Sitting Around

Day 24 – North Foreland – 13^th June – 0 nm

I was glad to be heading north at last, to leave the South Coast behind – well, except we weren't.

 Today was supposed to be the crossing of the Thames Estuary, 26 nm of open water and technical nav; I was slightly nervous but looking forward to it.  I enjoyed my previous crossing here in 2012, it was a highlight of the trip, and so I was looking forward to seeing it all ‘in reverse’ this time. However, once again conditions were annoyingly ‘sort of, but not quite’.

   

The weather may have worked for a coastal ‘options’ day, but to paddle across 26 nm of shallow water, sandbanks and nav probably wasn't the best of ideas. It also boils down to more basic things than just the paddling perhaps, it would be a 6 hrs+ crossing and frankly for me that is too long to go without a pee - I could tie a knot in it I guess. Going on limited food for that length of time was not a brilliant option either.

It took time, and was frustrating, to make the no-go call, but I knew it was the right thing to do.

So once again we dodged the ‘youf’ and headed back to base. Pascale set out on a bike ride to Sandwich and Deal. Rather ironically she couldn't find an open bakery for a lunchtime butty there.

 I sat on the campsite - planning, snoozing, kit-checking and answering an eclectic mix of PSK emails: Taran Handling in New York, Boat choice in the Southern Hemisphere, a coaching booking for 18 months hence (I didn't even know what I was doing tomorrow!) and big rudder v little rudder.

Life goes on I guess.

Footnote:
During the day I calculated that with the current daily average, the projected finish was now  around 95 days. It made for a bit of a glum day. I didn't know at the time but the actual figure of  92 days was to be the highest figure for the whole trip.

Living The Dream – the Beachcomber and Split Shifts

Day 23 –St Mary’s Bay to North Foreland -12th June – 33.2 nm

07:10 on the water, heading out under leaden skies and through a slight chop, towards Folkestone. The early start meant I could sneak through the edge of the Hythe Range while the gunslingers were still cuddled up in beddy-boes.

By Folkestone the sun was out, the breeze had dropped, it was warm and things were positively enjoyable. Unfortunately my digestive system wanted to join the party and I had to scramble up the shingle in search of toilet facilities. On the beach I met a gentleman whose job was to clean the beach here. He did a good job it seemed to me. We got chatting and I learnt of the history of Folkestone, the beach and the landmarks.

I also learnt that, as part of a rejuvenation programme, the beach had been replenished with a good deal of material, going from a scruffy 6ft foreshore to a wide, sculpted oasis of smooth shingle. He also wistfully pointed out, that he now got the same number of hours (and wages) to clean the ‘new’ 100 yard wide beach as he did for the previous narrow strip – life’s a beach I suppose...

On the first UK trip I met and spoke with people daily. It was obvious you were doing something unusual when you hauled your little boat soggily up the beach. People were inquisitive, they wanted to know what was going on. It was always nice to chat, to have a little company and to hear local tales and stories. 

But in 2015 things were different, I was not alone this time, and we were staying in a van. I had gone from being an adventurer to a tourist. At times it seemed people only wanted to talk if they thought they could make money from us. This made my Folkestone chat all the more enjoyable; it’s the little things in life...

But miles had to be made, the sun was still out as I got back on, to head towards my second corner, this time at Dover. Here I played by the rules again, but this time the people were helpful. I called Dover Port Control on Ch 74 and they patiently guided me across the harbour entrances, to the slight consternation of one of the ferries, as he approached the easternmost entrance.

Running out of tide, I landed at St Margaret’s at Cliffe, only for another chat, this time with a fisherman who was hauling his boat up the shingle.

Team Manager arrived and we ate bacon and egg butties from the beach-side cafe, while we waited for the tide. Today was going to be our first split-shift of the trip.

A newly retired ex-Police Officer came to chat, he was initially interested in the van but grew increasingly interested in the trip - he had just started paddling. “Living the dream” he commented; I must admit that wasn't the first thought that wearily came to mind.

So much talk in one day! I couldn't remember being so popular, I must have forgotten to put on my well-polished, grumpy-old-git aura this morning.

It clouded over and as the beach emptied, I dodged a French thunderstorm to get back on.

It was dark and grey but oily smooth, as I happily headed north for the first time.

The tide was feeling sorry for me and I glided swiftly towards North Foreland, to finally call it a day at Joss Bay. Here we encountered the seemingly most dangerous part of the day, dodging the local ‘youf’ and a rocket-powered transit van. We ate the world’s worst (so far) fish and chips in Broadstairs,  before heading off to find a campsite, preferably one with razor wire.

Later we fell asleep to the sound of Ramsgate’s boy racers, who were obviously in serious all night training for the upcoming Big Engine-Little Willy Championships of Kent.

Good miles today - poor forecast tomorrow.

A Birthday Faff

Day 22 – Dungeness to St Mary’s Bay - 11th June – 6.7 nm

Another early start to catch the start of the tide, the wind had dropped a little but it was still a windy no-go. Back to the campsite for a snooze; except the man wanted to mow the grass, even the bit under the van it seemed. Eventually we took the hint and left.

