Greatest Canoe Club in Britain
Created | Updated Feb 28, 2003
Subtitled - Post Cards from the Edge (Of Wales)
Terrifying though it is for me to recall, it is now 6 years since I first pen'd an article under the above title. It was to be the first in a series of rantings from my perch on the edge of the ocean but the second epistle never occurred - that is until now. They do say that good things come to those who wait, whether this qualifies I shall leave up to you gentle reader. To those of you who don't know me, don't worry you are not missing much. For those who do know me (and have had the courtesy to continue reading this far) I am now firmly environed back in Wales. My route back has been tortuous to say the least but the light at the end of the tunnel has been reached and I have also managed to avoid the 'on-coming-train' scenario.
Right, enough waffle - allow me (if you will) to tell you why I have decided to write this little note. I may have been (inexcusably) away from the loving arms of BAD CC for a while but I have not been out of the paddling scene, I have dipped into and out of many of its crevices and more than a few other clubs along the way. What would like to say is that I think it is about time that we all gave ourselves a bit of a pat on the back, well a very BIG pat to tell you the truth. And this is why. Everywhere I have looked through the sport I seem to come up with dead ends; stories arise in the general press outlining tragedy after incident, accident after mishap and I have begun to wonder what the world at large actually think of our little enclave of the sporting world. Clubs I have joined (or contacted) in the passed few years seem little prepared to welcome new faces, or put any effort into the core elements of the sport. Everywhere I turn there is a loss of vision in this sport - Clubs that thrive only on results, obscenely bureaucratic governing bodies, people who judge themselves only as good as there last competition, paddlers I have seen watch a swimmer go by without lifting a finger. More than one club would not consider my membership due to my Division of Slalom not being high enough. These are, indeed, sad times we find ourselves in.
It is these and other factors that have seen me take to the sport alone on a more increasing frequency. The idea that it was better to paddle with someone than no one rapidly evaporated. It seemed to me that the love had gone out of the sport for a lot of the people that hold membership to the sisterhood of the water.
It is from this mist of mind that I came to the Twentieth Baldock and District Canoe Club Annual Dinner and Dance and may I say it was like Mountain water to the parched. I spent the evening in marvel and wonder, drinking in the atmosphere after my years in the wilderness - I had found where the Love was.
I must apologies dear friends for not missing you sooner; I have kept in contact with a few of the old crowd over my time in the desert, but little did I suspect the wealth of joy that was in evidence that night. As alluded to, on more than one occasion that evening, we really do have the greatest club in the land and if there is any member reading this that has cause to doubt it, then shame on you. Ask yourself why our numbers swell still (while the sport as a whole is in recession), look through the membership list and see the vast geographical area that our members inhabit. Or for the ultimate proof, if you move away from the area, go along to the clubs that people in the rest of the country have to put up with (and even consider excellent!) - then you will understand beyond a shadow of a doubt.
The main reason I write is to congratulate the Club and all its members and officials but also to offer a word of warning (or maybe a battle cry).
It is now Sunday afternoon (4.30ish) and I have just been curling up on the sofa with a coffee, a dog and a copy of that fine periodical 'Practical Photographer' - storming read, as ever. It was this journal that prompted the idea to confine my imagery to the two-dimensional; in that one magazine alone there were no less than three photographs of canoeists. Two in advertisements and another in an article. You see dear friends the battle is not yet lost. Everywhere I look there are the buds of new growth in the general world; sneak insights into our sport for the general populous. The idea behind our great sport gathers yet more inertia. And here is the crux of my concern, who will stand up and be counted for this great sport? When a new face appears, who will accept it? When the hand is offered, who will be there to grasp it? Well, in short, we will! It is up to us to put the love back into this sport, to show that the joy of the sport is the greatest goal and indeed the Holy Grail itself.
For those of you not interested in the ravings of a displaced hydrolytic, please excuse my verbiage. For those who feel as I do, the time has come to get out there and love it. I was fortunate enough to have a couple of the BAD Boys (and a girl) over to my place just last weekend and it was a pleasure to feel the spirit once more. And so to put my money where my mouth is, I am off now. So is it back to my magazine, my coffee and my dog. Is it hell. It's high tide in an hour and there is a storm coming in, so as Uncle Tom Cobbley himself said, "Hasta la Pizza, baby. See you on the surf!"
