Bowron Lakes : BC's Gold Rush Country
LIFFEY DESCENT 2004
Avon Amblings
DREAMBOATS 29-08-04
Dart Estuary Trip 2004
How did it all go so wrong? Mike explains .....
Dot had long harboured a desire to
take part in the Liffey Descent an 18 mile dam release whitewater race in
Ireland
, advertised as the “worlds most exciting canoe race”. For my own part I’m
generally willing to have a go at anything that involves hurting yourself as
long as there’s not too much preparation involved .Against this backdrop we
canvassed the usual suspects with a view to filling a minibus. At the time a
busload were provisionally interested, but as the day came closer, marriages,
families and work commitments conspired to leave myself and the “Dreadnought
of the Dams” as the only contenders. The viability of the trip was now in
doubt, and as we approached the roaring sluice gate of commitment, I cheerfully
prepared myself for the placid portage of apathy when reinforcements arrived in
the guise of Dave Ratford who was keen to take part if he could persuade Annie
to act as forward shock absorber in the Canadian.
We descended on Chateau Ratford armed
with race entries, and Dot’s high pressure sales pitch - the campaign seemed
to be going well until Annie read the accounts and saw some of the pictures on
the net, it turned out that by a tragic and unforeseen coincidence she was
washing her hair that day, and wouldn’t be able to do the race, sorry and all
that you know how it is these days with split ends and conditioner mumble
mumble. Dave then switched to Plan B a niece who was game to do whitewater, but
succumbed to work commitments, Plan C, a friend who had once been in a rubber
dinghy, and Plan D an acquaintance of a third cousin who had once seen a cross
channel ferry. By this time Annies name had been submitted on the race entry.
Things were not looking good.
Dave prepared to go it alone, but
nagging doubts were beginning to creep into Annies head - could she really bear
not to share the experience of a long tedious drive, sweaty camping and half
drowning during a long tiring event in a foreign country - of course not! We now
had to set about boat preparation, unable to find an air bag big enough to fit
the entire boat in I grudgingly inserted a 48” bouncy castle into the centre
of the boat, leaving enough room for my knees and a Mars bar.
D-rings and straps were liberally
applied until the Scout took on the appearance of a 16” polythene punk, a
portage trolley was acquired, broken down and tied in - with a day to go, boat
preparation was complete.
The crossing from Fishguard to
Rosslare was Quick and uneventful, and we elected to take the route over the
Wicklow
Mountains
, scenic but frustrating at times due to the maps and creative signposting. The
excellent campsite was duly reached and tents pitched amongst the throng of
racers already present. No time to relax though as we had to negotiate Dublins
dense traffic to find Trinity Boathouse and book in.
We were impressed by the slick
organisation, and collared a race official to take us through the diagrammatic
race chart that came with our booking. He suggested some different lines to
those shown, and critically told us we needed to take Lucan weir at a 30 degree
angle - more of that later. Clutching our race packs
we watched the scary video before departing for the campsite where a
filling meal and an injection of Dutch courage prepared us for the sleep of the
innocents.
Saturday dawned auspiciously dry and
we headed off to the start by 9.00am.Although our class didn’t start till gone
1:00 we had to get to the start, Dave then had to drive back to Dublin, then
take the shuttle bus back to Straffan. About 11:15 we were called to make our
way to the start. This involved dragging our boats ½ mile down the main road
and into the country park. Unfortunately the portage trolley on its first outing
was too close to the stern and the boat was still a very heavy haul, still this
was a blip compared to the trolley genocide that was being committed with lashed
up and ancient wheeled devices collapsing all around!
We stopped as we passed the rumbling
Straffan weir, and as I took my first look I experienced a warm glow -
unfortunately it wasn’t in my heart!
Soon we arrived at the put in, time
for a breather and to dismantle the trolley. We asked a couple of young Irish
guys whether It was going to be worth re-assembling the trolley at the
compulsory portage at the dam. They were of the opinion that it wasn’t
necessary but after factoring in the “ they are 30 years younger than us
rule”, we elected to ignore them.
On the river the fun was beginning,
the touring Canadian class assembled about 1km upstream on a river swollen by
millions of gallons of dam release. Having been on the go 5 hours by the time we
slogged up to the assembly area, we felt like we’d done a race already. At
about 1:30 Race officials called the touring Canadians to the start - we were
deliberately skulking right at the back- our sophisticated strategy was “avoid
the pack and get to the end in one piece”.