The day sluggishly drifted by, I was tired, ratty and still a little shaken by the range day, and the chance of getting around on tonight’s tide hung like a shadow. Relaxation wasn't forthcoming.

We headed back in the afternoon; I sat and watched the water, intrigued by the large boil caused by the sub-surface outflow from the power station. I watched it wander and change with the tide – intriguing.

But things still didn't look right to me. No go.

It was time for a good hesitant faff, time to listen to the instincts. Things were not ready yet, but conditions were slowly changing I felt. At the same time the clock was ticking; Team Manager, try as she might, was getting a little impatient at my indecision, and day light was not going to last forever either. But still things didn't feel right – still no go to me. I had learnt to trust in my instincts, I couldn't say what time things would be good to go – I would just know when it was.

And then a route started to form on the corner, there was a gap. The wind was easing, and backing N a little. It was dropping to mid to high 20's now, except for the corner it didn't look too bad out there.

I watched. It felt right now, I suddenly felt good to go. I took a quick walk to memorise the line and then, let’s go, now - quick.

A nervous slide down the shingle, dodge the angler’s lines, looking for the markers in the waves, into the gap, nasty dump on the side, into the tide race, heading nervously out to keep the waves square on, the lifeboat station draws level, and then things start to ease – phew. Happy Birthday Fatboy.

I continued north with an eye on the breakers; it was busy along the coast as the kite-surfers were making the most of the sunshine and on-shore winds.  Suddenly they had all gone: Tea time? Beamed up by aliens? The lifeboat man had warned me that there wouldn't be much beach later in the tide, I realised they had got off before the sand to shingle ratios had dropped to potential embarrassing incident level.

Too late now, might as well go a little further. St Mary’s Bay was the destination; I looked for a gap in the nasty dump with no luck. Eventually it was a case of just get on with it you big girl. Helmet on, tensed for a soggy, shingly get-out, I surfed in to find the massive dump was... a foot high – much to the bemusement of Team Manager. Mummy’s Little Hero.

It was a long day to scrounge only 6 nm, but I was around Dungeness, and that would do for a 48^th birthday present. 

You can only take so much shingle in one lifetime.

Stuck

Day 21 – Dungeness – 10^th June – 0 nm

Despite the forecast we awoke early to see if there was a chance of getting around Dungeness, there wasn't.

It’s a frustrating headland, no towering mountain of imposing cliffs, no definite scary no-go appearance, just an innocent looking low shingle outcrop.

It is only 2 nm from the power station to the lifeboat station, but there is no beach between these two points, just steep shingle. I couldn't see a route through the nasty stuff around the corner and the waves at the lifeboat station were just vicious. The wind gauge was showing 30 mph+ more than it should.  If things didn't go as planned out there were no realistic options.

It was time for a snooze.

We returned late in the day to see if there was a chance of a sneak around, once again, there wasn't.

The PSK Trolley - trolley pics galore

Which trolley did you take?

In 2012 I set out with a loaded kayak and a KCS Trolley that I had bought 10 years earlier, for a trip around Wales. By the time I had reached Sand (nr Applecross), on Day 11, the trolley had collapsed twice beneath the boat. The second time it caused significant damaged which was later hurriedly repaired in a damp college car-park – annoyingly, this was the only resin-needing repair of either trip.

Except for paved surfaces, I abandoned use of the trolley and took to dragging the boat on a jury-rigged skid made from an old pipe - rather more physical, but less risky. Later Justine Curgenven came to the rescue when she generously lent me her trolley for the remainder of the trip.

So for the 2015 trip I was looking for a more substantial alternative; but try as I might, I just couldn't get my hands on a robust trolley, one that I thought would do the job. In the end I had one made, inspired by the one Justine had leant to me.

It was all a worryingly last minute, as the first fabricator promised but didn't deliver, but the second came up trumps. I used this trolley daily, except for the shortest of carries - the monster trolley across the low water springs beach on the Wirral, the shingle at Crackington, the long grass at Dunbar, soft sand on Ardnamurchan, the rocky beach at Worthing, and even the back streets of St Ives! - It took everything in its stride.

On the upside it was simple and worked without a problem, I soon learnt I could trust it whatever and wherever. It also fitted nicely inside the Taran.

On the downside it added a little weight to the boat, but that was worth it for the reliability.

A good exped trolley is worth its weight in gold and is pretty hard to find it seems, I'm pleased with the one I took.

Lies, Threats and Bullies

Day 20 – Hastings to Dungeness – 9^th June – 19.6 nm

“Firing Practice Area

No restrictions are placed on the right to transit the firing practice area at any time. The firing practice areas are operated using a clear range procedure: exercises and firing only take place when the areas are considered to be clear of all shipping.”

Admiralty Chart 536

If I had known how today was going to pan out, I would have stayed in bed.

