Busted 1 and Busted 2

Day 39 – Alnmouth to Berwick-Upon-Tweed – 28^th June – 29.9 nm

It’s another split shift day, aiming for an 08:00 on the water. It’s grey, wet and draughty. As we get everything together we watch a Barn Owl hunting along the field behind the beach, a magical distraction.

The beach lies in a sheltered breeze, but further out it looks quite choppy. The forecast is for the south wind to pick up further within the hour. It’s from the side initially, but if I can just sneak around the rocky corner at Boulmer then I figure it just becomes an options-day with a following sea.

 I want the miles. The forecast is better for tomorrow, I would really like to finish today at Berwick in order to be in a position to get around St.Abbs tomorrow, in turn to be in position to cross the Firth of Forth the day after. A lot depends on today.

Off the beach and gratefully around to Boulmer without a hitch.  Much of the coastline is low rocky reefs from here on. Landing options are limited, but with the south wind it’s possible in an emergency.

The wind quickly picks up and things get a little boisterous not too far out. As I pass each protruding reef or low headland I sneak into the ‘bay’ behind it to head north – this gives me the best of both worlds, I get the advantage of the following wind but the water conditions are less challenging with the shorter fetch. I make good progress and have a smile on my face. As I reach the end of each ‘bay’ I have to move out to surf over the next reef, things go a little ‘yeehaa’ for a short time but then I quickly sneak back in and continue on my way. I thought the reefs would complicate the day but in fact they have made it work.

In the distance I spot a low headland with a small hut on it. I watch a seemingly endless stream of push-chair pushing individuals heading for the hut. It confuses me - they walk up to the hut, pause and then head off back, and another takes their place. I don’t see a single person without a push-chair. What is this? Some sort of young-mothers convention? What’s special about the view from this little headland? Why all the push-chairs?

Eventually I get close enough to see. It’s a tee for the golf club. The push chairs are golf trolleys of course. Suddenly it is obvious.

Team Manager makes it through the rain to the impressive ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle and I get a spirit-lifting wave before carrying on. After Beadnell the coastline starts to turn left a little. The south wind has been negating the tide for a while but is less help now and as it becomes off-shore it blows the paddle splash into my ear.  I land at Bamburgh Castle to wait out the wind and tide.

We are parked quietly on the back road, minding our own business. Team Manger goes for a wander and I try to sleep, after shooing away an attention-seeking, piss-taking Rook. I watch the wind blowing out of the bay that separates Holy Island, it’s pretty white out there.

There is a pattern to the wind; I reckon if I get it right I can sneak across in a lull. I start to get ready. Then a sea-kayak-toting van screeches to halt and a slightly confused smile leaps out - Busted 1.

 It’s Ollie Jay from Active 4 Seasons. He’s looking out for Katie Ellis and Lee Taylor who are heading down from St Abbs today on their clockwise circumnavigation. We chat as I try my best to avoid the reason why we are in the area. The boat, fully loaded and kitted, sits just behind Ollie- I can’t really pretend I’m just out for an hour’s bimble with all that gear, so I make excuses about testing kit and long distance training – sort of true – apologies Ollie!

There’s no sign of Ollie moving on, but the clock does, and so eventually I excuse myself and launch. I let myself get distracted chatting with Ollie and pay for it half way across as I get hammered by a brutal wind out of the bay. In the shallow water the seas quickly become short and sharp. It all gets a bit dodgy, I can paddle this, but if I go in then things are not going to have a pleasant outcome. Eventually there’s a gap, enough so I can run downwind for a bit to get some shelter behind Holy Island. I sneak around the corner, a little dazed, and head into the miserable bay to lick my wounds. The last time I sat here it was shitty day too - I might remind myself not to bother next time. I am viewed suspiciously from the shore by some nature-absorbing types, eventually I get a wave – but it looks more like a ‘sod-off’ than a ‘welcome’. Time to take the hint.

The sun comes out as I head towards Berwick, but the wind is rattling down the Tweed valley and I am working my nuts off to get anywhere against the splashy chop – it lasts for 2 hours.

