A Tale of Two Paddlers Part 1 When the weather in Perth begins to turn cold, paddlers stir their boats from eight months of slumber and begin to ply the waters around Perth in preparation for Australia's greatest white water race, the Avon Descent.
For the last three years Steve "Bob" M has been dusting off his faithful craft, "The Minnow" and paddling the 133 kilometre race. In the office Steve's colleagues would begin making preparations for what must certainly be his imminent demise: Steve's job files would be brought up to date, requests for recruiting a replacement drafted, clients informed that the engineer on their job might change and yet, somehow, Steve would reappear at work the Monday following the race and, except maybe for a few bruises and minor cold, seem largely intact. Having observed Steve survive the Avon twice I was finally pushed over the edge and decided to tackle it as well. Here's the story of our campaign for this year. Chapter 1: KaChing Goes The Cash Register March 2001: Well the first part of tackling the Avon is to open your wallet and dish out lots of cash. As a novice I opted for a plastic kayak (harder to smash on rocks than fibreglass and cheaper than Kevlar), which was reasonably fast for its class, relatively manoeuvrable and stable. I christened my kayak, "Millennium Madness". A $1000 for a boat I thought, well that's not too expensive. 'Tis a shame I forgot paddle, personal flotation device (PFD, life jacket), spray deck, booties, helmet, thermals, training course fees, physio (see Chapter 4 $250 Wave), hydration unit, spare paddle, entry fee etc etc. When the bill hit $2000 I figured it was time to stop counting and definitely not to mention it to my dear long suffering wife. Chapter 2: The Paddle Fu Master April 2001: Having bought a boat it was time to learn how
to drive it. It's four months until the Avon Descent and plenty
of time to learn flatwater skills before the rains come in two
months (see Chapter 9 1 in 120 year drought). Local canoeing
legend, Terry Bolland, became my Paddle Fu Master and with a
group of other novice paddlers (aka my CDU classmates), I was
taught the basics of canoeing. Terry has completed the Avon Descent
seventeen times, held the world record for paddling 230kms in
24 hours and, amongst other adventures, has paddled the entire
length of the Murray River in Australia and the Mississippi River
in the US (see www.canoeingdownunder.com.au for details of Terry's
remarkable achievements and details of his CDU training courses).
Armed with a correct forward stroke, reverse stroke, stern rudder,
bow draw, hanging draw, high brace, low brace, sculling draw
(beerless unfortunately) and screw roll I was off to an excellent
start. Bugger! Chapter 3: Paddles with Jellyfish May 2001: It's now May and Steve has dusted off the Minnow. Regular paddling on a Saturday morning helped build our endurance. Often the water was so very still it was literally like a mirror, a flawed mirror though, covered with small bubbles. The bubbles, in fact, being jellyfish, which sometimes seemed so dense you could walk over them. As we were regularly paddling in the territory of the Wagyl (the aboriginal dreamtime serpent who created the Swan River and who currently sleeps under it) a Noongar type nickname for me seemed appropriate, hence I became known as "Paddles with Jellyfish" (Kevin Costner eat your heart out). I figure the Wagyl has a sense of humour as he hasn't dumped me from my kayak yet, despite me being a bit cheeky. Having said that, he has taken a few pot shots (see Chapter 8 Night of the Attack Fish) FYI: The Noongar are the local aboriginal tribe and the most famous of these was a chap called Yagan, who was the head of the tribe when English settlers first arrived in the swan river in 1829. A bronze statue of Yagan stands on Heirrison Island overlooking the centre of Perth. Steve and I paddle around this island regularly and those of you who have come to the centre of Perth from the airport will have driven over it, perhaps without even noticing it. Poor old Yagan lost his head at the hands of the English and it was taken back to England where it sat as a museum piece. After a long campaign the local Noongar elders finally had Yagan's skull returned in the mid nineties. Just as Yagan's head was brought back into WA a local yahoo with a wicked sense of humour took an angle grinder to Yagan's statue on Heirission Island and lopped off it's head and hid it. Fortunately that head, too, has now been replaced. Chapter 4: $250 Wave June 2001: Paddling with Steve and showing off my fancy strokes was quite amusing, Steve is self taught and whilst he didn't know the names of the strokes, he could do them all far better than me (don't you hate that!). With no rain to raise the river to a level fit for paddling and getting bored with lots of flat water paddling, we decided to give the ocean a go. Paddling off Cottesloe in Great White Shark breakfast territory brought out some primal fears. Steve and I oscillated between being confident that our plastic kayaks would protect us, to being concerned that we were only sealed in our plastic containers to keep us fresh (a la Tupperware). It turns out the most dangerous thing about the ocean was getting in and out of it. Steve found this out when he was repeatedly trashed trying to get beyond the breakers (it was amusing to watch from the safety of deeper water). The nose of Steve's kayak would punch neatly through the back of the wave like a Polaris missile and then a huge spray like a depth charge going off would burst upward as he copped the wave full in the upper body and got pummelled backwards. Steve got his entertainment when I found out that sometimes waves break out further than one expects, and