First, choose a route, something nice and easy for your first proper outing. Make sure your preparations are meticulous; find the locations of camp sites, places to eat and drink, or local shops should you decide to whip up a quick barbecue. Ensure you have all the correct gear, waterproof clothing, waterproof containers, dry bags for your mobile phone, GPS, cigarettes etc. Ensure you take a camera bag so you capture those magical moments without risking your expensive digital camera.
Or you can do what we did, and wing it.
The number of idiots involved in this trip number four. Myself, Stuart, Garry and Horse. And yes, Garry's name does include two Rs. Between us we have spent 800 GBP on two canoes. Not kayaks note, which is what most people think of when you say the word canoe. You know, the North American Indian type. 16 feet long, 3 feet wide and open to the elements. And of course easily filled with water should you tip it too far one way when you are on the water.
Strictly speaking this wasn't our first trip. We have had a little go on a local canal, paddling about for an hour or two, coming home very pleased with ourselves at not falling in. This was to be our first river trip, taking along camping gear and all the accompanying bit and pieces, stoves, torches, tents and whatnot. So this was the first 'loaded' trip.
I had received a phone call at the start of the week. "We're going on Saturday" Horse told me, not without a little excitement in his voice. "Where?" I asked, expecting to hear the Wirral Valley Canal trip we had been discussing. "Wales." was the reply. When I asked for more specifics, he was a bit vague. I was soon to find out why.
Getting up a 5:30 am on a Saturday morning was something of a novelty. "This is Extreme" I thought to myself as I hauled my body out of bed, having hit the snooze button on the alarm more than once. Horse had loaded the canoe onto his car the night before, and likewise I had made my preparations. This entailed stuffing the plastic barrels we had acquired with all the possessions we would need for a weekend trip. The barrels were sourced by Horse, who had contacts with a local authorities catering arm. They had previously contained 40 Kgs of chutney. We knew this as they each had a label on the side. They were bright blue, with a two red handles on the side and a matching red screw down lid. We had two each, but I had managed to pack all my gear, including my sleeping bag into one. I had decided that travelling light was the better thing to do. Knowing we all had the same, I decided to mark the lid with my nickname, Jacko. Horse pulled up outside my front door at 6:00 am wearing the mischievous grin of a seven year old about to do something very naughty. I threw in my barrel and we set off for Garry's house.
Passing Stuarts abode on the way, we pulled over and looked for signs of life. None could be seen, no lights, no open curtains, nothing. So I gave him a call and was not surprised to wake him up. He later claimed he was in the kitchen looking for something, but lets face it, he was talking bollox.
We then proceeded to Garry's, a quick 5 minute trip, and helped him strap his canoe onto the top of his 4x4. Stuart turned up 10 minutes later looking very much the worse for wear after his exertions in the pub the night before. "What time did you leave?" asked Garry, and we all grinned when Stuart replied "Can't remember".
After a quick fag we set off. Garry was leading the way and understandably, the traffic was light. We soon reach the M67 motorway and had not gone more than 200 yards when something fell off the canoe strapped atop Horses car. We pulled over and had a quick look. We couldn't see anything obvious missing so we continued on. It later transpired to be a bung from the strengthening pipe that ran down the centre of the boat. But we didn't know this at the time. About a half a mile further down the road both Horse and I started to giggle like idiots as we saw Garry's registration sticker, necessary for access to Britain's waterways peel itself off his canoe and flutter away in the wind. Note to self. Follow the instructions in the canoe manual before we attempt to fix ours. (This involves bottles of ethanol and bizarrely a hair-drier).
We soon discovered that any speed above 60 mph caused a rather disconcerting thumping noise from the canoe. It took us a couple of stops and much speculation before we realised that the lid of the cool box cum-centre seat, which was held on with elasticated straps was flapping about in the wind.
At around 8:00 o'clock we arrived at our (to me) mystery destination, Llangollen. We parked up and took a look at the river.
"Fuck that!" was the cry as we surveyed the carnage below, the River Dee was clearly in spate. We looked up the hill and spotted a Tea Room. Hoping it would be open, we trudged up the hill looking forward to a full English breakfast, or even a three quarter Welsh one, over which we could discuss options. Alas, the owner was just opening up, and said no food would be available until nine, about forty five minutes away. But Hurrah! Just above the café was a nice, calm, flat canal. "Why don't we go on that?" I suggested. This was dismissed immediately by Stuart and Garry, who in hindsight, had visions of conquering the river come what may.
