The second week of September finally saw the sun break through and, having returned the hire car after dropping mum at the airport, we settled back to our normal gentle pace. Charging around in the car meant that we had been to places that we would never have seen otherwise but it had confirmed our desire to manage without if at all possible. The real shock was the roads around Belfast International Airport (still many miles from the city itself) which were so busy we could easily have been in the English Midlands. To recover we spent the next few days enjoying the Indian summer at Lough Garadice.

Having praised Swan Island and Lough Garadice in an earlier blog, I am delighted to say that our second stay was even better than our first. Of course, the weather helped: for once high pressure had settled directly over Ireland and, once the sun had burnt off the Autumnal mists, the days were warm, still and bright. The sunsets, as if trying to better themselves each day, were truly spectacular. The picture below was taken without filters and has not been enhanced in any way:




We had a fair bit of work to do which was no bad thing as too much unbroken pleasure can become a habit and we were in need of a little income. None of the jobs were particularly challenging and there was always other stuff going on if we wanted a break. We also had the good fortune to befriend one of the long term moorers (there are few lucky souls that keep boats at Swan Island) who told us to help ourselves to his laser sailing boat. With so little wind Eric’s Tjalk would have struggled to make much way while the tiny dinghy with its large sail and fast lines went well.  A simple matter of having his weight on the wrong side while mooring up, resulted in Ted getting tipped in by a sudden gust - and left the rest of us rolling about with laughter: sympathy at such moments not being a strength of the Misfit Mariners. Not that Ted was the only one getting wet: with the weather so good and the lake so still, the canoes that Pat hires out were busy. Most of them are hired by sober, sensible people but there are always exceptions and we had the joy to watch two drunken lads get a real dowsing. Sobriety returned fairly rapidly once they realised that they should have followed everybody’s advice and left their phones, fags and wallets with their friends on shore. Ted and I watched, and listened to, their departure from the shore and guessed how far they would get before capsizing - two hundred yards turned out to be about right.  Another activity that Pat runs is wake-boarding lessons and he was busy with this too. Watching all the fun as we worked, I determined to have a go.

It might seem contrary to value the peace and gentle pace of our waterborne life and then to go tearing about in, and behind, a speedboat but it did look fun.  Joelle was also keen to try. So, tightly packed into wet suits and with buoyancy aids on, we clambered into Pat’s 135 HP speedboat. Wake-boarding is a popular activity on Ireland’s waters and it looked pretty easy. Our naivety was soon put in perspective: in order to swoop, slide, jump etc,  you have to be able to get out of the water.  Even though we had watched the video and gone through how it should be done on the shore, once in the water this proved to be an absolute nightmare. Joelle went first and, despite several attempts, could not get out and on top of the water.  Once Joelle was exhausted and cold there was little point in continuing so I jumped in. Pat then spent a dull half an hour going round in circles bringing the tow rope back to me after each failed attempt. That he kept grinning and rolling his eyes made me all the more determined to master it and, as Pat put it: “To stop trying to push 600 acres of lough!” Each attempt took a lot of energy and usually resulted in my face  smashing into the water but, finally, at what must have been the 15th go, I found myself upright and sliding along at twenty one miles an hour.  I may have lacked the grace and confidence of the trendy young men who usually do such foolish things but few of them have sported wider grins - it was such a rush! Pat, who had been patiently waiting for such a moment, turned on the boat’s speaker system and I inelegantly slid over the water with Tina Turner’s ‘Simply the Best’ blasting out. Not that it lasted long, my next trick was to start to develop into one of the best crashers that Pat had seen: rather than let go as things got messy, I hung on grimly until the inevitable violent descent head first into the peaty water.  This really was fun!

 

The next few days brought more work, more sailing and three more wake-boarding lessons.  Having mastered getting the board out of the water the next challenge, apart of course from not crashing which I was excelling at, was to cross the speedboat’s wash. This involved the most unnatural twisting of the body and I was hopeless at it. At last, without really thinking about it, I managed to get over the wash and back again. Four lessons in five days left me with the sorts of aches and pains I remembered from rugby playing days but I had learnt the very basics (including letting go of the tow rather than have it slam me into the water) of wake-boarding. Our last night at Swan Island was set up to be a good session of drink and traditional sound until Eric returned from his boat to announce the impending birth of the Swan Island Terriers. That we left the next day despite very little sleep was due to more work commitments just up the Woodford River at Riversdale Barges. We have covered a lot of ground this year, and been to many memorable places but none have charmed us as much as Swan Island and Lough Garadice. So it was with weary heads and sad hearts we slipped our moorings and gently motored away, having enjoyed the best ten days of the summer it felt like the end of a holiday.

 

              View over Lough Garadice with Swan Island just visible in the foreground.