I remember watching a feature about a white water race with canoes and power boats on Channel 9's Wide World of Sport back in the 1980's. I'm originally from Adelaide and being a bit dim automatically assumed it was in NSW orVictoria, where there are mountain rivers that have rapids. Like so many of my other fanciful ambitions (climbing Mt Everest, swimming the English channel, dinner with Pamela Anderson) I parked the thought somewhere in back of my memory as something that would be fun to do one day.

Just over two years ago my family and I moved to Perth. At some stage it dawned on me that the race I saw on TV twenty years ago was actually THE Avon River here in WA. This thought plus a realisation that I was becoming a couch potato provided the spark for a new goal - competing in the 2001 Avon Descent.

I did start the 2001 race but I have the distinction of being the first to retire from the race - at Extracts Weir - but I reckon I have a fair excuse.

Avon 2001: Novice

Like so many aspiring white water warriors before me I began my Avon assault with a few private lessons with Perth's canoeing guru Terry Bolland. I enjoyed it but was amazed at how unfit I had become particularly in upper body strength. Undeterred, I bought a plastic Finn kayak, a paddle and began "training".

Looking back, my training for last year's race could be described as "well intended", ... no... let's be honest .... haphazard - no long term plan, just get down to the river before work and thrash about for an hour. Only later did I learn about gradual mileage build-up and intervals.

Prior to the race I did all the things first timers (we are called "Novices" in the Avon Descent) are meant to do - eat the right food, limit alcohol and attend an Avon preparation lecture. I remember during one of Terry's support crew briefings that he explained that during the race tired and exhausted paddlers can become quite grumpy and irritable with their crews, my wife turned to me and whispered that it would be a bloody improvement.

Anyway, I obviously did something wrong because I strained my back a week before the event. I suspect it was from a beginner paddling too many hard sessions in shallow water. Several physio sessions later I made it to the starting line at Northam for the 2001 race.

After five minutes of paddling I realised that all was not well, I had a sharp pain between my shoulder blades which steadily worsened. I reached Katrine Bridge, fifteen kilometres from the start. If someone had offered to swap what I was feeling to hammering a rusty nail into my back it would have been a simple choice. Foolishly I continued on to Extract's Weir, another eleven kilometres on. I was embarrassed by the thought of my support crew, who were waiting at Extract's, having to drive back to Katrine. I reached Extract's and pulled out.

I was extremely disappointed, but knew deep down that physically I couldn't continue.

Realising my back injury was more serious than a muscle strain I saw a sports doctor. After x-rays followed by bone-scans followed by an MRI I was finally diagnosed with a "clay shovellers fracture" - where one of the bony bits you can feel on the base of your neck and upper back is fractured from muscle pressure. It's quite rare.

2002: Through the Seasons

I got back on the river three months later when my back felt reasonable, I was determined to train smarter this time so I read up on various training techniques and learnt about aerobic threshold, resistance training and micro/macro cycles. C'mon ... I read about these things I didn't say I did them .....

Gradually I built up to about 50kms a week for four days paddling. I also mixed paddles with two gym sessions a week to strengthen my back. For me that was about the maximum time I could afford, yet I still felt guilty about where my time was going rather than with family and friends.

I paddled through the summer months, then autumn and the 5:30am starts became colder and darker as winter approached, yet I'd look forward to seeing the same dedicated paddlers passing me on the river before dawn. A brief nod of the head or "g'day" and we continued on our own way.

Finally, the rains came during May and the monotony of flat water was complemented with some fun paddling up and down in the Upper Swan ti-trees and small rapids at Walyunga National Park.

All local WA paddlers become amateur meteorologists during May - commencing each working day looking up web sites about river water levels, weather charts and Dan the Weather Man. Unfortunately I've never met Dan but I enjoyed reading Dan's witty weather predictions on Ascot Kayak club's website. Dan must have some connection to the higher being somewhere up there as he is usually spot on.

Scrutineering day approached, a decision point for serious paddlers who decide which boat to paddle in the race, dependant on forecast river levels. The river level was higher than at the same time previous year but sadly the forecast for rain in the next two weeks was grim. Expectations were for a low year.

This proved to be the case and Avon 2002 was the lowest race in over twenty years.