if they do it's because they are monsters. An additional lesson (reinforced by 5 visits to the physio = $250) I learnt at the same time was; don't use the high brace when getting trashed by a wave, it's very bad for your shoulder! (paddler's repeat this mantra: always low brace oohmm, always low brace oohmm, always low brace oohmm). See http://www.coastaldata.dot.wa.gov.au/coastcam/live-cables.html for a live update of the beach off Cottesloe Chapter 5: Dolphins Have a Sense of Humour June 2001: Another weekend paddle in the ocean brought out the dolphins. These critters definitely have a sense of humour and appear to get a great deal of pleasure from scaring the daylights out of unwary paddlers. As we paddled along the Great White breakfast buffet something very dark flashed up from under the boat and broke the surface one metre from my cockpit. It happened so quick that by the time I had said "Sh#t, did you see that?" it had gone. Steve looked at me like I should really not paddle so hard in the full sun. "Dolphin," I spluttered. Fortunately another two appeared just then so I didn't look the fool (well no more of a fool than normal at least). The dolphins hung around for a while, turning sideways as they buzzed us so they could check us out. It was great to see them. They can sure move out when they want to. Chapter 6: Terminator 2 July 2001: Well, the rain still had not come. With only one month till the race time was running out for me to get some whitewater skills. Despite the water level being far lower than one would normally contemplate trying to paddle, Steve and I headed up to Walyunga National Park to do the run from there down to Middle Swan Bridge. This run includes several minor rapids and two of note, Terminator 2 and Bells. Both were low and only just passable but still a challenge for a novice like me. Steve tackled them flawlessly while I ricocheted off the rocks like a bullet but managed to stay right side up. Bell's rapid is the most accessible rapid on the river and a traditional vantage point for several thousand spectators. A lot of people get trashed there, to the great amusement of the crowd. I decided to do a couple of extra runs through it in the hope of sparing myself some public humiliation on race day. Terminator 2 was named by my Paddle Fu Master Terry Bolland.
Terry has mapped the entire Avon rapid system and hence got naming
rights (refer to his Avon River bible Canoeing Down Under).
Rumour has it that a few of the locals used to call this rapid
rock garden however I guess Terry's thought patterns were something
like this: Chapter 7: Up the Creek without a Paddle Late June 2001: Richard C rings up to say he's coming to Perth and he's bringing his paddle. I thought he was joking, but knock me down with a feather he rocked up with it (turns out his paddle splits in half, so my vision of a 2.3m piece of cabin luggage was inaccurate). A promise of a free meal for Steve and The Minnow becomes Richard's steed for a ridiculously early jaunt around Perth waters. Richard picked the record coldest day in June ever. When we hit the water it was 0.8°C and there was not a brass monkey in sight. Paddling with exposed wet hands was like holding onto frozen steaks. It took 30 minutes for my hands to stop hurting. Richard, a real kayaker, didn't complain about the cold, that is, until we swapped paddles. Richard had a high tech carbon fibre propeller paddle which he offered me a turn with. When I handed over my cheap nasty paddle and Richard grabbed the icy wind chilled aluminium shaft his resolve cracked and he was heard to mutter comments which I can't print here! During our paddle Richard boosted my confidence with tales of drownings in races he'd paddled in and several near death experiences he'd had - thanks Richard. Dropping Richard back at the Hotel was amusing. I pulled the car in and the Doorman in his top hat and tails opens the door of my dodgy Subaru. Richard then walks into the pristine foyer carrying a paddle, with sand covered feet, damp clothes and a lovely well colour coordinated (not!) thermal on. One thing is for sure, a place you will not find Richard is, up the creek without a paddle. Chapter 8: Night of the Attack Fish July 2001: With the Avon Descent only 1 month away it was time to up the training and build that endurance. Paddling at night became a regular event. We paddle Wagyl country and one night he had some fun with us (well mainly Steve). All of a sudden a fish jumped out of the water and splashed off my bow, giving us both a fright. Hmmm, we thought, don't see that so often in the river, suddenly two more fish shot out of the water, one hitting Steve in the chest and another hitching a ride on the back of his kayak. Another one got Steve in the arm and yet more shot out of the water, colliding with him and his kayak. It appears they were spooked enough by my kayak, that they leapt away from it and straight into Steve's. When fish attack, you know that someone's out to get you. Chapter 9: One in 120 Year Drought Late July 2001: Well, the rain has still not come despite much washing of cars, planning of BBQs (and other outdoor events), rain dances and prayers to the rivergods. It's only ten days to the event and there is only one weather system still in contention which might give us some rain. The Avon catchment is in the worst drought since records had been kept, river levels are at their lowest ever for this time of year (6 cm ie nothing) and farmers are really suffering in a major way. See http://www.bom.gov.au/weather/national/charts/synoptic.shtml
for the synoptic chart for Australia. What's needed for rain
are thick wavy lines in the South West corner with lots of pointy
triangles on them (cold fronts). Will we get the rain we need?
