kayak across the water

In my experience, there are several stages of evolution when it comes to kayak rolling. They are:

• Acceptance that, if you’re serious about kayaking, you will need to get your hair wet.
• Observation of kayakers who can roll proficiently, accompanied by frequent utterances of, “I’ll never be able to do that.”
• Pool sessions, starting with lots of poolside hip flicking (usually surrounded by river paddlers doing ridiculous acrobatics).
• Developing familiarity with eskimo rescues. Increased presence of the “hand of God”.
• Discovery of the joy of floats.
• First pool boat roll.
• First sea kayak roll, in the sea.
• Work on off-side.
• Robust, dependable roll on both sides.
• World domination.

Well, that’s the general idea. Along the way, of course, are many, many hours of hand-wringing, soul-rending, excruciating, intricate analysis of ever minute detail of the technicalities of the roll, carefully documented via blog and forum posts. (Or is that just me?). Let’s just say, things can get a bit “uptight”.

Whilst working on my off-side roll, it occurred to me that it felt like I always seemed to need a checklist before setting up. This list would include items such as: direction of wind/waves, location of nearby rescuer, sea temperature, nose clip, venting/buoyancy of drysuit, positioning of hands, blade angle, positioning of head, adequate sweep, lucky white heather etc. I’ve seen the Space Shuttle commander go through less before lift-off.  Yet I also knew that my best rolls were achieved when I abandoned all thought and went by feel.

Which brings me to the next stage in my personal rolling evolution. For quite some time, I’ve been aware of that strange breed of kayaker who can be found in sleek, black craft (called qajaqs actually), who employ wooden sticks and clothes lines, dress up as seals and speak in a secret, encrypted code involving a confusion of vowels and consonants that would make an Icelandic volcano proud. Most of all, they demonstrate grace, ease and calm in executing their elegant rolls. They have intrigued me and I have secretly longed to join their cult (not just because black looks cool). You might be familiar with some of their names, such as Cheri Perry and Turner Wilson, Helen Wilson and Dubside. I have also been following Lesley in Orkney, who went over to the dark side some time ago and whose progress has been hugely inspiring. I speak, of course, of Greenland paddlers.

And so, with a view to freeing ourselves from the tyranny of Euro-blade checklists, Alan and I acquired a Greenland paddle, a beautiful red cedar Anglesey Stick in fact. Being that there are 35 Greenland rolls to learn, it is apparent that an entirely different mindset would be required in acquiring these skills, but nonetheless one that we hoped we could transfer over to our Euro paddles when needed. By a stroke of good fortune, I have also discovered that my Rockpool Isel makes a wonderful “Greenland” kayak, being of low profile, having harder chines and a back deck that’s entirely conducive to lay-back rolling. Yet another reason to love my Isel.

The first thing I notice is how much Greenland rolling relates to body movement and awareness. The paddle itself will scarcely let you fail in a standard roll (although you do get style points), inspiring confidence and motivation to move on to the more complex moves. Ironically, much of the Greenland technique teaches reduced dependence on the paddle and more on body positioning. The paddle becomes the teacher who sets you free.

The Greenland paddle is, of course, ancient technology and I find it interesting to compare the relaxed, (literally) laid-back rolls that it induces with the obsessive-compulsive efforts that often result from learning to roll with a modern Euro blade.  I feel like I am letting go and working in harmony with nature (what could be more natural than water and a wooden stick?), as opposed to being a carbon-fibre wielding control freak.

My repertoire is short at this stage, extending to the balance brace, the standard Greenland roll and the butterfly roll. I have attempted a norsaq roll, but am not quite ready (it’s a mind thing – I tend to find myself hanging upside-down thinking, “What am I doing here, and why am I holding this lump of wood?”). The thing is that I am in no rush. I know that, with practice, it will come one day. Greenland rolling has turned an activity I used to fear into something I look forward to, plus already I see improvement in my Euro-blade off-side.

