h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I've found what I think must rank as one of the most beautiful spots in the world.

For a few weeks I've used a previously mentioned short stretch of the river Wey for my perambulations in the kayak, and it's served its purpose very well. But it's not really what you might call a 'pretty' spot. The length of water I've used is on the outskirts of Weybridge, Surrey and has a road beside it running its length, and electricity pylons in the adjacent fields with the cables passing overhead. Parking is all but non-existent with only one or two car lengths available on a bend at the very end of the road providing a spot to load and unload the boat.

Mainly with the parking in mind I got out my Surrey Atlas and followed the river's course to try to find somewhere more accessible. In fact it turns out that the stretch of water I'm using is the 'Wey Navigation', not the actual 'River Wey' which runs parallel with the 'Navigation' about a half mile to the east. The 'Navigation' is a canal opened in 1764 to link Guildford with the Thames, and ultimately to London for trade, and is in total about 17 miles long. Anyway, some of the long straight stretches shown in the Atlas looked as if they might fill the bill so I took to the Google bird's eye view to see if there were any with suitable nearby parking available.

One spot in particular between Byfleet and West Byfleet looked like it may be possible, so Mrs D and I took another trip out to reconnoitre. Sure enough there was a small area for parking, and just crossing the road by a bridge took us down to the canal towpath next to a small boathouse in the lee of the bridge. It was like stepping into ‘Wonderland‘. The Navigation stretched out over half a mile in a straight line from the bridge, the banks are lined with trees and sunlight was penetrating the overhead canopy, playing on the water. Two or three houseboats were moored near the bridge and its frontage had a well tended flower-bed. Tables and chairs with sunshades were arrayed in front of the boathouse which was serving soft drinks and bringing an air of tranquil activity to the houseboat community.

We walked up the towpath looking out across light-dappled water, only disturbed occasionally by fish taking insects on the water, and Damsel flies and butterflies near the water's edge. The other bank was the ends of gardens that backed onto the water‘s edge. Each one of them beautifully tended with flowering waterside plants, clipped box, and patios that were obviously intended for the sipping of long, cool drinks in a late summer’s evening. Despite being only minutes away from the M25 the whole place just exuded tranquillity. A short conversation with the boathouse attendants soon established that they were happy to let the odd kayak or two launch from their landing stage.

The following day I took them at their word and brought the boat down there as I just couldn’t wait to give it a try out. The water is but a short distance from where the car was parked up but I have to negotiate the steps down the side of the bridge and a pedestrian dog-leg barrier while carrying the kayak at shoulder height to get to the water. No real hardship and probably good practice. Getting into the water from their landing stage was simplicity itself and once on the move I had the prospect of a good long run on which I could concentrate on paddling technique and steering. (Both at the same time). The water is shallow and probably no more than about six feet deep in the centre of the channel.

It was warm and humid under the tree canopy but I was soon at the end of the reach, which it turns out was another bridge. Then I did something that on reflection I realise was pretty stupid, I tried another nine-point turn just at the bridge. The far side bank got in the way and I grounded the nose of the kayak among the weeds and silt on the wrong side of the water. It's a sort of dog-leg under the bridge and it’s difficult to see approaching traffic from the other side until you are right under the bridge. If a boat had come through at that moment he would have found me broadside on across his path, which would not have been fun for me. It was a silly thing to do and isn't a mistake I'd want to make again.

Two days later I revisited that part of the Navigation, this time with my son. We took off from the same spot and this time extended the trip past the bridge and on in the direction of Weybridge and my original stretch of water. He followed up giving me pointers and reminders to keep my knees to myself. After progressing under the M25 and about the same distance again after the bridge, we came up to one of the sixteen or so locks on the Navigation. At this point the pain in the knee was beginning to play up again so we decided to call it a day and return. All in all it was a good trip that allowed me to concentrate on the paddling technique, and keeping it straight.(Both at the same time)

Not only that, but I love the fact that I'm finding places that I didn't know existed in Surrey and to see them from a completely different viewpoint.

On Skills, and the Obtaining Thereof.

I ache all over.

Despite having at least two days rest between sessions the repeated trips along the river together with loading and unloading the boat onto the car’s roof-rack is taking its toll on what little muscle capacity that I have. Every rest-day finds a new point in the body to jib and ache. At one point after the last session I was having to take a pain killer just to keep on the move, although I suppose these aches are really no more than I should expect from exercising muscles that have not received much use in the last few years.

To cap it all towards the end of August I was clearing up after a bout of gardening and I pushed down with my hand on a bunch of clippings in a disposal bag to make a bit more room... Fool! One of the stalks was a bit firmer and sharper than it should have been and it pierced through my palm between the first and second fingers. After a 'lot' of cursing I got the offending twig withdrawn from my hand and then went on to bleed a lot. Unfortunately the point of entry is fore-square between the knuckles, and right on the point which takes most of the pressure when pulling the paddle through its stroke. So there is now an almost permanent ache between those fingers and each session I seem to have managed to open up the puncture again despite thick plasters and a glove on that hand.

Kayaking has its own skill set, which I don't yet possess. Up to now I've been concentrating on staying afloat in a rather 'tippy' boat and I've been happy to finish the course I've planned for that day if I haven’t spilled out of the boat. But up to now that hasn’t left much time to concentrate on improving technique and ironing out faults. To say the least my progress along the water is a bit haphazard and I imagine it takes on the appearance of a demented dragonfly. Today I encountered a house-boat coming in my direction and one of the passengers in the prow was moved to start up his camcorder to record our convergence and passing, a feat which luckily I can now carry out with aplomb. If he was hoping for a £250 moment he would have been disappointed, but nevertheless I shall no doubt, now feature in his holiday movies for evermore.

On the plus side I've now gained a modicum of confidence that permits a certain amount of experimentation. As far as paddling technique is concerned, what is supposed to happen is that when the paddle enters the water it is to be used as a ‘lever’ against the water to move the boat forward. In other words the paddle is not supposed to move backwards, as any backward movement of the paddle is just wasting the effort being put into it. It should stay in the same position and the boat moves forward around it. I have a couple of things to concentrate on simultaneously, getting body movement correct, and getting the paddle stroke tied in with it and even side to side.

Body movement
It must e an obvious fact that the arms alone cannot store sufficient energy to complete a 125 mile race. In fact they're limited to only a couple of miles duration, which is why it's important to bring the upper body, torso and legs into play during the power stroke, thereby minimising the action of the arms. This is effected by swivelling the hips and whole upper body to drive the paddle through the stroke. This is also abetted by bracing the leg on the side of the stroke and extending the leg to push the hips through the start of that rotation. Once the stroke is completed it's then repeated on the other side of the body, and ad infinitum thereafter. It's rather like doing the 'Twist' in a sitting position.