When I land on the beach I am spent, there is nothing left, nothing at all. Team Manager remarks that through the binoculars I look “pretty good, good style and determination...”  I quietly reflect that I had to paddle with the best I had, I had to give it all. If I had stopped out there tonight I would not have made it to the beach, I just wouldn't.

Later we are ripped off by the most unfriendly campsite of the 2015 UK Circumnavigation Trip; they may be pleased to know that they won the same accolade during the 2012 UK Circumnavigation – yeah, that's one for your advertising blurb.

As we head into town for food, we spot Katie and Lee’s boats perched on a grassy patch by the old bridge. We get a text from Katie asking what brings us to this part of the world – more excuses follow – Busted 2.

Keeping it Quiet

In 2012 I wasn't prepared for the attention that the trip, and to some extent, the blog brought. I found myself in some quite strange situations, expectations and demands were unrealistic: people expected me to drop in for a brew miles inland – and took umbridge when I didn't; I was snowed under by well-meaning, but often misleading ‘local knowledge’; I had unsolicited media interviews arranged unknowingly on my behalf and plenty of demands for what time I would pass a specific headland - as they wanted to drive over to watch (Watch what? A dot on the horizon?) It has to be said that there were a few chancers who hung around to gain publicity for themselves or their cause too.

Most of it was well meaning and altruistic, but it all added to the pressure and it took a while but eventually it became a distraction – there was a job to do and at times to be frank it wasn't going all that well, I just didn't need all this s***. I had enough on my plate.

So in 2015 I decided I wanted to keep the trip quiet, very quiet, I just couldn't be arsed with it all to be honest – miserable I know, but I just wanted to go canoeing.

I knew that in our modern ‘connected’ world if anybody knew then everybody did – so the decision was made to tell no-one. That said, I figured it was only fair to tell the Team Manager, she was going to drive for me after all. I figured that eventually she would become suspicious as we woke up each day in a different place - so I accepted that she had to be told.

The Team Manager’s parents were also to be informed, I didn't want them to think I had kidnapped her or such like.

And that was it, no-one else was told – some twigged but many didn't, and I guess most didn't care anyway.

Initially it was done for a reason, but as things progressed it became a bit of a game, as we tried to see how long we could keep it all under wraps while we met people around the place. I felt a little guilty as we left a trail of obfuscation, frustration, vague answers and the odd white-lie in our wake.

I knew that a number of bridges would have to be rebuilt on my return...

Dolphins, Seal Police and the Proleten

Day 38 – South Shields to Alnmouth – 27th June – 26.2 nm

We dodge the wayward dogs on the beach once again, it’s an early start, but it is rarely possible to beat the good old British dog walker down to the beach. The sun is out and people are just arriving - power-walkers, personal trainers and the odd yoga-type are heading for the soft sand.  I'm on the water for 07:30 and head for the harbour walls at Tynemouth. 

The South Pier looks a little tired and is speckled with anglers, I get the usual abuse and a line cast across my bow as I pass the end. As I close on the North Pier it looks a little ‘shinier’ and there are no anglers, just a couple of smartly-dressed runners looking like they have tripped off the front cover of ‘Runner’s World, in contrast I get a cheery wave. I reflect on the difference between the North and South side of the river as I turn towards Whitley Bay.

Suddenly a snort brings me out of my dreamland and I look over my shoulder to see 3 dolphins just behind – my first of the trip. They come to the bow of the boat, I yell like a little kid, but with my early-morn-sluggishness I am not enough entertainment and they soon move on.

Heading now for the lighthouse in the distance, perched on St Mary’s Island - I pass Whitley Bay on the way. In the car park above the lighthouse I spot a van with a red and white boat on the roof - it stands out nicely; I head in to say hello to the Team Manager as she wanders down to the lighthouse. As a consequence she gets a bollocking from the Seal Police and told, in turn, to tell me to move on. I sit outside of the pot buoys and have a break, with a crowd of curious seals around me, and then paddle off in reverse so I can watch as the seals follow for a while.

