Treweryn - 9 August 2008 |
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Adrian, Chris, Joseph, Denis, Rory, John Richards, Sheila, Carrie, Justin and Emma; we were the Lower Treweryn Eleven. We got in, bounced crazily through the first shot of standing waves, and then pulled up beside a small group of beginners being coached. Despite this being a fun activity, the faces around me looked serious, even slightly haggard. Of course, that could be partly due to a severe stomach upset moving through the ranks, particularly affecting Rory and me, who had done a rolling session in the Thames on Thursday in preparation for the weekend. In fact, Rory was about to redefine the term "rock splat".
Talking of rocks, the term "rock hopping" will never seem the same again. Lower Tryweryn rocks are shy, suspicious creatures that wait around in groups of two and three for kayakers and nudge each other slyly forward as they hear them approaching. My RPM's way of dealing with rocks, unless I exercised a restraining, sideways influence in time, was to charge full speed straight at them and leap frog over the top of them, sliding down the back while I got my low brace held at the ready. Yes, that strange support stroke you learn in the BCU 2 Star course, that makes you feel as if you should be sautéing a pancake on the blade of your paddle, really does come in useful after all. We jumped right out of the water onto the top of one rock and then seal launched off it onto another and from there slid back onto the water. Paddlers familiar with the Lower Tryweryn may well recognise the rock.
Needless to say, such audacity could not go unnoticed for long. As I rashly got too far ahead, one large rock blocked the way. I tried to nip through the gap before Adrian's Topo Duo got there and the RPM raced ahead willingly, climbing halfway up the side of the rock before sliding back down to the bottom, where, oblivious to my clawing high brace, it resignedly tipped over. I felt a small rock dart forward and deliver a remonstrative tap to the top of my helmet, sending me shrinking further under the bow of my boat for protection. Expecting worse, I peered around cautiously. The rocks had gone. Obviously considering their job done, they had moved off to look for other prey. The RPM was obediently tracking true, although upside down, straight along a comfortably deep channel. My paddle and I were glued to its side in the "set up" position. I hip flicked away and the cheers from Chris and Rebecca behind me told me that my roll had worked, best to head for an eddy before the rocks noticed, where I was joined by Rebecca excitedly babbling about a "text book roll".
The Lower Tryweryn is a winding, woody, quite narrow river. It pays to let the experienced paddlers check ahead for hazards and to maintain a careful line of sight. In my case, it was helpful to notice Chris doing a sharp left as it saved me from paddling onward into the opposite bank. Towards the end, John Richards, (expert rock spotter), me and Rebecca formed a comfortable little procession, with me watching John's every move and Rebecca no doubt watching me picking my way along behind him. Our swim count was substantial, but I never heard any of the usual lame excuses: "Oh, I'm into wild swimming" or "I thought I'd give gorge walking a quick try" and our brave paddlers just got straight back into their boats and were off, paddling down the river again in a very business like way.
At length, the notorious Bala Mill Falls signalled that the trip was nearing its end. Adrian and Rebecca in the Topo Duo, John Richards and Justin were going to run it. Given a throw line, Emma and I sat alertly on the bank waiting. We waited what seemed like ages, puzzling about the cause for delay. Then Denis signalled from his perch and it was action stations. I assumed my precisely planned position by wading ankle deep into the river right eddy, clutching my throw line with white knuckles. Rescue personnel, Emma, me, Rory and Chris intently scrutinised the roaring falls before us, at the ready for anything that might happen. Then, one by one, the kayaks appeared, paused and occupied by kayakers with surprised expressions, slowly slid down a chute on the left hand side of the river, the Topo adroitly doing it backwards, and completely missed the falls. Feeling a slight anti climax, but relieved that everyone had got down safely, I repacked the end of my throwline and stumbled up the bank to empty the water out of my booties. Time for a very sociable evening at the pub and bed.
The next day we went off to the Dee.
Some pictures
