Off The Beach

Broad Haven – 11^th Aug

But we still have to get off the beach.

I stand there, on the sand. It is the end of just another paddling day. Except of course, it isn’t just.

The mind works slowly, it has to adjust from one world to another. It takes a time to dawn, but when Team Manger conjures up the bottle of bubbly, it occurs, slightly, oh so slightly, that the end has been reached.

I'm a little over-dressed, standing here amongst the naturally-insulated kids, the should-know-better speedo-clad gents, and sundry sunbathing types, some wobblier than others. Somehow we are quietly inconspicuous amongst the friendly atmosphere. But swigging from the bottle and the indulgent bubbly spray draws a little attention. The word spreads and soon hands are being shaken and questions answered. The old favourites are there: What was the worst bit? How far did you row each day? What are you doing next?

Next? We're not even off the beach yet, give me a second eh...?

But it is pleasant, very pleasant and enjoyable to chat. For once there is no need to dash – none at all.

 I'm surprised how many people are interested, genuinely interested. It’s only canoeing. I share the bubbly with a young lad, while I reply to Dad’s questions. Dad doesn't want to spoil the party, turning a blind eye. Kiddo makes the most of his chance.

There is a slightly strange moment when a lady comes over to, rather loudly, tell everyone how far her sit-on-top paddling husband paddles when he goes out to fish. She isn't unpleasant, just proud of Mummy’s Little Soldier. One of those moments where there is nothing else to be said.

I don’t really want to leave the beach. Standing on the water’s edge is somehow the last link with the whole affair, it feels as if the memories might fade when I walk away. But the daily routine kicks in, unbidden, and I find myself emptying hatches, clearing the deck and sorting dry-bags. Can’t break the habit.

As we start to carry the boat across the soft sand, people come over, to insistently take an end. I don’t want to seem ungrateful but somehow this is my job, the day isn’t finished yet. It is part of the routine.

 And Taran has looked after me so well, through so much; the least I can do is carry her safely off the beach.

Two minutes later the sand is slippy soft, the hill steep and I am blowing out of my arse, regretting the sentimentality.

At the top we take a breather, in front of the little shop, amongst the car-park crowds. More questions and hand-shakes follow, it’s nice. A lady has followed up the beach and politely introduces herself and asks if I can spare time to answer the question – why?

Why? Hmm not an easy one that...

I find it a little curious that people are so interested and, well, just so damned nice.

Then we have the short trolley along the road to the campsite, 83 days since the boat was wheeled along this same stretch.

TM has bagged a good spot on the field,  and now it is time to sit down and take a moment.

Old habits are hard to break though and I find myself hanging kit to dry in the sunshine, sorting and fussing things. It’s my last chance for a good old faff.

I do know that once I sit down nothing else is going to get done today, so the boat is unpacked now and the kit laid out. Things are tidied and put away, with the luxury of slow-time though. It’s just such a deeply ingrained habit to look after the kit.

Eventually all is done and it is time to relax at last – Done and Dusted!

The jungle drums are beating and news is even rippling around the campsite, people ‘pop in’ as they wander past, on their way to the toilets. Aah the glamour. I find myself self-consciously signing an autograph, on a road atlas, for a couple of youngsters. Bet that’s worth a fortune now...

A sit-on –top-man comes over to chat, he saw me land and thought it was a little over the top to be spraying bubbly after a trip around the bay. Now he has heard a little more he wants to add his congratulations too. It’s a nice chat, I'm starting to feel a bit of a prat now though.

The campsite owner comes over too. On the evening before Day 1, the Lundy Crossing, back then we walked down to the headland together and gazed towards the island, out in the distance. It’s good to see his smiling face and shake his hand. It sort of joins the circle somehow. I'm not sure of his background, he’s done something in his past, but he keeps it to himself.

