Another Moor Season

The Autumn of 2005 proved one of the best seasons for ages. I was on Dartmoor almost every Sunday for 3 months – it was shocking to find that, at this time of year, I visit Dartmoor far more often than Fordingbridge or Ringwood and I dread to think what it has cost me in petrol.

But then, in January, it all dried up

A "serious drought" may strike the South East, Environment Minister Elliot Morley has warned. England and Wales have had the driest January since 1997, with many areas getting less than a third of their average rainfall.

The Met Office said England and Wales had 33.2mm of rain throughout last month, making it the sixth driest on record.

We managed a last low run on the Upper mid-January, joined by Georgia and Chris D And then the Moors became seriously dry – and I began planning the summers Sea Kayaking trips!

Indeed – I had the Sea Kayak out of moth balls and on the Dorset Coast early February when, ordinarily, the moors should be stonking

Going Deep on the East Lyn

Andy and I joined Dave, Cheryl and Ron for an entertaining run down the East Lyn in December

Another World - Dorset Coast

My introduction to Sea Kayaking I’ve no idea why I began to experience a growing interest in long pointy Sea Kayaks – it could have been accounts from others on club sea trips (but these were few and far between), perhaps the photos that Douglas Wilcox posts to UKriversguidebook, maybe the long summers with no surf and no rivers or the number of paddling friends that have recently acquired ‘the knowledge’ or a latent desire not to shave. Who knows, but I already had the Tilly hat – all I needed was a boat.

As luck would have it, just as this growing interest was becoming an itch, I heard that Liz Sambell was selling Steve’s old Nordkapp HS. Elliott brought it down for me to try out at Mudeford one Tuesday. He had already discounted purchasing it himself – explaining that his manly physique prevented a comfortable ride. It was this Tuesday evening that I began to acquire ‘the knowledge’ (you can’t flat spin a sea kayak, bow rudders are less than useful, and the turning circle is more akin to that of a Boeing 747 than a Wavesport EZ) – what amazed me, however, is that I loved it – fast, comfortable and a brand new set of attainable skills to learn. Needless to say, I had bought the boat within 24 hours – just in time for Paul T’s Dorset Coast Camping trip the coming weekend

I spent the next couple of evenings trying to acquire more of the knowledge – I started delving into a book on Sea Kayak Navigation – but put it down after 5 minutes. Far too much to learn there, tides and tidal streams, charts and bouyage etc – it was clearly not a question of pointing the boat downhill and enjoying the ride. Anyway, I figured that for a paddle along the coast West of Swanage I should be OK keeping the land on my right.

I turned then to thinking about the kit list – but, hell, the boat had these cavernous holds so no thought was necessary it could hold anything I could think of. Aware that my knowledge remained weak, and I was paddling with the elite of RCC’s sea kayakers!, I had a plan to ensure that my inexperience wouldn’t stand out - I invited a friend (Richard) who, despite having his own Sea Kayak, had only paddled a few times before. If anyone was going to be the butt of the Jokes, let it be Richard rather than myself

7 of us met at Swanage on a glorious morning - Paul T and Elliott, Dot and Mike, Tim B, Richard and I. The normal chaos of an RCC river trip was outstripped by this Sea Kayak business. We took over the beach by the pier – boats, drybags, stoves, tents, bowls, gallons of water – the mountain of ‘stuff’ that we were taking was awesome.

I watched the others pack their boats, trying to establish if there was a recognised protocol – but having seen Paul picking up handfuls randomly and slinging them into holds I felt confident that there was no established system and that I wouldn’t make a complete fool of myself. What was a little worrying was that Richard seemed to know what he was doing. Perhaps even more worrying was all the strange stuff Elliott (Mears) was packing

We set off at around 11:00 - the plan being to paddle 15 miles to Warbarrow Bay, against the tide and a light prevailing wind. This seemed at odds with common sense but who was I to argue. We glided off into an azure sea – the long sleek boats shifting along with so little effort. The Nordkapp has a reputation for being very ‘tippy’ but I had quickly become accustomed to this on the previous Tuesday, and found the secondary stability excellent - now, fully laden, it proved very comfortable. Hugging the Coast to avoid the tidal stream we made good progress. Kittiwakes and Guilimots were around, but no Puffins and no ‘Durlston Dolphins’.

After a short stop at Dancing Ledge we approached Aldhelm’s head. Despite the tides there seemed to be white horses – the promise of some play at the overfalls there, but, sadly, nothing of consequence and so on to a late lunch at Chapman’s Pool.

