A Folkboat, varnished topsides aglow, roisters upriver. Beating hard in the blustery September breeze.
Serendipity smiles upon us, in our sheltered anchorage below Pin Mill. We have the best seats in the house for Regatta Day on the Orwell.
Off the Butt and Oyster hard, Colchester smacks rig up and sail purposefully from their moorings. Jockeying for position on the start line, beneath the gnarled oaks of the ancient woodland.
Then they are off. Stampeding down river toward us. Gaff yards squared away. Sails bellied purposefully, bow waves glinting. The rush of water and the roar of wind combining in a thunderous tumult.
They race neck and neck downriver. An historic parade of working sail reveling in a weekend work out.
Stargazer sails off her anchor, to catch high water on the Deben Bar. Within moments capricious fate intervenes and changes our cruise plan. I find myself listing to port, lower back 'out,' struggling to work the boat.
We turn and tack, gingerly, upriver toward Woolverstone. I clamber ashore to walk the wooded trails. The best medicine I know for a discombobulated back.
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