Dan the Weather Man might know, see his prediction at: For Steve to do the Avon he has set a minimum water level of 0.75m. For me, I entered early in May and as my money's blown either way, I may as well go for it. My training strategy has changed to moping around the house and office with a head cold, I haven't paddled for five days. Steve is on jury duty, not paddling and also suffering from a cold. Sensible canoeists have not entered the race, choosing instead to laugh, jeer and throw fruit at the insane novices dragging their boats over rocks. What will be the outcome? Will the water level rise enough
in time? Will the head colds disappear before race day? Will
Steve be laughing at me from the river bank? A Tale of Two Paddlers Part 2 Chapter 10: Mother Told Me There Would be Days Like This 28th July 2001 seven days to race day: Well, my cold has got worse, it's meant to be raining today yet the clouds look pretty thin and my shoulder, which had mostly recovered from my $250 wave (Chapter 4), has relapsed. More negative than a cloud of electrons I begin to pysch myself out: "Looks like this Avon Descent won't be much fun", "How can you make it with a suspect shoulder?", "This cold sucks". I begin searching for a big rock to crawl under and die. After several hours of searching for a suitable rock I finally find one, unfortunately I'm too weak to lift it so go to bed instead. Chapter 11: The Second Wettest July Day on Record 29th July 2001 six days to race day: I wake in the early hours of the morning to the sound of rain, serious rain! I get back to sleep but wake again several times as rain buckets down. I look out the window when I wake - felines and canine litter the streets having plummeted from the sky all night. Checking the web that morning I see that there has been widespread significant rainfall across the majority of the Avon catchment (some 600,000km2). It's still raining in Perth and the forecast is for another larger front to pass through in the evening. It is unbelievable, an unusual weather pattern bringing rain in from the North West (usually it comes from the South West) has broken the drought and there is more to come. I look at the river levels, up by 3m's. Wowsers! 30th July 2001 five days to race day: I check the web to see the gauge reading at Walyunga National Park: this gauge is indicative of the state of the entire Avon Valley. It's at 0.9m and rising, anything between 0.8 and 1.3 is ideal for the race. I call Steve, he's keen and with his 0.75m limit exceeded he'll be paddling the race. Chapter 12: Was Dale Carnegie a Paddler? Monday 30th July 2001 five days to race day: I now face a serious dilemma. The Avon has gone from a sandpit to be held in contempt to a powerful furious torrent which requires respect. My whitewater skills do not exist, I am not familiar with the river, I still have my cold (but it's getting better) and my shoulder is still hurting. I have serious concerns about my capacity to tackle the Avon. I suddenly think about the Dale Carnegie book, "How to Stop Worrying and Start Living". Dale's lesson where he talks about resolving worries by establishing the worst thing that could happen, reconciling yourself to this outcome and then working to improve on the worst case scenario, springs to mind. Much to my surprise neurons in my brain make a new connection and all of a sudden I have an action plan. Well, here's the worst case: I pull out at the first race checkpoint with a bung shoulder or I wrap my boat round a rock in a rapid and have to be rescued. Hmmm, if I pull out early at least I'll be warm and I have always wanted to ride in a rescue helicopter, I guess I can accept that if I have to. How can I improve on this?.I leap into action. Chapter 13: Where Do You Think You're Going to Stick That! Tuesday 31st July 2001 four days to race day: I ring my physio and book an appointment to get my shoulder looked at. He sees me almost immediately and after some discussion he gives me some acupuncture and a leave pass to paddle till I can't bear the pain, he doesn't think I can do any permanent shoulder damage (ie he thinks I'm a total wuss who will go home crying to Mummy before anything got seriously hurt). Steve is also psyched up for the race, he's getting his late entry ready and we begin making plans for race day. Chapter 14: White Water Training Wednesday 1st August 2001 three days to race day: I had rung my Paddle Fu master on Monday when I put together my action plan. He is doing a run through the rapids in the valley today. Theoretically