By John Bickerton
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| the final bit of the gorge |
25th March 2016, Good Friday. Incidentally the morning after party night. And lo, as our Lord and Saviour did approximately 2,000 years ago undergo his trials and torments and near the end of his time on this earthly coil, so did members of LUCC crawl groggily from their beds with splitting heads and arid mouths, by turns sweating, shivering, and spewing as they gazed upon the new day with bloodshot and oozing eyes. And yet, they did somehow make their way to the minibus in search of something to paddle (Scotland unthinkably having failed to deliver on rain in recent days).
Our leaders settled on attempting the Pattack, which looked to be a lovely river in a beautiful forested gorge. We were in luck, it Went! Slight problem- the access road was closed, and we had intelligence that it would not be open for at least a day. Few of us relished the prospect of shouldering our kayaks and trekking the 3km down a treacherous woodland path to the get-on from the car park (our crosses to bear? Is centuries of religious belief and tradition simply an allegory for the faff of paddling? This is getting weird) and so it looked like our paddling plans were foiled. However, a quick conflab with the road workers confirmed that if we were able to sit tight for twenty minutes the road would be open. Having chided our spy for shoddy intelligence gathering (yes Mr Waller that is aimed at you). We made it to the get-on, got changed and sent the drivers off to quite literally run the shuttle (due to the access agreement cars can’t be left at the get-on).
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| Faye Goes exploring |
We got on just below the picturesque Pattack falls (and no, we didn’t run it, as much as we love kayaking, we love not dying even more), split off into groups and set off down the river. There were a few fun rapids to start off with, with a bit (OK, a lot) of scraping (after portaging a tree just downstream of the get-on) and I added another river roll to my collection after inexplicably capsizing. On this day we had a few old friends in the shape of Ady, Grog and Chris (who very kindly lent me his boat for the day) to offer guidance and safety. However, this task was injected with a sense of humour, as I approached one minor drop I was told to hi-five Grog and throw away my paddles. I followed neither of these instructions, not necessarily out of fear, but simply due to having reached the bottom before my addled brain could process them. I’m told the instructions got even more complicated further down the line. Sadly, later on I clocked up another swim on a drop, having given up rolling after three attempts while being mullered in a hole. Maeve was unfortunately in a similar situation, and got a huge dent in her chin for her pains.
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| Jess gets into a spot of bother whilst Tim and Fiona blithely admire the scenery |
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| Some carnage on the final rapid |
We then entered the final gorge. I successfully ran the first few rapids, then waited in an eddy as I helplessly watched Phil’s and then Harry’s boat float downstream to be spat out at the bottom. Oh dear. I was then disturbed in my reverie by Tim and Mollie. Apparently the former had led the latter down the rapid, only to roll and cause the flustered Mollie to swim. Hero boater no longer. It was then my turn to run the final bit, which was essentially go left to avoid being pinned on the nasty rock then hoon it down the centre for the final drop, which I managed with relative ease (What do we say to the God of Death? NOT TODAY!). With everyone done, we got off for tea and medals, had photos taken and were reunited with more old friends, and then went back to the bunkhouse to rest our aching bodies. One of my favourite days of the whole trip, despite the somewhat inauspicious start…
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The author challenging the God of Death on the final drop
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| The crew after a successful day on the water |
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