There comes a time when a man has to do what a man has to do, and this morning was that time. The forward berth has been a little cluttered since we set off this year with the new fenders, and with a deadline fast approaching when that berth may be required, there was no time like the present to tie them on and give the old ones a bit of a scrub.
The impact of all this productivity on a morning on which the temperature had reached almost thirty degrees by nine, was that we set off late, sweaty and not intending to go very far at all. The town mooring in Profondeville showed promise. Perhaps we should taken the hint as we approached, weaving through dozens of hire canoes and stand-up paddle boards. We definitely should not have ignored the monster rigid inflatable powering through them towing a giant tube with half a dozen passengers, but we figured it was nearly lunch time and they’d all go home soon.
We had figured correctly but we didn’t really expect them to return with their fathers and uncles in ski boats and wake boats by the dozen. Wake boats are perhaps our least favourite thing in all the world, being intentionally designed to produce the largest bow wave, and produce they did, until the whole stretch of river looked to be beset by tempest. At one juncture we cried “enough”, and slipped away for an hour or so, cruising down the river beyond their reach. To be fair, they had mostly gone by nine, and only the stragglers were still there skiing at nine-thirty. When calm did descend, we had time to be thankful that the new fenders had survived what is likely to be their toughest test.
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