Walking back towards the cars Horse proposed we drive on to an estuary he was familiar with, with a camp-site near by. There we could drop off all our stuff and go out on the water with the knowledge that all our gear would be safe and dry. Stuart though had his mind made up. He proposed we drive further upriver and "have a look". This we agreed to and we set off towards Bala, which as it turns out was Stuarts plan B. We made our way down the A5, catching frightening glimpses of the river as drove along. "You watch" I told Horse, "He'll find the 200 yard stretch that looks like a millpond". And so we arrived along side the Bridge near Carrog.
As predicted, the river Dee looked a lot calmer than when we first looked at it six miles down river. There was a camp-site and a promising looking pub up the hill with a newly built pergola for the new pariahs, us smokers. (Out of the four people in our merry little band, statistics say one of us should smoke. As it happens, we all do).
There was also, incidentally, a field of surreal luminous green sheep where we parked up, the farmer who owned them ensuring there would be no mistaken identity when he took his flock to market. He must have used gallons of paint.
"OK," said Horse, "let's set up camp here, take the boats upriver and paddle back down. The rate the river is running at, we can be back here for tea and have a barbecue." But no. This was not deemed acceptable to our fellow crewmen. Stuart accepted that this was a good finish point, and left his car there. For reasons I won't bore you with, it was decided to go in three cars.
So off we went to Bala, which must have the countries worst parking. People abandon their cars alongside the pavement, half on the pavement, at an angle to the pavement or "just parked for a moment", that is, about 5 feet from the pavement in the road. We abandoned our vehicles in the same slap dash manner, and found a fish and chip shop perversely open and serving breakfast. By this time it was well past nine o'clock, and we were famished. 4 'Bala breakfasts' later, washed down with a mug of cheap coffee we were back on the street. Garry decided to buy a fishing rod, which was the princely sum of 5.99 GBP. I myself couldn't resist a couple of sticks of Rock for the kids and a bag of Sheep's Droppings for the wife. (Chocolate raisins - "made just for ewe").
And so on to the water. Bala is alongside Bala Lake, the largest natural body of water in Wales. It was flat, calm and is about 4 miles long by a mile wide, making it ideal for a days mucking about on the water. But it was not a river. It also has a 3 GBP launching fee, and there was no overnight parking. All of which inspired Stuart to come up with the novel suggestion that we drive over to a bridge we could see, abandon the cars Bala style, and set off down the Dee. It had transpired in the conversations leading up to this point that there were actually 3 river entrances to the lake, one in and two going out. "How do you know that's the right one?" I asked. "We don't, but we'll see where it takes us." he replied, grinning.
He also informed me that if it was the River Dee, we would have to watch our step. The local land owners had banned all use of the river by anglers, canoeists and anyone else as a dispute among the various parties had led to a baseball wielding mêlée about six weeks ago. I listened with my head in my hands as I heard how the anglers had used their bait catapults to fire stones and other missiles at any canoeists who disturbed their days sport. The canoeists had responded vigorously. "But don't worry" I was assured, "no one is allowed on now".
We drove to the bridge previously mentioned and after a quick recce decided to unload the boats from the cars, fill them with gear and carry them over the field in front of us and launch them into the river. This is called portage, a word which I'd previously associated with something to do with the making of wine, or possibly a pastime engaged in a gentleman's club, involving cigars. So portage we did. It took about half an hour, with looks from passers-by ranging from bemusement though annoyed at our parking, (Why?) to outright belligerence from the locals. I don't know how they could tell we were English. Perhaps it was our height.
So at 11:30 am, a mere 5 and a half hours after setting off we were on the water. To celebrate I passed out cans of beer, which were opened and a toast to a good trip was made. We set off and got a feel for the boat, the river, the sheer tranquillity of being in a boat on the water. The river was much like the lake, flat, calm and moving quite slowly. This lasted for about 3 minutes, or 400 yards as we rounded the first corner and saw the reason for the rivers sedateness, a pair of sluice gates. We tied up on the bank and went and had a look. These things were huge, and were holding back a significant amount of water behind them.
Bear in mind the date of this little adventure. Saturday the 21st of July, 2007. The day after horrendous floods had been reported in Gloucester, Tewkesbury, the Thames, Severn and Avon rivers, and elsewhere. This has been the wettest summer since records began. We had not heard of any trouble in Wales though.