Most recently, in an effort to make better contact with the back deck, we dispensed with our buoyancy aids (or PFDs if you’re in the US).  We have been accused of demonstrating recklessness, but I might argue that rolling in 3 feet of water in 2 mph winds, with 2 radios pre-tuned to Ch 16 and mobile phones to hand surely can’t be called reckless. Anyway:

reck·less (rkls) adj : Indifferent to or disregardful of consequences.

Well, that beats being scared! A good approach to rolling, if you ask me.

After each practice session, Alan and I return home feeling buzzed. Time disappears as we lose ourselves in a place where every moment is now. Why does something so inconsequential to modern life create such a high? Could it be because we are connecting with something that is inherent to human nature – an ancient physical skill that engages our senses, places us firmly in the present, inspires our confidence and allows us the opportunity to overcome fear and other demons in our heads? And – allows us to relax. What’s not to like?!

From now on, I may just have to qajaq across the water …

Having only ever thought of Mull as being somewhere you go on holiday via car and ferry, an invitation to join friends and go there by kayak immediately captured our imagination and interest. We needed little persuasion to sign up for a day trip with a difference.

Our friends emerged off of the water to meet us at Ganavan Bay, north of Oban, and we all then set off on a west northwesterly route, precisely the direction of the wind. Fortunately, it wasn’t too great of a slog initially, although the breeze made its presence felt a little more by the time we reached the Lismore area.

Lighthouse on Eilean Musdile on the south tip of Lismore

As usual in this vicinity, a little wind goes a long way in relation to the tides, and the sea state became a bit more interesting than what Alan and I are used to nearer to home. Happily, as I may have mentioned, this spells one thing to us now – fun! Back in the dark old days, I remember expressing fearfulness at the concept of rougher water. Our friend, Magda, assuaged this fear by asking me how many times I’d actually fallen in in such conditions. The answer, to my continuing relief, is – well, not too many! Apart from that one time. Oh, and that other time … (but training doesn’t count). Since acquiring my Rockpool Isel, I feel increasingly confident that I can keep the capsize incident count low, depending on how “interesting” the sea state gets, of course.  And, I suppose I could always try rolling (as radical as that sounds for someone who’s been practising that very skill for ages).

Duart Castle

After a bit of bobbling about in the chop, we reached the east coast of Mull and made our way around Duart Point to land at the small  bay beside the rather majestic Duart Castle, the ancestral home of Clan MacLean. The bay was filled with small moon jellyfish (rather sadly for the many who wouldn’t be washing back out), but we were especially impressed by the kayaker-friendly “Welcome to Duart Castle” sign posted there. We proceeded to the castle tea room where we enjoyed some sustenance before returning to our kayaks.

Photo courtesy: Lewis Smith

Heading back towards Oban, a rare thing occurred – the tide and the wind were behind us. Ordinarily, if you have spent an outward journey paddling against wind, you can pretty much guarantee that, in a fit of mischief, the weather gods will reverse the wind to defy the forecast, such that you get to paddle against it all the way back too. They especially love to do this when the tide is also running against you. But this day the weather gods appeared to be distracted and we were pushed back in a bumpy, following sea.  The outward journey had taken 2 hours and 45 minutes, and the homeward voyage a mere 2 hours.

Ferries kept us company

During the course of the day, the wind was not the only thing that was increasingly making its presence felt. Oban is a hub for ferries going back and forth across the Sound of Mull and the Firth of Lorne to the various islands (including Mull, Lismore, Colonsay, Coll and Tiree and the Outer Hebrides). Some of these vessels are quite large, and it seemed like every 10 minutes we were seeing one or another looming ahead or behind on a direct course towards us (just because I’m paranoid, doesn’t mean the ferries aren’t out to get me). Most kayakers are acutely aware that they cannot out-paddle a big, muckle ferry, and so it is a question of trying to guess whether or not the ferry will turn and in which direction. Any notion of the usefulness of carrying a Calmac timetable with us was abandoned after our encounter (fortunately not close) with ferry number 7.

Ferry dodging

Strangely, not a single seal was seen that Sunday (and no-one was selling seashells either), but we did see and hear many common terns squabbling overhead.

