The orange buoy, for the first time, had become a chain that was welcomingly broken and off over bay to Salterstown, the currachs shot, where a little pier juts out of the rocks. Our currach was still on trial and we found that with a passenger, it could pull to the left but the oars were great and it seemed to entertain a seal as we went. By the time we reached the other side, the lads were keen to slag our meandering ways and disorientated from their verbal grief, I crunched the last out of my neck to spot the seal again. But now it appeared in front of the boat and close to us as we rowed to a sudden stop. It began to talk, it was a round headed swimmer. I wasn’t sure at first but on looking over, the rocks were full of them getting a Sunday dip on the last weekend before November. Round to the beach we rowed and filled the faces, then before another word was said, we robbed the other currach for the return journey, leaving passenger behind, and then we beat up against the tide to watch with glee their slow and sluggish meanderings.
Still a lot of work to do with the third set of oars, they have to be planed down, and the slipped canvas on the third boat needs sewing from last year. So is it worth it after nearly four hours of rowing? The answer would have to be “Yes! Every minute!”