I've only been on the water for two hours by the time I reach Blyth, but the tide is against me now and I land to await a little more lunar movement. The beach is nice but it’s going to be a long wait so I head up to the van, it’s parked in a scruffy and very busy Saturday car-park, a very welcome egg and bacon butty magically appears.

The adjacent cycle track is used by an impressive number of people, there is a definite cycling buzz about the place. But then you soon realise the racetrack road to Blyth would be a suicidal cycling affair and it starts to make a little more sense. The noise of a music festival in Blyth drifts down the wind.

Eventually it’s time to get on again, I will be grateful of a little peace and quiet - I am surprised that we've not witnessed a major accident on the road.

At Newbiggin-By-The-Sea a sudden squall comes out of nowhere and blows off-shore, just as quickly it disappears. What was all that about?  Team Manager calls to say she has parked at Cresswell and invites me to a picnic on the beach – that sounds good to me, I've no hurry with the tide now.

But just as I reach the edge of the bay she calls again, she is moving on, it turns out that things aren't quite as they seemed and she deems that it is now time to make a hasty exit. I shrug and head north across Druridge Bay - the wind finished me off here last time, it’s not bad today but there is still a bit of a splashy breeze funnelling out of the bay.

I sneak through the rock ledges and land on the peaceful beach at Amble, we sit in the sunshine on top of the dunes and watch life go by for a while – a rare magical moment. A WWR and a ski round Coquet Island (Mr Cresser perhaps?) and head back to the harbour. Tomorrow is the Coquet Island race, once gain I’ve missed it, I guess they’re going for a little last minute sneaky practice. I watch them through the binoculars, it’s pretty choppy out there for a WWR - he’s going well. (Nicky didn’t race this year, so I was wrong with my guess of the paddler).

It’s pretty draughty now and though it’s off shore it quickly gets choppy out there, it’s only an hour to Alnmouth and under the sunny skies it’s a lively but pleasant end to the day - a 26.2 nm – 12hrs 25 mins day.

Eventually we find the campsite at Alnwick Rugby Club, it’s 10 years since our previous visit. We have a brief chat with a paddler who is up for the race tomorrow, he spot the Tarans and remarks I should think about having a go at racing sometime – he thinks they are fast boats apparently.

As darkness beckons, we eat our boil-in-the-bag food accompanied by the first midges of the trip.  

A reminder that Scotland beckons.

Split Shifts – More On-the-Ebb Lessons

Going anti-clockwise means most of the time is spent paddling on the ebb, pretty much everything except the south coast really. This in turn creates a number of significant differences to going the ‘right way’ around. As mentioned previously, this means that the bays, rivers, estuaries and harbours are generally emptying, exposing the paddler to the, sometimes significant, downstream turbulence. Paddling on the ebb also means that the paddling day involves working most of the time against the prevailing swell, this would cause problems for me later – let’s talk about it then.

Another difference came down to the daily timings:

As we headed north we fell into a timing window that meant the tide was running early in the morning, too early to make a realistic start with the beginning of the tide each day. So we would de-maggot and head to the beach, where the one with the sun-tanned bald patch would paddle for a few hours to catch what he could. Then as the tide turned (and the wind changed) I would sit things out for a time until I could get on again later in the day to finish off. I quite liked the routine from the purely paddling point of view, it gave me a lengthy rest in the middle of the day, and this in turn really did charge my batteries for the second (or third) leg of the day – giving a mileage boost late in the day.

But of course there was a downside; the paddling day in its entirety could grow pretty long.  12+ hour days meant that it became difficult to fit in planning, kit-sorting, admin and diary writing around the paddling. Something would suffer: not-enough sleep meant that mornings were lacking in motivation, decision making became difficult and confidence became a fragile concept - faffing became a regular part of the day. But the alternative, going to bed having neglected The Plan for the following day would mean, at best an inefficient day and opportunities missed, at worst it could result in an unpleasant outcome.

There were other complications too: finishing late meant that sleep was often fleeting and difficult as there was too little time to ‘come-down’ from the stresses of the day. Interestingly this not only affected me, as the paddler, but also the Team Manager could be on-edge for a while.