Soon, we were back at Ganavan Bay reflecting on another wonderful day out. I heard Lewis summarise the trip as “very dodgy” and, just as I was swelling with pride and amazement at being able to handle conditions that even Lewis found “dodgy”, it was clarified that he’d actually said, “ferry dodging”. Indeed, that was quite a prominent feature of the day.

They aim to raise in excess of £15000 for the RNLI and The Make a Wish Foundation and are currently hugely short of funding – please help by donating even as little as £3.88 by going to their fundraising page.

Patrick Winterton, Mick Berwick and Olly Hicks , all seasoned adventurers, take on their toughest challenge to date as they attempt to make the first ever kayak crossing from  Scotland to Norway.  They will follow in the wake of the Shetland Bus heroes from WW2, the Norwegian fishermen who made repeated crossings of the North Sea in the worst conditions to ferry arms and agents into Norway and take refugees out.

Their journey starts on 16 July 2011 and will celebrate the seafaring skills and survival capabilities of the Norwegians and remember those who perished.

They’re hoping that many people, particularly paddlers, donate very small amounts (£3.88) rather a few people giving loads.

Follow their adventure here.

I have a few blog posts queued up (so much kayaking, so little time!), but in the meantime, I thought I’d share a couple of photo albums relating to a special event held on the River Clyde: the concluding “Parade of Sail” of the 2011 Tall Ships Race.

Red Arrows Display

Tall Ships Race 2011 Parade of Sail

Guest Post from Alan

There’s not a whole lot of information or reviews on the Internet about the Rockpool GT, so I thought I’d offer my findings based on my short experience of paddling it. I am a 5′ 11” (1.524m), 165 lb (75 kg)  person.

I had been visiting Karitek in Ayrshire to test out a P&H Cetus and a Cetus MV that for various reasons I really didn’t fit (but that’s another story!) and decided to try out the Rockpool GT. In a short 20 minute test, after adjusting the Rockpool seat and footplate a bit, I convinced myself that I could fit into the kayak and was ready to go. A trip around the small loch near Karitek doesn’t afford adequate testing upon which to base a decision to purchase, but initial impressions were that this kayak was quite voluminous, very, very easy to edge and to hold on edge and turn in a really tight circle. I decided that it was worth trying out for longer and in more realistic conditions, so I hired it for the weekend.

On arriving back in Cowal, there was a small F3 WSW wind blowing and creating some wave activity on the Clyde, so I quickly launched and spent 30 minutes trying the GT out in a little chop. Once again I was quite impressed at the kayak’s ease of control. I could edge it with large degrees of comfort, and turn very easily (there is a nice sweet spot on edge that it sticks on and provides maximum manoeuvrability). Again I was quite impressed by the GT.

The GT is marketed as a large boat that has good primary and secondary stability, and handles like a much smaller kayak. This is indeed very true, and certainly as advertised.

On Saturday we went for some rolling practice, and I found the GT to be a very easy kayak to roll (considering the large volume), however, I did find that I had to pull myself around under the kayak sometimes before starting the roll, which I attributed to its volume. The back deck on the GT is low enough to do lean back rolls, but these may be impeded slightly by the freeboard when unloaded with someone of my weight in it.

I really wanted to take the GT out in more challenging conditions and paddle it for longer, so on Sunday we went on a trip down Loch Fyne from Strachur to Castle Lachlan and back (22 km) expecting the forecast F3/4 SE winds to give us some wave activity. Much to my disappointment, and highly out of character for the weather in this region, it calmed down to F1/2 and even less on the way back . The 5 hour paddle did, however, serve its purpose in terms of finding out that the GT fit was not a comfortable one for me, despite my having played around extensively with the seat and footplate positions. Paddling for short periods of time, I had no discomfort but, after about the 2 hour mark, my feet were aching from their positioning on the footplate (and my inability to stretch them out), I had sore thighs when engaging the thigh braces and, most noticeably, a very achy lower back from the backrest which was much larger than the one on the Alaw Bach/Isel seats that I’ve seen. I decided to make some changes to the seat position at lunch and see how much comfort I could achieve on the return trip. I still didn’t fit the thigh grips without really tensing up, so I moved the seat forward further to make a better connection. (One point of note about moving the seat forward so much is that it creates a lot of space behind the seat, and also makes it that much harder to clamber into to begin with). I certainly felt much better connected when I climbed back in after lunch, but only managed about 1 hour of paddling before my back was starting to spasm once more forcing me to see if anyone else wanted to paddle the kayak for the rest of the day!  It really is true that you have to  paddle a kayak for at least a day (preferably longer) to see whether it is the right one for you.

