GPS Tracks

Here are the GPS tracks for each day, covering the entire route.

15 days - 470 nm

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Day 6

Day 7

Day 8

Day 9

Day 10

Day 11

Day 12

Day 13

Day 14

Day 15

Day 15 - Port Talbot to Rhossili - Every Last Mile - 26 May 2019

It's not one of the longer crossings, from Port Talbot to The Mumbles, it's just over 6 nm. However if I don't get across today, then I fancy that the incoming weather means I'll be stuck - taking in the sights of Port Talbot for a few more days. No offence to Port Talbot, but that's not my idea of fun at the moment.

The forecast shows that it's going to be a windy day, possibly too much to get to the finish. However there are two 2hr slots where things ease enough to make some progress I feel, as long as I can get across to The Mumbles in the first place. And so, another 05:00 alarm follows another late night in order to get across the bay - to be ready and waiting for those weather windows.

I like the challenge of building a strategy to match these sort of circumstances. I'm good at it, and I get a bit of a buzz from getting it right. It's rewarding. But to be perfectly honest, it's more rewarding in hindsight. Today it's a bit of a nervous ball-ache. I try to avoid those doubting questions, those what-if-I-get-it-wrong moments, and just stick to the plan.

I walk down to the beach. Well at least it sounds like a beach, and I can see some sand, but that's all. I assume the water is out there, however a solid mist means that the vis is down to less than 200m. Oh flipping great. The wind hasn't dropped, it's still blowing in at high teens mph, perhaps a little bit more. Perfect crossing weather. My arse.

Go on, give me a break - I dare you.

As I said, if I don't get to The Mumbles then we are stuck. I worked for the miles yesterday, and put myself into as good as spot as I could.  At least we now do have a chance. If I go any further N up the bay it would be quicker to walk around though.

If we do get across today then I may be able to scrape a few miles further. However, deep down I have a feeling we may be finishing the day prematurely, perhaps almost, and depressingly, in sight of Rhossili.  Well, we'll only see it if the sodding mist goes away that is.

The crossing receives no more than a line or two here. I didn't enjoy it, at all. I paddled across somewhere between nervous and scared, against the wind and a foul tide, with a vis that lifted to about 1/4 mile as I reached the other side. I was hoping for a little lee shelter from the ridge there, but while the swell did drop off, the wind didn't ease until I pretty much reached the beach.

At The Mumbles I was once again thankful of the company of The Boss. The van gave me shelter from the rain, and the company of the lady gave me a figurative ray of sunshine, something the weather was determined not to do.

We sat around waiting for the tide to turn and to see what the wind would do.

We sat around.

And around.

And I just grew more nervous as we sat around.

Eventually I had to make a call. I hate this bit.  If I didn't go soon it would be too late. So I popped up the hill and took a look. There was an amount of white out there, especially along the cliffs, but the swell had eased and the wind was along, rather than against, the stonework. And just as I start to ready my kit the mist lifts, completely.

Could be worse.

So I go.

I sneak through the gap, can't be arsed to go around the end, and on into the first bay. Hmm, not too bad. Now I have my spraydeck on and the boat is moving, my nerves ease and I just fall into the routine - get on with the job. And that's the plan really; get on with the job, take a tentative look at each headland, and fall back to the last bay if I'm not happy.

It works - Langland Bay quickly falls behind, and Caswell comes and goes fairly soon too. Oxwich Bay has a bit more of a fetch and the wind is pushing through here - it's a slog. But the following tide once again holds the swell at bay, while the headland gives me enough shelter from the chop, that it's just a splashy slog to get there.

I huddle in the lee, up from the headland, and take a breather. I'm a touch knackered to be honest, but the sun has come out now and that always makes life seem a little more positive. While I refuel I marvel at the aftermath of what must have been a rather impressive (and noisy) landslide, a little further into the bay.

I take my time, relaxing for a moment or two, and when I start paddling again I feel rather refreshed and quite positive. The small tide race on the end is easily dealt with and then Port Eynon lies in front, the last real refuge before Worms Head. This is it, time to make the final call. But there's no real decision to make, I've worked rather sodding hard to get here, and while the last day or two has been a touch unhelpful, the sun is out now, the swell has dropped and the wind even eases. Game on.

