Having both of our training boats moored permanently in Newlyn harbour is such an advantage for our club, we simply step off the pontoon into the boats and start rowing. Whereas most coastal clubs launch off a beach and rely on the weather & tide times. The only thing we have to do is take the boats out of the water occasionally and clean their bottoms of algae & barnacles, not only does this make the boats glide better, the banter between the club members is priceless :-)
Followed by a little ditty from Anna Murphy.©
Rowing today. Cleaning the boats, tip side up, keel a beard of seaweed and barnacles, methinks I glimpsed a tattoo of finger marks on the bow, five on each side, a lonely mermaid perhaps? The ghost of Captain Weirdbeard trying to catch a lift home? Wind too teasy for us today, sea outside the harbour a basket of wrestling kittens and lions. Up and down past the restless fishing boats, our oars like windmills.
Sea as lumpy as a sailors chin, sixteen hands frozen to oars, sun bouncing off paddles, rhythm as steady as a heartbeat, the bow a dolphins dive, eight happy women, hands thawing on pontoon. ©
Unnamed black & white bird, smooth carney waves, mist of rain whispered across ocean from the lizard, men’s crew sliding on a greenly pontoon. ©
Sea as tricky as a basket of eels.Effortless, amused guillemot riding the curve of the waves, watching us with a birdy glint. spray from oars a lemonadey fizz. Mens boat a sliver of silver under winter sun. Into the harbour we turn back to Yellow and Blue, arms a twist of muscly rope, or so it seems. Hearts pumping like beam engines, dreaming of Scilly's seas. ©
An offshore north by north- west, a south-easterly blowing a Captain Harvey's bellow. Up by Low-Lee, a teasy breeze off shore and inshore, whipping up a westerly Sally Gunn, chased closely by a western-easterly-southerly-nothern gust of a midshipmans chest. The sea's a tricky lover, tempting us out with a gentle offshore-inshore kiss-of-a breeze, then up by lifeboat, tossing us carelessly aside like a salty Don Juan. A hard row in against "the like a cat in a bonfire, don;t know which way to turn" wind, we were all to one side like Smoothy's crab. Gulls welcomed us in, like frantic bunting against a steely sky. ©
We slip out of the narrow gaps as if carrying contraband, rum and lace, brandy and dubloons. Sea a turquoise aquamarine, quiet as a sock draw. Past the gape of Penlee quarry, past the rust and burnt umber ferns on the cliffs, not a gannet or gull in sight. They must know something. Second row, a streak of blue sky to tempt us, rumours of rain backing off up to the Lizard . Then, out at Low Lee, in it comes, slanty and wetter than a bucket of fish, sea bad tempered, a sneaky mist with it's friend the wind. Back to the loving arms of Newlyn harbour, Neil the cox a human shiver, the rest of us Wet- Ass -No- Fish. Back home dry-clothes-warmth creeps over me like a sigh. ©
Cleaning the boats, tip side up, keel a beard of seaweed and barnacles, methinks I glimpsed a tattoo of finger marks on the bow, five on each side, a lonely mermaid perhaps? The ghost of Captain Weirdbeard trying to catch a lift home? Wind too teasy for us today, sea outside the harbour a basket of wrestling kittens and lions. Up and down past the restless fishing boats, our oars like windmills. ©
L - R : Sue W, Tristian, Sue N, Geoff, Dan, Mike & Charlotte.