 It was also difficult to get kit dry when finishing late in the day; Team Manager began driving around with a dashboard full of a variety of soggy and smelly items of clothing, drying it all beneath the greenhouse windscreen – once things passed the ‘crusty’ test we knew they were dry enough to go back in the bag.

It can be too late to cook a meal, so food suffers a little too - boil in the bags are dragged out of the box.

For Team Manager it also meant there was less time available to get the daily admin of food shopping and driving done, and in turn less time to doing something more interesting – viewing, visiting, body-boarding or cycling. After a stress-full paddling day, van-life could be a tense environment anyway, the last thing you need then is a Team Manager who feels neglected and under-appreciated. The whole paddling mentality of such a trip is, and has to be, a very selfish one – too much hum-drum shared unequally is not a good thing. Tired people don’t add favourably to this whole situation.

All said, all these factors were not super significant on their own, and in the early stages were just another buggeration factor of the trip. The odd long day was just one of those things. But later as the weeks progressed, this constant early/late routine began to grind me down – both physically and mentally.

Of course you would expect the tidal times to move forward each day, eventually we would emerge from the split-shift timings. Unfortunately we found ourselves just making enough progress each day to more or less negate the timing differences – Split-Shift were here to stay it seemed, get used to it Fatboy...  

Another Slog

Day 37 – Redcar to South Shields – 26^th June – 26.8 nm

We couldn't find a campsite last night so we headed to a motel, hoping for a good night of sleep and a little more space. It was not a good choice, after a poor night of sleep we both agreed the van was the better option in future, lesson learnt.

In the morning light Redcar looks a little shinier and there is a definite F-word-free buzz about the place. Conditions are calm again with a forecast for a strengthening offshore wind later, it is not a dramatic forecast and later I realise that I'm a bit too complacent with it.

Once again it is a late launch, and once again under grey skies. Soon the tide is going to dictate that we have to go onto ‘split shifts’ I guess – today is a 14:30 start. Team Manager later remarks that as she starts her day, driving out of Redcar the kids are heading home from school, at the end of theirs.

In 2012 crossing the Tees was a slightly nervous affair, a choppy day with ships moored all-around, pilot boats zipping all over and various traffic movements in and out. Today I decide to route through the wind-farm to give me a little ‘cover’, but it is unnecessary. There are only a few boats anchored further out, I have the rest of the lonely grey bay to myself. Some sort of industrial indicator I wonder?

Hartlepool is the first landmark after an hour and a half or so, I've not yet visited the place, it doesn't look like I will today either. 

Rounding the headland I drift off-shore now as I straightline it towards Sunderland. The sun makes an appearance and the wind does indeed strengthen, it is strong enough that I am drifting further offshore than I would like. I have to ‘re-assess’ my GPS heading a few times, I can’t maintain the original track because of the offshore wind and have to paddle with a ferry angle on. I wish I’d stayed close to the shelter of the shore, but I made my choice and now I'm 3 miles out, just have to get on with the job. When I stop for a break eye-brows raise when I see how quickly I am drifting even further off track.

I'm heading for a small cargo ship anchored in the distance, it seems to take forever to reach it, but eventually it slips by. Sunderland soon follows, and then I reach the headland at Whitburn, along with a welcome chance to skulk out of the wind.

As I close on South Shields I look at the watch, it shows just over 6 hrs. I'm pretty disappointed, I was hoping for more out of the day. The conditions promised a long day but I got greedy going straightline and paid for it with the wind. I'm knackered now and the sandy beach at South Shields looks too easy an option – time to be a wuss, I'm in.

After all the days so far scratching along the coast to avoid the wind, you would have thought I would have learnt the lesson by now – but apparently not.

We trolley the boat across the soft sand. The beach is pleasant but it has a slightly sunny Friday night hectic nature. There are a surprising number of dogs around. As we head up the beach we are accompanied by in-vain shouts of attempted control while Fido attempts to murder Bozo. Again and then again – an unusual, after landing first impression I reflect.