Geoff and Joy are on their way. The ‘We are at Broad Haven, where are you?’ phone call gives it away. There is a little confusion - it’s not a big place, you can’t miss us, you know big van, pink boats and all that stuff. It turns out there is a 20 mile confusion between Broad haven - the place and Broad Haven -the beach, aah... my mistake, apologies.

But eventually all is well, tales are told, more bubbly is drunk, dodgy directions are forgiven and final relaxation lurks.

All too soon Geoff and Joy bid farewell and head back to deepest Ceredigion.

But for us there is no rush tonight, we have our lives back. We walk under the stars and watch twinkling lights far away across the Bristol Channel. I've heard people paddle that.

No planning, no tides, no charts, no maps to fold, no breakfast to prep, no rushed diary to write, no smelly paddle kit to lay out, no stressing to do.

No alarm clock.

No sodding, effing, bastard annoying, depressing, irritating, 4 o’clock wet-kit alarm clock. Oh no siree...

A lie in tomorrow, whatever the weather...

Happy Birthday!

Day 83 – Porthgain to Broad Haven – 11^th Aug – 34.9 nm

The day begins with a true FFS-it’s-early start. Not for the first time the clock shows 4’s in places that it really shouldn’t, not on my clock anyway. 

The plan is to arrive at St David’s Head around HW slack, this lengthens the tidal day, and with luck will minimise any wind/swell/tide shittiness on the corner. So there’s no pressing the snooze button this morning.

It’s strange that I've been thinking of the plan for the last stretch for a while, even with so many other things to dwell on. I've been telling myself, that if I get to Porthgain, then it could be possible to complete in a day – given a fair crack at the whip. Well, the day, and Porthgain are both here. It’s time to get cracking...

Even with the early start things are fairly positive in the van. We had a little time to chat and reflect on yesterday. The rights and wrongs on the decision to round Strumble Head will be debated for a while,  but even I can’t fault my paddling technically, or on-the-water tactics - beyond Strumble at least. For me it’s up there with the paddling on the Cape Wrath day, paddling that I thought was some of the best that I have laid down for 10 or 15 years. But it’s not time to get cocky. Yes, in the overall scheme of things there is only a small percentage remaining, however there are still plenty of miles to go – my swimming badge only says 25 metres on it...

It ain't over ‘til the... well, we've done that one before.

So out of the shelter of Porthgain harbour at 06:10 – Richard L would be impressed by that one. I'm not.

It’s a blue-skied, sheltered start to the day. After 10 mins the rocky shelter of Penclegr is rounded and the gentle W breeze and W swell become known.

Drama! Lego-man-Larry-From-Lyme-Regis has come loose and is lodged beneath the splits. But before my incident-management skills crack swiftly into action, plastic-man goes overboard, at the first wave. FFS. Larry’s been on the front of the boat through seriously thick and thin, and finally comes a cropper to a pissy little wave just outside the harbour. On the last day! Larry you tool. Tears well up. RIP Larry.

Life goes on. The breeze is not a problem, but the swell has the potential to stack up against the flow as I work towards the end, to St David’s Head. Hopefully the arrival-at-slack plan will work.

It’s a pleasant paddle along this finger of Pembrokeshire . As I get near to the end the flow increases and so, pleasingly, does the boat-speed, less pleasingly the swell does start to stack up too. And once again the tide makes the rules, the flow is earlier than the book(s) suggest. Though it doesn't really matter, suddenly I'm around the bouncy end and heading S into Ramsey Sound, that’s it - no great drama - one more down.

6 kts+ towards Ramsey is pleasing, and now that the swell and flow are at 90 degrees, life settles, the wind drops away too. The run into the sound is smooth, peaceful, relaxed. What a blissful place to take breakfast.

Drawing level with the S end of Ramsey Island  there is a small, smooth tide race forming. The first of the day’s rib-ride boats venture out to take a look. But sorry folks, I'm going to indulge myself here with a bit of a surf, selfishly I hog the waves. Fook it - the sun’s out, the sky’s blue and I've come a long way for this one. 'My wave.'

