A dishevelled Julius punting on the River Cam
punt
n.
Punts at Trinity College, Cambridge.
Last Sunday I spent the day in Cambridge, visiting the colleges and, obedient tourist that I am, trying my hand at punting. Needless to say, it was a long day. First, having read the "How to Punt" instruction manual, I found, much to my consternation, that my pole was made of metal and not the usual wood. This meant that a.) it did not 'pop back up' after each stroke, which necessatated my pulling it violently back in order to use it as a rudder, and b.) because it had a hole in it, the weight of my pole quadrupled as each stroke filled it with water. Beyond that, my leg got soaked in the process, but I had forseen that aspect of the activity.
Yours truly, punting like a hung-over Icelandic whaler. A stately pose have I: chin high, eyes carefully surveying the river, scared shitless.
Just like Huck Finn, but minus the runaway slave, the raging Mississippi, a lost treasure, and taking place in an elitist educational enclave in England.
The "Mathematical Bridge." According to legend, it was once held together entirely through skilled carpentry and gravity before researchers took it apart to learn its secrets, only to not be able to reassemble it properly. But that's all a load of bollocks inebriated river guides tell tourists.
Just another day on the river. Zoe's wink conceals the terror she felt at my abysmal, failed attempts at locomotion in our punt.
Passing under a low bridge, the pole (cold, metal, and full of water) got caught on a rock and was wedged against the bridge. I nearly fell in trying to dislodge it before relenting and letting go.
Luckily we had an oar to paddle back to the spot to retrieve it...
While heading back to the dock along, a bunch of Canadian Geese floated lazily by. They didn't seem too phased by our presence. This one was literally a couple inches away from Zoe as she snapped this shot. Their effortless and efficient propulsion mocked my harried technique, and their knowing, supercilious honks let us know that we had no place on their river.
n.
- An open flatbottom boat with squared ends, used in shallow waters and usually propelled by a long pole.
Punts at Trinity College, Cambridge.
Last Sunday I spent the day in Cambridge, visiting the colleges and, obedient tourist that I am, trying my hand at punting. Needless to say, it was a long day. First, having read the "How to Punt" instruction manual, I found, much to my consternation, that my pole was made of metal and not the usual wood. This meant that a.) it did not 'pop back up' after each stroke, which necessatated my pulling it violently back in order to use it as a rudder, and b.) because it had a hole in it, the weight of my pole quadrupled as each stroke filled it with water. Beyond that, my leg got soaked in the process, but I had forseen that aspect of the activity.
Yours truly, punting like a hung-over Icelandic whaler. A stately pose have I: chin high, eyes carefully surveying the river, scared shitless.
Just like Huck Finn, but minus the runaway slave, the raging Mississippi, a lost treasure, and taking place in an elitist educational enclave in England.
The "Mathematical Bridge." According to legend, it was once held together entirely through skilled carpentry and gravity before researchers took it apart to learn its secrets, only to not be able to reassemble it properly. But that's all a load of bollocks inebriated river guides tell tourists.
Just another day on the river. Zoe's wink conceals the terror she felt at my abysmal, failed attempts at locomotion in our punt.
Passing under a low bridge, the pole (cold, metal, and full of water) got caught on a rock and was wedged against the bridge. I nearly fell in trying to dislodge it before relenting and letting go.
Luckily we had an oar to paddle back to the spot to retrieve it...
While heading back to the dock along, a bunch of Canadian Geese floated lazily by. They didn't seem too phased by our presence. This one was literally a couple inches away from Zoe as she snapped this shot. Their effortless and efficient propulsion mocked my harried technique, and their knowing, supercilious honks let us know that we had no place on their river.
posted by Det. John Kimble at 16:47
1 Comments:
Just like Huck Finn, but minus the runaway slave, the raging Mississippi, a lost treasure, and taking place in an elitist educational enclave in England.
lol
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