Mid afternoon and the tide had turned, but any advantage that this might have offered was wiped out by a quickening South Westerly, eventually picking up to F6, stirring up a nice chop. While progress became a little more laboured, the sun still shone and the sea became playful. By the time we reached Kimmeridge (5’ish) some were feeling weary and by the time we hit Warbarrow (6:30’ish) we were all keen to find a camp spot out of the wind. Having gamely paddled the whole length of Warbarrow bay (twice!) we settled on a mid-point spot for bivying amongst the rocks.
It seemed idyllic and the wind had dropped but a few problems then arose.

• Paul’s hatch covers were found to have perished – the toilet roll was amongst the sopping casualty list, and to cap this Tim found un-exploded shells sharing the paperless facilities
• No one had any ‘real’ coffee – ‘Instant’ would prove a first for Paul
• And Elliott, keen to practice his newly acquired ‘bushcraft’ skills discovered the beach was almost entirely devoid of timber, yet alone bushes. A thousand plastic bottles was no substitute

Still, we set up camp, managed to find a few timber spars and Elliott opened up his box of tricks to light a fire (insisting that the gas lighter, offered, was not ‘playing the game’). Meals were cooked, beer and wine opened and the conversation was so entertaining that Tim managed to stay up until gone 10pm!

I could hear Paul, of course, rattling pots and stoking the fire before 6:00 the following morning. An early start was clearly on the cards so a quick swim and I joined him for ‘instant’. 3 hours later Dot and Mike surfaced – it was close to 10:00 before we were all ready to leave. I guess this was an early start by RCC standards.

The air was still, the sea glassy and the tide with us. An easy 15 mile drift back to Swanage lay ahead. At Kimmeridge the previous day there was a notice on the dive board exclaiming 20M visibility!! And we found ourselves in another world – drifting across an aquarium. Our boats were now ‘flying’ over clear waters, the sea bed, fish, anemones and other sea life clearly visible below us. It was hard to lift our eyes up to the cliffs to watch the Peregrines!

We were at Swanage by 3pm, having hardly noticed the distance paddled – quick Ice creams and we were offSo this is what Sea Kayaking is all about – OK, certainly in the conditions we had, it does not provide an adrenaline fix, but it does open a whole new and changing world to explore while getting some needed exercise. I’m looking forward to the next time I can get out in my sea boat.

Coruh - Dads and Lads in Turkey

Andy was now 17 – an age when his keenness to travel and his growing abilities as a paddler were only matched by his inadequacy of funds and far too many exams. I was looking for a suitable venue for a short ‘Dad and Lad’ trip – a taster of foreign lands and big water. The Coruh (pronounced “Choroo”) in Turkey seemed to fit the bill.

The Coruh is set in the remote rugged north east corner of Turkey – far away from the tourist hot-spots of the South. The river flows east, along the Kacgar mountains, and into Georgia before breaking its way North through to the Black Sea.

I knew that the river offered some fairly continuous and high-volume class 3-4+ rapids in June - just after Andy’s exams were due to finish. I also knew a few paddlers that had been out there and asked them what the likelihood was of the two of us finding other paddlers to hook up with. They were doubtful, but Water By Nature ran trips out there with everything laid on. More £’s of course, but who cares – we are off paddling.

Chas and his son Richard also elected to join us – deposits were paid and we settled back to a few months more work/exams. There were a few preparations to make too – Andrew needed a ratchet back-rest retro-fitted to his King pin and Richard found he could no longer get into his booster and had to purchase a new boat. The £’s were already flowing.

Water By Nature (WBN) warned us shortly before departure that Turkish Airlines can refuse to carry kayaks. Despite having successfully flown kayaks to different parts of the globe before, this put the wind up us on the way to the airport. We had packed and re-packed to get everything (including kayaks etc) below the 23kg weight allowance.

We arrived well before the check-in desks opened - better to leave plenty of time and catch the check-in staff in good unrushed moods when travelling with kayaks.

"I'm sorry Sir, but there will be a small handling charge of £11 per 'surf board'.

That was it, no hassle, no worries and 3 hours to kill before departure (more £s). We arrived at the Sultan’s Inn, Istanbul at mid-night. - time only for quick minerals on the roof terrace before turning in.

The following morning it was a flight to Erzurum, where we were met by WBN guides. We loaded up the battered Morris for a 3 hour road trip through the mountains – snow still on the peaks.