As we load up, the elderly gentleman in the car next door, puts his flask away and winds his window down to have a pleasant chat. Beneath a blanket in the next seat I can see his wife, I can't help but wonder if she is asleep or has passed away while he admired the view - I think I hear a gentle snore -good.

Another example of the trip forecasting the future I wonder? 

Want it enough?

Day 36 – Scarborough to Redcar – 25^th June – 32.5 nm

I spoke briefly with Mick O’Meara last evening, he is currently roaring around Ireland – heading for a record if things carry on as they are. Obviously it’s not over until you cross the line, but Mick really wants it and is pushing hard. I need to take a little inspiration from The Man - currently we are in line for a 90 day finish and I have to wonder if I'm pushing as hard as I could.

I set off a little early, before the tide, in order to try to get more miles out of the day and to try not to finish too late. But once I paddle off the beach I’m a little disappointed to see that the tide is already running - more notes to be appended to that Alamanc when I get back then.

I'm looking forward to the paddle along the cliffs here, it’s an impressive sight as the Yorkshire Moors fall into the sea. On the other hand I’m a little nervous that it could be a tricky day if there is any swell running, get-outs are limited for long, intimidating stretches. But the Swell Gods are having a day off and I head north into a slight chop, under muggy grey skies.

The cliffs slide by in a slightly featureless sort of way. The low-water rocky ledges of Robin Hood’s Bay come into view, scattered with random boulders. I remember fossil hunting and an interesting landing at Boggle Hall the last time I paddled here. Today it’s calm and I'm happy to take the miles.

More cliffs follow and then Whitby looms into view, marked by various styles of fishing vessels gently wallowing just outside the bony fingers of the harbour. There is a brief shower of rain and then as I head north the wind drops away completely, it gets a little stuffy beneath the grey skies. Just short of Runswick Bay I come across a sit-on-top fisherman weaving his way against the tide towards Whitby. He tells me he is ok, I wonder if he will be – it’s going to take him a long time to get to Whitby like that, and he’s looking non-too fresh.

We both continue, and once again I watch more cliffs slip by, before I spot the seagull-spattered village of Staithes, shoe-horned defiantly into the cliffs. I watch a rubber-clad couple of surfers tip-toeing hopefully across the rocky ledges - optimism over forecast I think.

Still more cliffs and then the tiny settlement of Skinningrove appears, squatting stubbornly in a cleft in the high coastline. During a coastal walk day last summer, we hurriedly left here after a bit of a ‘Deliverance’ moment in the gloom. Time to move on.

I round the headland and glance across towards the pier at Saltburn, famous for its impressive knitted decorations.  The tide is starting to fade now as I paddle along the day’s first stretch of sandy coastline, towards the Dantean silhouette of the steelworks beyond Redcar.

I’ve not visited Redcar by boat before; I sneak across the shallow rocky ledges and land through a rather smelly slick of life-expired seaweed. We sort kit in a grey car park under the watchful eye of a couple of dubious types, before we head across the road to a high-street Italian restaurant for some excellent food.

There is a constant stream of drunken tattoos and draughty skirts staggering by the window, heading vaguely towards the pub next door;  our meal is accompanied by the soundtrack of high street high-jinks and swearing.

Notch up 32 uneventful nautical miles for Team Fatboy.

Flamborough Head - A Scarborough Bee-Day

Day 35 – Hornsea to Scarborough – 24^th June – 29. 4nm

At last, a stress-free forecast - 10 mph WNW winds with a bit of swell from the north. It is a welcome, easy-decision, morning – sunshine and a breeze, no waiting around or stressing, just some straight-forward paddling – TFFT.

It’s a pleasant 10:00 start as I set off before the tide, I don’t expect much flow against as I cross Bridlington Bay - I aim to get to Flamborough close to slack. I have a sneaking suspicion that the swell may build up at the headland later, once it pushes against the ebb flow, so I start a little early.

