The thought of being shot improves ones kayaking immeasurably. Dene, I think, is currently seeing if there is enough money in petty cash for a shotgun or two. Purely as a training aid, obviously.
The instructors on this trip were very patient with me, as are all the instructors at the club, which is amazing considering the immensity of my ineptitude and my inability to keep more than one thing in my head at a time.
This was my first time on moving water. Previously, apart from the pool, I had only really paddled on the Trent at the Trent Lock Scout camp. The water there is probably flatter than the pool.
Wade arranged this trip for a Sunday morning, but only after I had obtained a wetsuit. We were due to arrive in Kingsbury for 08:30 (yes, I can now confirm there is time before 9am on Sundays). This was an introduction, on an easy river, the Tame. There will be no problems; I will have nothing to worry about. Of course you will need wetsuit, drycag, skull cap, helmet, suitable footwear, flask of hot drink, energy bar, buoyancy aid etc. I began to wonder who had the flares and the lifeboats.
A couple of points that experience has taught me. Rubber soled shoes and slippy stiles don't mix, and car keys should be carefully looked after.
After checking with the fishermen at the put-in point and finding out there was a competition on, Wade suggested we go slightly downstream. When I thought we were going paddling I didn't realise we would be.....well, paddling! This was not good, as my nice new wetsuit would get wet. Very bravely, I thought, I waded through the inch high water to a suitable place.
Wade (I will avoid the obvious pun) helped me in and off we went. This felt strange; the boat handling differently to it did in the pool. This made me feel nervous, and with the instructors telling me how I was doing everything wrong, I was feeling good about being there.
In the pool I enjoyed heading towards the side and then back paddling quickly to stop. Not here, I couldn't. No back paddling. Keep paddling all the time, but don't go too fast. Don't get too close to the boat ahead, but don't stop paddling.
Then came the training. Ferry gliding first. That's easy, just paddle across the river. Of course, it couldn't be that easy. Like everything else in paddling. Take paddling forwards. 'Just paddle forwards' we are told. Then add onto that the angle of the paddle. Then add onto that the positioning of the hands on the paddle. Then add onto that way you sit in the boat, the type of stroke. What about edging. Don't forget to push forwards with your other hand. Remember to push your knees into the side of the boat. For every stroke or manoeuvre I am taught, there are at least 10 different things to add on extra, so that my head becomes so full trying to remember all them that I forget to paddle.
Ferry gliding conjures up images of getting across a river calmly. Ha! If only! Paddle upstream – not at that angle. Don't look ahead look at where you are aiming. Edge the boat. Not that way! I said don't look ahead! Wrong angle!
Eddy turns were next. This should be easy; I had practiced these in the pool. First, find an eddy. After finding one hidden behind a big tree, find the eddy line. Now for the turn. Paddle up to it, sweep stoke, get ready for a low brace and into the eddy. That was good. Then I find that I missed the eddy line and with that technique I am lucky to be practicing here where the penalty for getting it wrong won't be a swim.
We continued down the river, there was a tawny owl spotted and a buzzard being mobbed by crows, but, obviously, I missed them. Just trying to watch where I was going.
Then we heard the gunfire. Don't worry, I was told, they can't be shooting across the river, we'll be alright. …erm they are. The river had widened, a new feature, which must have been man made to serve as a breeding ground for clay pigeons; the number of these that we saw wounded or drowning makes me want to set up an action group to release them into the wild. The shooters were asked to stop while we went past and watching them with their shotguns cocked and waiting to shoot again focused the mind excellently. I have never paddled as straight and fast before and I doubt I will again. After checking our flack jackets, sorry, bouyancy aids, for damage we continued.
Near the get out there was a large eddy where we could practice at will anything we had learned. Pete got out to take photos. Who needs photos to remember this trip? I have the mental scars to remind me.
The take out was simple enough, and as we stood around Dene said that I should keep a journal as evidence of the journey for star tests, or maybe criminal proceedings. It was also said that if I want to be an instructor, my role in the trip should be noted. Dean said in this case I was the Muppet!
The trip was tiring mentally. I had to concentrate nearly all the time, but physically I felt fine. I got home and promised my children I would take them swimming in the afternoon. Half an hour later and the exhaustion set in. Well, a promise is a promise. I slept well that night!
Having said all of the above, I am still at the club and pestering everyone I can to get onto another river as soon as I can. Until now, I had little idea that mental instability was latent in our family.