Thursday, 30th August 2018 East Cork Sailing
Youghal Sailing Club Villierstown Weekend by PRO Christine Lee
I heard something beau-
tiful with the Youghal Sail- ing Club. It was something I have not heard for quite a while. It was something I was yearning for, but that only my heart realised.
It was clean. It was crisp.
It was silence. Pure, unfil- tered silence.
Some say it is a thing
that cannot be obtained, something you can only hear when you’ve passed the realm of this life. But I heard the silence.
As the starting roared and bellowed,
horn it
began this years Villiars- town run. The hustle and bustle began, the sound of sails flapping and GP14’s floating. People shouting to the shore, “I forgot the burgers!” No one listening. The sound of Goggee’s disappointment when a wayward snap innocently whispered,
sending him
and his crew into the black depths of the water. Cap- sized, he realised his tra- dition of not making it to Villierstown by boat would again be kept. “Next time Goggee!” was heard be-
tween bellows of empa- thetic laughter.
As the boats dispersed
up the river, serenity swept it’s way between us, filling the gaps and bringing a point to the ripples in the water. The excitement and anticipation filled the sails, helping the wind to carry the colour.
It was around then that
I heard it. The silence. It’s when you could hear nothing. Not a distressed bird calling for it’s child, or a splash as a salmon jumped, not a rustle in the trees or an engine calling out a cheater. It was simple silence. Minds melted into the meanders of the river, water wandered through fingers on hands thrown overboard, spectacular scenery mirrored on the silent river swells.
After what felt like an
eternity, an hour and a minute
all jumbled and
confused into one, we reached the grounds play- ing host to us. Villierstown beckoned on the horizon, distorted from view by sails and bouys.
On land grass was squashed by tents and the traffic of trolloping feet. Hungry bellies roared, de-
manding attention. Once the
barbeque
was alight, droves of peo- ple came out of the fairy doors scattered across the camp and in the cracks of trees. All were hungry and in need of a space on the now precious grill. The “queue” in barbeque be- came more than a spelling.
Before long there was a
medley of smells scented into the twilight air. Sparks glowed from the campfire like our own private fire- work display, dancing high before their embers were quenched and they sailed back to oblivion.
The night followed a
quite pattern of burning food and beer cans clicking and hissing open. People conversed and joked, a dog fetched a stone again and again and again … and again. A mini drone, flown by an excited mini pilot, captured footage of itself hitting a tree, twice. Sail- ors came and sailors went, all in a collage of jolly and happy images. Some sang and made smores until the moon yawned.
Sunday morning came
and we discovered a new world in our campsite, with raindrops glittered Continued on next page
sport@eastcorkjournal.ie
71
• Villiarstown run.
• Villiarstown run.
• Villiarstown run. @eastcorkjournal / #eastcorkjournal eastcorkjournal
• Villiarstown run.
• Villiarstown run. Tel: 021 463 8000 • Email:
sport@eastcorkjournal.ie • Web:
www.eastcorkjournal.ie
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48 |
Page 49 |
Page 50 |
Page 51 |
Page 52 |
Page 53 |
Page 54 |
Page 55 |
Page 56 |
Page 57 |
Page 58 |
Page 59 |
Page 60 |
Page 61 |
Page 62 |
Page 63 |
Page 64 |
Page 65 |
Page 66 |
Page 67 |
Page 68 |
Page 69 |
Page 70 |
Page 71 |
Page 72 |
Page 73 |
Page 74 |
Page 75 |
Page 76 |
Page 77 |
Page 78 |
Page 79 |
Page 80
