Harbour

Today on the West Pier of Dun Laoghaire Harbour, photos of us and the dog, quartz veins and air traffic and finally, me as a pseudo "Kilroy was here" meme. How did we manage anything Before the Smartphone Era?

It was a lovely morning. I read about nettle soups in The Irish Times, I saw crabs being caught at the end of the pier and I ate Icelandic dried, salted and shredded cod on oatmeal galettes for breakfast.

The Thursday bad knee is being rested / managed and there have been just two short walks blogged / memorialised here as one (yesterday's 3.5 km and today's 3.5 km). My overall total is already 216 km which is a tad short of the half way mark, half way into my training. Mustn't grumble. And now, we must go out to buy me some new walking boots - the old ones are 'walked out'.

Bonus

On Killiney Beach, watching cormorants sailing by and gannets diving and fishing. I wondered, and not for the first time, how gannets deal with refraction when fishing. How come they don't starve before they learn? Are they born knowing? I favour the latter, nature not nurture in this example. They are born with binocular vision and sufficient streamlining to survive 100 km/h impacts; so why would they not be born with an innate ability to correct their trajectory to account for the refracted position of the fish due to the bending of the light because of the density contrast at the water - air interface.

Gus, the dog, and I were watching one particular gannet that dived three times, and each time it resurfaced, it rested on the water as if successful (it was a bit far away to see if it was eating). The other gannets tended to get straight back into the air and resume hunting mode. Was one a better fisher? Or were the others starving students?

Later, and at a place I'll call Holly Horsefield, a big house forever associated with financial infamy, now for sale, I heard a raven, looked up and saw the raven being attacked by two hooded crows. Then I'm pretty sure I saw a peregrine falcon flashing across the tree tops (and if I did, it's great to have them back after unknown pigeon owners poisoned the last nesters a couple of years ago).

As an aside, it was Michael Gove who got me up the Cat's Ladder. To be clear, I employ a coping mechanism for arduous tasks: I think of something unpleasant or infuriating and dwell in my imagination thereby not noticing the physical difficulties. And Michael Gove was beside me on a plane yesterday, and I said nothing. I might have asked "Any regrets?" To which he might have replied "Je ne regrette rien" and if he had, I could have said "Shame on you". I'm no expert so I still wonder if I was right to afford him the luxury of privacy in so public a place. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, there's a great cartoon here.

An 8 km walk. And I made my quota for March and rewarded myself with a 99. But poor Gus was exhausted because he covered twice the distance. One man commented as Gus slouched past, that I'd 'walked him out', and this was a kilometre from home.

A bonus. Google+ reminded me of this old blog post earlier. Photos I took and posted on a walk around this time, six years ago. And another bonus, four random iPhone snaps from the week gone by (rainbows etc without any explanations).

Yellow

"Yellow is the colour of my true love's hair, in the morning, when we rise" sang Donovan in Colours back in 1965. Today's yellow was a little different - the return of Spring colour.

We walked the 3.5 km loop again with dog and rugby optimism: what's the point of pessimism if you have to live defeat twice?

And that's it for today: I need to recover from yesterday's excess.

Gus

Gus has been one of my walking companions for years. I can't fault his enthusiasm but he's messy; his bushy tail tends to ensnare sticks that other dogs might carry in their mouths. And that's on top of the mud and sand and salt water he brings home. And yet, if I walked six kilometres, Gus must have covered ten.

There were enough Sunday morning walkers out in unusually mild conditions that I could eavesdrop on passing snippets of conversation:

"Stone studies? No, no, film studies. Film studies are an Arts degree ..."

"... like mental health funding and assessments ..."

"... and you send them an email by pressing this."

Some of the local rubbish bins attempt inspiration, one stencilled "A day without laughter is a day wasted". 

On White Rock beach, we listened to a clarinet being played in the changing area. We've heard it here before. Gus is not as limber as once he was so we watched people who threw, batted and slingshotted tennis balls for their dogs.

Another 6 km leaves just 480 km to cover in 17 weeks.