But it’s not long before discretion becomes the better part of valour, it would be a bit daft to make a tit of yourself here, and now. As the waves start to build, I let the Taran drift southward once again and we head across the smooth, oily slog of St Bride’s Bay.

It’s an hour an half to the entrance of Jack Sound, the old friend of Martin’s Haven lying just over to the left. The breeze is nothing and the swell is correspondingly lazy. Jack Sound has a bit of a reputation, but the feed in is fine. I get a bit cocky and paddle straight through the rest. A dodgy eddy-line moment and a half-ton face-full soon bring reality back.

Last time I was in this part of the world the stretch between here and St Ann’s Head was a bit of a handful, but not today. All goes easily as the boat ticks along – Mr Garmin still showing 6 kts+.

The entrance to Milford Haven is to be crossed next. No one wants to reply to my radio calls, so, slightly nervously,I aim for the Sheep Rock buoy and get on with the job – it’s ferry glide time. Half-way across and a ferry appropriately appears out of nowhere, as they do. It’s heading speedily in. I pull hard, but things are fine, there’s plenty(ish) of room. After 20 mins I'm at the buoy and it’s time to relax again.

5 hrs and 26 nm are under the belt, and it’s not even lunch-time. Time for a rule-breaking, indulgent landing at Freshwater West. There is a pleasant surf to slide the boat in, and onto the flat expanse of sand. Team Manger is slightly less relaxed as van-parking is limited, but a shoes-off and feet-in-the-water suggestion soon solves all of life’s problems.

It’s only a brief stop though, tidal worries concentrate the mind. Strangely there are no thoughts of the end, of trip-over, it’s just yet another day - grab the miles. Things are probably going to be a little choppy along the cliffs, do we stop here and drag it out for another day? It’s TM’s birthday, I haven’t had much chance to go shopping. So I figure the best pressy I can give is just to finish the whole dammed affair - today. On again then.

Down to the end once again, Linney Head this time. There don’t seem to be any red flags flying, so I take it that the Castlemartin Range is shut, more summer hols for the bomb-slingers it looks like.

The cliffs along this next stretch are not huge, but they are sheer, grey and firmly in-charge. As soon as the first corner is rounded things become boisterous, and then progress up the scale from there. There is always a flipping sting in the tail of course, always. And this is it. Right at the sodding end. It's not worth wasting the effort to ask to be given a break.

Movement along the cliffs is unpleasant and un-relenting. By the time I close on the first section of St Govan’s Head I’m just trying my best not to cock it all up, in the last few miles. The fat lady is taking the piss today.

Eventually, finally, St Govan’s Head is rounded and blissful calm envelopes. Another TFFT moment, possibly the last one?

Even Mr Pessimist has to accept that the end is within sight; well it would be if it wasn't around the corner.

There’s no hurry now, the wind, swell and chop are finally behind the final headland. The bay is calm. No, there’s no hurry now.

I tootle through a few gaps, bimble around a couple of stacks, taking in the sunshine, and then suddenly the beach appears. Not just any old beach , but the beach – you know, the first – the last.

It was 07:00 on 21^st May when we last saw this beach. It was unsurprisingly quiet then, except for the bearded willy-dangler, but now it’s busy with August holiday-makers. Strangely I am surprised by this, I hadn't expected the crowds, illogically my mind just prepared for the quiet pre-breakfast May-day sort of beach.

Suddenly it dawns that it is all just about over, this had not been even fleetingly thought of, not even for the briefest of mind-wandering moments. But now the time is here.

As I paddle into the bay I am passed by a couple of guys in an inflatable, bare-chested and paddling out towards Somerset. I can’t even be arsed to shake my head anymore.

I'm not just ready though; I go for a brief, final loop of the bay and then head in towards the busy beach.

There’s no band playing, no welcome crowd. But there’s only one person I need to see, the one who made it all possible - Team Manager.