Straffan weir was approached with some
trepidation; pictures do not convey the feeling at water level that you are
going to be catapulted out of the boat as you tip over the steep face of the
weir. The next few seconds passed in an explosion of roaring water and shouting
as the bow buried itself under the water, re-surfaced and then we were through,
negotiating the bridge and out with the balers.
Without the additional buoyancy
we would definitely have sunk. Looking round we see that Dave and Annie have
also negotiated this first psychological hurdle and carry on, half paddling,
half baling until we come to the “jungle” a narrow winding section with
overhanging trees. Its difficult to provide safety cover in this part of the
course, and we came across a couple of swimmers with their boats pinned in
strainers.
Templemills and Vanessa weirs passed
without drama by comparison and we were into the flatwater lake section. The
portage is at the far end of the lake, this time the trolley was fitted nearer
the centre of balance and we trekked several hundred yards to the put in with
relative ease. Lexlip was the next feature, we passed through the rapids and the
right arch of the bridge, unlike the guy whose Canadian was folded neatly around
the arch. The sluice weir where we took the easier right hand route, rather than
the faster passage through the 12 foot wide sluice.
Now came the mighty Lucan weir,
unfortunately by this time I had lost track of which diagram I should be looking
at, as we approached the lip I shouted to the safety crew for confirmation, but
if they replied it was lost in the roar of the water. We had the choice of the
lumpy but lower weir to the right, the horrendously boiling fish steps or the
long stretch of the high weir to the left. My encapsulated diagram hadn’t been
modified to show the 30 degree approach angle required to go over the weir
almost sideways. We approached the glassy lip of the weir at a slight angle
without being able to see the bottom, Dot must have been suspended about 6’
over thin air before the boat pitched forward and we accelerated down the face.
The bow hit solid and we were thrown straight out and down, my rib cracked on
the concrete face of the weir and we were swimming, trying to get the boat to
the bank before being swept past the bridge, all the time repeating the hypnotic
mantra “ Aargh my ******* rib” or something similar. Helping hands lifted
the boat onto the bank for us and emptied it as I was incapable of lifting
anything. While I was dolefully inspecting another Canadian that was broken in
two and practising a pained expression Dot saw Dave and Annie get tipped out on
the lower weir, but by the time I had rearranged my lungs into my ribcage they
had baled out and were on their way.
Despite Dots selfless encouragement to
me to give up and seek medical assistance, my low success rate with Hospitals
and the previous experience of a broken rib while mountain biking persuaded me
that I might just as well feel crap in the boat as in a waiting room, so we
carried on. Anna Liffey weir was shot without difficulty, and we approached
Wrens Nest a big V weir angled towards the bank with a complex set of
hydraulics. The pre race literature said that a wrong line here inevitably meant
a swim in the horrendous right hand stopper - the fact that divers with lines
were stationed on both banks indicated that the accounts I had read were not all
hyperbole. Getting the right line is critical, once committed everything happens
too fast to recover.Unfortunately the right line is not obvious to the
uninitiated and we were almost instantly capsized. Already struggling for
breath, I was sucked down and pounded by the stopper, I could sense a murky
light above me, and knew I was the right way up, but I wasn't surfacing. Your
natural expectation is that when you go under you will come straight back up,
but Wrens Nest is cruel and binds you in a watery airless limbo,
I thought my luck had finally expired until, suddenly and almost too
late, I re-entered the world of sunlight, whether I was pulled out by the nearby
diver or whether I was just spat out I don’t know, I was too busy coughing up
large quantities of Liffey water. Dave and Annie had a similar fate with Annie,
who is a strong swimmer also being held underwater by the stopper.
Lungs and boats emptied we headed off
to the next challenge, Palmerstown an even bigger V weir with another horrendous
stopper on the right. The safety kayaker above the weir warned us that the shoot
down the centre of the weir was very, very lumpy, and we approached the glassy
smooth lip with apprehension. The smooth apex gave way to a huge ramp of boiling
water. As we reached the point of no return we were told rather unconvincingly
that we were lined up perfectly, and launched into the heaving roller coaster.
In fact the line was spot on, but despite the abundant buoyancy and the high
gunwales, the boat was almost completely submerged by the standing waves. Our
exhilaration at surviving the chute was rapidly tempered by the car sized rock
loitering sullenly in the middle of the flow. The normal laws of physics don't
apply to a half submerged double, and it was with some relief that the sulky
slab shot by on our left. Dave and Annie had the same sense of elation at
Palmerstown, but the consequences of getting it wrong would not have been
pleasant.