A last glance over the shoulder at Hornsea and away, it is nice and calm, with a lazy but distinct swell rolling in. As I paddle out I watch a couple of Typhoon jets playing  ‘shoot the fish in the barrel’ with a Chinook – the Chinook is all low-level whirling and jinking, I guess I'm missing something here, but it looks to me like there are not many places to hide over open water – I wouldn't lay my money on the Wokka. Eventually they all have to head home for tea and medals, and it’s back to a little bit of open water peace and quiet for Taran and me.

As I close on Flamborough a tall ship of some sort sneaks out of the bay and rounds the headland to head north too – it rides impressively over the swell – oh well.

But it’s nice to see some real cliffs again, instead of the muddy-blancmange versions of recent days. It’s also nice to see some wildlife in the air – Gannets wheel while Razorbills and Guillemots dart hectically by.

Even though I hit the headland just after slack, the eddy flow at the top of the bay is enough to lift the swell. It is not a problem but it is still surprising how much larger the swell can grow when pushing against a little flow. I get a feeling that paddling on the ebb is going to teach me another lesson or two during the upcoming weeks.

It’s also strange how sometimes you get things into your head that just do not match the actuality. Even with maps left, right and asunder I still had it in my head that the cliffs north of Flamborough ran north-south. I was surprised how much rebound chop there was there, with the swell bouncing back off the cliffs. A quick ‘look-what-is-actually-there-rather-than-what-you-think-is-there’ look at the map explained things; the cliffs run more from east to west of course.

It takes an hour or so, but finally I'm level with the sandy beaches of Filey Bay and the rebound fades. No stop at Filey this time. The conditions are much more pleasant than three years earlier; I remember a rather nervous rounding of the Bell Buoy at Filey Brigg.

The coastline slips uneventfully by, the sun is out, the breeze drops away and I start to wilt a little. It’s a while since I’ve had a stress-free day and without the focus and low-level adrenaline my body decides I have to pay the debts for the push of previous days – I am suddenly knackered. The paddling time between rest breaks becomes less and less. It’s surprising how much admin you can find to do in a kayak when you don’t want to paddle.

But I'm not the only one struggling out here; I find a bee on the water’s surface. A clumsy rescue and it sits soggily on my deck, looking distinctly non-plussed. Soon I find another and rescue that too, and then another, and finally a butterfly too. I’ll need a bigger boat at this rate.

I round the rocky outcrop of Scarborough and take sneaky-peek at what the landing beach has in store. Not brilliant - the rocky reefs are just poking through the surface; I guess others are lurking close below. The swell creates enough surf to make a choice line through the rocks tricky. It’s enough for the butterfly – it jumps ship and flutters off. The bees haven’t dried enough to fly yet though; I find myself in the unusual position of herding soggy bees around the deck of my boat and trying to shoo them into the day hatch before we drift into the surf line.

Eventually the bees are safely below-decks, it’s time to Major-Tom and then head in. Team Manager radios instructions - there’s a little confusion as I try to match these to water-perspective landmarks. Even once I twig, it still looks a little dodgy to me - but then I notice a shallow, but sheltered little gap further along and head for that. Instructions become more frantic as I ignore advice and suddenly change my heading, I'm inside the surf now and don’t really have an opportunity to explain.

Once I’m on the beach I do have to explain, ignoring Team Manager is a serious offence! Nobody is bigger than The Team I'm reminded, there are plenty of paddlers out there – I could easily be replaced!

I trolley the boat through the crowds and traffic and then sit in the sun – spent.

Team Manager tells me of her visit to Flamborough. The young birds have hatched and she sat and watched them being fed by harried parents. It sounds like an interesting visit, while you see so much on the water you can also feel that you miss out on things too.

Team Manager was also a little dismayed at the way, once again, it seemed like a managed facility rather than a natural cliff-top with birds – entrance via the gift-shop, tarmac footpaths, fences and signs etc.

   

The beach is emptying as evening approaches, I try to dry my kit in a cramped parking space while Team Manager rubbers-up and heads out with her body board for a little end of the day de-stress.

Bugger – the bees! I lift the hatch and they blink sulkily at me. Still too soggy to fly, I have to lift them out and look for a little flowerbed colour to deposit them in – not quite how I envisaged the end of a circumnavigation day.