I work along the cliffs, it's quite pleasant going now. Maybe I will finally get that smooth ride in to the finish. I remind myself there is always a sting in the tail. I'm not known as an optimist that's for sure, I do think a useful slice of pessimism and scepticism keeps you out of trouble at times. But now, even I think we've cracked it. Just an hour and a half or so to go. Yeehaa.

But then of course I do get stung. It starts gentle though, the tide starts to go against. Well I'll just get there a little later.

However the change in the tide lets the swell come in now of course. But at least it's running along the coast, I can live with that. The eerily quiet walls of water glide powerfully past, but happily they don't rebound back.

There are big breakers running along the reefs to the SE of the characteristic Worms Head. I take a very wide line. It's slow going against the flow, but at least the sun is out still.

As I get ready to come around the end of the elongated headland I realise there is the mother-of-all-tide-races hidden there. It's flowing E down one side and W along the other, the swell is doing separate magic on each side and I feel that, to put it bluntly, I'm buggered now. I don't think I have the strength left to hold onto my blades. This is not good.

It's a long and tense paddle around the end, I try to cut across to avoid the worst, but it just goes on and on.

Calm down, relax. Just do what you do. Paddle.

It seems to take forever but eventually I'm pointing at the beach, I have to back-paddle now and then on the bigger sets but otherwise I'm heading in, slowly but surely, towards the sand. No macho bollocks for me now - I pick the smallest surf I can spot, in the corner by the cliffs, and glide uneventfully in. TFFT - it's over. Quite a day.

As I de-kit the boat and start to trolley up the beach I look at my hands, blood is seeping from my fingers - I had held onto my blades so tightly, I've worn through the skin.

We got away with that one fatboy.

You can't keep doing that.

"I got nine lives,
Cat's eyes'
Abusin' every one of them..."


It's a long drag, up a steep hill, to get off the beach. But in a rather breathless manner I don't notice. I'm back with The Boss, the sun is out and I'm on dry-land, oh by folk, I'm on dry-land.

It was an adventure.

It was a challenge.

There were ups and there were downs.

It took 15 days to cover the 465nm or so.

But that'll do for now.


I'll write up a bit of looking-back-summary, pop up the pics, show the GPS tracks, talk about the boat and other stuff - but for now I'm off for a snooze.

Sweet dreams fatboy.

Day 14 - Penarth to Port Talbot - The sting at the end of the tunnel

When you first set out on these things, it is the only time that you can 'control' the weather. After the first 2-3 days you get what you are given and live a life of reaction to whatever is thrown your way. And sometimes it does feel as if it is thrown at you.

When I set out on this one I wasn't quite ready, a little more time would have been nice, but there was a sort-of-blocking high pressure over the North Sea and I figured it might be as good as we got for a while - so I went.

The original plan was to start at Sharpness, bang out the first few days when the weather was on our side, survive back to the canals and then do a whatever-the-weather slog back to Sharpness. Of course no plan ever survives first contact with the Bristol Channel.

I viewed the 'crux' for this trip as being the crossing of Camarthen Bay (23nm) combined with the passage through the unhelpful Castlemartin Range. While weather can leave you stuck pretty much anywhere, longer crossings need lesser 'levels' of weather to strand you, and I really was hoping not to get stuck if I could help it. While the early E and NE winds of the high pressure were definitely useful, it wasn't 'oily calm' weather either. Sharpness was too far from Camarthen Bay to guarantee good crossing conditions  a few days hence, and so the start point was brought westwards to Rhossili.

But now I was starting to feel that the bridge that I had left to cross later, was of course now to be crossed. The weather was going against and I didn't have the luxury of the canals to slog down for the final stages.

With the finish line almost in sight, it was going to be touch and go - just for a change. And if I decided it was go, then... well it was likely to be awkward, maybe even tough. Just for once I would like to finish one of these sodding things with a gentle smooth paddle in - just for once.

At Penarth a stiff W wind is forecast for the day along the Glamorgan coastline, but it's calm here. After running out of steam a bit yesterday, it is going to be a suck-it-and-see day. Turn right out of Penarth and let's see where we get to. Though this mildly blase attitude is slightly complicated by the fact the weather is forecast to deteriorate. If we don't make the Mumbles this evening then I think we are going to get stuck for a few days - sat out on the beach within a day's paddle of the Rhossili finish - aaaagh!