I should be resting and carbo loading, not doing a 40km paddle, however the whitewater experience will outweigh any latent tiredness I carry onto race day. Also, if my shoulder is going to give up the ghost it may as well do it when I have lots of support around. Fifteen of my CDU classmates and four instructors pile out of the bus at Posselt's Ford, the first rapid in the valley run. It's 3 or 4 degrees and a light fog covers the river. We all have a quick paddle up river for fifty metres to warm up and then it's time to go. One by one we line up for Posselt's Ford, it's a simple rapid and a good start to the day, I stayed dry. Fortunately someone did fall out, this was a real relief, it took the pressure off the rest of us who had been worrying about who'd get wet first. Superchute is the next rapid and a fairly difficult one, I take it well and get through the nasty bits, smile for the camera and then suddenly I'm upside down and very wet. I try to roll up however I can't control my new paddle well enough, something flashes past my face and I decide to bail. I float nicely behind my boat, feet first as trained, "Sigh, oh well I guess that wasn't too bad", I think, my thought processes change somewhat as my freezing butt slams into a rock. It seems to take forever for the river to slow enough so I can swim to the bank, a few of my CDU classmates are wet too, we compare notes as we empty and climb back into our boats. I get through a few more rapids staying dry but I am getting cold, we move slowly in a big group and there is just enough time spent waiting for me to begin to get cold. After some more paddling I am just about warm again when I go swimming in Razorback, "S#!t". I haven't even tackled the difficult rapids yet. I am now seriously cold, can't speak properly and shiver uncontrollably, fortunately it's lunch time. I change into a dry thermal, lie on a warm rock with a donated cuppa and begin to thaw out. I spend the rest of the day dreading the nasty rapids ahead, "dead man paddling", I think as I approach each one, however each passes and I stay dry. My shoulder was uncomfortable but not deteriorating so I think it will last the race distance. When the day ends I have a new found confidence and feel ready for race day. As positive as a Hydrogen ion I'm keen to tackle the white water on race day. Chapter 15: Isn't Touch Rugby a Non Contact Sport? It's still Wednesday and I call Steve to tell him I survived my valley run. He's laid up in bed, having bunged up his back playing touch rugby however, he reckons he'll be right for the race. A picture of the black knight from Monty Python & the Holy Grail (you know the one who gets his legs and arms chopped off but still has fight left in him) creeps into my brain as Steve assures me he'll be good as gold for tomorrow's tea tree run. Chapter 16: Anyone for Tea Trees? Thursday 2nd August 2001 two days to race day: The tea trees are a twenty kilometre section of the river overgrown with native tea trees and very tight to paddle. Never having done the tea trees it's important I learn the route through them before race day. I have a run through them for today with Rob "Pull Thru" (another paddling dude who knows the trees very well) and Steve. We meet at Steve's at 8:00am. Steve walks out to greet us, he has the flexibility of the tin man from the Wizard of Oz and will pass on today's paddle, choosing instead to have his back seen to. "I'll be fine for race day", he says. Rob and I tackle the trees, I can not believe how thick they are. Steve's advice of he who hesitates in the trees is lost proves both extremely helpful and prophetic. In several instances paddling like a madman into dense foliage helps me survive and I begin getting the hang of the trees. Halfway through the paddle and I'm in a clear section, suddenly, ten metres in front I see a ten centimetre diameter stump sticking out of the water, I hesitate (fatal), left I think, no right, no left, unbelievably I hit the stump dead centre, my boat actually bounces backwards off it before slipping to one side and turning sideways. As I lean the wrong way (away from the log instead of into it), I hear the voice of my Paddle Fu master in my head "Beware the dark side of the force", but it's too late and the water rushes up over the deck capsizing my boat and pushing me under. I bail from the boat and find myself squashed against it by the strong current. Trying to understand the physics behind the forces that can hold a 70kg runt like me against a four metreboat that