Late afternoon saw us at the banks of the Coruh, near Maden, some 30km’s upstream of Ispir. We (the four of us together with 6 other ‘punters’) gathered around for the normal pre-trip briefing – tent maintenance, camp hygiene and dunny protocol. Most of Clive’s words were drowned out by the gurgling chatter of a thousand frogs and the incessant whine of a million mossies. I did pick up a bit of good news, though – the Coruh was running much higher than normal for this time of year – a 10-year high that should provide for plenty of fun.

After 2 days travelling, listening to the sounds of the river (and frogs and mossies) and anticipating some fine paddling in the days ahead we drifted off to a sound sleep. We were blissfully unaware of the Brown Bear and large Snake that visited 100m from camp during the night.

Clear blue skies and growing temperatures joined us for a mellow grade 2 warm-up in the morning – a chance for getting accustomed or re-accustomed to big-volume paddling. After a couple of hours clouds brewed up - then thunder, lightening and hail as we hit the lunch stop. We sheltered under an old steel football stand at a long-forgotten and abandoned football field - shivering.

The afternoon run (another 15K down to the steps of Ispir) was great. The river soon entering a narrow gorge to provide fairly continuous grade 3 with loads of nice wave trains and surf waves - all read and run. A few paddlers pulled out and joined the Landrover but Andrew was totally pumped - a huge grin on his face as he discovered the fun in volume.

Cold and knackered after a long days paddle, we pulled out just before the Joan Collins set of rapids and wandered down to take a look at the first 3 Ispir Steps (Joan/Alexis/Bitch). Easy to choose lines down these class 5 falls when sipping beer from the bank but, at these levels, no one was to run them - the Landrover shuttled us around to a camp a few hundred metres downstream (just above Dynasty and Stud).

The clouds had disappeared, and the evening sun was sufficient to dry out the kit and warm up our bones. Beers and nibbles were out, a fire lit and the conversation lively. We had left the mossies far behind (they were only ever a problem that first night).

The second days paddle was a reasonably mellow 30 km grade 3 run. The sun was shining and there were endless waves to play on. It should have been an uneventful day but there were 5 swims in the morning. We soon appreciated the advantages of having a road running alongside the river. We had a Cat raft but this was purely for rescues (picking bodies up and getting them back in their boats) and not for passengers. With the Landrover running along side us – paddlers who found it all too much could hop out, sit on the roof and take the photos. With the numbers whittled down we enjoyed a fast and playful afternoon. We must have spent over an hour at a single dream wave.

After a good day on the water, moonlight, Moussaka and a good Islay Malt around a camp fire - followed by Turkish Delight - what more could you ask for.

The following day saw more of the continuous grade 3’s – floating through beautiful scenery, looking out for Rollers, Bee-eaters, Hoopoes and red Kites, drifting past many Byzantine castles perched high on the hills. We hiked up to one of these at Tekkale (“single-Castle”) for lunch – trekking across the rice paddies and picking mulberries and cherries off the trees on the way.

There were a few long 4+ rapids to run in the afternoon and scouting the first of these (‘Perfect Portage’) I knew that this would prove the biggest test for Andrew yet. It is one thing to run a long hard rapid yourself, but watching your son take on the challenge is much much more difficult!! I needn’t have worried – hearing his adrenaline-fired whoops all the way down.

After another long days paddle we clambered with our boats for a few hundred yards up to Cemile’s paddlers pad. This is a small pension in the tiny village of Tikali that has existed since the days when Dave Mamby first opened up this river for paddlers back in 1982. Indeed Dave still frequents the place, and joined us for dinner and the following days paddle. Photos of paddlers from all over the world are pinned to the walls. Sleeping arrangements are on simple wooden platforms. We took over Cemile’s gardens, drying kit and setting up the kitchen etc. The big farm house table was set and, despite being Wednesday, we declared it ‘Red Wine Thursday’ and enjoyed a civilised dinner.

A long paddling day followed – in the morning we headed up to Sarigol to paddle the river Bahal down to Yusufeli. The Bahal made for a pleasant change – very continuous lower volume alpine style grade 3 – with clear icy cold snow melt, running through a beautiful valley with plenty of entertaining drops. We pulled out in the middle of Yusufeli town and enjoyed hot soup and kebabs at a restaurant – still donning wet kit.

After the late lunch around half of us elected to run the Coruhs best ‘Yusufeli Gorge’ – a 1 hour continuous roller-coaster grade 4+ ride with 5 or more major rapids. We spent almost as long scouting the rapids from the Landrover first before returning to Yusufeli, paddling down the Bahal to its confluence with the Coruh and running the gorge. The falls proved significantly larger than they appeared from the road – but we enjoyed an incident free and fun filled end to the day.