Around Lavernock Point and into the wind. But as I turn westward the tide comes for the ride too. Though it's a slog, I'm still maintaining over 5kts - I can live with that. I have an all-too-early, though brief, stop on Sully Island before Barry, to add a heavier cag and then off once again. And that's how the day goes really, slogging westward and then later north-west. There is a swell running but the opposing tide keeps it under control. It is a little choppy and admin stops are a touch 'cheeky' but otherwise I'm a surprisingly smiley character. As I have said before, these trips are a way of seeing into the rest-home-future, you eventually spend your days slightly damp and smelling of wee.

The coastline is quite scenic, with mainly low cliffs and a few small beaches and bays. Turning N at Llantwit Major I expect the tide to fade but it stays with me, following around the corner, it is my lucky day!

Heading towards Porthcawl  and the swell is running over the semi-submerged reef of Tusker Rock, while closer in to Porthcawl things all start to become a little chaotic and confused. But we've had worse, Taran and me - just keep going N.

Now N of Porthcawl the tide is starting to go against. I make a tentative recce paddle out in the direction of the Mumbles, to get a feel for the tide, to help make a few calculations for the paddle later. I need a break now after slogging against the wind all day anyway, so the plan is to get off and have a rest in the dunes at Kenfig Sands and resume with the crossing later. Hopefully the wind may ease by then.

So I do.

Well sort of.

The Boss met me at Sharpness and has plans to hang around for a few more days if I can get the job done. So we are going to meet at Kenfig.

Phone call:

"I'm off the water at Kenfig"

"I'm there too - Where are you?"

"At the S end of the beach. By the Lifeguard hut."

Pause.

"Can't see you...? - Can't see the lifeguard hut either."

"Huh...? Where are you?"

"By the dunes"

Pause from the other party this time.

"The dunes??  Aahh. Hmmm. Perhaps..."

Muppet-Man had go out on the wrong beach of course. While I sat in the sun (and wind) on the edge of the popular beach at REST BAY, poor Boss had to trek all the way back through the dunes once again, at Kenfig. Oops. Sorry about that. I really am.

A little later than the planned 18:30 I get back on to try to reach the Mumbles. I paddle out for an hour, against the W wind and the foul tide I am making 3 kts, sometimes even less. It is choppy and the unhelpful tide is now letting the swell in too - 3ft and breaking here and there. I'm tired, trip fatigue is now setting in too and my forecast finish time at the Mumbles is an hour after dark. With these conditions that is not good. No siree.

Listen to your instincts fatboy.

No matter how much you want to finish, no matter what the weather is going to bring, no matter where you are going to get stuck - if it's not on, it's not on. It doesn't matter where you get to if you are not breathing.

But I'll be beggared if I'm going back in to Rest Bay (or Kenfig for that matter) again. The rule is to take every mile you can. A quick bit of maths shows that I can get to Port Talbot by dark, and so I turn N again. It's sandy beaches all the way so I can land if I fluff it, though I'll spend the night snuggled up with the steel-works. I just hope there is not too much rebound off the breakwaters up there.

There isn't. I was worried they might really confuse the conditions, but they don't make them any worse at all. Finally I turn in for the beach, but as dusk falls Port Talbot has just become one long, low silhouette. We arranged to meet at a roundabout on the prom. I can see car headlights regularly changing direction at one spot and hope that is the roundabout.

It is.

Welcome to Port Talbot - not necessarily where you want to be, but better than where you where.

34nm - 8:10 hrs

Day 13 - Sharpness to Penarth - Slogging the Sloppy Chop Severn

Today started slowly, very slowly. After the long miles of yesterday, bits were hurting. Bits that I wasn't even sure belonged to me, bits that I don't recall hurting before. A look down shows more fingerprints have gone, as my skin wears smooth.

 But I worry most about my wrists, there's a definite hint of tendon soreness there, no surprise after the large paddling workload. Problems here could end the game, there's a need to put emphasis on the technique and be even more aware of a smooth, relaxed paddling stroke. An effective stroke isn't just about efficiency, power, speed and all that other stuff - today it's ALL about getting to the line. Look after the body - no more, no less. No finish - and all the hassle was for nothing.