is balanced sideways on a ten centimetre round stump leaves me wishing I'd done some fluid mechanics. Contemplating this I notice the boat getting lower and lower in the water as the current pushes it under. I slide across towards the bow of the boat and, with the extra drag I create, the boat begins to spin around and comes off the stump. I float along the channel looking in vain for a clear spot on the bank, swimming for about 200m before I find a spot to empty the boat. "Sigh, oh well, chalk that up to experience", I say to myself. Rob paddles upstream to find me emptying my boat, "What happened?" he asks. Sheepishly I explain... Chapter 17: Scratching Friday 3rd August 2001 one day to race day: I call Steve, he's still out of action and a late scratching. Full of compassion for his fate I say, "Hey, does that mean I can borrow your flotation bags for the race?" It turns out Steve has a skiing holiday booked for the week following the Avon. He was playing touch rugby in his lead up to the race and was planning to recooperate by going snow skiing! I begin to believe Steve is in need of serious help, it's clear to me he's psycho! "Have I followed a sports madman into this event?" I ponder. I drive up to Northam, register ann drop off the boat. Tomorrow's the big day. Chapter 18: Race Day! Saturday August 4th RACE DAY 1: I get up early and am
keen to get to the start line. One hour's drive and I'm back
in Northam. My support crew drives while I snooze. I meet several
of my CDU classmates at the start line. The power boats start
first then the doubles, I am grid 51 and setting off at 8:40.
As I mill around at the start I meet my Paddle Fu master and
several more CDU classmates. The atmosphere is fantastic, like
a party. The serious racers are focused on the race but the remainder
of us are chatting and laughing. As my grid number is called
I paddle towards the start line and then the starter's gun fires
and I'm off. Just managing to resist the adrenalin rush which
is screaming at me to paddle like a madman, I set off at a sensible
pace, I have 132 kilometres to go so there's no point getting
over keen now. My shoulder is slightly uncomfortable but not
worrying me too much. After 500 metres I hit the first of the
two portages in the race, Northam Weir, joining a throng of paddlers
I start the 50m walk around the weir. You can spot the racers,
they are all running! Taking a sedate pace I concentrate on not
slipping in the mud and amusing the crowd. As I paddle towards the first checkpoint, Katrine Bridge, I chat with other paddlers, everyone is having a fun time, the sun is out, it's a beautiful day and lots of spectators are cheering us on. I gradually pick up my pace until I hit cruise speed. My shoulder is actually feeling better the further I paddle. Before I know it, I am at Katrine Bridge, I take on Powerade and a banana and I'm off again. My worst case scenario has been improved upon and my shoulder is feeling better the further I go. Further along the paddle a group of spectators on the bank starts shouting "Come On J M." "Who are these people?" I think. Looking closely I see they have the local paper and seeing my boat number, have worked out my name from the race list. This happens several times in the next two hours, each time I grin from ear to ear and shout hello back. The first rapid in the race is approaching - Glen Avon, an
insignificant little rapid with no technical difficulties. With
my whitewater prowess from two days earlier I launch myself confidently
at the rapid. Before I know it I am upside down and bailing from
the boat in the shallow water. I can't believe I fell out. Seriously
pissed off with myself and feeling rather silly watching boat
after boat scoot through without incident I empty my boat and
climb back in. The rest of the day is lots of flat water paddling, the crowd cheering helps break up the monotonous sections. I meet up with my support crew at an orchard before the tea trees. I can't remember the way through the trees, but I am hoping if I start on the right track I'll recognise the path. I fuel up and I'm on my way again. Launching into the tea trees I recognise some landmarks and make a few good turns. Before I know it I have caught several people who passed me in the day. Taking no prisoners, I blast past a CDU classmate, "Sorry", I shout as I clash paddles and bump his boat. Fearful of getting sideways in the current I keep my boat speed up well above the water flow so my rudder will work. I jump queues at several points (politely apologising