Thursday 2nd July: Prestatyn - Fleetwood

Paddled out from Prestatyn at 0600, on a bearing to cross Liverpool Bay, avoiding miles of shoal water and a large urban centre. Approaching the Queens Channel there was a lot of commercial traffic, including an Isle of Man fast ferry, so I tried contacting Mersey Radio to check for conflicting traffic movements. I suspect that many radio operators, who are used to dealing with the powerful transmitters and high antennae of their usual customers, keep the squelch turned up so high that I simply can't break through. Fortunately, however, Liverpool Coastguard were able to step in and help.
From the Queens Channel, it was a simple, but rather dull, paddle to the Lennox gas platform, and from thence towards the conspicuous tower at Blackpool, leaving the yellow-brown smog of Liverpool to starboard.
Even here, miles out to sea, brown butterflies fluttered eastwards. Where from? Whence bound?




From a mile offshore Blackpool, the jungle drums were clearly audible, in that sinister rhythm so familiar to anyone who has sat next to a personal stereo on the train: ||: thump, thump, thump, thump-a :||
Clearly, I had been spotted; the natives had put the pot on to boil and were, even now, out collecting herbs and dicing carrots. Blackpool would not be a safe place to land...
By now I had got a bit lazy about the navigation, and came ashore at Cleveleys rather than Fleetwood, as intended. The consequence of this was a long portage in the baking sun, followed by several failed inquiries at campsites, and ending at a pub in Fleetwood where the young landlord kindly agreed to let me park the boat and bivvy in the back yard. Fortunately, customers Sharon and John took pity on me and invited me to stay at their home, in "God's own Country."