I got roped into joining the local Red Cross First aid group on a sponsored canoe paddle down the Kentish Stour. This was only the second time I'd been in an open canoe (am more used to kayaks), the first time being a few weeks ago. So it was with a little apprehension, that I setup my Justgiving page the night before, and crawled into bed, alarm set for a very early start.
The plan was simple, the 6 of us, comprising of largely inexperienced paddlers, would enter the river at Fordwich, and cover the approximately 14km down river to Plucks Gutter. The kind fellows at the Maritime Volunteer Service had joined us in their inflatable to provide safety cover. Apart from the end points, and the mid point at Grove Ferry there was no shore access along the route. Being the British Red Cross we also had the support of an Ambulance crew plus a few first aiders... That would meet us at Grove Ferry and the finish line. But it's a gentle paddle along the Stour, what could possibly go wrong...
I woke after about 3 hours sleep, to find that the Beautiful Sunny spring day we had wished for was raining. Lots of rain. The sort that makes you question if your waterproofs would be be upto the job.
Breakfast had, waterproof battle dress donned, I headed out for the 3km walk to Fordwich. Of course my messing around putting on waterproofs had given the weather the perfect opportunity for the rain to stop. So I wandered through a grey, but non precipitatory morning. Of course, walking through woodland, every gust of wind dumped a small bucket of water on my head. But with the birds singing, and the bluebells in bloom, who couldn't enjoy the walk, even with the wet.
I arrived at the RV point to find that the MVS had their boat all inflated and ready to go. We donned PFD's, found our chosen paddles. And watched as the inflatable was lowered down the slip way that had conveniently been mostly washed away by winter storms... Outboard was fitted, and they entered the main flow to hold station while we got into the canoes. Experience told us this was the primary time for any of us to fall in Thankfully, non of us did. Everyone safely on the water, we slipped under the bridge and set off downstream.
As we floated past the pubs of Britain's smallest town, we found a kayak being paddled by BCUK's Birchwood coming up stream. We invited her to join us, but with far to much sense, Birchwood continued up stream.
The river was beautiful, and being in the canoes, we were so quiet we could watch the wildlife. Wildlife hi-lights of the trip included a Swans, Grey Wag tails, Ducks, Swallows, 2 herons, some Moorhens, and a Beaver...
The rain largely stayed away, giving us just the occasional few minutes of light drizzel, but it was a calm paddle down stream.
As the paddle progressed the river widdened and the flow slowed. Ah yes, slack water. We had timed the paddle perfectly (tho not intentionally) to match up with high tide, giving us the absolute bear minimum of flow assistance on our trip. It was all going to be our effort that got us there.
By the time we arrived at the half way point of Grove Ferry for a well received hot mug of tea, my right arm was starting to show signs of wear from the paddle. Inspection by the Ambulance crew, an icepack, and a carefully wrapped bandage, I was ready to continue, gritting teeth through the pain.
While we were drinking tea the cloud cover finally gave way to sunshine, and with the sunshine came the wind. No, not wind, WIND. Tea drunk, mars bars eaten, arm bandaged, we slipped back into the river, and paddled forth. Among sailors there are all sorts of sayings about wind over tide, and tide over wind. But here, on this small river in east Kent, we had one of the worst combinations, slack water, and a strong head wind. Several times as we paddled a gust of wind brought us from about 3-4kph to a complete stop, before pushing us backwards. Head down, paddle harder, try to ignore the pain in the arm. It's not far now.
The sun shone hotter, and the wind blew harder. The lovely stable canoe we had, started to become more a curse than a blesssing. The freeboard we had meant we caught the wind like we were sailing. After 4km of this, we turned a meander in the river and came first to a complete stop as a gust of wind caught us, followed by heading backwards, no matter how hard we paddled, and eventually unceremoniously into the reeds at the river bank. Here we were pinned against the side, as the wind pushed us. Our paddles useless, we admitted defeat, and requested a tow from the MVS, who pulled us out of the reeds, and a couple of dozen yards down river to where some willow tree's shielded us from the wind and we could paddle again. By now the boat I was in was last of the 3 canoes, over 100m separating the convoy. Every stroke brought about twinges of pain in my arm, as we gritted teeth and tried to make headway. Another 1.5km further on, and it happened again. The wind was even stronger, and now no longer gusting. Strong constant flow catching our freeboard and giving is first an unceremonious arboreal interaction (we hit a tree), followed seconds later by once more stranding us in the reeds. Out came the safety whistle, time to call for help.