 Down at Sharpness the sun is out but the wind is up, 13-14mph blowing up the river. Add in forward momentum, along with the tide and I'm looking at paddling into an effective wind of 20mph+ for the day - nice (well not really). I wander over to the Severn Area Rescue Association (SARA) building and have a chat with the Station Manager. He's working on a trailer, but takes time to chat and suggest a few things about the tide and the flow. I'm not in a great hurry. We have an hour until the tide changes (I think) and watching the flow, there's not a lot of point in trying to bag any 'foul miles' - it will be a lot of effort, wasted effort. So we sit...and wait.

 The SARA people are friendly and helpful once again, thanks to Dave for his help too with the launch.

However time and tide wait for no man, and eventually it's time to slip out into the silty river. It's close to slack as I turn down towards the bridge and head off. The headwind makes things a little splashy and the tide takes a short while to pick up. But as I head further downstream, the tide has already started to move further down and the speed picks up. It never quite reaches the assistance I was hoping for but I'm not ungrateful. I wind my way around the choppier bits and try to keep whatever flow I can find. It's breezy but no great hassle.

I slide under the impressive Severn Bridge and then not too much later under the newer Severn Crossing. This one is even more impressive and the water is shifting here, with boils, eddies and waves below - all given a slightly chaotic edge by the wind. It's not really a day for wandering minds and random pontifications. Today things are going to be rather singularly orientated towards the job-in-hand it seems.

 Downstream I close on Denny Island (?) and get a little spooked when I see signs of the drying Bedwin Sands - I was still hoping for a little more water here. Suddenly the speed drops dramatically, I can't see an eddy, the chart doesn't give any real clues either. If the tide has gone against already then I'm in a bit of a pickle. I'm not going to get into the Welsh side with all the sand/mud, I'm not going to make enough headway to any realistic landing spot further down that coast either. How do you fancy a trip to visit Portishead fatboy?

 I phone The Boss, to point out the appeal of a sightseeing trip Bristol-way. She suggests I calm down, think about it, and head off to catch the flow on the 'English-side'. She's right. The wind is kicking up enough wind-over-tide that I can make out the flow-stream over that way, along with a few yachts. That'll do. I turn counter-intuitively south. I find the flow and soon things are back close to 6 kts, I like that. Good advice: sometimes you need saving from yourself.

 The wind is strengthening and the sun has disappeared, my warm hat is now in use. Things go from splashy, to choppy and then to hard work. With sands to my right and the wind on my nose, I'm not sure how I can have such a sloppy, wallowing 3-way chop, but I do. I can live with this though. Hard work but not the end of the world.

 Then the tide does change.

 Aah.

 I was hoping for a little longer.

 Now things are not too good.

 As the tide turns to flood it allows the swell in, adding to the picture. I'm bordered by sand and mud so I can't even really head in, not to the north anyway. Let's slog a little further and see what happens I suppose.

 Well it gets slower, shittier and harder work. Eventually I clear enough of the mud that I can head into Penarth, or perhaps I'll take the the muddy steps at Cardiff Barrage at a pinch.

It takes an hour and a half to ferry in to Penarth, paddling at 3.5 kts - the long miles from yesterday are catching up with me now. I'm ball-bagged.

 Finally I make it. It's not quite what I had hoped for, not really what I had in mind. However I'm on solid ground, safe, and nearer to the end than when I set out. I guess that'll do.

 As I paddled in I was aware of the scruffy headland E of Cardiff where we ended the same section in 2003, it's only a couple of miles that way. I have to say I was hoping for a bit more this time - now I have a faster boat, more miles in me and don't have the other two to drag along.

 Perhaps it's me that's the weakest link? Goodnight.

Day 12 - Stourport to Sharpness - Monster miles.

I am up early. There is no need for a stupid o'clock start though as the River Severn locks don't open until 08:00. The first one, Lincomb, is only a few minutes downriver.

Life in a tent usually brings an early-ish start though, the crows start, the pigeons too and the the man with digger fires it up at 07:00 - muppet.

I'm up anyway but how about those people still trying to sleep eh? Internal combustion engines and tent 'canvas' make for poor early-morning bedfellows I feel. 