Only one [or two] weirs to go
depending on which of my sketch maps I followed - Chapelizod, not in itself a
difficult weir, just career down the fish slide on the right, bury the bow in
the stopper and turn hard left as the bank is straight ahead. At this point
there were a few strong words aimed at the focsle, who was so busy baling out
that hitting the bank hard seemed inevitable. Fortunately salvation arrived in
the form of an overhanging bramble that wrapped itself round my neck causing the
boat to pivot around my throat and head off downstream. The bramble snapped
before I was completely garrotted leaving only minor lacerations. Happy Days!
Annie and Dave had spent slightly longer emptying their boat after Palmerstown
and reported that when they arrived at Chapelizod the safety cover had gone,
happily they too went through without mishap.
Only flat water lay between us and the
finish, finally we arrived at Trinity Boathouse, helping hands brought the boat
ashore and kind people plied me with painkillers. Dot was despatched to claim
the free meal and source a well earned beer, and the compulsory group photo was
taken during which my defective ribcage allowed hitherto taut muscle to spill
out giving the false impression that I'm overweight. Ahem.
The post race party was a noisy well
fed affair at a pub in the centre of
Dublin
, with a great band whose name escapes me, but we old folk left when the disco
kicked off. And that pretty much was it. Thanks to the Irish Canoe Union for
their excellent organisation, and to the various friendly people who helped us
through the weekend and thanks to Dave and Annie for the lift and their company.
Mike F.
A fistful of summers and still no gold!
This is a lake land paradise that keeps calling those who paddle the
116.5 km chain of lakes back for more. The
gold is in the hills, but it’s also in the heart of every adventurer that has
passed this way.
Although I am a new member to the
club, the call for submissions for the news letter left me thinking that I could
fill a page or two with an account of this trip.
The ten day adventure kicked off in
Vancouver
,
Canada
. With everyone safely seated in the
van and all the gear tided down on the roof, we set off for the
Bowron
Lakes
, near Wells, BC. The drive
took about eight hours and follows alongside the
Fraser
Canyon
. This is a river with strong
undercurrents and huge standing waves. Rafting
companies have to use motorised rafts with outriggers to ensure safe fun.
Here we are mere spectators from the road with designs on much tamer
waters.
The fist night is in the rustic luxury
of Becker’s Lodge scout huts (one less night in the tent).
Early next morning everyone is kitted out with paddles and life jackets.
Anticipation for our waterborne journey is building.
The Canadian canoes are perched on wheels next to the park office, and a
forty-five minute portage precedes any glimpse of water.
Along route canoe partners are convinced there is a plan by their co
driver to knock them from the trail into the ditch.
Hot and questioning the sanity of a canoe trip with no apparent water, we
arrive at
Kibbie
Lake
. Canoes loaded and paddles poised
we push off and paddle through a channel (testing the newly learnt and as yet
theoretical skills of the novices among us).
With surprisingly little zigging and zagging the voyagers make it to the
end of the lake for a well earned lunch break. Bagels with smoked salmon and
cream cheese (No half measures here!) Stuffed
and ready for an afternoon nap we tackle the next portage.
This is a lumpy uphill slog which together with the relentless heat
drives all of us to plunge ourselves into Indian Point lake on arrival at its
shores. Refreshed we paddle on to
our camp site, which is a welcome respite following a day of canoe hauling.
The following day
Isaac
Lake
is reached. The worst of the portaging is now behind us and we can enjoy the
solitude of this thirty-one km, glacial fed lake with only the sound of paddles
dipping in and out of the water. The
narrow lake can be like a wind funnel, catching out unsuspecting paddlers with
head winds and waves that force them to shore.
On this occasion we were lucky. At a leisurely pace the end of the lake
was reached on day 4, where a class 2 chute begins the ride down the caribou
river. Much of this first section
must be portaged around as Isaac falls is too dangerous for even the most
intrepid paddlers (Last year a couple of Germans escaped a close call when they
missed the well signed pull out). They
were lucky to lose only a few dry bags).
Isaac
Falls
The portage around the falls
eventually leads to
McLeary
Lake
and the start of the
Caribou
River
proper. Flowing water at last!
Oh how I enjoy gravity assisted travel no matter how gentle.
Steering past obstacles including a ‘deadhead’ with a canoe wrapped
around it, we find a beautifully secluded spot and natural pull out for lunch.
