A different sort of Monday ...

I could get to like Mondays, if more were like this ... After yesterday's paddle I said to Paula, 'so when will we do this again', and she said 'tomorrow', leaving me feeling a little as though I'd had my bluff called. Nonetheless, 0830 found me loading up the car with blue sky and puffy clouds overhead, and driving eastward to Cadboro Bay, watching a sudden immense billow of grey and white rearing up ahead of me. Something wicked definitely looked to be this way coming. We had a leisurely cup to tea, a leisurely offloading, a leisurely launch, by which time the wickedness was looking repentant: overcast, yes, but the blurring of distance had not translated into wind and squall. It was a leisurely paddle, up the north side of the bay, past Flower Island, along towards Telegraph cove. We paused to play in the current spinning through rocks, and turned back. I continued to try and master the art of taking photographs with my new waterproof camera sans viewfinder: 1. Paula saying 'no, not me, the bird!' 2. said bird ignoring me to concentrate on the fish that, a moment after this photograph was taken, it snapped up and swallowed, 3. the bay with the sun coming out. My hands look this evening as though they've been dipped in dilute red ink, and I have a Pickwickian rubor to my nose.