Spotters

It being a lovely day, and MrW’s 60th birthday week, a sail was very much in order. Light winds, but we still managed to make way to Inchmickery where we were assailed and wassailed by seals. I don’t think I’ve seen so many in the water in the Forth, surrounding us, keeping their distance of course. Perhaps like the Orcas attacking boats off Spain, the rest of mammalkind are getting fed up with us and our bad and selfish ways. Even apparently clear air contains micro-organisms of such malevolence that masks are necessary, and hiding indoors is our only safe haven.
Still, we fearlessly trod our way onwards, ploughers of the sea, to fair Aberdour, there to heat pies and kowtow to their boat club big-wiggies who habitually stroll along the old harbour wall collecting the dues and dispensing anecdotery reminiscences.
Home! A fine SSE wind, so close-hauled we were, under the steady hand of the tillerman, the rum soaked MrT. Circling round to go astern, I realised there was only 0.6m under the keels. It was later than I realised; we must have been having fun.