It was gone 6:30 pm when we pulled in, loaded and returned to Tikali

Sadly sickness hit the camp that night – and Andrew and I were amongst others that missed a repeat run of the gorge the following morning before the road trip back to Erzurum. A Hamam (Turkish Bath) and massage, followed by a gourmet meal that evening finished off the trip nicely and prepared us for the flight home the following day and a return to work/school

Colorado - Grand Canyon (Chilled)

February 2002 (a long time ago) I learnt that Chris Sladden was putting together a Grand Canyon trip (a chartered commercial trip with Flagstaff based ‘Outdoors Unlimited’) – it didn’t take much prevaricating to put my name down.

Over Two years passed before I met my fellow paddlers at the Luxor hotel in Las Vegas – a more unlikely venue for a meeting of river runners I couldn’t imagine.

It turned out that there were to be 7 kayakers, 2 C1 paddlers and 15 rafters – a party of 24. A bus ride to Marble Canyon Lodge (near the Lees Ferry put in) and we met the Outdoors Unlimited crew of 9. There would be 6 Oar rafts (to carry the gear and beer, together with surplus rafters), one paddle raft and two safety kayakers. The group now stood at 33 – an armada. For the next 15 days this motley bunch of misfits of various sizes, shapes, ages, nationalities and backgrounds would forge a river community on a float down one of the world’s great canyons.

Words and images fail to adequately capture the essence of a trip down the Colorado through the Grand Canyon. The journey is much more than the paddling – it’s the magnificent scenery, the desert environment, the geology and wildlife, the hikes in spectacular side canyons, the new friendships made on the way, the tranquillity of kipping under the stars on pristine river beaches a mile below the earth’s surface well away from any gadgets and mobile phones.

The River

For around 270 miles, from Lees Ferry to Lake Mead, the Colorado cuts through the giant uplifted land mass of northern Arizona, exposing successive rock strata (down to the 1.7 billion year old Vishnu Schist) during it’s passage. The canyon reaches a giddy depth of one mile. The river itself has an average width of 300’, and reaches over one hundred feet in depth. At the time of our Journey (May) the river levels were a low to medium flow of around 400 cumecs (varying during the day with the releases from Lake Powell) The temperature was not too hot, the sky was a continuous blue and the water clear (not the muddy red silt laden flows that give the Colorado its name). Everything about the Grand Canyon is big – and it takes a few days to become adjusted to the scale.

The river drops around 1700’ during its journey – an average of around 8’ per mile, but most of this fall is taken up by the 165 rapids which account for less than 10% of the 270 miles. With a 15 day float, we would encounter an average of 11 rapids each day. The majority of these are big-water read-and-run grade 2 to 3+ wave trains, perhaps with one or two easily avoided holes and pour-overs – ‘big water = big lines’ holds true for most.

More often than not the rapids are wide open and you can decide how big you want to go – aim for the hair line through crashing waves and holes or cut the top laterals and aim for the smaller flows well away from the action. Indeed, the majority are so friendly that it wasn’t long before everyone was choosing to ‘go big’ dropping into the wave holes just for the crack.

Some rapids, up to grade 4+, however, require a little more respect and scouting (e.g. Hance, Crystal, Granite, and Lava). Indeed, the latter appeared quite daunting from a view point some 200’ above the river – meaty holes, fearsome laterals, huge crashing waves and a narrow line through these on river right. Over the ‘flats’, the river still swirls along at around 4 mph - making the sections between rapids both relaxing (floating along staring at the awesome canyon walls towering above) and entertaining (try waltzing in the same whirlpool as an 18’ oar raft!).

A Canyon Day
The Crew from ‘Outdoors Unlimited’ were a tireless and highly professional bunch that organised camp routines and practices that kept all healthy and well fed and ensured that there would still be fresh steaks and vegetables, and ample grog even on the 15th day (with no re-supplying feasible). Days floated by with the river, there were too many experiences and incidents, too many hikes and rapids, to recount in an article such as this. Perhaps it is best to describe a typical ‘Canyon Day’.