So for the second time in 15 minutes we practised the now familiar portage, only this time up a hill, over a barbed wire fence, down the other side, dragging the boats behind us and then back for all the gear we had unloaded at the landing point. It was during the downhill stage of the second boats journey I nearly ended my trip there and then by breaking a limb as I was almost run over by the boat. As it happens, I managed to keep my feet and was merely cannoned into a patch of nettles instead.
We re-launched the boats and immediately noticed a small channel on the other side of the river. Despite my protests that it couldn't possibly be a way to navigate round the gates, we nevertheless set off to investigate whether it was. It wasn't.
So back down the river we went, making good progress as the gates we had just passed had been holding the river back. The water they were letting through was noticeably driving the river onwards a rate of knots. This meant very little paddling was necessary, the flow of the river was taking us along at a rather good clip. For about 500 yards around the next bend when we could hear the weir.
The noise was immense, even though after pulling in and making our inspection we could see that it was a small drop. We speculated as to whether it was navigable, Horse and I deciding that it wasn't. Stuart wanted to give it a go, but Garry wasn't too keen. But then again he wasn't to keen on another go at portage either, so suggested it would be possible to lead the boats though the weir, guiding them by means of the painters tied at either end. Horse and I disagreed again, and smirking slightly told them if they wanted to go for it, then they should. They did, and we left them to it as we dragged our boat ashore again, and around the back of the weir keeper's hut, which was deserted.
As we came though the gate we glanced up and saw a rucksack floating downriver. We immediately went into Hawaii Five-O mode and having looked back to the weir to make sure both Garry and Stuart were still on the bank, we launched the boat at a run and paddled to catch up to the rucksack. We did, but it was so full of water I found it impossible to pull it into the boat. So I tied it onto our painter and we paddled to the bank. I then was able to climb out of the boat and get enough purchase to pull the thing ashore. It turned out to contain Garry's cooking utensils, gas and assorted cutlery. What it contained now was mostly water. I tipped it out and we awaited the arrival of our fellow idiots.
They turned up and over a cigarette they told us how the force of the water had almost snatched their boat away. Stuart was on the lead painter and was shouting at Garry how he couldn't hold it, so Garry had wrapped his line around an eye set into the concrete at the side of the weir. As Stuart let go, before he was dragged in, the boat surged forward taking up the slack in Garry's line with such force that the rucksack had been catapulted out of the boat into the water, clearing the backwash completely. Along with their stove. "What stove?" we asked and it was then we realised we had lost our first possession on the trip. Garry was annoyed, not at us for missing it, but more the fact that he had not even used it once, having bought it especially for the trip.
After a brief respite consisting of cigarettes and banter, we set off yet again. This time we managed to get round several bends with no further obstacles in our way, but we kept a keen ear out for any further weirs. We passed quite a few submerged fences, extending into the river so as to give animals a watering hole. All were deserted. At one point we stopped and inspected the river round the next bend, but decided the noise we could hear was a nearby road.
Cars on B roads in Wales tend to be driven by local lunatics who know the roads well, and also know that the likelihood of meeting someone coming the other way is remote. This is why there are more road accidents in Wales per capita than anywhere else in the UK. We took the opportunity to brew up, using Horses stove, and Garry got to try his new aluminium camping cups, which we had rescued from the river in the rucksack. As Garry and Stuart were burning their fingers on the handles of their cups, I had to make do with my perfectly ordinary pottery mug, completely unsuitable for bringing on a boat trip, the handle of which was not the same temperature as the liquid inside it. Black coffee with a drop of brandy from a flask rescued from the previously mentioned rucksack.
Horse decided to give his rod a try, ignoring the fact that the river was running at what looked to like 30 miles an hour and any sensible fish would be either clinging on for dear life under a rock, or was in Chester already. He cast once, twice and then on the third try caught something. The branch of the nearest tree. Garry glanced round at his cry of dismay and misinterpreted the sound as a cry of joy, seeing the rod bent over as if Horse had a 10 lb. pike on the end of it. He went dashing towards the boats where the landing nets were but Horse couldn't keep up the pretence with a straight face and convulsed with laughter as Garry nearly went arse over tit into the river skidding down the bank at a magnificent turn of speed.