as I do of course) and bash my boat through some big chunks of foliage. A growing pile of tea tree clippings is accumulating on my spraydeck but I am doing well and haven't had any trouble yet. I come into a tight spot only to find a big Uncle Toby's (ie a surf lifesaver on a surf ski) going seriously sideways. He hits a tree and some rocks, blocking my path, I slow and try to turn but the water catches my rudder and slews me sideways too. I can't get around him. He jumps off his ski and his body is now right in my path. I'm going to hit him hard. "Incoming", I scream. My Paddle Fu master had coached me to lean downstream and hug the thing I'm about to collide with, not lean away. I figured it was probably less painful to drown than try to hug a six foot six, seventeen axe handles across the shoulders, surf lifesaver. Digging in one final stroke I get my cockpit past him before pinning him between his ski and the stern of my kayak. "Sorry, are you OK?" I ask. Fortunately the guy had legs like tree trunks, "No worries, my fault", he says and gives me a push on my way. Using his ski's bow as a pivot I turn back into the flow, looking behind I see him getting back on his ski as a few other kayaks began to pile up on each other trying to avoid him. This was a common scene in the tea trees, the surf skis really struggle to turn tight enough and get caught all the time. Once the channel is blocked anyone coming along next normally gets in trouble. I was lucky this time and made a real point of avoiding following surf skis anywhere after that. Typical of the way people help each other in the race was an incident where I piled up on a kayak as I took a straight line, cutting through a corner. The kayak I was passing swung wide and then back in, hitting my stern and driving me into the bank, taking him with me. The kayak pulled up on my inside, the occupant grabbed the root of a tree on the bank and pushed forward past me, then using my boat as traction, heaved himself forward again. I was just about to stir him up for being such a ruthless competitor when he grabbed my boat and hoiks me forward, a couple more shunts like this and we were both away again. I finished day one with a near miss at the second rapid of the day. After six hours of paddling I felt remarkably well. My shoulder was less troublesome than it has been for weeks and I am not overly tired. Chapter 19: Race Day 2! Sunday August 5th RACE DAY 2: I had a lousy night's sleep, less than 2 hours, I spent most of the night going through the rapids in my head, somewhat shaken by my poor performance in trivial rapids on Day 1. As we drive to the Day 2 start point I feel nauseous, my nose is blocked and my brain is hurting. I really don't feel at all well. My support crew carries my boat to the water and I get in and paddle around. Incredibly, from the instant I hit the water I feel better I am ready for another day's paddle and the challenge of the valley ahead of me, some 45 km with some 50 rapids. As I paddle around waiting to start I chat to some of my CDU classmates and discover that I have earned a bit of a reputation as a rude bastard, because of my tea tree antics. They had never done the tea trees and had followed me after I had rudely blasted pass them, fortunately I didn't lead them astray so they weren't too annoyed with me. When my start grid comes up I see I have some skis in with me. I don't want to get stuck behind them so take off fast and head for the tea trees first. Unfortunately I am not quick enough but take a different path as they decorate a tree. I absolutely blitz the trees and manage to take the less well known left hand route through one of the sections, I definitely owe Rob a carton for his great guidance on the Thursday previous. I paddle the open channel all by myself, just visible to my right though the foliage is a big pile up in the other channel. I reckon I've passed a dozen boats in one go. Clearing the tea trees I come to the first rapid of Day 2, Posselts Ford. I blitz this rapid and get a perfect run down to SuperChute, where once again I take the rapid well. The sun is shining, birds are singing, the river and valley are spectacularly beautiful and changing colour dramatically as the sun rises above the hills. When I come unstuck on a small rapid called "the Goolies" a few minutes later I don't even care. It's amazing, it's so cold my legs are steaming. I put my spray deck back on and am away again with only a few minutes lost. The next rapid is a nasty piece of work called Emu Falls.
