He who hums springs an idea-
“Hey, let’s take the dingy ashore!” Luring me with a lovely strip of sand to walk but really there was a job to refill the fuel tanks on terra firma behind his glee.
Most of that sounded good to me except I am the funnel holder the sort that splashes fuel around before going down the tube, no matter how hard one tries. 😅 This I call a blue job and hoped it wouldn’t eat into our walk time. I can see the sun is already dousing the said beach a soft glow as I survey the distant sand whilst deciding, knowing full well the decision has been made.
Ok off we go then. Total trust in his plan to land on the beach. Merrily putting along right up to where he sees the clear shallows, lifts the motor up and steps overboard, like usual. What happens next is disbelief, he drops well beyond the 2ft of water. I immediately check in my side, and see definite shallows?🤔 He struggles to lift one leg only to reveal one black muddy deck shoe heavily covered, like a clay Wellie filled to the brim. 😂 Shit John” my mother would say, so I too exclaim. “I’ll get you in closer so we can pull the boat up on harder sand”, and I agree! I wait for he who hums who drudges along with me in tow, like he’s labouring up Mt Calvery, dropping to his knees every few steps until he can go on no further. Next minute we have a “pink version” of the quicksand playout. Let me tell you, squeals do not help the energy required to get oneself out of the mess we are now both in. 🫠 The only positive and I was searching, was that people pay big money for a mud bath to soften their skin.
It’s all a blur, I made certain to block the next hour out. I get flashes of our dingy suctioned to the very mud that gave zero leverage, let alone pull towards the direction of the water. The ol saying, “time waits for no one” is playing out here. The water tantalisingly close and like some sort of sick joke, visibly retreating each time we reach it.
Meanwhile, I was expecting miracles from my one square of chux cleaning cloth I diligently use to keep my mind amused whilst taking a breather. It’s all very funny …..now.
Of course there’s no one around to throw us a line. I wouldn’t even mind being personally towed across the mudflats at this point, desperation was sneaking in. I suspect the one vessel I see has the binoculars on us, hysterical no doubt. We are totally helping them pass what was a low key afternoon in this godforsaken part of the island.
A new day, we sailing towards the mainland and we’re offered the only dock left in that marina for our size. The friendly receptionist mentioned Condesa will be on the bottom at low tide, but don’t worry it’s soft silt so she’ll refloat at high tide. We look at each other with slight PTSD, as we know the silt she speaks of but she made it sound so…….benign. I wondered if 43ton of Condesa would suction to the bottom. He who Hums clearly thought of worst case scenario, busily tying Condesa to the top of the dock pylon with big arse lines to keep her upright. One never wants to wake up leaning on a complete stranger does one? And that neighbour I’m lookin at may crumble under the pressure.

Th th the, th th the - That’s all folks! 🐷🐷