If I ever become dictator-for-life then I think I will introduce a sort of 'campsite national service' where everyone has to experience campsite life for 2 weeks per year (4 for campsite owners) as a sort of reminder. You know just the basic stuff like:

The inconsideration of afore-mentioned early morning engine runs.

Requirement of late-night-fiddly 20p coins for showers - just add £1 to the flipping bill FFS. 

Positioning of toilet paper dispensers on the wall behind the toilet - who thought that one up?

And there's more...but we are here for canoeing I guess.

Anyway, Lickhill Manor was a pleasant place and I could have lingered, especially with such a long day ahead.

A quick check as I paddled in last night figured for just under 0.5 kt of flow in the river. Not brilliant but better than nowt.

Lincomb Lock is soon passed, though the lock-keeper doesn't seem too enamoured with the early morning trade. For the remaining locks the lock-keepers are friendly and helpful folks.

The river gracefully slips by - pleasant, though with little to get too excited about. A lunchtime stop brings a chat with the cows, though they soon tire of my company. Worcester seems pleasant and gives a change of scenery.

The miles slide peacefully by.

Below Upper Lode things change, tidal silt lines the banks and the extensive undergrowth has lifted far above the current water level. Approaching Gloucester and the river narrows and the flow increases, while the sides become steeper.

I arrive at Gloucester lock just in time to spy the lock-keeper disappearing - it is 16:30, perhaps it is a low-water early knock-off?  Just as I am about to contemplate a seriously nasty get-out, he returns.

Relieved, I wave like a mad-chick on a headland. He comes over to ask if I want to go through? Nope, just soliciting your vote for the EU elections I think - of course I want to go through.

"Hang on to the steps, I'll have to empty the lock. Can get a bit splashy. Takes about 10 mins."

Cripes! It is 'a bit splashy'. I move out into deeper water, and further from the dodgy looking outflow. I don't want to be part of that.

Once the lock is empty I paddle in. "You might want to get as far back as you can. It gets a bit splashy up front too...takes about 15 mins." There I sit floating inside what seems like a big stone coffin, anticipating  a max of 15 mins to my watery Armageddon. Great.

A small crowd form, awaiting my watery demise. But filling isn't as boisterous as emptying, and once they twig that I am likely to survive, they lose interest and move on.

To be fair the lock-keeper is helpful and friendly, and waves me off as I paddle into Gloucester Docks. Ahead lays the Sharpness Canal.

A number of tall-ships are starting to arrive for a meet/festival/do/regatta (whatever they do when they meet) and add further interest to the lively docks.

Ahead lays a further 13nm or so to Sharpness, the gateway to the salty-stuff once again.

Moving down the river I noticed the recent N/E winds had moved to SW. I had hoped it was just the afternoon breeze heading upriver, but now I start to feel there is a change in the air. Moving along the canal, I am definitely paddling into a stiffening headwind.

The miles start to drag, my arms are aching and right on cue my rudder jams up. Nice one. Oh well, this has been practised in training too. Inconvenient but not the end of the world.

Sharpness eventually arrives, and with it another visit from The Boss. A welcome boost to my outlook.

We portage around the lock, have a chat to the folks at the Severn Area Rescue Association and make off to a campsite.

One that, how should we say, contrasts to the pleasant surroundings of Lickhill Manor from the start of the day.

Later I point out to The Boss that I've worn the fingerprint off my LH little finger, it's gone all shiny. She suggests that I may want to consider a new career as a master criminal now I'm fingerprint-less. I suggest that a master criminal who can only use his little finger may have limited productivity. I also consider, though I keep it to myself, that master criminals have probably thought through the advantages of wearing gloves by now.

Oh yeah, 52nm and 11hrs paddling for the day.

Stourport to Sharpness - looks good on a map.

Day 11 - Autherley Junction to Stourport - Locking Hell!

I pitched my sandy little tent on the towpath last night. Isn't it surprising how big your tent suddenly gets when you try to squeeze it into a small space?

Trying to stop-over in an urban area can be a little nervous when a tent is your accommodation choice, but last evening was as peaceful as they come, as I laid out on the water's edge.

The first task for today  was to negotiate the Autherley stop lock. It felt like a lot of work for a 6 inch drop. 

