This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
Sound, via Ships Cove, racing out to Cook Strait... to be free. Weare sailing... rookies retrain their captains (Stuart, Don and Roger); talk of the front sail, the red rope, and the left and right sides-of< boat. We are sailing... past penguins and dolphins, to quiet campsit coves, and ampitheatres of bushy green. Weight the anchor, catch the fish, row to shore, all before tea. We are sailing... back to Waikawa Bay on day three; sails straining as we fly down-wind, into the bay, still wondering why boats are always called “she”.
led onto a gravel road. The sun was coming out quite nicely now and after another hour of gravel crunching, we reached our pickup point and it was time again to try and find something dry to change into. The taxi driver greeted us with a look of surprise at our wet gear strewn along the roadside drying out. After all, we were back in drought-stricken Marlborough once again! But one look up Tim’s Valley at the hovering rain cloud covering the ranges confirmed why everything was wet.
During the ride back to Picton with the Fit group, we learned that they had had to turn back and stay the night at Armchair Hut and were fully expecting us to have done the same. Obviously underestimated the potential of the Medium trip participants. The weekend was described as more of an adventure than just a tramp. And yes — Wellington had experienced one of its sunniest, hottest weekends ever!
Jonathan Kennett
ebieters ys