Friday, 26 July 2019

Painted Ladies

She looks quite drab at rest, but before she folded her wings seemingly in response to my poining a camera at her, they were a vivid kalidescope of burnt orange, white and and black.

I think she's a Painted Lady. I learnt this week to my surprise that they are migratory, travelling 7,500 miles from Africa into the Artic Circle and back each year. I'm guessing as butterflies are such short-lived, transitory creatures that they do this across multiple generations, breeding as they go.

I don't know why.  I do know that creation in an amazing thing.

I'm probably not sailing this weekend. The dermititis is much better but not yet fully healed, my shoulder is repaired, but my elbow is in a sorry state; much pain and pins and needles in my hand. It clearly needs rest.

I can only rest it so much from the guitar, I have just the one gig this weekend, but I can and probably should rest it from hauling on mainsheets and halyards.

I raced the Laser for the first time in almost a month last Sunday. In a drysuit in about 25C. I'm pretty certain I almost sucumbed to heatstroke. And by the third race my arms had cramped up at the elbows to the point that the only way I could manage the mainsheet was to cleat it off and control the heel with hiking hard and pinching into wind when that wasn't enough.

Worse yet, I only managed a 5th place overall, about halfway down the fleet and my worst result in months.

So I'm pretty sure this Sunday will be a day for rest. And maybe cutting the grass.

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