An afternoon’s pleasant ‘paddling’ in the sunshine and we finally arrived at a deserted beach. We hauled out onto the white sand. Mango advised us to ensure our kayaks were out of the water above the high water mark. After all you didn’t want to wake up in the morning to find one’s only means of transport, plus one’s food and water and disappeared out into the wide blue yonder.
Apparently this beach was a designated campsite. Mind you it looked much like the other miles of equally deserted beach we had passed. There were no markers but his finely honed navigation skills and backwoodsman survival skills assured us that we were in the right spot. Either that or his GPS.
Again he commented on how lovely the beach was… almost as though he had never seen it before.
I grew increasingly suspicious!!
The two middle-aged, pasty, Englishmen huffed and puffed as they dragged their kayaks up the beach and groaned and moaned as the stretched their stiff, achy bodies.
The sun still seemed high in the sky and we couldn’t believe we had finished for the day. It seemed as though we could still have hours of paddling left in the day. Get a few more miles ‘under the belt’ so to speak. It was around 2.30/3pm. We had hours to relax, catch so rays, dance naked around the camp fire singing old Boy Scout songs……wooah. Went off the rails there!
We unloaded our kit.
and looked out our ‘tent’/sleeping bag bags…..
They seemed a trite small!
We then realised that neither of us had actually seen or discussed our ‘issued’ sleeping arrangements. Let alone tried to put it together…..Maybe 2.30 was a good time to stop.
We both had 4 small bags. one with the ‘tent’, one with the sleeping bag, one with the poles and one with a ‘chair’ (Ha,ha, ha!). We emptied the ‘contents’ of these sacks and gazed around for a suitable site to erect them. The beach above the high water mark wasn’t too wide and Mango was not keen for us to wander too far inland due to snakes.
Besides there were no trails, paths or clear areas to walk-down (or set up a tent) and flip flops provide no protection, that I am aware of, from snake bite. I have to mention at this point that when we looked over Mango had already erected his ‘boudoir’, put up the table and was already cooking supper, looking very relaxed.
We were just standing around scratching our heads.
Arkwright started on his and I just copied. It was like a Carry On film. We must have provided good entertainment for Mango as we thrashed and crashed around with tent poles, mosquito nets, stakes all the time desperately trying to keep the sand out of our kit. And failing dismally.
We sweated hard putting up our tents…..which the local insects just adore. Pale, sweaty Englishmen…
…so we thrashed and crashed around some more…..but in earnest.