This sandbank has tell-tale signs of the wildlife in these parts.
Moose and grizzly bear prints being the most impressive.
Leaving the river we entered
Lanezi
Lake
which has impressive mountain views on both sides.
Snow still lined the north facing ridges feeding the lake with milky
white glacial water. Thankfully
smaller creeks (streams) supplied us with drinking water that could more easily
be pumped through our filters.
As we neared our campsite we headed
first to a wood lot to stock up on fuel for the evenings campfire.
What bliss, to sit around a crackling fire chatting on a warm summer
evening, indulging in hot chocolate and cheese cake.
The group who were strangers up until 5 days before, now gave the
appearance of being long acquainted, joking and gently teasing each other over
events of the day.
Lanezi is connected to
Sandy
Lake
via another section of the
Caribou
River
. In fact
Sandy
Lake
is really a bulge in the river (a big bulge at that).
It is one of the most alluring spots when the sun is shining because
of its sandy shores. The shallow
waters are a perfect feeding ground for moose, whose graze with their heads
submerged on the underwater weeds in the early hours of the morning.
Sandy
Lake, however beautiful, should not be underestimated.
The weather changes quickly here from sun to hail and windy squalls.
Canoeists have been caught out by the merciless chop of these shallow
waters.
The
Caribou
River
leads to Una and
Rum
Lakes
, but failure to make the left hand turn through the sign posted channel leads
to the
Caribou
Falls
.
The last few days of the trip saw a
return our portaging skills. Thankfully
it was nothing like the introduction to canoeing on the first day.
These trails were flat and well packed and became increasingly shorter to
the point were on the last portage the next lake was visible.
Spectacle
Lake
also proved to be popular with moose. A
cow and calf ambling along the shore-line at night came very close to stepping
into one of the canoes. The final
day on
Bowron
Lakes
was a quiet early morning paddle through a maze of channels.
The glimpse of a beaver swimming from its den and a variety of water foul
sightings were our prise for an early start.
Just as we entered
Bowron
Lake
itself a bald eagle graced us with a vertical dive, showing off its fishing
skills.
A final friendly race to the pull out
marked the end of this superb eight day trip.
Information on canoeing the
Bowron
Lakes
can be accessed from Becker’s Lodge, who rent a variety of canoes and can
fully equip paddlers.
Georgia
Newsome
The traditional start to the club
season for the softer paddlers, the
St George’s
Sunday saunter down the local
Avon
, was a record breaker this year. It was probably the warmest, and certainly the
best attended ever, with 37 people in 27 boats. Almost every type of
recreational canoe & kayak was represented apart from the sea kayak.
There was a slightly confused start,
as the Longford estate had omitted to tell us that the usual access to the
Downton meadows had been gated and the new route in is from the A338. With so
many people there were several shuttle convoys, variously led by drivers who
knew where they were going, thought they knew where they were going, or hadn’t
a clue. To add to the confusion there were those who fell off the back of the
convoy and others that left it in the belief that the leader had forgotten the
way. Perhaps it sounds worse than it was as a combination of mobile
telecommunications, telepathy, and perhaps a little telekinesis, brought all the
wanderers back together at Alderbury to get afloat.
Even this is not a simple operation in
a tiny stream with 27 boats, many of them big ones. I think it took about 30
minutes to get the whole group on the water, and a little longer to get all
members of it moving in the same direction. When you come out of hibernation on
a warm, calm and sunny day, waiting for others becomes an opportunity to catch
up on gossip so the slow progress was part of the pleasure. In fact, slow was
the order of the day. The river was running quite fast this year and paddle
strokes were not much in evidence except when required to clear the logjam of
boats that tended to develop around the choicest items of gossip.
As we drifted under the bridge at
Longford
Castle
we were asked if we had permission by two men, who also asked who we were, and
promptly reached for their mobile to have it confirmed. The weir stopper varies
a lot with the river flow and this year I thought it might be washed out, but
was surprised that it was the most aggressive I have seen it. It looked
challenging to some and daunting to others who had little or no experience of
moving water. The estate have cleared a lot of overhanging trees from the banks
below the weir, but unfortunately not the tangled one that dips into the end of
the stopper. It seemed to be the deciding factor and there were no offers of a
rodeo display but the fast jet gave some their modest ration of exercise.
