A Lucky Solstice
Unsettled dreams of sleeping through my alarm and catching mackerel. When it finally goes off at 3am, I immediately regret my decision. What is this madness?? A cup of tea gives me the necessary kick, and I revert to ‘What are the chances?!’ Perfect weather forecast…on a weekend… and I made the crew. As I drive along the coast from Warkworth, there is already a faint glow on the horizon and you can tell that the night never really came. The world is still asleep and the roads are deserted. I have not slept through my alarm, and I am not going to be late. So only the mackerel left to fret about. The sense of excitement begins to creep in.
Everybody is early. Jenny and Ade’s three furry friends dart in and around the dunes as if this is all perfectly normal. Dave has his mackerel rod ready. Rachel is content to be passenger. And like me, Jack can’t believe his luck.
The sand is flat and Pride of Aln slips easily onto the beach. There’s a cool breeze but the water is not cold and the sea is flat. I struggle to remember which end of the boat is which, which direction I’m supposed to face, and look for cues on how to pick up the oar properly. I wonder if I’ll ever have a seat cushion with my name on it. Our seats are decided, footplates adjusted, and as easy as that we’re off. Dave is at the helm (I think, or maybe Rachel is, I’m still not really sure but Dave is definitely in charge), and the boathouse disappears into the distance.
We seem to cut through the water easily and our cox reminds us that this isn’t a race. We are here to enjoy the sunrise and that is all. We are quiet as we bob up and down, still adjusting to the rude awakening and the early morning exertion. The time for the sunrise is checked. 4:23am. We have time to just enjoy our surroundings. The sea is inky. A few puffs of cloud in the sky. A slight haze on the horizon. The odd seabird diving for the fish that are swerving Dave’s line.
Out of the gloom, coming towards us from the shore, a bright and smiling Karen joins us on her kayak just at the right time. Paddling adeptly, she has come up the estuary and assures us that she did not set off the day before. A bright glow starts to emerge to the right of two iceberg-shaped clouds. We make gentle corrections to ensure we all have a good viewpoint. Photographs are taken. We all ignore the wisdom of not looking directly at the sun. And then just like clockwork, the orange ball appears, shimmers and rises, and we privileged few witness the sunrise of the longest day of the year sitting on the surface of the North Sea. We are alone in our wonder but together in the experience of watching the Sun Standing Still. The year’s longest day has begun.
Back to the boathouse. I fret about whether I am ‘pulling my weight’ and then wonder if this is where this phrase comes from. It is. Karen soon recedes into the distance behind us. Back on dry land, she suddenly seems to be a very long way away. But not for long. As we heave the Alnmouth back up the beach, she is making excellent ground / water. 5am and the beach is now empty. The other Solstice seekers who peppered the shore when we set off have headed for home.
And now time to celebrate with a breakfast feast. Karen’s timing impeccable again. Fresh coffee, hot tea, bacon butties, sausages in baguettes. Jack has snubbed Aldi, recognising that the occasion warrants M&S All Butter croissants. As we gather around the table in the boathouse, everybody is fully awake and there is no more quiet. I learn more about the club and the boathouse and what has gone before. Stomachs and hearts full, one by one, we peel off back to our lives, having already had an unforgettable Sunday before the day has even begun. Rachel notices the fledgling swallows lined up in a row next to the boathouse. I think how glad I am that I took the jump to join the club. And just how very lucky.
A lucky Solstice for the mackerel too.