The Coffee Conch goes at around 5:30 – by this time it is light, although the sun will not have hit the high canyon walls above. But the Canyon Wrens descending call (such a big sound for such a small bird) will have heralded the day and dragged me from a sound sleep before the Conch is blown. (5:30 sounds early now, but on the Colorado we had soon ditched our watches and were operating entirely on Conch-Time)

I crawl out of my bedding roll (stuffing it directly into a dry bag before scorpions have had a chance to invade) and take a wake-up dip in the cold river – emerging refreshed but blue. I Wander down to the camps kitchen area to pour my first bucket of coffee and, perhaps, a slice of melon. If the urge is on me I sip the coffee while chatting in the ‘Groover line’ – with 33 campers there is almost always a queue to use the ‘facilities’ (ammo box behind a rock) in the morning.

By my second bucket of coffee the breakfast conch sounds – muffins, hash browns, bacon and a couple of over-easy eggs (or perhaps pancakes and syrup) and I’m set for the day. Pack up the dry bag and take it down to the communal tarp. By 7am the tarp holds a mountain of gear ready for loading to the rafts. I don the paddling kit and spend a few moments washing the red Colorado sand from my kayak.

“Hey y’all - last call for the boot bag” – 33 pairs of boots or sandals for the side canyon hikes are hastily shoved into the communal bag.

“Last call for water” - those who haven’t already done so, fill water bottles from the filtered water container. It’s going to be another hot day; buckets of filtered and treated river water will be needed to keep all hydrated

“Last call on the Groover” - The line for the ‘facilities’ should be diminished by now, the rocket box is normally the last bit of kit to be packed away and loaded. For those unfortunate enough to have missed the call – there’s always the ‘Day Tripper’, a small ammo can with all the essentials. Park rules - what you take into the canyon has to come out with you.

By 07:30 we are loaded and set off down the river. We paddle for may be an hour before pulling over at a beach. A hike is planned this morning – perhaps 3 hours – returning to the river hopefully before the sun has become too fierce. It’s still early in the year, but day time temperatures will be 300 to 350C. The Boot bag is broken open, we fill two water bottles each, don hats and sun screen and set off on the trail up a side canyon.
The water sculptured rock closes in on us and we soon lose sight of the Colorado 500’ below us. The trail continues precariously along the steep canyon sides, a Mule deer cocks its head at our passing but is undisturbed; lizards scamper away from our feet. We climb on until we reach a waterfall at the head of the canyon.

We can go no further – a dip in the pool below the fall washes away the sweat. Scarlet Monkeyflowers and ferns cling to the canyon wall drinking in the spray. Many of the cactus are flowering at this time of the year. We pass around the GORP (a tub or granola, oats, raisins and peanuts) and set off back down the trail to the boats. A couple of crew missed the hike and have prepared lunch – a table groans under ingredients for tortilla wraps.

We have about 15 miles of paddling to cover in the afternoon. Within a few minutes we reach the first wave and jostle to catch it on the fly. The river flows are big and fast, it’s not always easy to catch the waves – but when it happens, particularly where the wave is steep and crashes, the rewards are immense.
Occasionally we find an eddy-served wave and let the rafts drift on ahead of us while we pause for play. We reach a larger rapid and clamber up the bank for a vantage point to inspect. This one is long, technical and, of course, big. The line is discussed – not always easy to discern in the maelstrom of white. Break out behind the first evil pourover into the ‘duck pond’ (Ha ha!), then move left through crashing waves away from two huge holes – cut back right for a ride down the wave train. With dry mouths we peel out and attempt to hold the line (which looks so different at river level). All through – we eddy out and watch the rafts – hoping for a flip – but just whoops of triumph as they all make it through.

We pull into camp at around 5pm, form a ‘baggage line’ for unloading the rafts and then explore the beach for a suitable ‘sleeping pod’ (an area of sand between boulders on a river moraine) and layout our tarp. Beer nets have been floating behind the rafts for the last hour, the Buds are chilled. A dip to clean off and a time for quiet reflection or for exploring the environs, chasing Desert spiny Lizards or trying to coax a Chuckwalla out from a crevice in the rock. A game of Horseshoes is underway.

The Conch sounds for snacks (crackers, dips, olives, fruit). A few more beers and the conch sounds again for dinner (tonight, trout and trimmings). A fire is lit, Will gets out his guitar, and we spend an hour or two before crawling into our bedding roles. The moon is bright, the stars awesome, another great Grand Canyon day – there are plenty to follow.
A ‘trip of a lifetime’ without a doubt – awesome, mellow, chilled. Thanks to Chris Sladden for putting it all together, to the crew from Outdoors Unlimited and to all the ‘punters’ for the superb company.
(Published in "Canoeist" Magazine August 2004)

2.2 into 2 Won't Go

The Walkham, feeding into the Tavy (below Tavistock) had been on my ‘hit list’ for a few seasons - but somehow I had never quite managed to get it together – a grade 3 paddle from Bedford Bridge (Walkham) to Denham Bridge on the Tavy. There’s something I really enjoy about a mellow paddle on uncharted waters.

