It rained hard and blew throughout the night but my little Vango took it in it's stride. I awoke to find George Maskell sat in his shiny new van in the car park. I'd clumsily damaged my Primus/Trangia stove and though it had been soldiering bravely on I wanted to replace it for piece of mind; I'd also recently damaged a tent pole. So Summit to Sea had rapidly arranged replacements and George had driven through the night from Anglesey to get the kit to me. Bloomin'eck George - that's beyond the call of duty! A serious thankyou for that, sorry to get grass cuttings all over your nice new van!
We had breakfast in the cafe and headed down to the water to take a look, but things didn't look good. So George hit the road once again and I headed over to the headland to check conditions further.
N and E of the Brigg things looked unpleasant, the swell and wind combined to make a chaotic maelstrom of spray and chop. The Brigg casts a long shadow; the bay was fairly sheltered but the vis didn't help to judge conditions further out - one of those 'The Buck stops here' days, only I could make the decision. Though I often wish someone would do it for me. Flamborough Head is about 5-6 miles away, now and then I could make out the spray making a creditable effort to climb the cliffs, that swung it - for an hour or two at least.
Later I ventured out again tempting the tide to cut me off on the Brigg (I could see the headline: "Stupid canoeist can't read tide tables - lifeboat man says 'what a tit!'") but things weren't much different. I watched a family sailing in the bay, they seemed to be having fun hoofing around in the sporting conditions - though I gather the surf landing didn't quite go to plan. It can be a bit of a bugger that surf you know.
They were also kind enough to provide me with some cord to replace my worn bow toggle - too much dragging, sorry Mike!
I wandered down to take a look at Filey; a very British seaside resort of contrasts. I didn't get the chance to see Scarborough so I took the chance to wander around Filey.
Outside 'Funland' I overheard a young woman complaining about how usually Charlottes birthday party takes place out in the garden in the sunshine, not this year though, they were freezing their bits off. Poor Charlotte I thought - but tell me about it...
Later I watched the light flashing on Flamborough Head as it lured me like a siren. Not tonight I thought; but I have to go soon - the arse of my trousers is getting shiny from sitting in the cafe too much.
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