Am I alone in seeing four hooded figures carrying a boat? I remember a photo of a curragh being carried on mens' heads down the strand, like a large, black beetle.
This might not only be the imaginings of a sea-crazed man.
This cromlech, Pentre Ifan, was I’m sure I heard, raised by a group of sea-faring folk, unrelated to neighbouring tribes. It’s about three miles from Newport Bay, a safe distance away to bury your dead, but overlooking it. It is beautiful. [Shame about the fence.]
This area is humming with megalithic sites and sacred places. The outcrop that the Stonehenge bluestones were chosen from is nearby.
Yucatan, in Mexico, and Carnac, in Brittany are similar clusters of ancient sites set on special coastlines.
I find it easy and exciting to imagine adventurous, sea-faring cultures sharing connections far beyond our present grasp.
Next I conjure the Bristol Boys. In fact, boats from all over Wessex quietly fished the cod-banks off Newfoundland and ventured elsewhere. A time when the sea might lead to New Worlds and Opportunity.
When this spirit collided with a Spanish Bullion Ship it changed from pirate to privateer to conscription in the British Navy and Empire all too fast.
Like from childhood, through adolescence, to mortgage repayments.
Britannia ruled the waves, which became a domestic route to the Empire.
Jack Sparrow is our appointed adventurer evading this new, orderly Realm.
We choose our own corner. For instance, gunning out in a chartered boat in a gang of hopeful, gung-ho fishermen doesn't appeal to me. I crewed as deckie on an old sidewinder to Iceland once and once only.
I drifted to the seashore from a crowded land. I loved bouncing off its isolation.
I learned to respect both the sea’s governance, and its perversity:
The tide came in alright, but heaped up by an unforecast gale. The waves rolled steadily onshore, but with tantalising frothing wallows of quiet water, to paddle frantically through.
Not wanting to sign up to the “dog-brain”, regulation-strewn Order of things we have been served with since Adventure became a media format, doesn’t necessarily mean exclusion from the pack or isolation.
I discovered an entire colony of sea-dreamers the other day in waters I thought I had charted before on the web. Our differences were outweighed by what we share.
The same seas and history.
They also have a lot of invaluable technical knowledge and experience of sit-on kayaks.
I must learn their customs.
I think they call themselves ‘Angluss’.
He takes and he learns to give
He aches and he learns to live
He stakes all his silver,
On a promise to be free
Mermaids live in colonies,
All these sea-dreams come to me.
(the dawntreader, joni mitchell)