I seem to think that when two canal companies joined their constructions one decided to  incorporate the height difference to prevent the other 'stealing' their water. Of course it allowed them to do just that to their opposition in turn! 

Or perhaps it was just an engineering cock-up that has remained an anachronism, for 200 years.

And I think we have to  ponder on that. That the canals on the whole have been around for over 200 years. In that time they have remained unmoved and relatively unchanged. Around them our society has changed. The canals have seen buildings come and go, technologies change, generations pass by and endless footprints have marked their towpaths.

You could even say they have changed the world with their catalytic assistance to the industrial revolution. There's a lot of history there.

Even so, it still seemed like a lot of poncing about for me just because one guy was peevish about his water, 200 years ago.

This morning I enter the Staffs + Worcs canal, 22nm of lock bound entertainment to Stourport.

 There are something like 60 locks in that 22nm or so . Let's ponder that for a minute: say it takes 3 mins to get-out, load onto the trolley, unload and then get back-in - for 60 locks that's 3 hrs of humping and dumping.

  Try it - load your boat on and off your trolley for 3 hrs and then go for a 20 mile paddle. Throw a couple of interlinking-walks in too and you can see a physical day ahead. 

Hey ho.

You soon realise the locks change the dynamic here too, there are fewer water-bound residents. If you had to bodily lift your home by 15ft- half a dozen times, every time you wanted to 'pop to the shops' - you'd probably live somewhere else too.

The canal gently meanders around, along and sometimes through the sandstone bedrock that supports much of the West Midlands. I smile at the 'Tunnels for Dummies' sign on the 25yd long Dunsley Tunnel - less of a tunnel, more of a fat-bridge really. It doesn't even get dark 'in' there.

I meander too. There is the odd electric-blue flash of a Kingfisher, the dark gloom of the miserable danglers and lots of trolleying locks.  

At Kinver I see my first working toilet block since Chester and get a smiley hello from passers-by. Something that Wolves just couldn't manage somehow.

Then another mile, another lock.

The sun beats down and enthusiasm wanes.

I hoped to make Stourport Basin by 16:30 to scrounge a little help from the C+R people with the tricky transfer to the River Severn. But I miss the cut by 15 mins and they've gone home.

I trolley upstream and manhandle the boat via some steps onto the lazy river. It's time to call it a day.

So I paddle upstream a mile, to land at the riverside Lickhill Manor campsite. It's a pleasant place, spotlessly clean, friendly and helpful.

Boil in the bag as I watch the cheeky Blackbird scurry around me. Kit is dry, tent is up.

I fall asleep to the incongruous sounds of an owl and the 2-stroke dirt-bikes across the river.  

Day 10 - Hack Green to Autherly Junction (ish) - Life on the canals.

A late faffing start sees me finally under way. It is often the way following a long day - nowt changes.

The canal brings mixed feelings. My very earliest days were spent idyllically playing on the canal towpath, later I learnt to paddle there and later still trained for major races in the same spot. I still paddle there to this day. Many canal miles have I.

There's a certain dynamic: life moves at a certain pace, things take as long as they take. It's peaceful.

But things seem to be changing, this one is busy. There are few stretches that are mooring free. As some look to make a home within their finances, they look at living afloat.

It gets busy, and even, god forbid, hectic. The dynamic changes with the increasing numbers.  Not how the canal should be, no not at all. 

There is pecking order too: the hire boats, then the 'weekend warriors' and finally the floating 'residents' at the 'top'.  And of course, at the bottom of it all, a middle-aged bloke in a pink canoe. Get out of the way little boy in your silly little toy.

Anyway, let's go paddling.

The 15 lock flight (or staircase - I'm too tired to think. And before you point out the difference I must point out that I'm too tired to give a flying lock either) at Audlem strikes terror into boaters hearts. But for the little man, in his little pink boat it's not really a problem  I have to 'trolley-up' whether it's 1 lock or 50, the 15 just makes it a slightly longer walk, and somehow seemingly more worthwhile.

The beggars are the ones in a series:  500 or 600m apart. Lots of on/off trolleying or lots of pace-sapping walking - your call.

At the top of the Audlem flight a house has an honesty stall, so being honest I partake in a chocolate ice-cream, some lemon drizzle cake and a bottle of water. The 2nd piece of cake won't fit in the boat, so I eat it too. I head off towards Market Drayton, or somewhere, feeling rather greedily ill.