I get through with some luck but very little style. Either side
of me is a scene of major carnage, it seems like every second
boat is coming to grief and I find out later several ended their
race there. I charge on, trying to count the kilometres with
my watch. Chapter 20: Recurrent Double Surf Skis I observe an interesting phenomenon, recurrent double surf skis. As a double passes me on a flat section we have a chat. Catching them in the next rapid I shout out "Hello",as they extract their craft from a tree. They greet me cheerily as they pass on the next flat section. I shout out "Hiya" in the next rapid whilst they contemplate how to remove their parked craft from a rock. This happened two more times. Having just failed to catch the double again in the last rapid I find another double doing the same thing, we pass and chat three times. It really is a fun event, virtually no one passes me without having a word or two. I survive intact paddling through BoneBreaker, Raging Thunder and come up to Moondyne. I'm searching for the chicken chute (the cowards way through a tough rapid) and a young lass on ski is as well. With the blind leading the blind she follows me down. I momentarily catch in some trees and stuff up her line, free myself and keep paddling, looking behind me as I clear the bottom of the rapid I can't see her, oops! She passes me several kilometres later, she had survived, just gone down a lot more controlled than me. Chapter 21: "Welcome to Syd's, Have Some Fun!" Rapid merges with rapid, I have a cheat sheet listing the rapids but I lose track of my position. I am sweating on Lookout, Championship and Syd's, the last big rapids before my first meeting with my support crew. I have some close calls but have managed to stay in the boat. Coming fast down a long rapid I see a ski in difficulty ahead of me, it turns sideways and the occupants barely stay on. As I reach the bottom of the rapid the ski slews to the left and is rapidly closing the door on my line. "Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes!" shouts a voice in my head. In a flurry of strokes I make my best manoeuvre of the race, edging my boat over as far as I dare in the fast flow and standing waves. I sweep on the right for all I am worth trying to turn inside the ski. Straightening up, I paddle at sprint pace for the small gap remaining and shoot past the bow of the ski before it takes me out. I feel it hit the stern of my boat but I am clear. The crowd cheers (note: they are kind hearted and cheer everyone, even incompetents like me) and for once I think I have shown some style and maybe even deserved it. I won't let it go to my head, I still have a long way to go. There is a big rapid coming up. This must be Lookout, I check
my cheat sheetmy shorthand code says Enter Centre, Go right then
Centre. A lady on the left bank is waving furiously, she shouts
"Welcome to Syd's, have some fun!" I cruise down to Walyunga and meet my support crew. Rob, who has seen how badly I paddle, is amazed to see me so quickly. He was expecting I'd have far more trouble in the valley (as was I). It's four hours since I left in the morning and I have eaten all my supplies and am out of fluids in my hydration unit. I get topped up with Powerade, scoff another bent yellow fruit and I'm off again. With 45km elapsed I only have two major rapids to go and then it's 30km of flat water to the finish. Chapter 22: Giving Hatch Some Public Exposure I come up on Terminator, it's vastly different to when I last did it. With an extra 0.5m of water the flow is faster and the standing waves more savage but overall far less rocky. I take the right line and blast through it. "OK", I think to myself, only Bells to go and you are home free. As I approach Bells I hear its roar, and see the crowd - it's huge. I approach the main drop which flows under a bridge packed with spectators. I brace myself in my kayak, glance quickly at the crowd on the bridge to see if there is anyone there I recognise. There are too many faces and I can't scan them all. As the current picks up I focus on the main drop I engage the warp engines and Scotty complains as he sets them to factor 8, with shields at maximum I focus on the paint mark on the bridge which lines up the main drop. Seeing Klingons on the starboard bow I steer left. The water is accelerating too fast for me to keep up and I lose relative boat speed, as I steer left the bow eddies out, the fast flow grabs my rudder, pushes the stern around and I begin to lose control. I edge the boat on the left and sweep left for all I am worth, too little, too late. I go over the first drop sideways and the boat tips over, bracing on the left side my paddle and forearm crashes on the rocks and I almost right myself. With shields failing and multiple hull integrity breaches I go off the main drop on my side. "Beam me up Scotty" I cry, but he doesn't hear me and my world turns ugly. I hot commission my helmet on rock at the base of the main drop. Eject, eject, eject and I'm out of the cockpit and being dragged by the boat through the foam. I still have my paddle and fortunately I am headed for a rock bar and not the next part of the rapid. Some swimming gets me to the rock bar where I stand feeling rather foolish but happy to be in one piece. It turns out Steve and a CDU classmate, Todd, observed my lack of skills at Bell's. Steve saw my approach looking good and moved to the other side of the bridge only to see me tipped over and sideways over the main drop, this left him wondering what the hell happened. According