In terms of size, the GT is a large volume kayak (17′ 10″ (5.44m), 380 litres, 21″ (53 cm) wide), which has a lot of its volume above the waterline. The cockpit is an extremely large one but, with the adjustable footplate and seat, can be made to fit just about anyone. I did, however, feel quite small inside this cockpit. I think perhaps this kayak is geared towards a 6′+ 80kg+ paddler with lots of gear to carry.

You certainly notice that, paddled empty, the kayak sits quite high up on the water with quite a few inches of freeboard. At my size, I feel like I sit deeply inside the cockpit (my hips were about 2-3 inches below the cockpit rim, which is really too far). Quite a few fellow paddlers remarked on how high in the water I looked. They mentioned that the bow was often sitting above the waterline. They also remarked at how the kayak looked very ‘big at the front’, which is indeed where much of the volume lies. I tried to block out mental images of the A300-600ST (Super Transporter) ‘Beluga’ plane when they mentioned this!!

My impression is that, if you are a 80+ kg paddler, at least 6 feet tall, and you are looking for a stable, manoeuvrable but voluminous kayak, then the GT is well worth a look. If you are under 6 feet and less than 80 kg, you will struggle to fit the cockpit and the kayak may not make enough contact with the water at the waterline.

What Rockpool have done, however, is produce a kayak that does what the label says ie a large kayak with a small kayak feel and, if they ever produce an ‘LV’ version (I thought that it could do with shedding at least 1” of deck depth), I’d be very interested in trying it out, but perhaps with a different backrest!

Photos courtesy Julia Darby

The forecast looked quite benign, so our group set the intention of departing from Easdale and circumnavigating the Garvellach Islands in the Firth of Lorne. Certainly, there was little in the way of wind as we set out from the stony beach next to Easdale’s harbour and headed west. This is a renowned area of varied tidal activity and so provided some particular interest for us, having spent the bulk of the past few months paddling in our local waters where the tide simply goes in and out. In the Firth of Lorne and amongst its islands, the rather significant tide flows up and down and around and about as well as in and out (sometimes also shaking it all about). Generally speaking, the plan was to catch a bit of ebb tide on the journey south-west and a bit of flood tide to push us back.

Approaching the Garvellachs

A fair portion of the outward journey was spent vacillating over whether or not I was going to be too hot in my drysuit (a fairly pointless exercise, being that I was unlikely to change out of it on the water). Fortunately, the sun only made momentary appearances and the clouds kept interior drysuit temperatures bearable.

We cruised south-west, observing Fladda lighthouse before rounding the northernmost Garvellach island. We continued down the west coast of Garbh Eileach, admiring the dramatic cliff faces along the way, including evidence of a prehistoric rollercoaster, before turning in to a small, bouldery bay for a lunch stop. Soon we were continuing past the remaining islands in the chain and the lighthouse at the southern end of Eileach an Naoimh.

Prehistoric rollercoaster?

We had been encountering some wave surges scooshing up and down the rocky cliff-bases during our journey, of which those group members not afflicted with the debilitating condition known as Gelcoat Anxiety Syndrome (GAS, also known as Barnacle Avoidance Syndrome) took full advantage. We also used these swells to make paddling through the gaps in the islands and skerries more fun.

Epic win by Andy! Photo by Graham Milne

As we turned around the southern end, we were confronted with similar surges and one of our number took a most daring and heroic ride on a big, fearsome wave over the skerries, a move which could firmly be placed in the category of “epic”. The heights of heroism attained were only marginally lowered in our estimation by Andy’s subsequent cry of, “I thought I was a goner there!”. (What not to say when clearly demonstrating awesomeness).

