Kayakers and canoeists aren't regarded either as proper boat people or cool surf-riders. Small-time fishermen likewise are sneered at by sea anglers, and distrusted by full-time commercial fishermen. I am exploring the rich potential of the sit-on kayak as a way to catch fish and shellfish for food. I think it is a craft that will enable a new 'peasant' fishery in the coming, disordered times. Welcome.
43>Not a Lot of Fishing
I hate the rain. I admit and don't actually like swimming.
Wet has been too actual in my life to seek, unless it's a deep, hot bath.
Having spent most of the time with wet knees, from picking winkles in rockpools and moss in dripping forests, it's a wonder that I have evaded arthritis.
Most of the lobster boats in Aber were share fishermen, with two crew but there was one full time loner called Keith Stone who I respected above the rest.
He ventured into stormy seas that glued most of the others onto stools in the Castle Bar, unless,that is, it was raining.
I suppose this aversion develops amongst fishermen as a defence mechanism. Being wet robs your body of heat and vitality, tiring you and slowing responses.
I notice generally that urban visitors seem to wear far too few clothes to allow for the fickleness of the weather. (the conditionality of it is expressed in the words similarity to 'whether').
Old country dwellers on the other hand look swaddled in their entire wardrobe on the hottest July day.
The summer was ever thus. At the end of June the weather breaks.
Fine Julys are a rare thing. It was ever so; I remember many determined wet holiday walks as a boy.
July is the Month of The Welly.
An old farmer pointed this out to me. Then, long grass laden with seed flops over pathways. Thigh-high opportunities to get soaked are everywhere..
The rain accompanies Wind as a Summer pack of Lows scour the land looking for dry humans to soak.
Branches, heavy with leaves, are ripped by savage gusts from the trees.
Even the beach starts to stink as heaps of storm wrenched seaweed heat and rot, hopped over by hundreds of thrips.
It is as if the Summer heat stirs the Earth's emotions into a wild and tearful Wobble. Great hammerheads of cumulo nimbus pile up in the sky.
Why do we pretend otherwise? 'Scorchio' Climates, yearned for by the tabloids, must be so boring.
We have been honoured by a Classic British July.
Yet this makes the clear, fresh sunny days a welcomed blessing.
It lets us appreciate the flavour of every day.
Relish those fleeting bursts of sun .n a rain-washed Earth.
Wait a minute, it's stopped raining.
Guys are swimming.
Guys are sailing.
Playing baseball,
Geee that's better...
Mother, Father,
Kindly
Disregard this letter.