Day One 2002: Lowest race in 20 years

8:00am August 3rd. The race begins in Northam, an hour and a half drive north east of Perth. The power boats start first, then the fast double kayaks followed by double skis, the single kayaks and skis. It's a great atmosphere, hot air balloons rising in the calm overcast morning and competitors and their supporters either nervously chatting or lining up at the toilets.

Support crews are one of the special features of the race, partners or friends, they drive from stop to stop attempting to meet up with their
competitor to change drinks, get us up in the morning, feed us and put us to bed each night. My wife Denise and good friends Robyn and Rick were my crew and were fantastic, I think they enjoyed it too.

I was allocated an early starting grid position which was lucky this year because of the congestion expected in the first twenty kilometres of shallow channels. Learning from last year's adrenalin fuelled sprint I began this year's race at a steady pace.

It was soon apparent what impact the low water level would have on the field as I passed numerous power boats wallowing in the shallows - for a paddler passing a power boat is a holy grail. I think we all knew what sort of day was in store for us. For the first five kilometres or so there was frustration as paddlers made wrong moves and blocked the narrow channels but that didn't last long as the field spread out. We were constantly getting out of our craft to drag our boats over sandbanks.

Checkpoint One arrived after 15kms, Katrine Bridge, where the deeper water was a welcome change from the energy draining shallow slog. I remember thinking that at least I felt better than at the same stage last year.

Somewhere between Katrine and the next major milestone my energy levels began to drop. This section seemed to go on forever, I really wondered if I'd done enough training for this race.

Finally, Extracts weir appeared, I had decided weeks ago that I would portage around this man made obstacle unless water levels rose. I had read about the new Vinidex chute on Robyn Khorshid's web-site and decided to leave the dislocated shoulders to the ski paddlers. The portage was a good chance to give my legs a stretch. My support crew was there to replace my drink container and top me up with a banana. I think Denise was expecting an ungrateful and grumpy paddler but I was disciplined and disguised my true feelings.

Through the town of Toodyay were yet more shallows but the crowds along the banks were fantastic. One guy took my prize for spectator of the day, he was plonked on a chair in the middle of the river in a white tuxedo supporting each paddler or powerboat passing by - fantastic.

My next planned support crew stop was West Toodyay bridge. When I arrived I felt okay, so just waved to the team, they yelled some encouragement and I kept going. Only fifteen kilometres with the tricky ti-tree section to go.

I had a great run through the ti-trees. While many others were dragging boats in the shallows stretches I managed to keep on paddling. The effort did cost me energy on Day Two but I found it hard to slow down when I was passing powerboats and six foot five ski paddlers.

Finally, I passed through the finish tape, very tired but other than sore wrists in fairly good shape. Day One took over six and a half hours.

Back to our B&B in Toodyay, I iced my shoulders and wrists, forced down some food and went to bed at 7pm.

Day Two 2002: Bugger!

Had a fitful sleep worrying about the worsening weather but I woke up feeling pretty good. I did my best to shovel down some porridge, but my appetite had gone. We arrived at Cobbler Pool just after 7:00 am, just in time to get down to the water for my 7:15 start. The excited 'buzz' from the start of Day One was replaced with a more reserved atmosphere. We wondered what the 77 kilometre day ahead had in store for us.

Immediately after the start you enter the thickest ti-tree section of the race. I decided to take an alternate route to the left as I saw the usual
route already blocked. This was a good move and I made up some ground.

The first major rapid of the race comes three kilometres after the start: Superchute, which is modest at low water level. I cut the corner and made a neat entry to the S bend - a relief to get through the first rapid cleanly. Ahead is the valley proper, 37 kilometres of rapids with long stretches of flat water between.

Five kilometres from Superchute is Emu Falls, possibly the most feared rapid in the race. After brief discussion with others around me we all decided to portage before the "shredder", the decision was easy as a queue of craft was banking up behind an unlucky chap neatly jammed across the swift current.

Immediately after Emu Falls is a damaging little ford ingeniously named "Ford". I took the far right option, just as Terry Bolland's book
recommends, but the drop was too steep and I became stuck, teetering up and down like a sea-saw on the drop-off.

From then on I felt quite slow as the previous day's efforts were catching up with me.