to Todd, the crowd, which was cheering and laughing, went very quiet all as one whilst I splattered myself. Apparently it looked very ugly and he was expecting to see the rescue boats dispatched to search for a corpse. Fortunately, it looked far worse than it was. "Oh well", I think "at least the crowd would have seen the Hatch stickers on my boat". Then again, I'm not sure that my performance would create the image of a capable and competent engineer that the company is trying to project. Oh well, what can I say, at least I had a go I climb back in my boat and head for the next part of Bell's rapid, called Devil's slide. With a dreadful sense of Déjà vu I lose control of the boat again and fail to reach the appropriate line through the slide. I hit some rocks broadside tipping over them and getting trashed yet again, twice in 50m after a 35km clear run. Sigh. As I am getting back in the boat I am surrounded by spectators. I tell them the water's fine and suggest they come on in, they aren't interested. I convince a young lad to hold my paddle as I empty my boat, he's getting sick of holding paddles and is going to ask the next victim for a labour hire fee. I check my time, Bugger! I've lost my watch. Oh well, I guess I'll find it again with a metal detector when the river is dry. Climbing back in my boat again I make a clean run through Sideswipe and Dog's Breakfast, the last parts of Bell's. Steve "Bob" M who is still struggling to walk fast has had ample time (thanks to my repeated trashing) to make it down from the bridge and cheers me on. Steve and Imelda (cinematographers and cheer squad) are also there to cheer me on. The bottom of Bell's is a significant milestone, once you have made it this far technical skills are no longer needed, it simply comes down to endurance. I meet up with paddler, another John, at the bottom of Bells, he has done the Avon 22 times and is in his late fifties. Now there's a role model for keeping fit and healthy. He warns me to get a hurry on so that I am out of the tight sections of the river before the power boats come through. They travel at about 60kmh and when the channel is only 1.5m wide in the tighter tree'd sections it ain't much fun having one come up behind you. Putting some real effort in, I clear the last of the tight sections of the river only two minutes before the winning power boat screams past. I am now in suburbia and every fifty metres there are people having picnics and cheering me on. It's a great feeling and keeps me going when my energy starts to fade. Pulling in at Middle Swan, my second stop for the day and with 60 kilometres complete I am approaching a low ebb. I skull a flask of powerade, scoff a banana, a growler dog bar and with a full pack of snakes on my spray deck I take off again. The sugar kicks in after about 20 minutes and I am making a reasonable pace again and feeling good. I know I am home now, it's just a matter of putting the paddle in the water again and again. I am lucky, for some bizarre reason my left toes are numb and the foot hurts. It serves to distract me from how much my arms are aching and helps me keep up a steady paddle rate. I mentally chant my training mantra; left paddle "I'm gonna", right paddle "make it", left paddle "I'm gonna", etc etc. With about an hour to the finish I meet up with a guy on a ski, Jim. I slow down to have a chat, deciding talking will be therapeutic and worth the few seconds I may lose. Turns out that Jim is 53 and this is his second Avon Descent, talk about keen. I am seriously impressed. John, the 57 year old paddler I met at the bottom of Bell's has caught up with us, he slows for a chat also and shows us the shortest line through the river whilst avoiding the shallow sections. As we approach the last bend before the finish, John, picks up the pace and leaves Jim and I behind. In the distance I see the finish line, it is a glorious sight, five months of training plus 14 hours, 8 minutes and 2 seconds of paddling and I have achieved my personal goal. I cross the line and beach my boat, I stand but my left foot fails me. I stumble around like a drunk and try to use my paddle as a crutch. I almost take another swim and the Mayor of Bayswater has to take evasive action as she tries to give me my medal. I look at the medal, it's a nice memento to have, but the journey is the real prize. In the past five months I have found a physical endurance level I didn't know I had, made a lot of new friends, learnt a lot of new skills, developed a respect for the river, discovered the beauty of the Avon valley, been scared a little, been cold a lot, developed a passion for paddling and had an enormous amount of real serious fun. The Avon is over, but only for this year, I'll be back next year and thereafter, rivergods permitting. When I die they can scatter my ashes at Bells (let's face it, there are some of mine there already from this years crash and burn!). Many thanks to: the event organisers and sponsors; my Paddle Fu master - Terry Bolland from Canoeing Down Under (CDU); my CDU novice buddies who made training fun; my support crew - Mike and Rob "Pull Thru"; my training buddies and inspiration to tackle the Avon - Rob "Pull Thru" (again) and Steve "Bob"; the cinematographers and cheer squad - Steve and Imelda; the flotation providers who helped fill my kayak with empty wine bladders - my wife's aerobics pals; my sponsor - Hatch; and my long suffering wife and family who granted me the leave passes for this selfish adventure Rosemary, Daniel, Rebecca and my wife's 6 cats. |