The elusive and notoriously fickle wild bore of Arnside haunts the shores of the Kent Estuary, in the northwest corner of Morecambe Bay. A muffled roar is often heard as the wave approaches. Small animals scatter for cover and birds take to the air. Shortly afterwards patient members of the local paddling community experience the ride of their lives, or monumental disappointment.
We paddled some way out towards the retirement capital of the south lakes coast. Grange-over-Sands has an elderly community which supports a number of doilie adorned cafes providing afternoon teas. Local residents are waited upon by the younger mini-skirt and low top clad generation, but the correlation with this 'generation gap' and an unusually high incidence heart attacks has yet to determined.
The water arrived late. Not so much a wild tidal bore but more a slightly irritated piglet. we rode the surge of rising water back to Arnside and consoled ourselves with some surfing beneath the railway viaduct.
Having failed to catch any wild boar we continued on up the estuary and into the tributary River Bela where we were tempted by some Reindeer maturing in a festive manner. Our final destination was Kate's house where we washed down a herd wild boar sausages and a mountain of mash with a good old glug of mulled plonk!
The elusive and notoriously fickle wild bore of Arnside haunts the shores of the Kent Estuary, in the northwest corner of Morecambe Bay. A muffled roar is often heard as the wave approaches. Small animals scatter for cover and birds take to the air. Shortly afterwards patient members of the local paddling community experience the ride of their lives, or monumental disappointment.
The water arrived late. Not so much a wild tidal bore but more a slightly irritated piglet. we rode the surge of rising water back to Arnside and consoled ourselves with some surfing beneath the railway viaduct.
Having failed to catch any wild boar we continued on up the estuary and into the tributary River Bela where we were tempted by some Reindeer maturing in a festive manner. Our final destination was Kate's house where we washed down a herd wild boar sausages and a mountain of mash with a good old glug of mulled plonk!
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