Encouraged by recent kayaking ventures, I took to the water for a Sunday morning paddle approaching full tide. It was a beautiful sunny morning with hardly a breath of wind. On the far side of the estuary, a cluster of white dinghy sails stood glistening- almost motionless. It was a scene of utter tranquillity and a far cry from the small hours of the night when a 5.1 magnitude earthquake with an epi-centre just off the beach, half a mile away, came crashing through our slumbers. I paddled upstream intent on passing under the bridge where the estuary narrows to a river, about three miles distant. Just before the bridge I paused to pass the time of day with an older fellow paddler. We commented on the loss of the  little yacht club that had stood on the bank here for seventy years. But last February’s earthquake had done for it; at high water I was able to paddle across what once had been the pontoon and the clubhouse, and around the lampposts that used to light the car-park. Passing under the bridge, suddenly I was being headed by a strong wind caused, I thought, by the tunneling effect. But no, the wind had certainly picked up. Turning to head for home, back under the bridge the wind was on the starboard quarter and I had trouble maintaining a straight course. The wind increased- there were white caps everywhere. Squeezing past the end of the old jetty, I turned to keep close inshore. I was pretty determined to complete the paddle back yet within two more minutes I judged the wind to be around Force 6 and suddenly the water was no place to be. I beached and hauled out under some trees. Perhaps if I wait a few minutes it will die down again. But not so, it grew even stronger- it had been the right decision. In fifteen minutes it had gone from nothing to gusting Force 8- the land suddenly seemd a far more friendlier place, earthquakes or not!