St Brendan was here (and St Columba)

Further north-east, we stopped for a look at the surprisingly substantial remains of the monastery founded by St Brendan in 542 AD, visited by St Columba (it is believed that his mother is buried there) and later destroyed by the Vikings (who else?!). Nearby, 3 sea kayakers had already pitched their tents for the evening and we thought it would be a great  wheeze to suggest to them that all 8 of us were about to do likewise.  As it turned out, upon departing, we encountered an incoming trail of about 8 kayakers heading for that very spot, intent on setting up camp. It was indeed going to be a busy night at the monastery. And I hear there are ghosts.

We had anticipated that, as we travelled north-east, there would be a bit more tidal activity and even a teeny bit more wind. Indeed, wavelets were expected. At this point, I have a confession to make. As pleasurable as our paddle had been so far, I secretly yearned for a little more movement in the water. It seems that the weather gods picked up on my furtive hankerings and, in true be-careful-what-you-wish-for fashion, decided to whip it up a little.  Upon reaching the north end of the islands once more, Coach Lewis convened our group for a quick vote on the most favoured course of action and, with muscles warmed up and adrenaline pumping, it was agreed that a straight shot back to Easdale was called for.

Lovely jubbly! Photo by Andy McManus

At first, it was mostly about battling a north-easterly headwind in the F4-5 to region, but with the wind hitting the opposing tide(s), things became more exciting. Casting aside the “what if this gets worse” doubts, I instead focused on the “great to be alive” thrills of being shoogled about in the fray. One minute the waves were coming from ahead, the next from the beam. I could tell, however, that my trusty Isel could handle it and I was very glad I’d worn my drysuit.

I was vaguely aware of a motor boat pulling alongside me, only to realise it was Lewis who proceeded to ask me for a rating of my experience of the “wavelets”. The first word that came to mind was, “Fun!”. What a difference time and the right kayak makes.

An hour and a half after leaving the Garvellachs, we were back at Easdale. As we packed up for the drive homewards, it felt great to have had the opportunity to experience such a varied and memorable trip. A big thanks to the team we paddled with, including Lewis, and Julia (especially for all the driving).

Typhoon Ladies Multisport

As one or two of you might remember, I previously mentioned that Alan and I were on the cusp of purchasing a couple of Typhoon Multisport drysuits. As some months have now passed since taking the plunge (so to speak), I can report on how we’ve been getting along with them.

The answer is – very well indeed and we have not been disappointed. The suits are well made, they fit well and there has been no leakage so far. For the first time pretty much ever, Alan has managed to experience immersion without a wet bum or arm. Unlike some of the other Typhoon models, the Multisport neck and wrist seals are latex, not neoprene. The Ladies’ Multisport in particular is a nice fit (on me, that is) and really quite a stylish drysuit (you know you’ve been paddling too much when you start placing the words “drysuit” and “stylish” in the same sentence). It’s the little things that finish it off nicely, like the colour and the floral motif. I should add that the suits come in 11 different sizes for men, and 7 for women.

Typhoon Multisport

Alan has mastered the art of zipping himself in and out of his suit (ie using the back zipper), however, I lack that specific contortionist skill. The exposed brass zip can  stiffen up markedly so it’s a must to obtain some zip wax and keep it handy, or risk driving home in your suit, say. On the subject of the zip, my only preference would be that it was concealed rather than forming an elongated, “hypercurve” fin. I find it acts as a hindrance in getting my BA on and off, but that’s a small point.

You might be wondering if I’ve binned my Palm Aleutian XP drysuit. As recent photos will reveal, the answer is a definite “no”. It is holding out and the small amount of delamination that I noticed last year has not worsened or caused leakage. The neck seal has only just finally ripped and will be sent back to Palm for its second replacement along with the wrist seals (for their first), which would be considered quite normal wear and tear.

Comparing the two suits, the Multisport would appear to be made of harder-wearing, slightly thicker materials. The only downside to this is that it can get a little hot on warmer days, although this may also relate to the darker colouring versus the Aleutian’s reflective hues. And so, I wear my Aleutian on cooler “summer”/spring/autumn rough water or wet practice days, whereas I reserve my Multisport for winter wear and/or extended wet practice.