The ubiquitous bottle of bubbly appears, smiles and laughter to accompany.

A few questions are answered.

And then, that’s it,

Game Over.

Job Done.

The Eternal Optimist

Day 82 – Dinas Head to Porthgain – 10^th Aug – 15.7 nm

I'm not known as an optimist. I see myself more of a pragmatist, a realist, a glass-half-empty sort of guy. I'm not too upset by this. I think it keeps you alive.

The more I paddle the sea the more I find I tend to drift away from the optimistic end of the spectrum; in fact, I probably cultivate the pessimistic outlook a touch. You are less likely to need the help of a lifeboat if you decide to stay in the car-park.

When it comes to this game, sometimes I feel ‘Who Dares Wins’ should be looked at more from the ‘Who Dares Resorts To Flares’ point of view.

But human nature is what it is, and even the most devout pessimist has a slight streak of that eternal human optimism hidden away. Like it or not.

 And some days it can get the better of you. On a long trip, that’s probably not such a good thing.

We wake up to the wind, it’s blowing past by the ton. The snooze button is pressed a couple more times than normal. Shallow slumber stretches on, every extra minute is avoiding-reality welcome. But eventually the day has to be faced.

The campsite is still inside the fluffy bowels of a cloud, we can’t see the water. Nor can we get a forecast out here. The way the wind rattles the boats on the roof is a bit of a give-away though.

Down the hill it’s a westerly; I'm not too fussed up to Strumble Head but a little concerned about what lies beyond. The overnight blow may have brought some swell with it.

We take a drive to have a look, but time is tight and so are the narrow roads, the clock ticks and the results are inconclusive. It is windy to the west though, there is little doubt about that.

So, the plan is to leave the beach at Cwm-yr-Eglwys, go round Dinas Head, and then slog across towards Fishguard/Strumble. Hopefully Team Manager will have found a forecast by then and a decision on further progress can be made. Early stage options are straightforward; if it all goes to rat-shit before I pass Dinas then easy shelter can be found back in Newport Bay. Once around Dinas it is a case of heading for ferry-dodging sanctuary in Fishguard Harbour. Beyond Strumble the options are more limited.

Another beach beneath a grey sky. As the boat is prepped, a gent heads down from a pretty waterside house, on his way for a brief dip. Brave.

He’s intrigued to see what is going on. Australian by birth,he’s lived in the UK for a while, the house has been in the family for generations. We chat, comparing British August summer weather to that from the other end of the earth. He’s interested in the trip too and wants to know all details. There’s a shout back up to the house, and I suddenly find myself being prompted to give a motivational speech to an un-interested 10 year old,on the chilly beach. Not quite what I expected, or the boy either by the look of things

Off and away. It’s a short, easy paddle to the headland where it’s breezy on the corner. The ebb is running and the squeezed water gives a bouncy wind-over-tide race beyond the end. Fingers of swell sneak around Strumble and skim Dinas Head. The rebound from the wall adds to the confusion. Once around the corner I head a little S, working against the eddy, to gain a welcome easing of the conditions as the flow falls to the rear. Then it is the windy slog towards Fishguard. Hood-up, head-down, paddle.

I sit below the cliffs, behind the Fishguard Harbour wall and take a breather, the wind makes an effort to push me back out into the bay. Team Manger calls; she's managed to get a forecast, suffering umpteen hot chocolates for the cause.

Things don’t look brilliant, strong winds and swell to push around St David’s Head. We are on the edge of the swell picture, it’s not cut and dried how far in it will come.

I'm safe here, I can get out and call it a day. I know it will be unpleasant beyond Strumble, no doubt about that. But the optimist struggles, smiling, to the surface; if I get my act together and my arse down to Porthgain, then an 83 day finish is possible tomorrow. I make the decision to go – another one of those ‘we-can-always-turn-back-if-it-doesn't-work’ theories. Ha, not heard that one before...