It started very early – 05:30 on the water. I wasn't a happy bunny to be up so early, even less happy because I was slogging against the flow. A ridiculous o'clock start to paddle against the tide? Yeah, whatever...

 It had to be an early start because the weather was going to go to poo at lunchtime, seriously and sharply to poo. It was going to be bad for the next few days too, so we had to get around Dungeness today or we were going to be stuck.

Out of Hastings, and then along the cliffs, the wind was kind to me here, it was all nice and pleasant. The early-start plan was working. I was still relieved to reach Cliff End though, as the first hints of the wind started to show. But even against the flow and the now NE wind I was quite enjoying myself as I scratched along the beach once again, really scratching in-close today.

Then we got to the Range.

Now I am one of life’s muppets. I play the game, I stick to the rules. When everyone else is ignoring or bending those trivial little rules, I still stick to them. It’s not by choice, I’d rather not but I still do; it’s just the way I was built.

I stopped to ask permission to cross the range, close to the beach if possible – it was too dodgy to go offshore. No go.  There was no negotiation, no compromise, no help – just a no-go, go away. Fair enough I suppose, it is only canoeing after all.

But when I didn't, the lies followed. I knew where I stood here so they didn't have much impact. Been there before, for 20 years or more.  Still, it was not a pleasant situation.

Then threats were tried: military police, civilian police, Coastguard... the Salvation Army etc.

Eventually a compromise was offered that I would be escorted quickly across the range, good stuff – 45 mins and I would be done and around the point. That will do, cheers!

It wasn't true of course; we headed out on a strange heading and it all-too-slowly dawned that they were taking me around the range. I couldn't go that far out in these conditions, no way! I made it clear once again that I couldn't go out there, not in this, FFS.

More threats followed, demands for personal details and more talk of police etc.

Eventually I decided it had become too dangerous, I left the range boat and went it alone, it was blowing such a hooley by now I couldn’t hear the threats any longer anyway.

 

It had taken 30 mins to get out into WTF? land; it took 2 hours to get back to the beach. 2 hours at 2 kts, into the sort of s*** you don’t want to paddle through – ‘if I go in now – that is it... game over... f***’.

I got to the beach and there was nothing left, absolutely nothing, I had used everything I had ever had to get back in one piece.

I was grateful to make it back, but furious that others could put me into such a situation, into such danger. But I was angry with myself too, believing what I was told and playing the game when it was obviously not safe. You have to make the final call, no one else. Up yours ugly.

I didn't get around Dungeness that day, nor the next.

I used a different strategy when encountering ranges during the remainder of the trip.

Bottom Drag

Day 19 – Eastbourne to Hastings – 8^th June – 12.8 nm

Nearly 3 weeks in and we had been dodging one low pressure system after another, the odd day of good weather interspersed with days of more complicated planning and stressful conditions.  It hadn't been too bad, but it was starting to get tiring. I was desperate for a high pressure system, some days of stable weather to crack in some good miles of stress free paddling. Oh yes please.

   

Today our prayers were answered and we got our first high pressure system. But it’s never that easy of course. The high was centred over to the west, somewhere over Ireland or the Irish Sea it seemed. This meant we were going to have stable weather; but it was going to be stable in the form of constant 20+mph winds from the E / NE. Bugger.

The forecast today was for a start with high teen winds, but then quickly strengthening as the day progressed. It didn't look to be too bad to start with, but if the forecast was true then I figured it was going to get scruffy out there. I chose to paddle against the tide, something that really goes against the grain for me, but it would mean that I didn't have to fight against wind over tide too. It would limit the speed and hence the miles, but the alternative with wind over tide was going to get too nasty I reckoned. (I didn't realise at the time, but as the trip progressed this would become an all too necessary but frustrating strategy.)

It was an easier launch than expected in Eastbourne, and then off across Pevensey Bay. But an hour and half later I had only covered 5nm, an average of 3.3kts. Not good.

By Bexhill it was time to head in and start scratching along the beach, looking for any shelter there was. So close in that it was bottom drag all the way. The average did sneak up a bit, but only to the 3.6 kts mark – it looked like it was going to be a long day.

It wasn't.

The wind was strong now. I sneaked a timid glimpse around the dumpy breakwater at Hastings, it was white and lumpy on the other side. Ahead lay 4 nm along the cliffs, with no landing until Cliff End (funny that) – at least an hour in these conditions without really knowing what was out there or what was going to be out there in another hour, and I was already into super-glue grip mode. On-the-water admin was out of the window too.

Game over.

The beach was steep shingle once again; I made the best attempt I could to set the boat up for a landing and then headed in. It was a text book ‘how-to-make-a-tit-of-yourself’ soggy landing. There was nothing more to do than shrug to the watching faces, drag the boat up the beach and pick up the self-induced flotsam.

3 hrs 45 mins and 12.8 nm done, stressed, knackered, and all for only half the average distance for a day.

Tomorrow didn't look better.

Day 18

Day 19