Stroke
At the same time the correct use of the paddle is crucial to the stroke’s efficiency. The body rotation not only brings most of torso’s muscles into play but it increases the length of the stroke quite effectively. The arms should barely be used to drive the paddle at all, but are used mainly to position and guide it through the cycle. The paddle is supposed to enter the water as near to your outstretched feet as possible, with a ‘spearing’ downward action into the water. This is referred to as the ‘Catch‘ and the whole blade of the paddle has to enter the water during this phase of the stroke. From there it is then drawn in as straight a line as possible down the side of the boat and it exits the water when it’s level with your waist.

Clearly it doesn't take a lot of imagination that all this oscillation of the body doesn't do much for the feeling of security in the boat. In fact it’s downright scary as when it goes wrong or out of sync, it introduces a wobble that’s hard to control. Couple that with the fact that if you make the stroke too long the back of the paddle blade catches against the water’s flow and tries to duck in to the underside of the boat while trying to pull itself out of your hands and throwing you into a magnificent wobble for good measure.

My action as such, bears little relationship to the ideal. I have practically no torso rotation as up till now I’ve been much more concerned with keeping my body rigidly upright for fear of overbalancing. Also, I don’t hold the paddle high enough which causes the Catch to be haphazard and it forces the power stroke to be more of an sweeping arc away from the side of the boat. This is another factor that plays havoc with the directional stability of the boat as the further the blade is from the side of the boat, the more effect it has to turn the boat away from the straight and narrow.

So that’s where I am at the moment. The last couple of sessions have been conducted with the intention of improving those elements. And it has paid off to some extent. I've come to the conclusion that my stroke rate is too high and there isn't enough time spent in each stroke to get it correct. Really I'm just hitting the water with the paddles and not getting the full benefit of each stroke. I deliberately slowed it up, concentrating on the elements of the stroke, the catch, the pull through and the exit. Surprisingly, by completing a longer, slower stroke it was carrying me just as far as previously. But, it didn't feel natural and I haven‘t yet got any real body rotation. It requires a lot more practice to have to become second nature.

Today’s excursion saw my knees contacting the coaming of the boat’s cockpit only occasionally, which also helped alleviate knee problems, in fact they were the only thing not to ache afterwards. I also described a fairly straight course in the couple of miles I completed, without any serious deviations. As of mid August I've visited the Wey on six occasions. Each time I've been able to extend the duration of the trip and the last couple of sessions have seen the distance covered to about two miles without stops. This probably doesn't seem like a lot, but it does feel like something concrete to be building on.

On the Naming of Parts

There are one or two things the tyro should know about canoes and kayaks if for no other reason than to be able to talk about kayaking like the cognoscenti. So today we have the 'Naming of Parts'.

There are all sorts of Kayaks which generally take their form from the style of traditional fishing craft used by the Inuit (Eskimo) hunter, but the ones I'm concerned with are those used for flat-water racing. In that context we blithely refer to single-seat racing kayaks as K1s, those with two seats are K2s and perhaps unsurprisingly those with four, as K4. Also, loosely connected on the racing scene, are canoes which are configured in the style that was used by the North American Indians, and are generally referred to as ‘Canadians‘. Single seat racing canoes are C1s and two-seaters C2s, but in the case of canoes there is no class above the double-seater.

Hull: Most modern racing kayaks are of one-piece fibreglass construction and the hull is moulded as a monocoque shell. A fairly average K1 (single) kayak in fibre-glass will usually weigh in at around 13 kilos, but much lighter boats of the same size can be made by using composites of fibre-glass, Kevlar and/or Carbon Fibre, which is a great advantage if the race includes having to carry the boat any great distance. (That's 'Portaging' by the way).

Tippiness: By their very nature kayaks are quite unstable and easy to fall out of, particularly when stationary. When occupied the overall centre of gravity is above the waterline making it top heavy and requiring some sort of a balancing act to be performed by its occupant. Beginners kayaks are designed to be as stable as possible, which is largely achieved by an increase in the width of the hull around the cockpit area, so that if the boat heels over, and the paddler becomes less than perpendicular, the shape of the hull displaces a greater amount of water which tends to resists the rolling motion. Just as a handy reference, kayak manufacturers rate the 'tippiness' of their racing canoes with a ‘wobble factor’ between 1 and 10 so that would-be racers can get an indication of how likely they are to fall out of any particular craft. Kayaks rated at 10 are the most stable and those rated 1 are the least so, and almost impossible to stay in.

Buoyancy: When it comes to floundering around in the water you really don’t need the kayak to sink every time you capsize, as it‘s very comforting to have something to hang on to when your feet can't feel the river's bottom. Consequently, kayaks have a built in buoyancy aid, usually in the form of a large block of plastic foam at the widest part of the boat, just behind the front seat. The foam block also doubles as a former to maintain the shape of the hull.

Buoyancy Aid: Equally so, you personally, don't need to sink each time you fall out of the kayak, which can occur with monotonous regularity. To keep your head above water you should use a 'Buoyancy Aid' (also known as ‘BA’ for short, or PFD, Personal Flotation Device). This is a tight-fitting waistcoat type of affair that is padded out with foam blocks that will add buoyancy to your vulnerable, little pink body. It should be noted that this is not the same thing as a lifejacket which will not only keep you afloat but hold you in a position where your face is out of the water. This has the added benefit to enable you to continue breathing if by some mischance you have been rendered unconscious. A BA does not have that degree of sophistication, it only helps to keep you afloat.

Rudder: Not all kayaks have them. The beginner's boats very often are not ‘blessed’ with one as for a beginner it's usually quite enough to cope with staying upright and paddling at the same time. Directing the boat by varying the stroke on each side is often enough to send the boat around in circles anyway. But once advanced beyond beginner-ship the rudder is thrown in as an extra hazard to cope with, and there are two types. The under-stern rudder simply pokes out under the boat near the rear end and despite its small size is very effective. But it is prone to being fouled by riverweed or damaged when the boat is manhandled in or out of the water. The over-stern rudder overcomes these problems by being attached to the very rear point of the boat's hull and is collapsible so that if fouled or knocked, it folds out of the way. It's only detraction is that it has to be larger to be as effective as the under-stern option.

Tiller and Footplate: The rudder is connected to a foot-operated tiller by flexible cables which run the length of the boat. The tiller is attached to, and protrudes from a crosswise slot in a footplate. Together these allow the paddler to guide the boat by movement of the toes while bracing his/her self to apply power to the paddle.

Paddle: The Kayak paddle has two blades, one on each end of a central shaft as opposed to a Canoe‘s paddle which has only the one. Generally, there are three types of kayak paddle. The basic paddle has a blade that is flat and symmetrical when looked at face-on, and doesn‘t give very much of a mechanical advantage over two flat boards nailed to the ends of a broom-handle. The second type is the Asymmetrical paddle. The difference is that the lower edge of the blade, (the edge that enters the water first), has a cut-away outer end which makes for a cleaner entry into the water. The whole surface of the blade is also curved to help to prevent water ‘spilling’ over the end of the blade. Both of these paddles have the blades offset to one-another at an angle usually about 45 degrees. The reason for this angular difference, termed the 'feathering', is so that when the blade is out of the water and is on the return part of the stroke, ie up in the air, it is edge-on to the direction of travel and giving the least drag resistance against its forward motion.