The first mile was a little disappointing – a grade-1/2 bimble. After this the river began to cut in, the gradient increased and we began to enjoy fairly continuous grade 2 and 3 rapids - falling well within everyone’s ‘comfort level’. An excellent training ground for ‘eddy hopping’ with lots of small drops and micro eddies all along the way

The only drop of particular note was a 1 meter drop/slot affair with an ominous horizon line where the river disappears down a narrow slot. Peeling out to the eddy below and looking back at some anxious expressions at the top and I figured that this might provide a little back-looping entertainment – Hailing Tim down he ran the slot at an unintentional 170 degree edge – heavy bracing, through the slot and out – no worries. Karl had a good line and joined me in the eddy.

Honestly I didn’t push him out of this eddy, despite what he says. I merely intimated that the eddy was, perhaps, not quite large enough for the both of us and that, perhaps, it might be best if he moved downstream, through the narrows, to find his own eddy. My attention returned to those waiting to make the run when I heard a call from behind

"Graham, I seem to be stuck"

Perhaps I should explain that Karl was paddling his relatively new I3 – now this is a short boat (something around 2.2M), but Karl had failed to appreciate that some Dartmoor Creek narrows don’t reach that giddy width. 2.2 into 2 won’t go – and it didn’t when he tried to negotiate the narrows broadside.

Now, I have never known anything really phase Karl and, sure enough, he was sitting in his broached boat, at a 45 degree edge with a broad grin coupled with a slightly puzzled expression.

We all gathered on the bank staring down at ‘Calm Karl’ and all of us now adopted his puzzled expression. He was comparatively stable – the deck was holding, jumping ship might well have worsened the situation. We attached a couple of slings to the stern first and tried to budge it – but no go, we fed a line to the bow (on the opposite side of the river) and tried pulling across – but that didn’t work.

Eventually Tim, who had crossed the river further downstream, was able to release the bow and the day (and Karl) was saved. I was somewhat relieved when the others elected to walk the slot and so avoid a repeat performance of what could have proved an epic

Zambezi - Old Crocs Tour

Any paddler should know what the Zambezi is like .. it features in many of the mags and on many of the videos. Often billed as the best white water run on the planet - big warm water, huge bus swallowing holes, evil whirl pools, classic surf waves … and crocodiles! – how the hell did I end up there?

Well, thanks to my family, I was up for a trip in 2002 somewhere and all I had to do was identify the location. Mmm .. Nepal? .. I would love to go there again. Chas was selling his IZ230 on Mark Rainsley's web site message board .. I indicated that I might be interested for a ‘Nepal in the Fall’ trip. People then started to butt in:

Mark asks .. "What are you paddling this time Graham, … the Zambezi is good in October"

I reply, with no uncertainty, "The Zambezi is beyond me"

Mark points out that, according to Si, it’s easier than the Fu in Chile

Chas says .. "the IZ230 is sold, but can I come to Nepal/Zambezi with you"

Then I watch the video "Wicked Liquid" again (and again, and again) until, eventually, I’m beginning to visualise me there, surfing those big waves just like a pro.

Of course, I also received much sound advise from certain members of Ringwood Canoe Club – generally on the insanity theme. (These same members were heard planning the divvying-up of my kit should I not return!)

I started to collect some information …There was an outfit called TheZambezi.com, set up last year by Muzza (NZ) and Andrew (Sven) Bolton (UK) who had already run 5 or 6 kayak trips down the Zambezi. …. October is the end of the dry season out there, the river will be at its lowest (oh, great, nice and easy).

So we went, Chas and I, flying out to Livingstone (via Joburg) at the end of October. Those kind people at British Airways taking our Kayaks for nothing (although we were severely limited with our weight allowance of 23Kg)

Sitting in the departure lounge I started to read the ‘lonely planets’ guide to Zambia. This included a special section on Adrenaline Sports …

"Down stream from Victoria Falls, the rapids of Batoka Gorge can be run by kayaks … if you know what you’re doing (like really know)"

Did I ‘really know’ what I was doing? – of course, the author wasn’t a paddler, what did he know!, besides, Chris Wheeler had told me it’s big … but easy (but then, he would!). I read on ….