My only other observation is controversial. I put the question to you, can a drysuit affect your roll? Something feels different when rolling in the Multisport. I’m fairly sure it isn’t “mental” as it took me a while to realise the connection between what I’ve been wearing versus rolling performance at the time. I think it might relate to buoyancy. Or drag. Or the fact that it’s blue and not yellow.  Anyway, as Alan all too readily reminded me, it shouldn’t matter as one should be able to roll well in a Santa Claus suit. But that’s being silly. I doubt I’d ever be able to roll well in a red suit.

In addition to ourselves, a few friends have now gone down the Typhoon Multisport path, no doubt attracted by the 3 year warranty as much as the UK-manufactured quality and impressive pedigree of Typhoon who, in their own words, supply  “… all the major military markets around the world, commercial customers such as the RNLI, British Waterways, Environment Agency and the major Oil Companies as well as the recreational users in the Diving and Leisure Markets.”

I remember a good few years back, there was a movie called “Wind”. The film was not about gastro-intestinal issues, however, it was all about sailing (some Americas Cup thingy). If the past few weeks are anything to go by, it could equally have been about west coast of Scotland sea kayaking. Indeed, wind has been the central theme of kayaking conditions for what seems like  ages and ages.

This actually wasn’t in the plan. I’ve mentioned previously that, when I started out sea kayaking, I was perfectly happy to go nice little coastal paddles on calm days. Nothing too choppy, nothing requiring any more than a steady, forward stroke and a steady, forward gaze (because moving one’s head could make the kayak “tippy”). But that was so 4 years ago. Since then, I have discovered that, if you confine your paddling to purely calm days in Scotland, you’ll get out about  one day a year (ie “summer”).

I guess it is inevitable therefore that paddlers in Scotland must confront wind, and perhaps therefore, that old adversary – fear.  Or should I say – the mind.  I’m going to quote Mr Gordon Brown here, from issue 2 of Ocean Paddler, in which he says:

“If all we do as sea kayakers is paddle along nice parts of the coast we get very good at paddling along nice parts of the coast. This does not prepare us for the day that will come when that nice part of coast becomes nasty, and the gentle swells we have become used to washing around the rocks become the foaming jaws of some rabid sea serpent waiting for its next victim.”

Our past several outings have all featured lots of wind (the blowy kind), including a couple of runs up and down the Kyles of Bute in up to 37 mph gusts. An exciting push was had down the Kyles, wherein the impending departure of the Rhubodach ferry improved my back-paddling skills markedly.

Most recently we celebrated the fourth anniversary of our taking up sea kayaking by going out for a small workout against F4/5.  Alan had stopped for a moment and I noticed him having a little wobble reminiscent of the day we entered our “tippy” RM kayaks on the flat calm of Loch Eck on our first ever kayak outing. This time, as I approached, to my surprise I heard him mutter that he was having some difficulty. It was only when I’d caught up that he clarified that his difficulty related to juggling “devices”  – windfinder, camera, phone, iPod (OK, exaggerating a little … ) on his deck along with a paddle. (Note to self: don’t ever buy Alan a GPS). I dare say the Inuit had a similar problem (hence all the fancy Greenland rolling), but with different types of devices. But it is interesting to note that some inroads have been made in 4 years in expanding our respective comfort zones. No longer do our sighs of disappointment relate to frothier sea states (I draw the line at rabid sea serpents), but rather to the flat calm that we used to seek out.

And, by the way, what is a comfort zone exactly anyway? Life isn’t comfortable! So seeking out comfort is a false goal – plus there may  be plenty of time for that in the eventide home.

No blog post on wind at this point would be complete without mentioning the Great Storm of 23 May 2011. What a humdinger! I’ve scarcely known a storm like it, let alone one in May. Winds across Scotland reached up to over 90 mph (I reckon even the best paddlers were grounded) and a lot of damage occurred, not least to the trees. In many areas, it now looks like autumn, there has been so much wind burn.  Apparently, the jet stream had thrown a wobbly. But never mind the jet stream, with maximum day temps of 12-13°C lately, I’m wondering where the Gulf stream has gone. In recent weeks, I have experienced something approaching hypothermia during rolling practice, both in a drysuit and – more ridiculously (just because the sun showed its face) – in a wetsuit. When I start to feel a complaint coming on, however, I just think to myself, “What would the Inuit do?”.  Right now, a tuiliq’s looking appealing.