The third type of paddle, referred to as the ’Wing’ type, is probably the most efficient of the three, but it requires a modified stroke by the paddler to utilise that potential extra efficiency. The blade is shaped rather like an aeroplane's wing aerofoil with a definite concave ‘spoon’ shape to the inner face. During the stroke the blade has to enter the water as near to vertical as possible and the motion of the stroke moves it outward diagonally at about 30 degrees away from the side of the boat. This motion through the water, like the aeroplane wing, not only pushes against the water but produces lift on the forward face of the blade which should produce a greater forward motion for any given effort.

All paddles are made in different lengths to suit the individual paddler and can be right or left handed. To get the correct sized fit the complete paddle should just fit under your fingertips when it is stood vertically next to you and your arm is raised up to the tip of the paddle.

Skeg: This is a small retractable fin on the underside of the hull. It is mainly used on sea-going kayaks to minimise sideward drift caused by wind on the hull's profile area. It's retractable into the hull to minimise drag when not required, but they are not usually used on racing kayaks. Sometimes there is a small v-shaped fin just in front of an under-stern rudder on racing kayaks which is often incorrectly referred to as the 'Skeg'. It's purpose is to assist with the directional stability of the boat in the same manner as a flight feathers on an arrow. It also helps to ward off weed from fouling the rudder.

Cagoule: Otherwise the ‘Cag‘. A one-piece waterproof over-garment for wet weather touring. It has waterproof seals at the wrists and neck to keep out rain and spray. The BA is worn over the Cag.

Spraydeck: A shaped waterproof sheet that is elasticised around the edge to fit around the cockpit coaming and the paddlers torso, preventing water spray getting into the cockpit.

Pogie: A mitten-like glove that fits over the paddle shaft to provides a water and wind-proof handhold protection on the paddle during cold weather. A gloved hand can be inserted into the pogie to prevent icing up of the extremities.

Dry-bag: A waterproof bag with a watertight seal to store articles that need to be kept dry during an excursion. They come in various sizes to store anything from a change of clothing to a mobile phone.


Naming the boat
It may seem a tad ostentatious but I have been toying with the idea of giving my kayak a name, and a couple of options have occurred to me. One is 'Kingfisher', not necessarily because of that little bird's propensity to throw itself into the water and that I'm likely to follow suit, but because I just happen to have a hang-up from the time when the very first Dan Dare story appeared in the Eagle comic of the '50s, and featured an ill-fated spacecraft of that name. I dunno why that seems appealing but it’s always stayed with me since reading that original copy way back then. But in view of that Kingfisher's fate, perhaps it's not such a good choice. The other option is to name it after Mrs D who has supported this venture since its inception. I'm fairly sure that most women would be pleased to have a boat named after them, but the only thing is that I fancy that Mrs D's expectation of said boat would be something more of a floating gin-palace than a kayak.
So... do I or not? Answers on a postcard please...

On : Progress, Such as it is.

My little accident with a twig while gardening, which I had initially shrugged off as being of little importance, suddenly blew up to ridiculous proportions. I had carried on with the sessions and at first it seemed not to be causing any problems except for a dull ache in the palm of my hand. But after a few days something had evidentially become infected and the whole of my hand ballooned up to the point where I couldn't see my knuckles through the swelling and was unable to grip anything as my hand resembled a stiff, sore claw. In fact I was unable to grip the paddle securely and barely able to drive the car, so that took out any possibility of sessions on the water for the time being.

By this time I began to think that maybe antibiotics might be a good idea and tried to arrange a doctor's appointment, but they were unable to see me for almost a week. During that time I carried on rather half-heartedly with whatever exercises I could manage, mostly involving stretching and sit-ups to keep working on my core fitness, but anything that required pressure on the hand, like press-ups, were a big no-no. Meanwhile I carried on with pain killers until the day of the appointment by which time the swelling had reduced and the problem was evidently clearing up of its own accord. Eventually, last week I was able to make a return to the water but only to see how well the hand would stand up to further maltreatment.

I launched from the usual place and paddled gingerly about a half-mile and then, not wishing to push my luck any further than necessary, returned and called it a day. That little trip didn't seem to have resulted in any further damage and my hand seemed to be getting more or less back to normal with only minimal swelling. I left it a few more days anyway to be on the safe side before venturing out again, but that one moment of carelessness in the garden has now set me back almost two weeks and cost at least three training sessions, so now I have even more catching up to do.

At the start of September we are experiencing some rather pleasant weather. It's warm and calm and there is promise of more to come throughout the month. So I'm hoping to play catch-up and recoup some of the lost time as long as the weather holds good. With that in mind I intended to at least extend the distance and/or the speed of the next outing. Normally the distance involved is about two and a half miles and the time taken to cover it including stops, about 50 minutes, which works out overall to approximately two miles-per-hour. That is dreadfully slow and nowhere near the speed needed for the race, even though it is contrived to be slow and just to practice the paddling technique.

The next session on return to the water went okay initially, after I'd picked my way around the anglers who had ensconced themselves around the boathouse's landing stage that I normally use. That's another minor hazard I haven't previously encountered, and since their lines were taking up two thirds of the water's width it necessitated me taking to the opposite bank to get around them. Having cleared them with the minimum fuss I could manage, I cruised down the first half of the course in under twenty minutes which I thought was quite good. I quit the rest period that I would have usually taken and turned to head back up the course. I soon found that due to the enforced lay-off I had lost much of the hard earned 'form' that I'd built up, and staggered through the last part with all the usual problems, including not being able to keep my upper body upright. So much then for the core exercises.

There were times during the outward leg that things came together for short periods, when half a dozen consecutive strokes would actually produce a bow wave and the boat felt as if it was lifting, which is not something that I usually experience. This doesn't last very long and has to be savoured when it happens, but when the paddling gets out of sync there is also a definite downward 'sinking' feeling of the boat.

Really I think I’m going to have to put a greater emphasis on speed and duration and just hope that the technique falls into place as a result. Also I need to increase the number of outings per week if I’m going to get anywhere at all. Everything is telling me that that’s not really the way to go and I should concentrate on technique to get that nailed first, but with just seven months to go I don’t think I’ve got the time to mess about any longer.

On a more pleasant note, at the finish of the last session when I was loading the boat back on the car, one of the many runners that also use the towpath stopped to chat. It turned out that he is a member of one of the major canoe clubs on the Thames who at one time used to also compete against the cross-country club of which I was a member in the dim and distant past. In fact we found that we had run in one or two of the same races and had common acquaintances between the clubs.

It's a small world.