We packed up and decided to don our waterproofs, as it was starting to rain. At this point I took off my fleece, wrapped it up and stuffed it into a large plastic freezer bag. I forgot to take my phone out of the pocket it was zipped up in. We set off again, Horse and I in front, Horse steering from the back of the boat with me leading the way at the front. We went round a bend and saw that the noise we thought was a road was in fact a bit of white water. In fact, two bits of white water as I the river parted and went either side of an island, too small for a house but large enough for a few trees to have taken residence. I asked Horse which way he fancied but he replied it was up to me. I had seconds to assess the situation before the current decided for me, and I chose the right hand channel. The left channel looked decidedly more exciting, and what I was after was a nice calm trip with maybe a beer or two in the way. Did I make the right choice? I'll never know. We went round the corner of the island and saw the water parting again into two channels, this time around a rock the size of a small saloon car. This thing was huge and we were heading straight for it. "Paddle" shouted Horse, which at the time sounded like madness. Were we not heading for this immovable object at a considerable pace already? But of course he wanted to get some purchase on his paddle so as to steer around the obstacle in front of us. I paddled for all I was worth and we managed to get enough of an angle on the boat to merely glance off the rock instead of hitting it face on. We careered past it and down a small drop, taking us to an angle of about 40 degrees. As the bow headed for the water I was convinced it would go straight under. Of course it didn't, and we bobbed about in the lee of this small waterfall almost wetting ourselves laughing.
We then awaited the arrival of our fellow explorers. As we looked back, we had come down on the left hand side. Stuart & Garry appeared on the right. "Ooh - bad choice" we both said, more or less in unison. "Mind you, they've now got to go for it" continued Horse. Garry & Stuart disagreed, and how they managed this, as such inexperienced canoeists I have no idea, but they somehow managed to back paddle away from the many rocks in that channel enough to disappear from our sight, hidden by the island. They re-appeared to the left of the island, travelling backwards.
This too they deemed a bad idea. Horse disagreed, saying they should go for it backwards, but of course as we were sat 200 yards downstream, he was in no position to advise them. So, now paddling in the normal manner as they were facing upstream, they attempted to turn the boat. This with the benefit of hindsight was a mistake. As the boat turned in the river, it took the full force of the current along its length. This propelled the boat with the current, despite Stuart and Garry's frantic paddling. Once more they disappeared from our sight, hidden by a low tree, but we heard a load bang. "That didn't sound good", I told Horse and then the boat came back into sight. Upside down. "That doesn't look good either!" retorted Horse and we both roared with laughter. Stuart was clinging onto to the stern, and it's fair to say wore a worried look as he went over the natural weir we had navigated successfully minutes early. As he entered the relatively calmer water, he stated to laugh, joining in with Horse and I. As we recovered our composure, we began to look for the gear from the boat. All that could be seen was a blue barrel bobbing about in the slack water after the obstacle we had negotiated.
Stuart decided it would be better if he climbed on top of the upturned canoe and as he attempted to do so the mystery of the missing gear was solved. It was floating on top of the water trapped under the canoe. The more Stuart attempted to climb aboard, the more gear managed to escape. We shouted at him to stop, stay in the water and beach it on the spit of land that was just behind us. We beached our boat and I waded into the river up to my ankles and grabbed what ever came floating past me. I rescued Garry's rucksack again, Stuarts Rucksack, Two barrels and a Fleece. I missed several cans of beer and parts of a wet suit, which belonged to Garry though he hadn't bothered to but it on. Stuart 'landed', and we helped him haul his canoe ashore. There were still some items in it, and we did our best to round them up as they attempted to escape. Stuart managed to rescue one of Garry's wet suit socks, but gave up on the other as the current was wickedly strong if you went in too deep.
Excitement over we burst out laughing again and then shouted upriver to where we assumed Garry still was. He responded and though we couldn't see him we informed him that a barrel was nearer to him than it was to us, and he should jump in and get it. Garry baulked at this, but we assured him that if he climbed around the bank, he would see that the barrel was in calm water and he would have no trouble retrieving it. This he did and we spotted him as he prepared to wade in and get it. We waved, he waved back and then rescued the barrel. He looked at the stretch of water between us and his position, and rightly decided that walking along the bank would be a safer option to re-join the group. As he made his way through what looked like unmanaged woods, we took an inventory of what Stuart's boat had left.
We still had both paddles, Horse having plucked both of them out of the river as they attempted to float past, and we still had the boat. Both rucksacks had been saved and all 4 barrels. Assorted items, including a length of line were also salvaged. We were missing several cans of beer, parts of a wet suit, Stuarts coat, Several packets of cigarettes, Garry's newly purchased rod, several assorted nets and although we didn't know it at this time, Garry's glasses and a fingernail. We'll get to that shortly.
