You have been paddling a while when you recognise a person by their car and racks. When the day group left most of the parks were taken by 10 vehicles sporting a variety of rack
configurations and we knew who to look out for. The low water
restricted seven paddlers to the channel well away from the Cleveland Point Taniwha. This monstrous apparition was rendered a tad less fierce by a lack of a tail.
A light SW faded into a whisper and a paddling silhouette was soon approaching. Like an ant ritual there was the slowing, the greeting, drifting, then, as you were. First it was Robyn, then Scarla, Cathy and Peter, and finally Dean, Jan, Stan and Ray. They had had a cool night serenaded by an unsuccessful party pack. The receding tide kept us on the perimeter of the boat clutter in
Horseshoe Bay as we made straight for the wreck of the Platypus. It loomed larger than usual and at the ebb the end of the derelict jetty was only in a foot of water.
We had Platypus to ourselves and took a pew on the sand in the sun instead of the shadey sanctuary of the hibiscus cove. A leisurely lunch was shared with the glorious outlook and followed by a piece of moist banana loaf with a touch lemon courtesy of Carol. When the casuarinas announced the northerly the day trippers made a move. Here we split, Brian, Mark and I went up the eastern side of Peel. The coral out from Platypus and up this side of the island would be worth a snorkel - maybe something for summer. I was fanging for a decent wind to fill sail on the return leg but the northerly was not playing ball. It was sticks all the way with Brian in the distant lead. The northerly turned out to be a real tease showing its face 30 minutes after we had beached at Raby Bay.
By the time we had left there were no cars with racks, no cars at all, just a steady northerly.
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