The Sting in the Tail of the DW


Unlike most other long-distance events, the DW has a unique 'sting in its tail' for those contestants on the 'Overnight' (non-stop) event, brought about by the 'celestial' influences of the Moon and tides. It's a factor that doesn't manifest itself until the closing hours of the race, but has to be taken into account in the planning stage in order to steer away from having to withdraw from the race in its last few hours. It all comes to a crunch at mile 107 where the last of the 77 locks has to be negotiated.

That last lock is at Teddington which is on the west side of London, 17 miles from the finish at Westminster, and it has one major difference from all the other locks that would have had to have been negotiated previously. Being the last in the chain it separates the river that's levels and flow is largely controlled by the lock system, from the tidal flow of water out to the Thames estuary and the English Channel.

As previously mentioned, in the four-day event contestants are set off each morning in groups and make their way through the 30 to 40 miles of the stage to the next overnight stop. If however the contestant takes more than ten hours to complete that days mileage they will not be allowed to start on the following day's stage. That insures that a minimum standard and speed is maintained, which is quite low and equivalent to an easily achievable brisk walking pace of about 3.5 to 4 miles per hour. But the overnighters don't have that worry, they have another worry all of their own.

The overnighters have to get to Teddington at the time of the high tide to take advantage of the ebb flow as the tide turns back towards Westminster. Due to the safety restrictions imposed on the competitors the inviolate rule is that entrants are only allowed to progress through Teddington and onto the tideway for a period of a half-hour before high tide, to three and a half hours afterwards. If an entry can't make that time window they have to wait for the next tide and sit around counting the hours ticking away while being added to their race time... or retire. Any attempt to carry on after the window has closed, results in an automatic disqualification.

The water levels, and to an extent the speed of flow of the water in both the canal and the Thames, is governed by the locks along the way. In the canal section the water flow is not very fast and might add about one mile-per-hour to the boat's overall speed after periods of heavy rain. In the river the water flow can add another half to one mile-per-hour. The tideway however, is of a different complexion in that the water flow and level is uncontrolled. Flow is at its lowest around the high tide but can ebb or flow at a much greater rate. The water is also much more turbulent, especially when passing under bridges where standing waves can build up at bridge pillars. Couple this with the widening of the river it becomes much more exposed to wind and where the banks are built up to accommodate the varying height of the river, makes the tideway a not very much fun place to be when conditions are at their worst.

This then calls for a bit of basic arithmetic and knowledge of the average speed, including all stops and delays that are likely to be experienced throughout the race, so that a start time at Devizes can be calculated to bring about the arrival at Teddington to the optimum moment. This is judged to be about a quarter hour after high tide to gain the maximum assistance over the final 17 miles. The contestants have a choice of start time anywhere between 7 am and 12 noon on the Easter Saturday. So to calculate an individual start time you would need to estimate the times it will take to complete the canal section, add it to the river section's time to Teddington, and subtract that from the high tide time.

Generally speaking, to achieve a fairly average race time of 24 hours, you would need to arrive at Teddington 21 hours after starting. Given that the Easter high tide at Teddington is usually somewhere between 4 am and 6 am on the Easter Sunday, the start time at Devizes would then need to be between 7 am and 9 am.

But the race's final sting in the tail comes from the turn of the tide from ebb to flow. Any crew just making the very end of the four hour window and embarking on the last 17 miles in an tired state can run into trouble if they don't make Westminster before then. In fact, the water flow reverses within minutes and uncovered banks are quickly under a couple of feet of fast flowing water as the tide turns. This means that exhausted crews are now paddling against the flow in the last few miles. This is an almost impossible task and crews have been known to leave the water and portage their boats through to the finish.

These are all factors to be taken into account and allowed for before the race begins, and are just some of the reasons which in my opinion make this race almost unique in the sporting calendar.

On: Getting the Mojo Working


It's been a dispiriting couple of weeks.

After the lay-off due to my hand problem and with getting back on the water, I began to realise that I really couldn't say whether there has been any sort of progress overall. Okay, I've been able to get the distance up to a bit over two miles, I can keep my knees away from the side of the cockpit and I've got a bit more confidence on calm water at least, but I still don’t feel as though I’m getting very far with the overall performance. My speed on the water isn’t very quick even when I’m trying hard. A week or so ago joggers and fast walkers were beating me along the length of the towpath. No matter what effort I'm putting into each stroke, and there is a lot of effort going in, full chat is just a little better than a walking pace. Speed isn't improving and I lose form at the slightest hitch. Taking my eyes off the focal point on the horizon to look around or if I lose concentration for a moment or two, then the balance goes.

What is particularly frustrating is that there has been a lot of weed cutting going on and the detritus is left to float down the canal. Very often I pick up a strand or two of the cuttings, which always, without fail, work their way down the paddle and flap about at the end of the shaft, catching me around the back of the head like a wet kipper at every other stroke. And it doesn’t dislodge easily. If however I stop paddling to try to remove it and shift both hands to the same side of the paddle, that really screws the balance and a couple of inadvertent lurches ensue. I try to ignore the stuff and hope that it goes away, but on the last session one particularly tenacious piece doggedly clung on for fifty yards or so before I finally gave in and risked picking it off the end of the paddle, almost bringing about a capsize in the process.

Ducks are another distraction. They all have families now and are very protective of their young. A few weeks ago they would avoid me as I approached, or they'd take off ahead of me. Maybe it's just that they're getting to know me ploughing through the thick of them, but now they head straight towards me making threatening quacks and only turn away at the very last moment. I feel sure that one of them is going to go for my throat before long.

At the beginning of September I was asked to help out back at work where annual holidays and sickness was taking its toll on their available work force. So that was most of that week out and paddling was put on the back burner, which has rather ruined my plan to catch up with the missing sessions.

That did give me an opportunity to think about it all and really it still all comes down to style. But you need to know what your style is to make a valued judgement, good or bad. The trouble is that when you are pushing the (your) envelope, in your mind‘s eye you’re cleaving through the water with good clean strokes that powers the boat further and faster... What you're not seeing is all the bad habits and erratic bits that each deduct a little from the performance.

With this in mind Mrs D's help was enlisted again to bring the video camera and take some pictures while I paddled past. After launching I did a length of the pound up to the first bridge, turned around and came back down trying to get all the things I’ve previously practiced together. It felt as if it was going well and Mrs D duly recorded my passage from almost straight ahead and from the side. As good as it felt to me though, her comments were not particularly complimentary.

Looking through the rather shaky video (she was shaking with laughter at the time) it might just as well have been taken two months earlier. Although the paddling action looked a bit more positive and fluid with the paddle deeper in the water, body rotation and leg action was almost completely absent. Also there is no suggestion of an even cadence or keeping all the fundamentals of the stroke going together at any one time. Poetry in motion it isn't, It's rather more like Mr Preview: 'They're all the right notes, just not necessarily in that order'.