Further on a couple of overhanging
trees reduced the navigable channel to about 3 metres, and increased the flow
slightly. This was a test of control and nerve for novices more accustomed to
the calm expanse of
Christchurch
harbour, where there is plenty of room for error. I didn’t see the cause or
the action, but the result of somebody’s error was two paddlers refreshed by
the
Avon
’s power of revitalisation. Thanks Mike & Sue, it gave us all a chance to
slow down again while the water was emptied out and bottoms installed back in.
After such a hectic hour afloat a
lunch break was a welcome chance for a rest. Enormous quantities of food
appeared and a potential new member who wasn’t told to bring lunch didn’t
need to worry. He was bombarded with enough offers of food to keep him going all
week. Eating lunch was one of the more strenuous activities of the day,
following which our outgoing Chairman, perhaps overcome by a sense of relief,
led a group relaxation exercise and had to be woken up when it was deemed time
to leave.
We are a very undemanding club. All we
need is sunshine, a couple of kilometres of water and a grassy bank, and we can
make it last all day. Conscious of the morning’s rate of progress and that, in
April, it gets dark at about 8pm, I started shuffling towards my boat hoping
that others might be stirred into life as I tripped over them.
It has become a part of the
Avon
trip tradition that the exhausted paddlers stop for
beer and cakes at our house to beak the long journey home, and this
prospect apparently inspired several people to make a determined bid for Downton.
The group strung out along the meanders through the meadows and there was a
wonderful sight of heads and paddles gliding silently through the fields in
various directions. The meanders made it appear that they had no common
destination or purpose, which perhaps was the case.
All were brought together again at the
obstruction of the second weir, that must be portaged. In the pool below the
hatches all 27 boats assembled and fooled around for a while. It looked more
like a busy pool session than a river trip. Mike & Dot gave a demonstration
of the fact that a forward paddling stroke at the back of a Canadian is far more
powerful than a reverse stroke at the front, until the bow paddler is touched by
the spray from the weir. Somehow this transforms a normally docile and
cooperative bow paddler into a thrashing maniac with the strength to reverse a
Canadian at impressive speed. You might think it was just Dot bringing her
rarely seen but powerful muscular potential to bear after a good rest, but the
demonstration was repeated by petite and delicate Becky, and with a toy paddle
at that!
Jason gave the Rodeo demo of the day
in the weir jet and inspired Dave C to get suited up with the protective kit and
throw himself into it. Which he did. Another reviving taking of the waters. At
the weir’s lower section two hatches were open and the turmoil below was
boiling like a witches cauldron. I was in my Canadian with Jake, and even he,
nursing a sprained shoulder, was able to bring the reverse bow paddling magic to
bear and stop me investigating the top wave.
All the stress and exercise had taken
its toll and we drifted slowly to the end. Perhaps in some cases wishing we
could go further, but for others it was far enough. I think we were off the
water by about 3pm and there followed a happy time for many, lounging in our
garden, sampling the cakes, and trying to find a way out of the garden again
after two pints of home brew. Apologies to those who didn’t know about that
part of the day. Bev and I both thought the other had put the word round to
newcomers on the trip. There is always next year…
Thanks to all for making it a great
relaxing day.
Barry.
Those attending, Karl & Trish,Dave
& Annie & Jo, Lisa,Trish J.Mike & Dot.
This was the second time that R.C.C.
had teamed up with dreamboats to hold a “Paddle your own canoe” afternoon at
Dreamboats in Wimborne.
Karl & Trish brought the canoe
trailer with six of the Scouts kayaks which meant we had a lot more boats than
last time, and people didn’t have to wait so long for a paddle, although when
Mike and I got there at 11.45 several people were already forming a queue. The
weather wasn’t brilliant, being a bit overcast and windy. A number of the
smaller children who wanted to have a go found the conditions a bit too much for
them. Mike had planned to help with the bank support but instead spent most of
the afternoon towing grinning kids up and down the river. People seemed
genuinely surprised that there was no charge, and three people made donations to
the club totalling £15.We also received a nice E-mail,
[see below) ]and gained a new member Kajai who has paddled
with us at Mudeford since. All in all a successful day for the club and Pat
Hymers of Dreamboats was delighted with the extra people it brought in for them,
so maybe we can hold another combined Dreamboats /R.C.C. day next year.
Dot
One happy customer wrote ……
I just wanted to
thank you again for a fantastic time this afternoon! The aches are
beginning to set in but hopefully some deep heat and a few glasses of wine will
numb the necessary areas!!!