"August to October : the main rafting period. Water continues dropping. The later the season, the bigger the rapids, and the braver the rafters"

That can’t be right can it?, the rapids get bigger when the river level drops? I’m already through passport control – there’s no turning back and I obviously don’t know what I’m doing …….

Having flown overnight and made the connection in Jo’burg for our onward flight we arrived at Livingstone, Zambia, early afternoon. Watching the unloading of the plane we were relieved to see the boats had also made it. The customs official was busy on her radio as Chas breezed through, but she finished her call and raised her eyes just as I was approaching the door carrying the kayak. She wanted a payment of around £350 deposit to bring the boat in to Zambia – this would be returned to me when I left the country – but as 2.3 million Kwathca! Fortunately Sven had arrived to pick us up and, after some debate, managed to sort things out.

Frazzled and travel weary we finally made it to Fawlty Towers backpackers lodge for a few hours rest. Here Chas and I (later to be known as the ‘old crocs’) met Bryan McKenzie from Canada, the third and final paying member of the trip.

Preparation and Training
Of course, before tackling a river like the mighty Zambezi it’s important to prepare and train adequately – to become a perfectly honed and fit paddling machine. Consequently, Chas and I had grabbed a few hours at Woodmill weir during the summer – eventually developing skills sufficient to stay upright, and even throw a few ends.

This training regime was supplemented by extended bath times - following (what later proved to be sound) advise from fellow paddlers "for the Zambezi – practice holding your breath" I ditched the shower in favour of deep baths with plenty of bubbles (to simulate the Zambezi's aerated water) and a stop watch. – at least I smelt good.

Final preparation was to be undertaken on the evening of our arrival. This comprised a Booze Cruise on the Upper Zambezi (countless Mosi beers while watching elephants, Hippo, Impala and Zebra, etc. from the deck of the ‘African Queen’) followed by a drinking session at ‘Hippos Bar’ where Bryan, Chas and I got to know our two guides Sven and Ben Brown.

The first Run of Batoka Gorge
The after effects of the long flight and of the boozy booze cruise the evening before was, perhaps, not the best grounding for our first run of the 24km Batoka Gorge (Rapids #1 to 18). We signed the indemnity forms over a hearty breakfast at Muzza’s place, then took the long climb down the gorge to the ‘Boiling Pot’ at the foot of Victoria Falls – this has to be the most awesome river put-in on the planet.

My knees were trembling when we reached the bottom, where the porters had left our boats. Rapid #1 "back against the wall" was directly ahead of us – here the 100m deep gorge pulls a sharp 90 degree turn, causing water to pile into the wall. We all made the ferry, avoided the wall pasting and I began to relax. The next two rapids "Between Two Worlds" and "Bits and Pieces" were relatively straight forward, and there were long pools between each of the rapids … hey .. this is going to be OK. But …

Within a few more minutes we reached #4 "Morning Glory" and the first of the major rapids. We got out and looked at this one – a long rapid with a couple of prominent holes. The line was discussed – eddy out at top right, skirt the first hole, power to the left of the wave train, line up for the bottom hole and, hopefully, get spat out into the pool below. I got the first bit right but, needless to say, the rest of the rapid I tackled in an inverted position – I rolled up spluttering at the bottom, conscious that a big croc lived in the pool below, not quite sure what had happened but knowing that I had seriously misjudged the power of the water.

No harm, let’s try the next - #5 "Stairway to heaven", billed as the largest commercially rafted rapid in the world. Here a steep ramp runs between a 15’ pour-over on the right and the infamous ‘Catchers Mitt’. Disappearing over the horizon line, heart in mouth, I was confronted with more of the white stuff than I could previously have imagined – a huge, seemingly impenetrable mountain of water. "Look for the window"…someone must have pulled the curtains…no, there it is, power through, wow.. still upright… awesome.

#6 "The Devil’s Toilet Bowl" was next (who makes up these names?) – a steep drop skirting a mean hole, and then …

#7 "Gulliver’s Travels" the longest (650M) and most technical of all the Zambezi rapids. We stood on the bank for a long time here trying to fix the line in my mind .. eddy out right, ferry centre, skirt the Diagonal, miss the crease, catch the tongue flowing river right, just bypassing a crashing hole, and then… into the ‘Land of The Giants’ – a huge crashing wave train and some fairly inevitable quiet time here. Not an easy rapid, this one – it’s length, the string of moves you have to pull together and the punishing (but exhilarating) giants was amazing.