Another thing creating a problem at the moment is entry and exit of the boat. It's never been what you might call 'elegant' but I've managed it most times. DW'ers mostly make it look easy. Some of the younger and more sprightly entrants seem to be able to exit their boat while still on the move in a sort of seamless, forward rolling movement. My exit looks more like a wallowing walrus. Like everything else there's a technique that has to be mastered when you're trying to raise a sitting body on an unstable platform from water level, to an 18 inches high bank, above and to one side. On the first occasion when getting into the boat I hadn't placed my feet 'just right' and it gradually edged way from the bank leaving me spread-eagled between bank and boat. Only a superhuman jacknifing effort prevented me from falling in between the two. Even so the boat was canted over to such an angle that it started to ship water over the side of the cockpit.

But last week was the nadir of boat entry and exiting. This time while exiting after the session, I somehow managed to get the hand that was propping me on the bank trapped under my arse by sitting on it. Trying to take my weight off my hand made the boat skitter out to one side leaving me suspended again, one foot in the boat, one in the water while scrabbling at the bank. At least two young boys who were setting up their fishing gear nearby offered to hold the boat for me, which I declined while rolling around onto the towpath.

I just don’t have the Mojo. I can occasionally see it tantalisingly in the periphery of my vision. It seems to be there for the grasping but just when I reach out... it disappears again.

Hi, Deke
I have been reading this site for about a year now and this wonderful saga of yours has finally prompted me to make a comment.

Thank you so much for being such an inspiration! Your story makes me believe I can start something new even thought I am over 50. What I love most about it is that the way you have written it makes me feel like I am right there in the moment.

This last segment made me laugh when you described your first venture into the boat Now I will not let it bother me when I do something that might look foolish and if it makes someone laugh that's great!

Also, your concern that you may have lost your mojo has helped me to see, by knowing you haven't, that when I feel that way I haven't either! There are plateaus. Some people use them as stepping off stages; some people use them as places to rest.

Besides, you don't really need to win the race first time out, do you?

Hi there Clare

Thank you so much for your lovely comments.

It's always great to hear from someone who's read your ramblings, and even more so when they have enjoyed them. I'm really pleased that you've liked them so far.

I was out for a rather longer trip today, but I’ll come to what happened during it later. Hopefully there will finally be an outcome to these misadventures but I can guarantee that wherever all this goes, it won't be to win the race.

Perhaps one day I'll get the hang of kayaking, but it's a longer process than I anticipated so I'm not sure if this journal is going to become a bit repetitious. We'll have to see.

Please keep reading and commenting though

Thanks again

Deke

On: To Infinity and Beyond.

I think that I've been concentrating too much on getting the perfect stroke nailed at the expense of everything else, not least endurance. Up until now my outings consist of fairly short distances which in reality are not getting me anywhere. The debacle with the video a week or two ago shows that there's precious little improvement over the last couple of months as far as technique is concerned. The best I can say is that what I've done up to now, has been a confidence booster and that I've worked the distance up slightly.

Of course endurance is what the DW is all about and technique is really only a tool to enhance endurance. The race is going to require me to paddle between thirty to thirty-eight miles on three consecutive days and then a ‘breeze’ of only seventeen miles on the fourth. I need to start extending myself with longer distances as I think that by increasing the length of the paddling excursions it will improve strength and stamina, and hopefully through that the technique will follow due to the extended time in the water. Now it may be that I've got this completely arse about face, but what I'm doing at the moment doesn't seem to be working very well. So it seems that that is where I need to start aiming for, to work up to a distance in excess of thirty miles, which is a tall order considering my overall fitness at the moment.

My usual paddle starts at a point almost exactly half way between two of the locks on the Wey Navigation. The furthest point out from that start point is a lock a little over a mile away, where to turn and return to the start gives me a paddle distance of a little over two miles. Although I can now handle that distance adequately without any rest stops, three times a week, it does leave me tired and sore enough the following day to evoke an involuntary 'Ooh' or 'Argh' grunt each time I have to begin to get up out of a chair.

I took a trip up to the lock to have a look around as I've never actually seen it except from water-level, and it's another one of those little gems of a place that's hidden away unless you stumble across it. The lock is quite pretty with mown lawns outside a small lock-keepers cottage. The cottage is between the lock and a cut that handles the excess water from the canal, which is fed by a small weir and waterfall. A small information sign also tells that in another century this was the site of a lime kiln, and it's got a small but readily accessible car park. Oh... and it’s also got a pub with a small garden overlooking the cut.

So looking at the map, it seemed that if I started from there I could make a run past my original start point and into unexplored territory right down to the next lock which would give an overall return distance of over five miles. That seemed a reasonable distance to attempt so in order to steer clear of the weekend traffic I left it until midweek at the end of September before I sallied forth.

The first leg of a mile seemed to go quite well with some steady paddling. I paused at the boat-house and then went on into the unknown territory past the bridge. This part of the canal turned out to be rather more unkempt than the stretch I'm used to, with several large clumps of reeds almost halving the width of the channel. After a while I was beginning to feel the cramp at hip-joint level that signals the onset of upper body fatigue. Taking a rest and a stretch in the boat I set eyes on a large bird preening itself while perched at the very top of an Oak tree in an adjacent field. At first I couldn't see it well enough to identify it until it took off and headed my way.

It resolved itself into the characteristic lines of a Heron as flapped out of the tree and glided down to land on the bank only ten meters away, and for a couple of minutes we regarded each other with beady eyes. Now for me there is no love lost for this particular species of birdlife as my pond at home has lost quite a few fish to these 'grey ghosts' over the years, and I would have gladly clouted it with my paddle if it had been close enough. No doubt he/she was just wondering if I was edible and whether I would I fit into its beak. Eventually to break the stand-off I carried on my way and the thing just watched me pass.

Rest stops became more frequent as the cramp made it impossible to carry on in a properly upright position, making it necessary to slump against the back rim of the cockpit, and as I had all the way to go back I finally decided to stop short of the target, take another rest and return. On the way back I found a houseboat coming at me as I approached a narrow bend in the channel and I pulled right over to stop and rest while he passed by. I have no idea what actually happened next but approaching the bank I reached out to grab a handhold and found myself rotating over backwards and into the water.

The water turned out to be waist deep at this point but the bottom was shelving at about 30 degrees making a foothold on its slope difficult. The houseboat carried on by and the complete compliment of crew came up on deck to take a look at me floundering. I returned the most reproachful look I could manage under the circumstances, to try to make them feel guilty, but it didn’t raise a single comment. Recovering the kayak and emptying it was relatively simple and at least it gave me an opportunity to stretch my legs and body with a walk along the bank. Getting back in and under way again was also quite easy and at least a dog-walker inquired if I was alright. How we laughed.

Strangely, instead of being a bit of a downer, I found this experience quite uplifting. This was my first dunking since the one in the Thames months ago during the initial course, and for a while it seemed to lift the ’dread’ of capsizing that I’ve been carrying ever since. Certainly the hip pain was gone for about a mile, probably due to an Adrenalin surge, but came back with a vengeance on the home straight. In fact, using the Google map, I was able to pinpoint the place at which I turned back which was only a couple of hundred meters away from the target. So, I can fairly claim a distance of about four and a half miles return distance.

