Foss dawn patrol
Out early this morning, a black water paddle down the Foss Waterway here in T-town. It’s become something of a morning ritual for me these days… the silent passage along the slips, past pirate ships and houseboats, here and there a shiny and glamorous trophy yacht moored to its place on the dock (where she always is – the notion of actually “going to sea” would likely never occur to her owner.)
The fire boats are moored below the Murray Morgan Bridge, on a slim wooden dock, nondescript and quiet. Light is filtered through tilted pilings, reflecting off metal and water. West of there, the shoreline gets darker, a shadow mix of salt water, mud and ancient wooden posts and bits of civilization’s jetsam that have found permanent homes in the ooze. As I get closer to the mouth of the Foss, the north wind grows in strength. By staying close to shore, I am able to keep clear of the main force of the blow, but I eventually turn around and align myself in agreement with the elements. With the wind pushing me along, I make short work of the return paddle.