#8 gives you the options of the mighty ‘Muncher’ in the centre, or the "Star Trek" run (going boldly where no man has gone before) – or a sneak route between, if you get it right!

#9 "Commercial Suicide" – no way – not for paddlers of our ability anyway, although we watched Ben breeze it while we walked

#10 – a comparatively easy wave train but with the intimidating name of "Gnashing Jaws of Death"!

#11 "Overland Truck Eater" is, at higher levels, a unique barrelling and surfable wave but, sadly, at these levels it proved to be a big hole followed by some angry boils that toyed with me for ages, tail spinning, rolling and eventually releasing me unscathed.

#11B, 11C, 12A and, finally, we had reached the infamous 12B (the middle of the ‘Ugly Sisters’), said by many to be the finest play wave in the world. At the low levels now, however, it was not at its best – very steep, crashing and unforgiving. Disappointed that I didn’t manage to get on the wave at all on this first occasion (Later in the week I was rewarded with a few really exhilarating, but short, rides here)

#13 "The Mother" was a comparatively simple yet huge wave train (big air here when my boat left the water). But 14 through to 18 passed in a blur – punch drunk and battle weary I was, at this stage, running on empty and autopilot – crashing through ‘The Narrows’, ‘Washing Machine’, ‘The Terminators’, ‘Judgement Day’ and, even, ‘Oblivion’ without major mishap (although plenty of tip-ups).

We arrived at the get out knackered but elated, to start the half-hour near vertical climb out of the gorge to camp at the top. A load of paddling experiences and adrenaline in just one day! It was hot and muggy as we pitched our tents. Thunderstorms accompanied our steaks and beer. Despite the hard basalt ground I drifted off to sleep re-running Gullivers Travels – but, in my dreams, I had a perfect line!

Back for more punishment
The following two days were spent re-running sections of the gorge (1-13, 11-21), returning to Fawlty Towers each night. We were beginning to get used to the power of the Zambezi, it’s whirlpools and boils, the rapids and their lines. #4 and #7 continued to give me pastings, and the ‘Catchers Mitt’ caught me once but we were beginning to relax and enjoy the other aspects of the gorge, its scale, beauty and wildlife. Baboons, Vervet Monkeys and Rock Dassies scampered along the banks, Black Eagles and Kites soared above us. We were even getting used to the climbs out of the gorge each day.

A day of rest and recovery – catching up on sleep and chilling at Fawlty Towers and we were ready for the ‘Multi-Day’ Us 5 paddlers were now joined by Davis, rowing a gear raft, and we took three days to paddle from the Boiling Pot, down through the gorge and to Moemba Falls, some 25kms beyond the last of the numbered rapids (#25). The awesome river running was now complimented by beautiful river beach camping, excellent camp cuisine, classic African dawns and dusks, the Zambian trots! and paddling through Croc. Country ….

Paddling as a ‘healthy herd’

While crocodiles are around in some of the pools within the Batoka Gorge and, indeed, we had seen one or two, these are generally small and few in number. However, for the final 25km push from rapid 25 to Moemba Falls Crocs become more numerous. On this day the four remaining kayakers (Chas, suffering a dodgy stomach, was lounging around in the raft sipping Dioralyte and iodine cocktails) adopted a different approach to the previous days. We paddled fast, as a tight group, through the long slack water sections, trying to give the impression that we were a healthy herd, continually scanning the banks for signs of crocs, ready to "paddle like f . . . ." if we saw one slip into the water. We took breathers at each of the fourteen rapids along the way. In reality, we only saw three crocs all day – but I must confess to a slight (and, I’m sure irrational), raising of the heart beat all day!

We pulled in to the final take out above Moemba Falls, cleared baboon shit from the rocks to sit and stare at the gnarly water of Lower Moemba. . While Ben, the only one with any inclination to run these falls, scouted the lines and rehearsed his strokes, I again returned to the ‘did I really know what I was doing?’ question. Yes, I think I did. I took some beatings, I took a swim, but I had enjoyed everything. Nyami Nyami (the Zambezi river god) had, perhaps, played with me a little but, in the end, had granted me a safe passage and a fantastic trip.

If your comfortable on grade 4 and have a really dependable roll then the Zambezi has to be an ‘ultimate’ trip. TheZambezi.com did us proud. Sven and Ben (and Muzza and Donna) looked after us well, both on and off the water, they organised all the logistics so that all we had to do was enjoy the paddling and the gorge.

If your up for it - get to it
(Published in "Canoeist" Magazine February 2003)