Not non-stop, not well, or easily done and not without mishap, but completed nevertheless.

Become one with the water, grasshopper, become one

Did you double your distance in that trip, Deke? If so I bet you're pretty sore!

On: Getting a life.

Actually, I do also still have a life that isn't centred around kayaking. Although it does sometimes seem that even that is being subsumed into the kayaking world, and the whole kayaking thing does seem to be becoming more and more predominant.

As previously mentioned, due to staff shortages at my old firm I was requested to do a few days work for them. Those few days have now turned into almost a month that will finish in in mid October. Unfortunately that means curtailed paddling time leaving only a couple of weekdays and weekends to get out on the water, so I have to use whatever time I have productively.

I found that I could still work on the body rotation problem even during slack times at work by simply carrying out the twist at the hips, then at the waist and again at the shoulders while simply standing with my arms folded. However, this does seem to raise the odd eyebrow and quizzical look as I perform these motion, and it also still seems to slightly unnerve those that I'm talking to at the same time. Of course I do try to explain why I‘m twisting backwards and forwards while I’m talking to them, but the 'Ah... yes' reply doesn't seem that they are entirely convinced that I should have been brought back out of retirement. Nevertheless, it seems to be a quite useful exercise and shows up the minimal rotation at the shoulders. There isn't very much.

Weirdly enough, I found some old videos of a club, long-distance, kayak race on the Thames that I took about eighteen months ago. It involved about a hundred competitors of all different ages and abilities racing around one of the islands near Walton-on-Thames. It was one of the national ‘Hasler’ races, so named after ‘Blondie’ Hasler, the leader of the kayak raid on shipping, in the port of Bordeaux in 1942, other wise known as the ‘Cockleshell Heroes‘. Just out of interest I went through my film to look at the styles and techniques of the participants, and the awful thing was that I could see only two of them that had any discernible body rotation at all. Almost all of them, experienced and novice alike, seemed transfixed in a bolt-upright posture using arms like flails. On the whole I‘m beginning to wonder if I‘m trying to achieve the impossible as far as technique is concerned.

Just before getting the request from work I had made the mistake of undertaking to replace the garden shed that is quietly mouldering and now falling down at the bottom of the garden. Initially I was just going to replace it like for like, size for size, which should have been a straightforward enough task. Mrs Deke however, decreed that we needed a ‘bigger’ one. Eventually we found and bought a reasonably priced, larger affair of the ’potting-shed’ variety, and what was to have been a fairly simple weekend exercise turned into a major source of ‘core‘ exercises.

First there was the extending of the concrete base. This involved digging out the bed to about six inches deep, lots of twisting while lifting there. Then wheel-barrowing the spoil to the other end of the garden, involving more lifting and pushing. Then breaking up bricks for hardcore and tamping that down into place with a lump hammer . Next, wheel-barrowing in twenty, 25kg bags of concrete mix and mixing with water to lay the base. Finally, demolishing the old shed, and clearing away the debris to the skip in the road in the front of the house, provided enough lifting, twisting and humping for a real fun weekend.

In fact it was quite a weekend work-out, and quite shattering. With any luck it will have made some sort difference to overall fitness, but it was back-breaking work for the whole weekend and certainly substituted for any exercise regime that I could have dreamed up. I’ve felt the after-effects for the last week but the stiffness is beginning to ease and stretching exercises are helping somewhat. Despite all this however, my weight isn’t decreasing as much as I would like, and Mr Buddha still lives. My weight sticks resolutely at just under the fourteen stone mark, which is almost the same as that which I started with. Neither have I yet started to develop that characteristic shape of the competitive kayaker, like Olympians Ed McKeever or Tim Brabants, which looks like a triangle stood on its apex, broad of shoulder and snaky of hip.

But then, I still have the new shed to erect over the coming weekend.

It sounds like you need a more all encompassing daily exercise routine but at least you are not mouldering away at the bottom of the garden!
As for the weight, I shed an easy 10 pounds by eliminating sugar from my diet. Naturally borne sugar such as is in fruit is okay but none of that added fructose sucrose or whatever that you find listed in label ingredients. Also, I tend to put on weight in my middle so when some was lost I became more bendy and therefore started to lose girth because that area was moving more just in everyday activity. The best part is it feels good!

I know you were just dying to hear all this

And you still continue to inspire me. When I don't feel like going and doing my daily exercises, I remember what you are doing and then I go "okay, if he can do it so can I!"

Is there a period during the winter when you will not be able to get out on the water or do you live in a warmer region?

Hi Clare
You're right about the amount of exercise, but I had hoped that boating two or three times a week would have been enough. Clearly I've got to do more as the Buddha Belly really does get in the way. In an earlier incarnation when I regularly did a bit of running, there wasn't a problem with weight. But I started to put it on after I gave that up.

Without the running I've always had a problem shedding weight, but then I don't usually diet much either. Except insofar as I have no added sugar with anything, and my one rule is that nothing passes the lips between meals, except tea. But there's probably some room for manoeuvre there.

As far as the weather is concerned I’m not looking forward to the winter but the Thames Valley area doesn’t usually have the excesses that other parts of the country can get. It’s usually just cold and wet, but it has its moments. 'Frinstance, November two years ago we were knee deep in snow for a couple of weeks, while the year before that it had been the warmest November in years. But whatever comes up I’m going to have to get the time on the water in. (To become one with it). The main problem is the river conditions after heavy rain, which we happen to be getting rather a lot of at the moment. There are flow warnings out at the moment along the whole length of the Thames which has just cancelled a session I was going to attempt tomorrow. Luckily the Wey isn’t as badly effected as that.
http://riverconditions.environment-agency.gov.uk/#listC

All the best
Deke

On: Back to the Thames.

I had been promising myself that I would make a return back to the Thames when I was reasonably confident that I was managing the boat well enough to cope with the more exposed conditions there, and I had tentatively earmarked the start of October as a good a time as any to try. By mid September it had barely rained in my part of the world for the best part of six weeks or so, and on one particularly pleasant weekend I went down to the river to assess the situation. It was a warm afternoon and the water was beautifully calm with very little flow. It was a picture of tranquillity with the odd Swan and waterfowl doing what they do. There was no wind and the conditions for an exploratory trip in a kayak were as near perfect as it is possible to get. Things looked pretty good for an outing at the end of the month but I determined that I would keep to the plan of a couple of longer trips on the Wey then chance my arm. Meanwhile both my sons also individually offered to ride shotgun on me when I decided to take the (metaphorical) plunge in the Thames.

Almost needless to say that was the signal for the weather to change. At the end of the month the rainfall, especially in the northern half of the country, was reaching record figures with burst river banks, homes flooded out to the extent of some building’s foundations being washed away making the buildings only suitable for demolition, and phrases such as ‘a month’s rain in a day’ being bandied about in the news reports. Although the southern end of the country didn’t fare so badly as the north, there were still several days of spectacular downpours.