We were standing on a spit of land consisting of shingle, and it held at its centre one dead tree. The river to our left was running particularly fast, down a channel that was about twenty feet across and maybe 6 feet deep at its deepest part. To our right the river was wider, and therefore moving slower, but was also a lot deeper. Stuart spotted his coat trapped under water, caught up in the submerged branches of a tree in the channel to our left. He realised that the coat contained both his wallet and car keys, so it was kind of important to retrieve it. He started to wade in but very quickly decided that was a bad idea, so we got Horses fishing rod and attempted to hook the coat and reel it in. This sounded like a good plan, but the current was too strong and the coat wouldn't budge. We found a stout branch, and tried to hook it out with that, but it was too short, so Stuart used it as a staff to support himself against the flow, and waded in again. The water was up to his waist as he reached his coat, but he would have found it impossible to stand without the branch, such was the force of the water. He freed his now sodden coat, and the additional weight meant he could no longer keep his footing as he attempted to cross the short distance back to our refuge. Shouting for help, he let go of his make shift staff and stretched his hand out toward me. I ran in, fully aware that going in too deep would mean I would be swept away too, leaving Horse on his own with both boats. Luckily, I managed the quickest 5 metre dash I'd done in years and held him steady as he found his footing in the now knee deep water.
He went through the pockets of his coat, and while all the items were still there, the plastic bags we were using as protection against getting wet had failed spectacularly. Stuart smirked as he held up a bag containing his keys, phone and rather a lot of water. "Oops - this'll be the fourth phone I've gone though this year!"
Then Garry appeared on the bank, looking very weary as he had carried a barrel containing what turned out to be a thoroughly soaked sleeping bag from the position where he had retrieved it. We asked him how he was and discovered that he had been sucked under by a nasty current on falling out of the canoe, and had lost a fingernail trying to scrabble away from the bottom. On his way up he had then got snared up on a submerged barbed wire fence, managing to untangle himself before breaching the surface and making his way to the bank. He had then found a fisherman's spinner stuck in his leg, which he had managed to pull out and throw away. He also felt he had broken a finger, and had lost his glasses.
This was why he had not floated down with Stuart and the canoe. He was understandably bit shaken up and was not reassured when I shouted at him to not attempt to cross the channel as "we nearly lost Stuart". We took out the line from the recovered canoe and tied it to a good sized stone. I then took three attempts to land the pebble with the line attached onto the bank, managing not to hit Garry in the process. We told Garry to tie it to the barrel, not himself as if he was swept away, we "didn't want to lose the line". All of this was said in good humour, but Garry's mood at that time was not quite as light as ours. He made fast the line to the barrel, and we made him travel back up river as far as the line would allow, to shallower and therefore slower moving water. He came across and as happens when the adrenaline rush stops, he started to go into mild shock.
The first thing to attend to was his missing fingernail, and we broke open a first aid kit and I bandaged Garry's finger, to keep it clean as the bleeding had more or less stopped. As I finished tying off the bandage Garry started to shiver. The temperature of the water was cold and Garry was still in his wet gear. He wanted to carry on at that point, the reasoning being that some exercise would warm him through. We disagreed and I wrapped my arms around him in a bear hug to transfer some body warmth and hopefully some reassurance. Horse had an emergency full body fleece, which he kept in his dry bag in case everything else got wet. He dug this out and we started to undress Garry, as his shaking at this point made it impossible to undo his own buttons. We then got Garry into the fleece, which is like an adult version of a baby-grow, and promptly burst out laughing. Garry is my size, about 5' 8", where as Horse must be six inches taller, and the colour, shape and texture of Garry's new outfit made him look like a teletubby. This lightened Garry's mood considerably, and we rolled up and had a cigarette, even managing to find a pack of Regal King size not yet opened and still dry. We decided to call it a day and land at the first opportunity at a suitable spot and make camp. There we could dry out the sodden gear, make some hot food and generally recover. We had been on the river for about two hours. Mind you, we had spent an additional hour or so portaging the boats.
So we loaded up the boats again, for the third time in the trip and clambered back on board. We shoved off and cautiously made our way into the current. It took us downriver and we passed a couple of likely looking places to stop, but the fact that they were in sight of a road put us off. As we went round a bend the current swept us towards the bank. The bank was full of trees which were very low in the water. Stuart and Garry were leading at this point, and Horse and I watched as they clattered though some branches, before Stuart passed to the right of one particularly stout bough. Garry wasn't so lucky.
