Somethings haven't changed since we first started paddling. One is the beauty of Moreton Bay on a clear winter's day, how the water sparkles in a light breeze. In contrast, we retain few original pieces of kayaking paraphernalia, a collapsible yellow bucket, and until today, one of the hoods that unnerve Port Security. Amongst the thirteen paddlers was Cheryl. Cheryl made
the hoods that we have worn everytime on the water, she also made her sail, deck bag . . . you name it, she can make it.
A light SW dispersed our colourful flotilla of bay butterflies towards Green Island. Rounding the NW spit we made for the sheltered beach where a homemade banana cake and a loaf paid
their last respects. Large mangroves and clear still water make the eastern side of Green Island a mesmeric place to drift along near the top of an incoming tide. There is a beautiful beach tucked in along the SE shoreline, the start of which is marked by a car tyre on a rope. A magic place for a stretch and swim on the top of a full tide.
As we drifted it sounded like the starters gun was taking pop shots at the yachts. They way they were going there would be no yachts left, certainly none in sight until we came around the southern tip of the island. Hey presto we were going to be in the thick of it. Turned out more like a yacht round up as our two
kayaks approached they promptly tacked but they were no match for a paddle and we soon ran them down. Their indignity only soothed by our admission that we did not have any beers on board. Dismissed as heathens we soon nosed up on the beach at King
Island. Scarla and Nev took a politely refreshing plunge while
the remainder of us were happy to kick back soak up the warmth and wonder if Brian was having as much fun as this.
As we headed back the regatta had taken on the scale of our earlier flotilla. They were going nowhere in a hurry as the SE had yet to show face. No sails for our return journey, cruising back into Wynnum Creek brought to an and a short but most enjoyable winters day on Moreton Bay.
|