Things just seemed to be beginning to settle down again when at the beginning of October I received an e-mail from the club with which I had completed the beginners course and improvers sessions in April. They had an improvers session listed for the first Sunday in October. This seemed ideally suited for my purposes and I decided to sign up, even if it meant temporarily having to go back to the ultra-stable beginner's boats. Of course, no sooner had I contacted them than the rain started tipping it down again, and by the day before the session the red 'River in Flood' warning boards were up for the complete length of the Thames, and so the session was cancelled. Even the normally sedate Wey managed a couple of closures in places. So it goes...

The club has however, also published a list of regular Saturday trips that's planned through each week right up to the new-year. Unfortunately they are all a bit on the long side for me at around ten to fifteen miles each, but from my point of view they would be ideal if I can get somewhere near that mileage during the coming month... or I could just go for it and see what happens. Though that probably wouldn't be very fair on the others taking part if they had to keep on looking after someone who was forever stopping. There are other improver sessions planned by the club so I’ll have to see if I can get into one or two of those beforehand. But as usual, frustratingly, it all rather depends on the weather and how quickly I might be able to get up to scratch.

In the meanwhile I've worked out another cunning plan to help with the paddling action. During poor weather when it's not advisable to be out on the water, various clubs in the area use a gymnasium based paddling machine, usually referred to as the 'Ergo'. Really it's the kayaker's version of a rowing machine, except that it reproduces the kayaker's paddling action with the use of a pole for a paddle connected by strips of bungee rubber from the ends of the pole to a turbine that measures and dissipates the effort produced.

I've tried to make my own, rather more Heath-Robinson Ergo, in the back garden with the use of two garden chairs. Set face to face, with one to sit on and the other facing it but set against a wall of the garden conservatory. Two strips of bungee from the ends of an old aluminium pole go through a wooden footboard and are mounted to the chair that's against the wall. By sitting on the one and bracing my feet against the footboard on the other wall mounted one, I can simulate a paddling action with the pole quite effectively. My pull on the bungee will pull the footboard away from the chair unless I brace it by pushing down with the correct leg to keep it in place. Another neat feature is that I can check that my body action is looking good by watching my reflection in the conservatory window glass. Simples.

The first couple of tries with it have worked quite well, although there may be a couple of teething troubles with the length of the bungee cord that I'll have to iron out. It does seem to simulate the action required quite well though, and I hope that this might help without having to rely on getting the boat on the water each time I want to practice.

On the exercise side of things I've had another day's bending, lifting and exerting myself unduly while I laid out the new potting shed wooden base and after erecting the shed complete, manhandling it into place. That's quite hard work but it hasn't been anything like as painful as last time.

On: A FOAMIL's Mutterings

My attempts at trying to insert myself into the club's Improvers sessions haven't proved very fruitful up to now. My first attempt at the beginning of October came to naught when the session was cancelled due to heavy rain bringing flooding and high flow rate along almost the complete length of the Thames and even to the Wey which was also closed to navigation for a couple of days. On the second Sunday e/mailing the session leader didn't produce a reply so I was reluctant to go along if there wasn't going to be a place for me. It was unlikely though that the session would have taken place anyway, as warning boards were up on the reaches above our stretch, although the weather on the day was otherwise quite reasonable.

A further inquiry this week produced an invitation to come along on this coming Sunday. The only fly in the ointment being that as of today, Thursday, the river flow is rising again with yellow and red warning boards out for the stretches of the river above ours. And of course what happens upstream today, works its way down to us in a couple of days. So we have to wait with baited breath and the hope that there won't be too much rain between now and the weekend.

It's not only the weather that's played havoc with my schedule. Other commitments like work have taken up most of my free time and they have been keen to extend it further. But I've just worked my last fill-in day and work runs out this week, so there is now a need for a big push and no more missed sessions from now on. On top of that Mrs D has decided to get a dog. So we're now going to take out a further two days after the weekend to travel half the length of the country to look at a litter of puppies.

The upshot of all this is that I've managed only one session on the Wey in the whole first half of October. That's the only session since the trip in which I took a dive a couple of weeks ago. Unless this weekend's session with the Improvers comes good, I'm going to have to write off the best part of a month's training, despite recognising the need earlier to 'get the finger out'.

That lone session was not particularly auspicious. That particular morning dawned quite clear and cold. So cold in fact that there was the first thick frost of the year on the car and lawn which no doubt is a portent of the shape of things to come? Things had warmed up marginally by the time I came to launch from the usual spot, but since this was the first time on the water after a lay-off of about two weeks, I thought I'd better keep it simple and just settled for a repeat of my normal two mile stretch. At first it was very shaky and it was a surprise just how quickly form and confidence had been lost if the outings are missed. I did manage a few good patches on the return trip so not all had been lost.

It was cold out on the water though. Up until now I've usually settled for a pair of old flappy running shorts and a singlet as my paddling outfit, sometimes supplemented with 'Trackster' leggings, all dragged out from the very bottom of my clothing drawer. None of which fit very well, being tight in some places and baggy in others. But this week I bought my first ever item of Lycra. This is a pair of royal blue, thigh-length leggings which are.. well... tight, and accentuate the double curvatures of the nether regions. Running shorts never looked like this. I have also splurged out on a couple of long-sleeved thermal vests and a rainproof, polyester top. I'm told that this now officially makes me a MAMIL (Middle Aged Male In Lycra), although I suspect it would be more accurate to be an FOAMIL, (Flabby Old Aged Male In Lycra).

The theory behind this is the ‘Layered’ approach. These types of material don't absorb much water and they dry out quickly to help prevent body heat loss when you have finally extracted yourself from the water after a capsize. I can attest to the difficulty in getting out of the water on the two occasions that I went in when wearing 'normal' materials. In fact, on the first occasion, in deep water I had to be assisted by the instructor and unceremoniously hauled out by the BA straps when I couldn't raise my leg far enough to get a purchase on the pontoon that I was trying to board. The second time when I was wearing the Trackster leggings and had difficulty in wading out of relatively shallow water and having to drain them off as they had filled like water balloons. Another factor with these modern materials is that they form air layers between them that helps to keep body heat in and wind chill out. We’ll have to see how well all that works in the future though.

In the meanwhile my Heath-Robinson Ergo has been getting a bit of use. It works quite well but the pull from the bungee rubber isn’t right. The paddle stroke in water usually takes an equal amount of pressure as it travels its length in the water. The pressure required is the same at both the start and end of the stroke, whereas the bungee naturally increases the amount of pressure needed from front to rear as it stretches and tightens up. Increasing the length of the bungee has helped and it makes a ‘good-enough’ simulator to help get the sequence of stroke/foot-pressure/body-twist right. It all looks quite impressive in the reflection in the conservatory window, I just hope it will look as impressive when it’s on the water.

Go ahead and make fun of yourself but please don't let it advance to a stage of discouraging yourself.
We need to stay alive and the old adage is "use it or lose it" and another one is "when you stop moving you stop moving."
But how funny I am saying this to you. Doubtless you have accomplished so much more than I have in these last months.
But you inspire me.