I managed to negotiate the smallish rapids to reach the next major obstacle, Moondyne, which I got through unscathed. After Moondyne the river seemed to go on and on with long boring stretches broken with the odd tea-tree rapid. By this time the wind and rain had set in, just perfect! After what seemed like hours and probably was I finally reached Lookout Rapid.

At Lookout you can take a number of alternate routes; all were rocky at this year's water level. A double ski in front went left and seemed to have trouble, remembering the golden rule of kayaking "if a ski goes one way, take the other" - I chose to go right. This proved to be a shrewd decision as looking left the ski paddlers were swimming.

Knowing it now wasn't far to my first stop at Walyunga I began to feel better, I was also looking forward to the next set of major rapids:
Championships, Syd's and Bell's.

I went well through Championships by taking the tight left route down the bottom. A few kilometres later I could hear the crowd cheering - Syds Rapid was around the bend.

I entered Syd's rapid slightly behind a single ski. Sure enough he hit a rock about two thirds of the way down and slid sideways, stuck across my path. I was bearing down too fast to avoid him. Within a split second our now wide eyes met ...."bugger!" ...so I did what any self respecting kayaker would have done - powered up, leant back and hit the back of the ski. Incredibly I shot over him and landed upright two feet below. While this was all happening the crowd at the bottom of the rapid initially went silent but then after seeing that we
were both unhurt, cheered. This moment, I think, will be my lasting memory of the race. I hope someone has a photo.

After Syd's it's more flat stretches with a few final ti-tree races to Bell's Rapid. I always get nervous thinking about Bell's as I know a big crowd will be there on race day for one reason, to see paddlers plunging over Bell's drop in ways you're not meant to.

I entered the tea-tree thicket 150 metres before Bells Drop with a double ski on a parallel route, I slowed down to let them go first over the drop, but they decided to take the left channel approach. I had already planned to take the direct centre route, so I sprinted for the drop in an attempt to get in front of them. I reached it with the ski five metres behind, I went down the steep drop in a none too convincing style but was happy to disappoint the crowd. The crowd then cheered, I thought for me, but I looked behind to see the double ski going over the falls sideways and upside down. There is a good reason why there are golden rules of kayaking.

Bell's marks the end of the rapids. I was stuffed but happy with how I had gone and I'd had some funny moments. I was dreading the remainder of the race, forty kilometres of very familiar flat water into an increasingly strong headwind and, as it had been for most of the day, the rain was pelting down.

It's all a bit of a fatigued daze now. I found a slow but steady rhythm and tried not to count the kilometres. I whistled a bit and sang a few trivial songs in my head. I passed a few paddlers and a few passed me. We offered brief words of support. I kept going thanks to the terrific people supporting us along the river banks who braved the weather. What do you think about during this final leg? For me it wasn't anything significant or worldly, rather it was about my family and simple things in life.

Finally as I passed under Redcliffe Bridge and the finish line loomed in the distance, I became a bit emotional thinking about my single focus for the year just passed. Head down into the wind, arm over arm, two more power boats passed me and then I looked up and had crossed the finish line. Craft 550 had made it.

On beaching my kayak I sat in my boat for a second or two, head bowed wondering what I should be feeling, it surprised me, rather than elation and pumping my fists into the air it was a simple moment of perfect calm, private personal satisfaction and pure...complete....relief.

Hugs with my support crew came next and it was great meeting up with fellow paddlers Terry, Don, Murray and Jeff. Then we went home, had a pizza and I went to bed for a long contented sleep, dreaming about my next goal - dinner with Pamela.

On Reflection

I'm not sure if other first time competitors would agree but a few things stand out for me about Avon 2002.

I didn't expect the boost that the spectators gave me along the way. From the guy in the white tux at Toodyay to the elderly couple quietly standing apart from the small crowd just before Guildford bridge, kindly clapping as each competitor passed by. I imagine they remained there most of the afternoon - I feel they're a part of the race.

The camaraderie between all competitors is unique, just normal people struggling together attempting to do something just a little bit special.

The volunteers and organisers, generally behind the scenes make the event happen yet get very little thanks.

Finally, I read the race results yesterday and paused at the last page realising that the last few paddlers spent almost twelve hours in their boats on Day Two. They must have finished in the dark at around 8pm. To me they're the real winners.