LUCC Goes Paddling: The Kayak – an unexpected journey

Once upon a time there were some kayakers, and they lived in Liverpool..

This is how our story begins one fateful snowy Friday just after exams in January. At 6 o clock sharp(ish) we loaded our boats, too merry to think of such things as airbags and whatnot, and set off on what would be a hell of a journey.

We stopped the first part of our journey in less than an hour, when we took an excursion to Burtonwod services to discuss a rather pressing issue: the snow. It had started as we loaded the cars in a slow sleety flurry but by now had become a full on blizzard. We were only just out of Liverpool and had another 2 hours or more left to go. The question was, should we go on?

Well after all the passengers decided to make the decision to soldier on, the driver’s promptly kicked them out of the conversation to discuss matters further whilst Adie made for priceless entertainment reading out 50 shades of grey in a strong Northern accent.

After an hour and a (bloody tasty) KFC the drivers returned to announce their decision. Despite the extra hour of snowfall in the meantime, they were happy to go on. But the decision had to be unanimous. Earnie explained all of this finishing with “Now I’ll tell you now, after this point we’re going into the unknown” and with that we were sold.

You'll have a tale or two to tell when you come back.
You can promise that I will come back?
No. And if you do, you will not be the same.

So we went for hasty comfort breaks and reinstalled ourselves into the cars setting off onto the now distinctly treacherous roads of the M62. Fred’s car had carried on when we’d stopped at Burtonwood and there was talk of accidents all along the way, so we were slightly apprehensive for what was to come.

And needless to say we were right to be. By about 10.30pm, having been on the road for 3 ½ hours, all the cars around our lovely little convoy ground to a halt. The snow was coming down thick and fast and between the broken down BMWs and lorries, the traffic had stopped completely. Cue an impromptu snowball fight across the M6. All the kayakers got involved and many snowballs to the face were had. Well, except when Mollie was aiming for the face, then they ended up about 3 foot from their left ear. Snowmen were made and then promptly wrecked by Jack, Sky news reported the events and the highway patrol offered an effective intervention of “perhaps you shouldn’t play in the road girls”.

After a couple of hours of not moving an inch, there were finally signs of life ahead and the convoy was once again on its way. We took to the snowy roads at the heady heights of 5 mph until the traffic slowly cleared and we could move into the snowy realms of the Lake district (or the Peak district if you ask Gaby). Gareth’s tunes were a-playing in the car as we ventured through the snowy mountains in search of a warm and welcoming scout hut.

Well 5.30am came and Fiona (who wasn’t wearing her glasses) spotted the world’s smallest sign as we past for a third time through a small village and we all breathed a sigh of relief as a scout hut came into view. But that wasn’t the end of the journey, oh no. The scout hut was neither warm nor welcoming and it wasn’t even responding to the bangs of shouts of tired and grumpy students. In fact was empty, and more importantly locked.

With an air of depression we stumbled back to the cars where we’d spend the next 3 hours fruitlessly attempting to get to sleep, except for Greg who woke up early to get his bearings in our snowy surroundings. But little did he know his efforts were for nothing when Earnie called the contact of the scout hut asking if they could be let in and was told that the scout leaders had been waiting for them and were actually there right now, in a scout hut 20 miles away.

With the promise of an actual floor to sleep on we quickly stirred and set off for the proper scout hut. We arrived a tired mess and made our way past the beaver fun day posters and the wall of knots to pass out on the floor of the huts for an hour or two.

We woke up to the smell of sausages (50 for under £5? You could practically taste the horse meat).

The Kayaks: An Unexpected Journey Part II.

Nothing awakens a jaded gaggle of kayakers quite like essence of horse sausages. So at the crack of dawn, around 10.30 we assembled to come up with a plan of attack.

It became apparent that no kayaking was happening so we settled for the intriguing sport of snow-boating. Trussed up in many layers, or not Jack Ward, we loaded up the trusty motors and set off in search of a suitable slope.

The poor residents of the local area were clearly unprepared for our storming arrival. It was carnage on the slopes. But hilarious carnage. Adi in his slow moving boat wasn’t a danger to the public, but Fred and Stu’s race was lethal to any in their path. Cunning kayakers doubled and quadrupled up to form a bob-sleigh team, led by Grog to power down the run. Unfortunately nearly squishing someone’s pet dog in our high speed journey. Much joy was also had from launching various thrill-seekers off a ledge, footage shot by Gareth and Adi.

After we happily ran the slope dry off snow, and sending most of the kids fleeing we retreated back to our Scout Hut for some pre-nap lunch.

Our next adventure was the local pub, stumbling distance from our base. Good food and beverages were consumed. Money was won at the Pub quiz and some dodgy games of pool were played. With Mollie potting the black in record time.

Jak Hill reached a new low with four Asda Value lasagnes for supper, apparently it was edible, unsure of the horse content though. Our drinking entertainment came in the form of the boys playing a competitive game of beer/cider-pong. Accompanied by a very Welsh Kim and confused Fiona.

Obviously the girls teamed up and brought our best game faces. Beer pong became wine/cider/other-pong with Mollie’s dyspraxia becoming a danger to myself and onlookers.

Further drinking and general chats continued further into the night before it became apparent that the office needed looking into. Jack and I decided to sneakily check out this mystery room. Much to Graham, Jak and Mollie’s amusement. (No I am not giving anymore sordid details). Moving on…
After Earnie revealed an early start was in order we scuttled into our sleeping bags for some beauty sleep.

Dawn arrived early to I believe Dom, Stu and Greg hollering us awake. Rapid eating of sausages and hasty packing ensued, before we piled into the cars, Chloe being our vehicle of choice.
A strangely long and winding drive through the picturesque scenery (for those not hideously hungover/nauseous) of the Lake District occurred for a good while, with Fred testing Gareth’s acceleration and clutch control. Cheers Fred. We eventually got to our destination the river Esk.

Arrival at the get-on for the river Esk was rather cold and icy underfoot. Quick change into our kit and checking for any missing pieces, oh shit the airbags, sorry Liam. We teamed up and had the adrenaline pumped by team talks. It was a rapid flowing get-on, with the emphasis on leaning, and we were off downstream.
The lack of eddies proved a slight problem, but the rapids were easily negotiated by most. And the time came for my first underwater adventure. Thanks to everyone who rescued me! I retired to the bank with Mollie under a group tent thing to ward off hypothermia we watched the rest LUCC bravely continue. Now I leave the rest of the story-telling to those who actually paddled more than 20minutes!

They say a picture is worth 1,000 words which is good cos no one has written anything on the rest of the river yet but here are some photos.