Sneaking along the cliffs to Strumble, it’s sheltered from the wind along the rocky edge, the sun is out and things are pleasant. The low-lying lighthouse looms and then I'm around the corner. It’s suddenly windy and lumpy, the blow is gusting through the gap. But it’s not too bad, and I head along the cliffs towards Pen Brush, starting to grow a little uncomfortable with the rebound.

Now it all goes a bit shitty. We are perhaps a day or two from the end of the whole undertaking and here the coastline seems to want to give a summary of some of the ‘best’ bits. Armadale, Cape Wrath and even a 2012 Rubha Rheidh come briefly to mind. I realise now that the right angle along the cliffs is going to focus the wave patterns, convex-style, just like it did at Armadale. I start looking for patterns again – paddling zig-zag from one smoother oasis of interference to the next. It’s a handful. It’s not nice.

 In 2012 I used the eddy here to gain an hour of tidal–gazumping free miles, but today I pay my dues - I’m making less than 3 kts against the eddy. There is no respite and it’s going to take a while to get clear.

After a 1 ½ hrs of relentlessness I slide into the very welcome shelter of Abercastle. TFFT

Just before the Taran turns into the narrow gap the wind grows further in strength, but thankfully by now there is shelter from the cliffs. The wind is a bugger but the water is finally flat - not complaining now, oh no not me.

TM arrives and we sit in the sunshine, we’re not waiting for tide this time. We wait to see how the forecast pans out, hoping for the wind to dampen a little. As it blasts by the end of the narrow sanctuary, we watch a couple of girls come down from a house, Dad carries the sit-on-tops, and they head out. They are clad in buoyancy aids, track-suits and wellies – a top-end safety gear combination. You can do little but watch morosely.

Thankfully the evolutionary spirit is strong and after the wind gives them a concentration-enhancement or two, they turn back to stay in the easy bit, blissfully enjoying themselves. Relief.

17:30 is set as the start-time cut-off. If the weather allows, there could be an eddy-sneak down to St David’s Head, with a heroic, mile-grabbing finish at Whitesands Bay. Tea and medals to follow, with a realistic jumping-off point for a final-day finish. Easy-peasy.

The worst of the wind blows through, right on time, and then I head out of the narrow entrance at 17:30. It's a little breezy as I sneak through the gap at Ynys Deullyn, but things are fine. Dreams of St David's form.

However not much further down the coast and it’s time for another unpleasant convex-focus corner moment.The swell becomes unruly. Things get lumpy quickly and it dawns that St David’s may as well be on the moon. When we sat on the beach at Abercastle we watched the wind drop, but we couldn't see that the swell had come in, running along the coast. It's another reminder, that what you want and what you get, should be seen as quite different things - until proven otherwise.

A second is hastily grabbed to ask Mr Garmin to steer towards the invisible entrance of Porthgain. Life becomes a lumpy, boat-wallowing stagger, staying out and away from the cliffs now.

Closer to Porthgain I see the off-shore rowing club venture out of the low cliffs. It's a re-assuring lift to the spirits to have company on the water, but they soon have a couple of ‘moments’ and swiftly turn to head back in. Yeah, I can see the reasoning behind that one. Spirits drop again.

Nearly there, by Trwyn Elen, and the swell stacks up against the flow. What was unpleasant before, now becomes unpleasant and larger. The line has been crossed. Not -  happy - anymore. Again.

The pre-entered waypoints were time well spent though, the GPS steers straight into the gap, following the lead of the big blue rowing boat.

Now it’s another sudden contrast moment. The small harbour basks in warm, wind-free sunshine. People throng, relaxing and wandering about. The beer garden is full, the fish and chip restaurant is busy and car-park spaces are valuable. Such a difference from life only minutes earlier.

We tidy up and head off for somewhere to live for the night.

Today I relented and put my happy-go-lucky pessimistic nature to one side, to become an optimist for a change.

...And regretted it.

...Twice, in one day.

That’ll learn ya Fatboy.