That's when I discover my toilet key is only ornamental. 

British Waterways Board became the Canal + Rivers Trust. Now I'm sure that's a good thing, but at my age you understand that the reason why anything changes to become 'a trust' needs anything but trusting - whatever bollocks they try to tell you.

The C+R workers are out in force fettling and repairing though, doing a good job as usual. But I get the feeling they are being expected to do more with less. Been there, can see the signs. A shame if I'm right.

 No working toilets between Chester and Kinver - that's a long way to keep you legs crossed (carried that damn key for nothing!). You notice C+R liveried buildings now in private hands, C+R services now provided by external organisations and so on - a shame to slowly diminish such a great organisation.

However in Great British tradition they are still cutting the grass. Even when Kim Jong Whatsisname drops the bomb, the Brits will still find time to cut the grass. By the time I get to Market Drayton my rudder is shifting more grass than a Colorado coffee shop.

It is sunny and green, with quiet spots where lush and luxurious miles slide by.

 That's how life should be on the canal: steady and peaceful, and with a grassy rudder.

29.6 nm - 7 hrs - finished near Codsall on the map, but Autherley Junction sounds nearer to Stourport somehow.

So we'll go with that.

Day 9 - Point of Ayr to Hack Green - Chasing the bore!

We'll get the pun stuff out of the way first. Today was going to be really 'boreing' and ... well I can't be arsed with any more of that. So let's move on. Today was to be all about the River Dee bore.

At Point of Ayr the water had receded even further so it was a long trolley drag across the sand and then, slightly disconcertingly, across mud.

I got in the boat with enough of the stuff to put my shoes on par with a decent set of  1970's platforms heels. Like Abba only clad in goretex rather than spandex.

I set off early, I'd rather sit on a sandbank for a while than miss the bore  I first ran the Dee Bore on this trip in 2003, finishing in the dark at Chester. Today is a sort of surfing anniversary. I am looking forward to it.

I have a route planned on the GPS, just follow the numbers and match the timings, simple.

At Mostyn Dock I have a choice, out into the estuary or take a nosey at the dock and move up the shore channel. My curiosity gets the better of me, and from that moment my fate is sealed...

Rather than grief I got a cheery hello in the port. There is a buzz. The place seems a little livelier, making money supporting the offshore wind farms.

The flow is starting and I cruise along the channel at close to 7 kts. I've allowed less than 4kts to make my boreing rendezvous, so all looks good.

I drift past the Duke of Lancaster 'ghost ship'. Not sure of the full story but it sits high and dry by the muddy channel.  The last time I saw it, it was white (and rust) and seemed to be a large scale canvas for graffiti art. 

Now the fun police have arrived and it is steadily being repainted in a fetching shade of black.

Anyway I continue up the channel  but soon run aground. No worries, the water is rising by the second, and I have plenty of time.

Well to cut a long story short, I don't have plenty of time it seems. I bump and scrape around for an hour so. Every time I think I will lift out of the channel, there is more sand.

Eventually I am lifted high enough to see over the top, my heart sinks, the estuary is full and shifting mightily. Bugger.

I finally join the flow and paddle my little arms off trying to catch the leading edge, maintaining over 10kts, with the help of the press-ganged flow.

I think I see it as I pass under the A548 cable-stay bridge, but no.

I think I see it at the wharf in Connah's Quay, but no.

I think I see it by the railway bridge, but no.

I can see the long straight now to Saltney, if I don't get it soon it isn't going to happen.

I am sweating like a fat lass/lad in a sweety factory by now. The sun is blazing down on my helmet-clad head.

Then I can see it ahead, the small splashes from the first wave catching the sunlight. It is a long way ahead.

A quick bit of on-the-go maths; I am doing 10kts, the wave doing 6 kts so I reckon I will gain a mile in quarter of an hour. Is that right? Who cares? Keep paddling.

We have passed the blue bridge I know it is going to have less than 30 mins of bank-dissolving, mud-churning existence left. 

It is going to be close.

I continue to chase, but eventually realise it is futile - and I am knackered. I ease off, beaten.

But then it slows visibly in the shallows, hope!

However as I pull hard again the wave reaches deeper water and speed ups, a false alarm.

