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Four days of wind, so there were plenty of Aching bodies by Monday night, but sunshine, wind and not to cold meant pretty well everyone had a good sail at some point, including windsurfers, wayfarers, lasers and 400s. The 15s didn't fare so well and we wish John a speedy recovery.
A number stayed down and used the facilities, rumour has it the Bushmills ran out. Below are some photos from the four days.
Windsurfers who went to Rutland on Sunday - link to photos and you tube
Poem below and more photos from John Rowell taken on Sunday 1st May
Saturday night
A meal of pork steaks, beef burgers and lamb kebabs accompanied by a healthy salad is prepared cooked and served by the rowdy woodsman and the quiet owl is devoured by hungry sailors.
As the beer, wine & beverages flow an accordion and guitar guide the rabble through song? to the witching hour.
Candles give a soft light, but the music and song are not diminished
The flavoured waters of Ireland and Scotland enliven and encourage the flagging choir.
Sunday morning
A single silver contrail chase’s a plane across a rose tinted sky
Cold grey rippled water beckons the dawn sailor and the breaking day.
The evidence of last nights quiet supper has disappeared with the exception of 2 brace of candle wax coated bottles.
The pink sky disappears, replaced by a golden orb.
As the dawn emerges, a golden hue envelopes all, the rising sun blinds giving sharp shadows and awakens the hope of warmth.
As the sun crests the Syerston hill, a golden stripe slices the lake; from “8” to the balcony slip.
With the light comes colour, gunmetal water and dark green grass, the light grey covers of a lone laser and solitary sunfish.
Natures net, silver strands of spiders silk glisten with dew in the morining light
The dawn patrol of gently gliding Grey Lags & Goslings glance up as a dinghy glides across the empty lake, the lee shore fringed with spin drift,
Howling halyards, strutting Rooks and the flapping of the Liberty sail cover all accompany the dawn chorus.
The fluttering of Union flags on the shrouds of a 400 remind me of a royal wedding just past.
A spotty dog welcomes Pauline with excitement, only to be quietened by a bleary eyed camper.
