It’s about time everyone got into windsurfing, we’d all be looking forward to bank holidays. The news was full of stories of how the weather ruins every bank holiday, to be fair, it did rain all day, not that we even noticed as we played in the gale force winds. We had three hours sailing at Walton-on-the-naze and another two at Clacton-on-sea. I’d call it the best bank holiday ever.

It was good to see so many sailors out at Walton, even boys come over from West Mersea. Everyone was out on there smallest kit, I was hanging on to a 4.7, would have preferred the 4.2 but that would have left Shaun stranded on the beach.

We’d been sailing for three hours when the wind swung slightly onshore when someone suggested it would be better round at Clacton. Think everyone would have been happy to pack up and go home, but no one wanted to admit it, so we moved camp.

It was still slightly off shore at Clacton, but the waves were as good as we ever see on our beaches. I changed up to a 5.4 to make the most of the lighter wind on the inside, though it was still crazy out side of the sea defences.

The long range forecast didn’t look too optimistic, there was a slight chance of a light wind kite on Wednesday but the rest of the week was dead. It was nice to see the forecast got it wrong in our favour for a change.

We haven’t sailed out of my home beach at Brighlingsea for a while, and seeing as this wind just popped up it looked like the best opportunity, but once out on the water we knew the met office had it all wrong.

Once out of the river I persuaded Anthony we should sail up to the guys at West Mersey, normally I wouldn’t think about beating so far up wind on a wave board, but being stacked on a 5.4 it seemed like a good idea.

By the time we were heading  towards the Mersey Club hut, I’d remembered why I hardly ever sail there. The water is so messed up, its just chop after chop, you never get a chance to settle. Though it has to be said, on the beach its very different, it’s got to be the best social windsurf spot in our area, so some how I can see its appeal.

Anthony said he expected a few catapults on the way back, the sky looked ready to step up the conditions, he may well regret that comment, “easy, lets go round the island, I’m sure no one’s ever been round on a wave board” I said. To be fair Anthony’s answer held a little truth, but a the same time it left us with no choice but to go round  “only because no ones that stupid”.

Weaving our way though the moored boats along the top of the island was a bit of fun, but no sooner had we past the point of no return we ran out of wind. It was still howling, but the island was stopping us getting any of it.

All ninety-three litres of my Pocket wave disappeared below into the muddy waters; I needed another twenty just to float me to the strude crossing. We had to continue body dragging for another mile after the road before the river widened enough to let the wind drop on to the water gain.

It would have been easier to have sailed down the front side of the island, but to be honest it wouldn’t have been half as much fun, Think Forest Gump got it right “Stupid is as stupid does”