Katie wants a
canoe for her birthday, Jon-Jo likes the idea of being towed up and down and
most amazingly of all it is the first form of exercise that Tony (my dearly
beloved) has expressed any kind of enthusiasm for!!! So we are all looking
forward to your information pack with anticipation.
Please pass
our thanks to all the club members who helped this afternoon.
Well
this had a great turnout of people despite the weather forcast. For me it is a
trip I will always remember as it was my first time I paddled a canadian canoe
for a whole weekend.
Alot
of people arrived early on Friday evening and were probably lighting the bonfire
when we had just left
Salisbury
. Mark had bought a second-hand canadian plastic canoe a few months back and had
had it on the water about twice I think. It had’nt sunk yet so I decided it
sounded like a good idea to join him as his canoing partner on this trip.
We
arrived at Totnes in the dark about 10pm. The only people there were a few
drunks, who after calling ‘Hello’ and ‘whos there’ to us a few times
from the bank soon decided we were probably a bit mad going out in a boat this
time of night and disappeared. After packing the canoe Mark pushed the boat
with me in front slowly into the river. It felt really wobbly and I was
sure it would just capsize straight away with all our junk in it, but it didnt.
So after gliding along a bit I soon got used to the wobbly higher up feeling
unlike a kayak being really down in the water.
The
night was quitet and lots of stars, with the help of Marks strong torch we
managed to find the right bends in the dark, and of course I had the map and it
was my first time at navigating this river in the dark (normally I followed
someone else).
Soon we arrived
at Sharpham to be greeted by a few who were still up. The fire was still
going, and after me blindly trying to put the tent up on the slope and nearly
giving up because I couldnt see and kept tripping over roots of trees trying
desperately not to wake anyone, we sat around the fire for a beer before hitting
the sack.
Next
day was a bit blowy but fine. So we all headed off to our next overnight camping
stop at Dittisham. The weather was a mix of either very sunny or very rainy so
only Paul and two others paddled all the way to
Dartmouth
in the afternoon. Karl, Trish, Marrion, Nick and a few stayed in the pub and
had a very daft afternoon I believe.(I think the landlord knows us well now).
The rest of us went to
Dartmouth
avoiding the strong winds and heavy rain by Watertaxi. We had a quick look
aroundthe shops, bought some wine etc and caught the last boat back to the pub
where we stayed and had another bevvy with the even dafter lot now, and then
headed back to camp.
On
the way back it was much worst. Mark and I continually battled against the wind
trying not to get blown sideways
on the point, in our heavy canoe although we did keep on getting pushed
sideways alot and began to wonder if we ever would get back. Then Dot, Karl and
Trish wizzed by at 25 knots all paddling leaving us behind. (I I knew I should
have brought the brolly).
We
did finally make it back and the supper of chilli and rice by Barry & Bev
was very much appreciated. It continued to be rather blowy in the evening and
Barry cleverly rigged up a rain shelter amongst the trees for us from a taupalin.
Soon the beer and wine was flowing and most (so knackered after the tough
paddling against winds) retreated to their tents early for some kip. A few of us
night-owls stayed around the campfire a bit longer fininshing off the dregs.
Next
day was in my experience rather fun despite the weather. It
was really very windy, rainly and most other things connected with
storms. After the previous day, I had leanrnt alot on how to manouver a heavy
canadian when the winds are really strong. This morning, we left the camp with
quiet sunny intervals followed by a heavy downpour almost straight after the
sun, and headed for Bow Creek with the pub at the end of it. All was well until
we entered the creek then straight away we were confronted with the strong wind
against us and very heavy rain. I rather liked this bit especially the
manovering bit, it kind of reminded me of when I was little and used to go out
sailing in the sea with my dad. To add to this, the tide was going out and we
had to continue to look for the deep bits of the channel all the way down the
creek. It was extremely knackering.
Most
of us managed to reach the pub, and eventually all found one of the rooms
upstairs to dry off and have a pint.
Later
on the way back to Totnes we stopped by the river and had some hot and cold
lunch with the help of Barrys stove. Eventually after more wind but not so bad
as before we arrived back at Totnes harbour. On entering the harbour we managed
to find ourselves amongst the local scout racing day by accident.
Bet they were surprised to see us old bods turn up on their racecourse.
It
was a great weekend for everyone, I enjoyed my first episode in a canadian too
and enjoyed the weather and just being out in the wild on a river all weekend.
Still feels funny being high up on the water but I guess I’ll get used to it.
Least I get more chance to take pics of the wildlife without getting all my
cameras wet.
By
Helen Kirby.