As the branch approached him, he put his paddle across his knees and grabbed the fast approaching tree limb. It bent a couple a feet in the direction Garry was going in, but being about the thickness of a man's arm, soon decided to spring back again. Taking Garry with it. He left the canoe backwards at an angle of 45 degrees. It you have ever seen film of anyone using an ejection seat, you have an idea of the speed Garry disappeared into the leaves of the tree behind him. Horse and I were agog, but burst out laughing when he came down with a huge splash, still clutching his paddle. We waited for him to surface, and when he did called over to reassure him we were on our way and not to panic. Stuart on hearing the noise of Garry's egress from the boat, had turned round and simply said "Where's he gone?" He was laughing as hard as we were until he realised he was in a boat, caught in a fast current, on his own. As it happens, he was driven into the bank and we passed him as we edged closer to Garry.
We pushed our bow just passed him and told him to hang on and we would guide him into the bank. What we didn't realise was that we were talking to a man who, in his own words, had lost all sense of reason. He looked at me with the eyes of a lunatic, a realising the boat was within distance lurched for it with his free hand. This immediately caused our boat to list alarmingly to port, and Horse and I both shifted our weight way over to starboard. My immediate thought was that if Garry did let go, as we were yelling at him to do so, we would be pitched off on the other side. "You'll have us in in a minute too!" Horse shouted as Garry got another hand to our gunwale and capsized our canoe.
Entering the water wasn't exactly a shock, as we both knew how cold the water was after speaking to Garry and Stuart. And I did manage to keep hold of my paddle. In fact, as I surfaced I spotted another paddle and grabbed it too. We had lashed nearly everything in our boat down, so I wasn't too worried about losing gear, and started to laugh along with Horse as he surfaced next to me. Garry still had his paddle, his vice like grip on it was about the only thing that was certain about him at that time. We hauled him in and told him to hold onto the boat. We went around 200 yards or so, trying to push the canoe into the bank, but despite our efforts the current had us in its grip. Two barrels managed to escape despite our lashing everything down and Horse realised they were his, containing his worldly goods so shot after them. He caught them up but was now out of the current and he aimed for the opposite bank.
That left me with boat in one hand and two paddles in the other. Garry was still clutching his paddle and staying with the boat, but try as we might we couldn't bank her. So I told Garry make for the bank himself and I tried to go with the flow, which was remarkably easy to do.
I drifted down river for a few minutes completely alone. The boat for reasons unknown righted herself, which meant the gear we hadn't lashed down started to float about. I put the two paddles I was holding in the boat under one of the seats and grabbed a couple of the loose items, a sleeping mat, and a foot pump. It was at this point we probably lost our gear, my fleece, complete with phone, Horses rod, and a disposable barbecue. Unlike the first two items I saw the barbecue float off and thought "sod it, I'm not drowning for a 1.99 BBQ". I tried to recoup my strength and wrapped the painter round my right hand a few times and then hung on as the river carried me further downstream.
The boat then decided that it wanted a look at the river bottom, and the bow sank under water. This meant the stern started to rise, as did I as I had the painter wrapped around my hand. As I reached up to disentangle myself, the boat rolled over through 180 degrees and resumed travel upside down on the surface. I breathed a sigh of relief but disengaged myself from the painter anyway.
After a brief encounter with a tree, which ducked me under the surface and threatened to remove my cap, I went round yet another bend and could see an uprooted tree stretching across a third of the width of the river from the right bank. I decided that if I could steer the boat into it, I could make the boat fast and hopefully climb out. We could then re-group and retrieve our gear with the other boat. This sounded like a plan. So I positioned myself at the rear of the boat and tried to steer it to the fallen trunk at an angle. I reckoned that a full on impact at the speed I was travelling would not be good for the bow.
I hit the trunk with the bow and as planned the boat was carried sideways to meet the assorted debris that had accumulated against the trunk of the tree. What I didn't anticipate was the speed I hit the various logs myself. I cannoned into a stout bough and was
a. Winded.
b. Sucked under the very log that I had struck.