Terrifying though it is for me to recall, it is now 6 years since I first pen'd an article under the above title. It was to be the first in a series of rantings from my perch on the edge of the ocean but the second epistle never occurred - that is until now. They do say that good things come to those who wait, whether this qualifies I shall leave up to you gentle reader. To those of you who don't know me, don't worry you are not missing much. For those who do know me (and have had the courtesy to continue reading this far) I am now firmly environed back in Wales. My route back has been tortuous to say the least but the light at the end of the tunnel has been reached and I have also managed to avoid the 'on-coming-train' scenario.
Right, enough waffle - allow me (if you will) to tell you why I have decided to write this little note. I may have been (inexcusably) away from the loving arms of BAD CC for a while but I have not been out of the paddling scene, I have dipped into and out of many of its crevices and more than a few other clubs along the way. What would like to say is that I think it is about time that we all gave ourselves a bit of a pat on the back, well a very BIG pat to tell you the truth. And this is why. Everywhere I have looked through the sport I seem to come up with dead ends; stories arise in the general press outlining tragedy after incident, accident after mishap and I have begun to wonder what the world at large actually think of our little enclave of the sporting world. Clubs I have joined (or contacted) in the passed few years seem little prepared to welcome new faces, or put any effort into the core elements of the sport. Everywhere I turn there is a loss of vision in this sport - Clubs that thrive only on results, obscenely bureaucratic governing bodies, people who judge themselves only as good as there last competition, paddlers I have seen watch a swimmer go by without lifting a finger. More than one club would not consider my membership due to my Division of Slalom not being high enough. These are, indeed, sad times we find ourselves in.
It is these and other factors that have seen me take to the sport alone on a more increasing frequency. The idea that it was better to paddle with someone than no one rapidly evaporated. It seemed to me that the love had gone out of the sport for a lot of the people that hold membership to the sisterhood of the water.
It is from this mist of mind that I came to the Twentieth Baldock and District Canoe Club Annual Dinner and Dance and may I say it was like Mountain water to the parched. I spent the evening in marvel and wonder, drinking in the atmosphere after my years in the wilderness - I had found where the Love was.
I must apologies dear friends for not missing you sooner; I have kept in contact with a few of the old crowd over my time in the desert, but little did I suspect the wealth of joy that was in evidence that night. As alluded to, on more than one occasion that evening, we really do have the greatest club in the land and if there is any member reading this that has cause to doubt it, then shame on you. Ask yourself why our numbers swell still (while the sport as a whole is in recession), look through the membership list and see the vast geographical area that our members inhabit. Or for the ultimate proof, if you move away from the area, go along to the clubs that people in the rest of the country have to put up with (and even consider excellent!) - then you will understand beyond a shadow of a doubt.
The main reason I write is to congratulate the Club and all its members and officials but also to offer a word of warning (or maybe a battle cry).
It is now Sunday afternoon (4.30ish) and I have just been curling up on the sofa with a coffee, a dog and a copy of that fine periodical 'Practical Photographer' - storming read, as ever. It was this journal that prompted the idea to confine my imagery to the two-dimensional; in that one magazine alone there were no less than three photographs of canoeists. Two in advertisements and another in an article. You see dear friends the battle is not yet lost. Everywhere I look there are the buds of new growth in the general world; sneak insights into our sport for the general populous. The idea behind our great sport gathers yet more inertia. And here is the crux of my concern, who will stand up and be counted for this great sport? When a new face appears, who will accept it? When the hand is offered, who will be there to grasp it? Well, in short, we will! It is up to us to put the love back into this sport, to show that the joy of the sport is the greatest goal and indeed the Holy Grail itself.
For those of you not interested in the ravings of a displaced hydrolytic, please excuse my verbiage. For those who feel as I do, the time has come to get out there and love it. I was fortunate enough to have a couple of the BAD Boys (and a girl) over to my place just last weekend and it was a pleasure to feel the spirit once more. And so to put my money where my mouth is, I am off now. So is it back to my magazine, my coffee and my dog. Is it hell. It's high tide in an hour and there is a storm coming in, so as Uncle Tom Cobbley himself said, "Hasta la Pizza, baby. See you on the surf!"
