We sort of kind of didn’t want to leave St Valery just yet, but the fact that we were tied on the outside of another boat with no prospect of a dock-side berth combined with the prospect of sharing the town with another eight thousand people for the weekend, helped to convince us otherwise.
The apprehension that we had felt on the way downstream with facing the current on the way back had been exacerbated a little when we discovered that the sea lock restricts the flow of water on the incoming tide, so if we got our timing right we could leave with the flow slowed just a bit. The absence of rain for a week had also done its bit, so it was with only the teensiest of tummy butterflies that we (a little reluctantly) set off into the great uphill.
Dear old Mr Perkins who now of course is in e-cigarette mode, completely smoke free but with just a hint of vapour as his warm exhaust excretions hit the cool river stream, seemed to relish the task and we covered the nine kilometres that we had set ourselves to travel in the day in less than two hours. With the journey over and completely confident that we could actually make progress upstream, we settled in to get a bit of practice in the art of doing not much at all.
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