On a sunny sea kayaking trip to Purbeck, we stopped for lunch at Lulworth Cove
and it was here that I allowed myself to be persuaded into taking on the
Pete Collins race/tour.
I did try to resist for a time, protesting that I was strictly marine, that my
only experience on whitewater was a trip to Symonds Yat 20 years ago, and an aborted
attempt to run the Applecross River which ended in me being wedged upside down, my
kayak bridging a drop-off, and me struggling to get out while the force of the river
did its best to keep me in!
But they kept on at me, so I rashly agreed to do it.
Come the day of the event, Clive, Leonie and the kids arrived at my place.
I cast my eye over the boat on the roof rack that Clive had kindly offered to
lend me, admiring the quality of the workmanship.
The join behind the cockpit was so well done you could hardly notice it, except that
the stem was yellow and the stern was white.
The 6 inch square patch on the hull however, was a perfect match and only the 8 pop
rivets holding it on gave it away.
“It’ll be fine”, said Clive.
On the riverbank I slipped into my cut ‘n’ shut Rotobat for the first time, it felt small; I couldn’t get my thighs under the thighbraces and worryingly there wasn’t anything to put my feet on. It’ll be fine. Yeah right!
Everyone was now on the water above the bridge at Tarr Steps and at the signal
the racers took off.
Those of us touring went on a second signal and I headed for the span under the low
stone bridge which seemed to have the most headroom.
After a brief struggle I managed to get myself pointing in the right direction,
I leaned back, my hydro pack hit the rear deck, my chest hit the underside of the
bridge, and I was stuck!
More wriggling required, I leaned over to my right, wriggled once more and freed
myself, the current grabbed me and off I went.
“Your spray deck’s off!” shouted Kay,from the bridge. I took this information on board,
but was in no position to do anything about it, the bank was steep, the current
seemed hellish fast, and I was keeping both hands on my paddle!
I whizzed along trying to remember all the advice I’d been given, lean downstream,
stay out of the trees, beware the moon, but above all, don’t follow Clive!
I soon caught up with the rest of the gang: Colin, Sid, Russell, Steve, Clive and
Martin & Mercedes in the Canadian.
It was at this point I noticed that the bow of my kayak was pointing skyward;
I was going down by the stern!
I made a vain attempt to paddle for the bank but I was sinking too fast and had
to make a quick exit.I dragged my swamped boat to the bank and tipped the water out.
(I didn’t know at this point that sinking was going to be a routine part of my day).
Back on the water and we arrived at the first weir.
I hadn’t been down a weir before,the only thing I knew about weirs was people
sometimes got drowned in them; I hung back and watched the others go down first.
It seemed straightforward enough, up to the edge, bow drops over, a smooth slide
down into the stopper at the bottom, bounce out and away, job done. They all did it.
I paddled up to the weir, my bow dropped over; I came to a stop halfway down.
The patch on the hull of my boat had snagged on something.
I wriggled and bounced to free it; I then plunged into the stopper and bounced out
the other side. No worries, except as I paddled on I noticed I was slowly filling
up with water. The three rivets on the leading edge of the patch had pulled out,
leaving three neat drill holes. I pulled into the bank below the next rapid and
emptied the water out.
Onward to the next set of rapids, I hit a couple more big rocks but avoided a few
others, sneaking left to avoid a big one then back to the right and over another
drop-off.
Russell complemented me on the line I had taken, but I had to confess none of it was
planned, I was merely frantically trying to avoid big rocks whilst the river carried
me downstream like a helpless Pooh stick!
After the rapid eased off I rafted up alongside Martin & Mercedes on the bank and borrowed their pump to
bail out, which was a nice change from the routine!
After a couple of rapids and a couple of flat stretches we arrived at the second
weir, I wasn’t too worried by this as I’d survived the first one ok, so I paddled
hard at it but the patch, now hanging off somewhat, snagged the top of the weir.
I managed to wriggle free and dropped into the stopper with a bang! My bow had grounded,
I slid forward out of the seat and my feet wedged themselves in the nose of the kayak,
I was lying on the rear deck as I surfaced, support strokes thrashing as I tried to
keep myself upright and slide my backside back into the seat at the same time.
I somehow did it, don’t know how.
Clive later said he thought there was some block foam in the nose of the boat,
although he may have used it on another boat!
On the next weir the patch snagged again and spun me round sideways into the stopper,
more big support strokes, and my shoulder giving me some grief by this point!
I pulled into the bank after the next rapid and emptied the water out.
My patch was only held on by 3 rivets now.The pattern for the day was now well
established. Rapid, flat bit, weir, sinking, bail out.
After the last weir I was sinking again, I tried to paddle into a little
beach to bail out but found the boat wouldn’t make any headway, it felt like the
handbrake was on!
I missed the beach and pulled in further down. My patch was now hanging vertically
down; I tore it off in disgust and wedged it under the seat.
I now had 8 neat drill holes plus the split that the patch was covering to let
the water in.
I set off again but only got about 25 yards and I was sinking again.
Now it has been said that I can be a bit slow on the uptake, but even I had now
realised the futility of my endeavours!
Clive offered to tow the boat to the pub and pick me up in the car; he didn’t
need to ask twice. I grabbed my paddle and set off across the field towards the road.
I climbed over the gate onto the road, as I looked up the road I could see the
Anchor Inn about half a mile away and there was the car, coming to my rescue.
So close and yet so far!
Sat in the warm pub, with a pint in hand, bought for me by a now rather sheepish
Clive, I reflected on the day’s events.
My shoulder was hurting, and my thumbs were blistered from my rough old Ainsworth
paddle, and my legs ached from trying to get some sort of grip on the kayak.
But despite everything I’d enjoyed myself and I will be back next time.
Pity some of the geezers who talked me into it didn’t stick around to buy me a pint afterwards!
As for the Cut ‘n ‘ Shut Rotobat it’s now found its way to the skip where it should have been put a long time ago!
See the Gallery for more pictures of my fellow paddlers!!
By Steve Miller