And you take me to a place far away and make it as intimate as my back yard.
This is great!
Can't you still use that canal you have been using when the waters get higher?
Or is it dangerous on the canals as well?

I love your makeshift out-of-water paddling machine

Hi there Clare.

My apologies for not replying sooner but I've been away 'up-country' for a couple of days looking at puppies with Mrs Deke. She intends to walk a dog while I paddle.

Thanks for your encouragement as it's always welcome. I'm glad you can find something worth reading in my ramblings. Really, this blog is a help to keep going, especially when I know someone reads it. Others have commented when it's taken up by at weekends and I value any comments I can get as it provides me with the impetus to keep going when things get a bit iffy.

At the moment 'Failure is not an option' and it's only circumstances that occur with regular monotony that will foil my plans. At the moment ‘frinstance, I’m sitting here with a raging cold, sore throat, running eyes and nose, so that’s the rest of the week out I’m afraid. Consequently I'm not nearly as far advanced as I need to be and I've made a serious mistake in not keeping up with the Improvers group.

But, last weekend I got a serious psychological hurdle out of the way which I hope is going to help. But we’ll see.

Deke

On: Improving on the Thames

It turned out to be the third time lucky with my efforts to get away from the relative tranquillity of the Wey and back into the perils of the Thames. The first booking with the club's Improvers group came to naught when the session was cancelled due to adverse river conditions. The second time I wasn't able to get a booking, but on the third week I struck gold. My Plan, such as it was, was to take up with the Improvers group and ease myself back into the flow by using one of the club's very stable beginners boats until I got the feel of the wide open and windswept spaces on the river again, rather than venture out in my much more ’tippy’ Laance.

I managed to get booked on the session with the group leader by Wednesday last week, and kept a close watch on the river's status boards throughout the week as the warnings crept back again to red along the whole length of the Thames after more torrential rainfall. Although the rain had pretty much stopped by Friday and the flow rate was dropping by Saturday the warning boards still showed yellow. E-mails were flying around all over the place and the session leader came up with three alternatives depending on conditions on the Sunday morning. 1) to go out as usual. 2) to take two-seater boats (Gulp!) upriver and come back to the clubhouse with the flow, and 3) take the boats to the Wey (Oh No!). Sunday dawned, yellow boards were still up for our stretch of the river but the session leader deemed it safe to carry out the normal session, although it was going to give us a real work-out heading upstream.

By this time I found myself coming down with a sore throat and a cod in de 'ed. Not wanting to miss this session though I dosed up with ‘Aspirin’ and ‘Day-Nurse’ to clear away the symptoms for the duration. Late Sunday afternoons always feels to me to be a completely 'wrong' time to be thinking about sodding about on a river, and a cold and wet one at that. Really, to my mind, that time of the week should be reserved for the more civilised pursuits like a glass of vino and a Sunday roast, but at least I would have the chance to try out the new Lycra. Eventually seven of us met up at the clubhouse a bit before 4pm. The Sun was to set at around 6.0pm so the light was already failing under a pall of grey cloud and mist just short of rain.

When it came to the allocation of the boats the others had already earmarked their favourite ones from previous sessions and it turned out that since I was last there, all but one of the old flat-bottomed beginner’s kayaks had been got rid of, and the only one remaining was already collared by someone else. After some discussion about the relative wobble factors of the available boats I was allocated a nearly new racing/touring kayak which is almost identical to my Laance including a similar wobble factor of 10, This now presented me with something of a problem as I had been assuming that I’d be venturing out into fairly marginal conditions in one of the forgiving, ultra-stable, beginner’s boats. So, I had the choice of either chickening out completely or taking it on the chin and having a go, with the near certainty of swimming home.

Myself and another guy, who had also been allocated the same type of boat as me, spent some time swapping over boats and trying to get the seat adjustments correct. Prior to launching we all received a general talk on water flow and currents and boat handling in adverse conditions. There’s more to it all than meets the eye, what with having to make allowances for the increased speed in turns and the rolling effect when sideways on to the stream, and the extra sideways drift, and the nose of the boat being pushed off course, and coming in behind the jetty so as not to caught under the jetty by the flow...

We pushed off and I’d have to say that the others didn’t look too stable as we progressed up stream against the rather considerable flow. But after a while it didn’t seem as daunting as it had the last time I went out in similar conditions. All the work on the Wey seemed to be paying off at least as far as getting the thing to go in a straight line is concerned. On the previous sessions I had been heading off at all unpredictable angles as the current deflected the boat’s direction. This time it seemed relatively straightforward keeping it on a heading diagonally across the river.

After about a mile of steady paddling we took to more sheltered water in the lee of an island which afforded a bit of a rest until we reached the point where the current entered the side stream and being a bit narrower increased its speed. That was hard work getting through the bottleneck and back into the main flow. But we managed it in single file and did a long sweeping turn out and across the river to the other side for the return journey in the now fast fading light. There we found that the wind was gusting up against us and driving a light, misty rain directly into our faces, although we now were being carried downstream by the flow. This was quite unpleasant as the light faded and gaggles of ducks fled the water for their dry land overnight perches.

The hard work of paddling against the stream was tiring and the inside of my Cag and thermal vest was saturated with sweat. The old problem of keeping an upright torso also now returned as I sagged backwards to the rear of the cockpit, making the likelihood of a capsize even more possible. Ultimately I just kept going with the flow as the others crept ahead and I followed on behind. But the return journey always takes considerably less time under such conditions and we were back at the clubhouse in short order. Being last back I had to make another long curving turn across the river while the others got their boats out at the jetty and I followed on behind making quite a reasonable landfall as I tucked the tail end of the boat into the jetty with some judicious paddle work.

That session was only three miles, but it was hard going and a little further than I would normally have gone. But, against my expectations I'd managed to do three miles in marginal conditions with a tippy boat and didn‘t have to swim. I’m really pleased with that and it turned out to be a real confidence booster. The work that I’ve done on the Wey seems to have paid off slightly, insofar as I was able to get the boat going in the direction I wanted without too much trouble. I don’t have the stamina that the others have and that’s the main thing to work on now.

At the moment though the warning boards are still on yellow, there isn’t a session planned for this coming Sunday and I’ve still got a raging cold.

Oh my gosh! That was quite thrilling there towards the end!! LOL usually when things get suspenseful in stories I will go to the end to see how it turns out. This has only been in the last few years and is a direct result of unfortunate outcomes in my life 3 years ago. But the momentum of this story went too fast for me to stop and go to the end. I was caught up in the stream just as you were on the river LOL LOL This is such a good place to be LOLLING I guess you know that you have a Way with words but it doesn't hurt to weigh in with anyone else who has expressed that to you. This is SUCH a good thing you are doing here, Deke. The paddling AND the writing about it. Thank YOU.

(sorry about all the capitalized words; they just won't be kept down)