns out that it was some unknown birds, brooding and kicking up a fuss a little further up along the marshland.

A mid-walk snack was taken on Fat Bloke’s Bench, just before the Creek. The big fella would hopefully have appreciated the snack of choice - Lidl’s finest discounted stollen. TUCK IN, etc.

Past the Creek and the path ahead was deserted. Even for such a glorious midwinter morning, I was surprised that this stretch heading over to Thorrington was clear. At least I thought it was clear. I stopped by a bush for a comfort break. Seconds later and a dog walker emerged.

Whoops.

Destination Brightlingsea was reached. We cut across the back fields to avoid the main drag of endless traffic. We then got a little lost around some backstreet estate, before spotting the floodlights of Brightlingsea Regent.

Up the R’s, etc.

A 2pm KO up at Broad Lane as Wivenhoe Town welcomed Leiston U23’s. I still arrived fashionably late - but not as late as some of the regulars who were thrown my the floodlight friendly earlier KO time.

No worries. The score was still 0-0 when I started my routine photowalk around the ground, fifteen minutes after play had started. I should have spent more time at home, perfecting my match day hair styling.

Leiston U23’s were… very young. No shit. You can get away with this at this level playing up front and out wide. A bit pf pace and trickery amongst the youth is difficult to defend against.

SHOUT OUT to the young kids playing at the back and also the very youthful goalkeeper for the away team. This league can be a little belligerent for any slender framed fella coming up against an old school Essex clogger.

OUCH, etc.

It was a decent, competitive game. Both teams battled well. From my position behind the goal in the second half, it looked like Wivenhoe took the lead. I celebrated BIG TIME, even reaching out to high five the fella who was running past me having just scored.

Oh wait. He hit the side netting. YOU DICK, Jase, etc.

A minute later and the Dragons were one up. I was in the right place, right time to capture the money shot on camera. BACK OF THE NET, etc.

An almighty classic non-league goal scramble then followed at the other end. How the chuff the ball stayed out of the net after multiple attempts, I don’t know. Neither do both sets of players.

A very late equaliser for Leiston was deserved, but also devastating for the Dragons. The home team didn’t stop running all afternoon, showing commitment that has sometimes not always been there this season.

This was the best Wivenhoe performance I have seen for a while. The early KO was welcome as well. It meant that I could bugger off for the basketball without missing the second half.

The shortest of short rows on Thursday afternoon. We’re approaching the Winter Solstice. Time and tide, etc.

There was just enough light - and water - left in the day for a rapid row downstream and back.

This was no epic exploration around Rat Island, or the legendary Buoy 16. Let’s see how far we can get, whilst we can actually see.

Conversation was limited. We did have a brief discussion however about night rowing.

shhhhh.

This is a bit of a frowned activity within the club. But with the right lighting and a strong crew, it’s possible.

But not for today. Just concentrate on what is in front of you as the Estuary Wilds sun started to bugger off.

I was wearing shades, natch. Which didn’t exactly help. But I did look Cool as Fuck.

The cox put me on stroke. I was a man on a mission. I was also a man who wasted no time in breaking a thole pin with my hidden strength.

Sunset was a stunner. We paused briefly, to watch it disappear for another day.

A couple of playful dogs were waiting for us back on the Sailing Club hard. I took something of a splashing during the recovery.

Lights out.