BLOW.
Silence.
Swear. BLOW!
From this whistle, with a full lungfull of air, came the most homoeopathic whistling sound you could imagine. Mice squeak louder. I continued to try and coax a proper sound out of the whistle, but by then it was not required, the MVS had spotted our plight and came to our rescue. We grudgingly accepted the tow, and with sore arms, and a wounded pride, they dragged us a few hundred meters round the corner to the finish line. With the bridge over the river that marked our finish line in site, and even with the hateful wind. We asked to be let off the tow, and put paddle to water, to finish the final 100m. We might have needed a bit of assistance at points, but we were damned if we were going to cross the finish line under power.
Having achieved our intention there was only one thing left to do. With 3 boats, in a river no more than 12 yards wide, in the wind tunnel that was the bridge, try to coordinate to 3 boats side by side for the photo shot. I kinda wish it had been video no photo. Our attempts to coordinate the three boats were something you just had to laugh at. Eventually we managed to hold formation for the 100th of a second needed for the shutter, before heading for the slip way. To step out of the boat, and into the deep squidgy mud that lapped over our shoes. We'd arrived.
The GPS says it was a 13.4km. Slightly shorter than the 14k we thought it was from the map. But we didn't care, with arm rebandaged by the helpful Ambulance crew (I am starting to think I should always travel with an Ambulance crew, it's just so useful to have them...), we carefully (and in my case one handedly) pulled the boats from the river, packed up, and took shelter in the pub.
We did it! I couldn't use my right arm, we had to be rescued twice, and we had wet muddy feet, but we did it!
In the shelter of the pub, and with my arm neatly bandaged, it was time to try the most difficult task of the day: Open my waterproof container to extract the mars bar I had saved to eat on arrival. Something that proved near impossible with only one usable arm...
We did it.
GPS traces from the trip:
Thanks
Julia - Typing largely one handed, with a bandaged right arm with a wonderful (if hard to photograph) swollen lump on the wrist)
The plan was simple, the 6 of us, comprising of largely inexperienced paddlers, would enter the river at Fordwich, and cover the approximately 14km down river to Plucks Gutter. The kind fellows at the Maritime Volunteer Service had joined us in their inflatable to provide safety cover. Apart from the end points, and the mid point at Grove Ferry there was no shore access along the route. Being the British Red Cross we also had the support of an Ambulance crew plus a few first aiders... That would meet us at Grove Ferry and the finish line. But it's a gentle paddle along the Stour, what could possibly go wrong...
I woke after about 3 hours sleep, to find that the Beautiful Sunny spring day we had wished for was raining. Lots of rain. The sort that makes you question if your waterproofs would be be upto the job.
Breakfast had, waterproof battle dress donned, I headed out for the 3km walk to Fordwich. Of course my messing around putting on waterproofs had given the weather the perfect opportunity for the rain to stop. So I wandered through a grey, but non precipitatory morning. Of course, walking through woodland, every gust of wind dumped a small bucket of water on my head. But with the birds singing, and the bluebells in bloom, who couldn't enjoy the walk, even with the wet.
I arrived at the RV point to find that the MVS had their boat all inflated and ready to go. We donned PFD's, found our chosen paddles. And watched as the inflatable was lowered down the slip way that had conveniently been mostly washed away by winter storms... Outboard was fitted, and they entered the main flow to hold station while we got into the canoes. Experience told us this was the primary time for any of us to fall in Thankfully, non of us did. Everyone safely on the water, we slipped under the bridge and set off downstream.
As we floated past the pubs of Britain's smallest town, we found a kayak being paddled by BCUK's Birchwood coming up stream. We invited her to join us, but with far to much sense, Birchwood continued up stream.
The river was beautiful, and being in the canoes, we were so quiet we could watch the wildlife. Wildlife hi-lights of the trip included a Swans, Grey Wag tails, Ducks, Swallows, 2 herons, some Moorhens, and a Beaver...
