Back from the black

18 months ago I'm not sure I could have been convinced that there was any positive side to paddling to the end of a pitch black, near freezing canal on and overcast and raining February night on something barely wider than my hips that would dearly love to chuck me in the water at the slightest provocation.

But stranger things happen.  After a very wobbly start and being unable to paddle more than 100yds with any credible 'racing' stroke, the skills and their relevant dusty parts of my brain have slowly made incremental progress.  To the point where there is something a bit Zen about watching the lights of the Turf Hotel almost imperceptibly draw nearer as hands and paddle move almost by their own accord and the hull swishes quietly through the black water.