I know what you’ve all been wondering – has she lost the keys to the ignition of this blog? (Or, by now, perhaps you are asking, what blog?). Well, after searching down the back of the couch, I am pleased to inform you that I’ve found a good few things: a dash of motivation, a flash of inspiration, a smidgen of enthusiasm and a pinch of time. Which is a fancy way of saying, I’ve finally got my act back together.

No, I didn’t stop kayaking (perish the thought!), I just stopped blogging. I have no excuses, sorry. Anyway, that’s all in the past and, to celebrate the re-launch of kayakacrossthewater.co.uk, I have given it a design makeover. I hope you like.

I’m planning to expand the site a little to become a bit more interesting (hopefully). An updated “My Picks” page will appear and, along the way, a few other pages/features will be added that might be useful. I also plan to cast my net slightly further out into the kayaking/marine world when writing blog posts, possibly even beyond status updates on how my offside roll is doing.

It’s nice to be back at the wheel!

Yes, there’s been a bit of a hiatus in blog posts. I do apologise. But fear not, we have been out on the water, despite adversity, enjoying mostly calm yet chilly conditions.

Kilcreggan to Greenock

We accompanied Julia on her momentous return to the water after ACL repair surgery. In case her surgeon is reading this, I would just like to assure that we were exceedingly sensible and conservative in our undertaking of this trip. After some rescue practice in F6, we went for tea at Kilcreggan. OK, I’m kidding about the first bit. I can confirm that conditions were flat calm and that no ligaments were harmed in the completion of our outing.

Later, during another flat calm day out, this time on Loch Long, the mirror-like reflections were disturbed only by our paddle strokes and made for some great photography.

Not a breath of wind

As we made our way northwards, we were almost flattered by the attentiveness displayed by the MOD Police as they pulled alongside us in their motor vessel to question our destination. I dare say that answering, “We’re just popping over to take photos of your lovely military installation”, would not necessarily have been perceived as the witty riposte that we’d intended, so we refrained. Our sensible (and truthful) answer of “Loch Goil” allowed our questioners to bid us a “nice day” before going on their way.

Loch Long

Later, their colleagues in a RIB swung by our lunch spot just as I was about to set up for some rolling practice. Determined not to provide them with any free entertainment (I might have considered a small fee), I waited for them to lose interest before plunging into the chilly water (me that is, not them). We later learned that HMS Ark Royal was due to arrive at Loch Long in a few days’ time, to offload some armaments before being decommissioned. Perhaps that would explain the apparent security “sensitivity”.

Loch Eck lunch stop

We also enjoyed a lovely winter’s paddle down Loch Eck and back, punctuated by a stop at the Coylet Inn where we were befriended by the ever-so-handsome and attentive Buster, the resident boxer dog.

We were back crossing the Clyde and heading to Loch Long again last weekend where we lunched al fresco on the bench at the Kilcreggan shore-front on the return. We hardy paddlers don’t mind a bit of snow on our picnic bench.

During the course of all this, however, as tends to happen when you’re busy making other plans, life has intervened, and tending to family illness has taken priority over matters kayaking (and blogging). Indeed,  it is at times like these that you become exceedingly aware of the impermanence of … well, everything. And suddenly, everything and everyone becomes a little more precious. Life is short and meant to be enjoyed – happiness is indeed a birthright.

So do me a favour and get out paddling! Buy that kayak you’ve been ogling. And the drysuit. Learn to roll (you know you can!). Plan that trip. And I don’t want to hear winter being used as an excuse

“We are all just walking each other home.“  Ram Dass

It’s times like these you learn to live again
It’s times like these you give and give again
It’s times like these you learn to love again
It’s times like these time and time again

Times Like These, Foo Fighters