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Jackie and I left Hurst Castle yesterday as we entered, crossing the bridge over the moat. What was once a deep defensive dug-out water-filled trench, now just collects a little precipitation when it rains.
We joined the crowds waiting for the ferry.
The small fleet of pleasure boats plied their way between Keyhaven and the castle. Even as one hove into view there was little movement among the visitors. Each boat only catered for twelve people, so those who were able might as well lounge around on the grass
until this arrival
had decanted its load and taken on fresh supplies.
We gained a place on the next one and were soon back at Keyhaven.
On board the ferry Jackie had learned the story of the wrecked boat that I have featured in several previous posts. It is seen here with a severe list. The owner of the vessel has apparently died. Before his demise he had sold the mooring to someone at Mudeford. The purchaser has done nothing with it.
This afternoon we drove to Lepe to meet Elizabeth, Danni, and Andy. My sister is embarking on a documentary photographic series on ‘coast’ for her camera club. I had suggested Lepe.
On a wide junction with the Exbury Road outside Beaulieu, a young pony seemed confused. It stood in the centre, not knowing which way to turn, until Jackie stopped for it.
It had been agreed that we would make our ways to the car park and find each other. A friendly gull guided us to what seemed to be the only available space. Jackie waited in the car.
As I walked along the shingle there was much activity down by the shore at this low tide. Groups gathered in the shallows and yachts were much in evidence.
A louring sky did, however, send some off to the café.
Kite surfers were undeterred.
My extended family members, Andy, Danni, and Elizabeth, were to be found on the shingle at the far end of the car park.
I had decided that, in walking back to inform Jackie, I would amble down to the shore, where the action was. A gull’s presence against the cloud curtain suggested rain was not far away.
Indeed, it wasn’t, so, swathed in towels, the action came to me;
some pausing to inspect the shallows.
Along with the entire population of the beach, we entered the café, fought for chairs, and drank our choice of hot or cold liquids.
When the sun returned we walked down to the crumbling cliffs for Elizabeth to conduct her recce. There a couple of groups dug for lug worms to use as fishing bait,
while others walked along the exposed sand spit.
Kite surfers has continued undisturbed.
A skein of geese flapped silently by above the scene.
The darkening sky had shifted enough for a pair of passing yachts to catch the sunlight.
Soon it was time to pack up the surf kites
and carry them to the transport.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s splendid sausage casserole, boiled potatoes, carrots, and cauliflower with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Bardalino.