I still had hold of the painter, and using my other hand I managed to get enough purchase on the log to pull myself to the surface. I got my breath back and tried to assess the situation. I was clinging onto a log that was about 10 inches in diameter by means of hooking my arms over it. My body was at an angle of around 45 degrees, so my feet could feel the branches of the fallen tree waiting for me under the water. The boat was being dragged to the left as the current was pushing it around the tree. I had not got the boat far enough to the right before we struck it. I tied the boat off with a poor knot and tried to haul myself out and up onto the log. This I failed to do. I then tried to shimmy nearer the bank thinking the current may be less forceful, but I still could not pull myself up. I then looked with dismay as I saw I had not made the boat a secure as I needed to and the current had pulled the boat further round the obstacle and was straining at the painter to carry on downstream. The knot I had poorly tied was slipping, and as I tried to shimmy back freed itself entirely and the boat headed downstream. I weighed up the prospects of chasing the boat, but as my only route to catch it up meant ducking under the log and into those waiting branches I decided to stay put. The alternative of working my way round the tree as the boat had done would have taken too long and the boat would be well away. This would have left me swimming in a river in spate with no more aid than my pfd, or personal flotation device. It should be noted these are not the same as life jackets. You can easily drown wearing a pfd. So I decided to stay put and watch as the boat glided away.
Despondent, but still all too aware of the danger I was in, I tried to pull myself up again. This was easier as I no longer had the painter to hang on to, but the current pulled me under again. At this point Garry appeared on the opposite bank. He gave me a shout and told me helpfully I should haul myself out. I replied in no uncertain terms that I was trying to. This short conversation was punctuated by my constant duckings from the drag on my body in the current.
He told me Stuart had collected Horse from the opposite bank in the boat and then beached it further upstream and were making their way downstream on the bank. He ran back to tell them to get back in the boat so they could rescue me. As he left, I was dragged under yet again. I decided this really was getting tiresome and if I still wanted to be at this particular spot in the river when the boys came back, I'd really better haul myself clear. Bear in mind that this thought process occurred as I was underwater. I pulled for all I was worth, and managed to get my arms straight, so that I was half out of the water. I leaned forward to counter the pull on my legs and attempted to lift one leg over the log I was pinned against. As I had waterproof trousers on, which were now full of water, this was a remarkably difficult thing to do. I achieved it and straggling the log took a long, grateful breath.
I also took a look around and was amazed to see the boat had come to rest a short distance away. It was around 300 yards down river but clearly going nowhere. I couldn't see why it had stopped but was grateful that the ridicule of the tap room in our local was now going to be a lot less than if we had actually managed to lose a boat. I attempted to crawl along the log but nearly lost my balance twice before giving up, reasoning that if I fell in attempting to effect a self rescue I should at least wait until the others came back so they could watch me fall in. Then they would know where to look for the body.
In the meantime Garry had walked back to Stuart and Horse and told them I had lost the boat. "Where Jacko then?" asked Stuart. "He's hung up on a tree about a third of a mile downstream." replied Garry. Before he could explain further Stuart and Horse set off at a run to ascertain exactly what 'Hung up on a tree' meant. They both had visions of my arm around the back of my head apparently.
They arrived and could see I was perched atop the log and started to laugh again. I was nonplussed as I was expecting the boat. We had a shouted conversation where I told them about the underwater branches and how I had nearly fell off twice. They told me there was no way they could guide a boat to where I was and I would have to climb out myself. So I did. I made a kind of bride between the log I was on and the main trunk of the tree from the flotsam around me. I then scrambled across this and managed to get onto the main trunk without incident. I paused for breath again and the climbed up the trunk to the base of the tree, and was faced with a drop into the hole where the root ball had been. About 10 feet. The bank itself was about 6 feet below, but about 5 feet away. I decided to jump for the bank and went for it. Remarkably, I managed to not break a leg.
I made my way to a part of the bank not obscured by trees and informed the boys that our boat was downstream at rest in the middle of the river. It was decided that Garry and Stuart should take their boat and see if they could navigate to ours and rescue it. Horse and I made our way down each bank and waited for the other two to appear. We could now see that the boat was caught on a reed bed, but the depth and strength of the water on each side of it dissuaded us from jumping in.
Stuart and Garry eventually turned up, going at full pelt. Garry was at this stage very reluctant to even be on the water, and asking him to try to grab our boat on the way past was beyond him. And any of us to be honest. This left Horse and I looking at each other with the same thought. 'We're going to have to jump in'. Neither of us looked forward to this but if we wanted our boat back what else could we do? So we trudged a short distance back upstream and on finding a suitable launching point leapt in.
Incredibly, most of our gear was still lashed inside the boat. Even the paddles which I'd simply stashed under the seat were still there. As was a bottle of whiskey which I had secured with a simple hitch in the line holding the tent down. There was nothing else to do at that moment than to have a sample of this unexpected find. We cracked the bottle open and took a swig each, fully aware that we need to keep our wits about us to land the boat without further adventures. So we put the top back on and took out some of the gear from the half uprighted boat still attached with our improvised lashings and managed to get most of the water out of it. We than re-stashed the gear and got in. With some trepidation we set off looking for where Stuart and Garry had got to.
