Dragon boat season is hotting up! There were five boats in the harbour with plenty of new paddlers coming to grips with the art. A dragon boat paddling in unison is a delight to behold. What I saw tonight were newly hatched rather drunken caterpillars out for their first attempt at going somewhere, hopefully forward. The front paddlers operated at a different pace to those at the back. One side had their paddles in the air while the other side dug into the waves. The paddles were waved about like legs out for a walk with no owners to tell them how to go about it. No doubt in a month or so long suffering coaches will have yelled themselves hoarse and these random sets of legs will be as well coordinated as your average millipede, racing over the surface with hardly a splash, their owners perfectly in time.
The sea did not appear happy to see us. It was oily and grey, sluggish and surly. Rain drifted down and helped to flatten any waves that thought to lift their heads. The clouds hung low and sound was muted. Few people walked along the waterfront and the city seemed distant. No boys today dived off the wharf into the sea to show their prowess and no girls gathered to watch.
We in our boat practiced endurance. We paddled up and down in pairs then fours, half the boat then all of us. We paddled ten strokes, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. We were reminded about timing. We paddled odds and evens and had to keep our wits about us as we tired. We practiced the reach stroke and the power stroke and swapped between. It rained and we got wet. We stuck to our knitting and counted our strokes so as to come in on time. No chance for our thoughts to wander tonight, and grimly on we went till we heard the call to head to the lagoon for landing.
The show is never over until the boat is manoeuvered up the ramp, lifted onto the trolley and tucked up in the shed and we have done our warm downs. Only then is home, shower, and dinner allowed to beckon.
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