The rain largely stayed away, giving us just the occasional few minutes of light drizzel, but it was a calm paddle down stream.
As the paddle progressed the river widdened and the flow slowed. Ah yes, slack water. We had timed the paddle perfectly (tho not intentionally) to match up with high tide, giving us the absolute bear minimum of flow assistance on our trip. It was all going to be our effort that got us there.
By the time we arrived at the half way point of Grove Ferry for a well received hot mug of tea, my right arm was starting to show signs of wear from the paddle. Inspection by the Ambulance crew, an icepack, and a carefully wrapped bandage, I was ready to continue, gritting teeth through the pain.
While we were drinking tea the cloud cover finally gave way to sunshine, and with the sunshine came the wind. No, not wind, WIND. Tea drunk, mars bars eaten, arm bandaged, we slipped back into the river, and paddled forth. Among sailors there are all sorts of sayings about wind over tide, and tide over wind. But here, on this small river in east Kent, we had one of the worst combinations, slack water, and a strong head wind. Several times as we paddled a gust of wind brought us from about 3-4kph to a complete stop, before pushing us backwards. Head down, paddle harder, try to ignore the pain in the arm. It's not far now.
The sun shone hotter, and the wind blew harder. The lovely stable canoe we had, started to become more a curse than a blesssing. The freeboard we had meant we caught the wind like we were sailing. After 4km of this, we turned a meander in the river and came first to a complete stop as a gust of wind caught us, followed by heading backwards, no matter how hard we paddled, and eventually unceremoniously into the reeds at the river bank. Here we were pinned against the side, as the wind pushed us. Our paddles useless, we admitted defeat, and requested a tow from the MVS, who pulled us out of the reeds, and a couple of dozen yards down river to where some willow tree's shielded us from the wind and we could paddle again. By now the boat I was in was last of the 3 canoes, over 100m separating the convoy. Every stroke brought about twinges of pain in my arm, as we gritted teeth and tried to make headway. Another 1.5km further on, and it happened again. The wind was even stronger, and now no longer gusting. Strong constant flow catching our freeboard and giving is first an unceremonious arboreal interaction (we hit a tree), followed seconds later by once more stranding us in the reeds. Out came the safety whistle, time to call for help.
BLOW.
Silence.
Swear. BLOW!
From this whistle, with a full lungfull of air, came the most homoeopathic whistling sound you could imagine. Mice squeak louder. I continued to try and coax a proper sound out of the whistle, but by then it was not required, the MVS had spotted our plight and came to our rescue. We grudgingly accepted the tow, and with sore arms, and a wounded pride, they dragged us a few hundred meters round the corner to the finish line. With the bridge over the river that marked our finish line in site, and even with the hateful wind. We asked to be let off the tow, and put paddle to water, to finish the final 100m. We might have needed a bit of assistance at points, but we were damned if we were going to cross the finish line under power.
Having achieved our intention there was only one thing left to do. With 3 boats, in a river no more than 12 yards wide, in the wind tunnel that was the bridge, try to coordinate to 3 boats side by side for the photo shot. I kinda wish it had been video no photo. Our attempts to coordinate the three boats were something you just had to laugh at. Eventually we managed to hold formation for the 100th of a second needed for the shutter, before heading for the slip way. To step out of the boat, and into the deep squidgy mud that lapped over our shoes. We'd arrived.
The GPS says it was a 13.4km. Slightly shorter than the 14k we thought it was from the map. But we didn't care, with arm rebandaged by the helpful Ambulance crew (I am starting to think I should always travel with an Ambulance crew, it's just so useful to have them...), we carefully (and in my case one handedly) pulled the boats from the river, packed up, and took shelter in the pub.
We did it! I couldn't use my right arm, we had to be rescued twice, and we had wet muddy feet, but we did it!
In the shelter of the pub, and with my arm neatly bandaged, it was time to try the most difficult task of the day: Open my waterproof container to extract the mars bar I had saved to eat on arrival. Something that proved near impossible with only one usable arm...
We did it.
GPS traces from the trip:
Thanks
Julia - Typing largely one handed, with a bandaged right arm with a wonderful (if hard to photograph) swollen lump on the wrist)
Ditto for the speedy recovery.