We rounded a couple of bends and came across our other boat tied up on the bank to the right. Stuart and Garry were nowhere to be seen. We pulled in and tied up. We exited the boat and I went off looking for them, wondering if we had passed them on the bank while they were looking for us. I failed to find them and returned, and as I discussed their likely whereabouts with Horse, they re-appeared returning from a sally downstream on foot. Garry was adamant that we carried on no further. We were 50 yards short of a bend which passed under a bridge. Beyond the arches of the bridge the water got decidedly more exciting, though that is not quite how Garry described it. We decided to have a rest and discuss options. I unloaded and opened my barrel and found that it was as sodden inside as I was. Luckily I had an unopened pack of tobacco and the plastic bag I had used for spare papers and tips etc. was intact. We could therefore make some much needed cigarettes. I did so but then we discovered that while each of us had a lighter, they were not much use after being immersed in the Dee. After a lot of coaxing we managed to get a 49p special to spark enough to light a flame.
After another much needed tot of Brandy or two we weighed up our situation. Everything we had of practical use was sodden. We were in the middle of nowhere and the chances of encountering a B&B just up the road were slim. The choices put forward were:
- Camp where we are
- Find a B&B
- Use Horses still working phone to call for help. i.e. Get a taxi, not involve the emergency services, we weren't that badly off. Then find a B&B.
- Get back to the cars somehow and pack up.
To cut a long story short we decided on the latter. As we had no idea where we were, taxis were out of the question so we decided Garry and Horse should hitch back to Bala and return with the cars. As it turns out we were in a place called Pale, which matched our complexions. Garry soon secured himself transport by the simple expedient of waving a twenty pound note at any car that passed, whether they were going the right way or not. A local soon stopped, executing a hand-brake turn in the process. He returned and readily agreed to undertake the three mile trip in exchange for the twenty. Horse squeezed into the back of the tiny car, in-between two baby seats and Garry sat in the front. He was to regret this as he was in no mood for more excitement, but the lad was in a hurry and hurtled down the road at 90 miles an hour. While attempting to light a cigarette. With a window open.
They arrived in one piece and thankfully got out of the lunatic saviour's car. Garry stopped off at a garage and purchased some more cigarettes and crucially a couple of lighters.
Meanwhile Stuart and I had decided to build a fire as we were still sopping wet and had nothing dry to change into. We gathered small twigs but could find nothing dry for kindling. We tried the paper from a pack of sausages which was too damp, and a bandage from our first aid kit which turned out to be made of plastic and just melted under the feeble flame of our one working lighter. We also discussed how we were to remove the boats from where we had dragged them to onto the road. The easiest place was on the opposite bank which was next to the road. The disadvantage was we would have to cross the river to get them there.
Horse arrived back much sooner than both Stuart and I expected, and Garry not long after. In Garry's absence we'd discussed with Horse taking the boats across the river, but Garry was dead against it. We agreed that we then should follow our earlier plan and once more portage the boats to the bridge over the river and we duly did so. It was easier than any of us suspected to haul out gear and boats aloft, and soon we took the boats to the parked cars in a safe spot up the road and loaded the boats on top. We then returned to the spot where we left our gear and quickly loaded that too. We then set off back to where we had left Stuart's car, the spot where we had hoped to finish for the day.
When we arrived back in Carrog we discovered that Stuart had lost more than his phone when his coat went for a swim. His key for his Audi also contained the electronic wizardry to turn off his car alarm and immobiliser. Which now didn't work. We considered going into the pub to explain that we'd leave the car overnight and return the next morning, and have a pint or two at the same time. But as we were all still damp and looked like we felt, it was decided to hit the road and get home.
We arrived back in Glossop at around 10 and immediately went to our local, insisting Garry kept the all-in-one fleece on. Therefore I was still in my gear, as was Stuart. Horse was the only one wearing anything remotely dry as he was the only one who had a real dry bag. The Nag was quiet for a Saturday night, but we managed to enjoy a pint or two while terrifying anyone who would listen to us about the day's events. Lessons learned:
- Trust your instincts.
- Don't listen to Stuart.
- If Garry falls in, on no account let him get in arms length of your canoe.
- Buy dry bags.
- Know you've got good mates.
We still own the canoes.
1 comment:
you have to finish this !!
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