As we reach the Saltney footbridge, I have reached the secondary waves, but can't get over them - still 50m behind the leading edge. 

The wave starts to fade, I have blown it, on my surfing anniversary. Bum.

I had worked my nuts off and all I had to show for it was a sweaty cag and a muddy get-out in the Chester undergrowth.

I drag the boat across the busy road in Chester and take to the canal.

I call it a night in Hack Green (near the secret bunker - shhh!) The 39 nm for the day isn't quite enough consolation.

Pascale: I can’t keep up – Sunday on the North Coast

Yet again, an early start to catch the last few hours of the flood tide.  I take John back to Trwyn y Penrhyn and go back home for a bit of R&R.

I find split shifts really hard work, early starts and late finishes. The rest in between is more useful to the paddler.

Around lunchtime John phones that he has run out of tide and is coming in to land. We arrange to meet between Llanddulas and Rhyl wherever possible.

Having spend the last few days in more remote parts of Wales, I have forgotten how busy the North Coast can be on a sunny Sunday afternoon, cars, people, seaside amusements…. It does not take long for me to be stuck in traffic and John decides to continue paddling rather than wait on the beach.

Finally on the East side of Rhyl I find car parking close to the beach with a good landmark, just to realise that John has already paddled past, again.

In the end, John takes advantage of the wind against tide condition and surfs his way along the coast to the Point of Ayr.

This is a place I have long wanted to visit so I am happy about his chosen finish point. The sand and mud of the Dee estuary are impressive the man made stuff less so.

An earlier finish today is very welcome and I spend my afternoon drinking tea and eating cakes, pondering about the speed of a kayak versus a van.

John spends the afternoon, drying canoe kit and planning the next few days. Soon our little patch on the otherwise very tidy campsite looks like a small bomb explosion.

Pascale

Day 8 - Trwyn y Penrhyn to Point of Ayr - Bonus!

As I move beyond Cardigan Bay it is not only the scenery that changes but so does the birdlife. Arriving at Penryhn last night I saw a pair of Black Guillemots, pretty though rather nervous little creatures. The Shearwater have been replaced with a large raft of Eider Ducks. A poor replacement I feel. Quantity over quality.

While the Shearwater were elegant and skillful, even stylish. The Eider are, well, a bit dim. A bit too 'duck-ish' for me.

The plan is to get as far along the North Wales coast as we can. However things are never a gift here, at high water there is a lot of concrete and not much sand.  And today I've only got a few hours of favourable tide to do it in.

A stupid-o'clock early start may make it more favourable tide-wise in the short term, but when combined with the late finish yesterday, I know those extra miles will be taken back later in fatigue, poor decisions and general faff (sounds like a pantomime character).

It's a misty start, can't see either the Great Orme, nor the Snowdonia mountains - stalwarts of the usual view from here.

Along Puffin Island, using the flow as a slingshot out towards (hopefully) Llandudno. A few miles out the mist starts to thin and the large headland of the Great Orme becomes a silhouette and then gains some definition and colour. Markers of diminishing distance.

I round it at 6 kts with Llandudno and the obligatory sunday-morning-drone of jet skis over to my right.

The tide continues nicely for a while then the speed drops to 5.7, then 5.4 and downwards to 5.0 -  here comes the slog!

But the catch works in my favour this time. I've had a steady NW breeze helping me along, and as the tide changes the wind-over-tide stacks up just enough to give me a few runs. The gain in speed on the surfs balances the tide and I continue at an acceptable pace - nice one.

Kinmel Bay slides by in the distance, closely followed by Rhyl. I can just make out the bright colours of the Great British sea-side. The sun is out now, it looks like it could be a good afternoon for the holders of candy-floss shares.

I'm tiring by Rhyl, time for the secret weapon - a pie from J. Swain Williams in Menai Bridge, the best pies in the land. 'Buy one, eat one, go faster!' (tm) 

 Pie Power gets me to Prestatyn where I sneak inside the perch line that marks the seaward end of the groins - the groins take the edge off the increasing foul tide and let me plod along.

Prestatyn fades into dunes and then the rather tired looking lighthouse at Point of Ayr appears. The sandy coastline is dotted with happy kids and eventually a rather knackered but smiling sea kayaker.

 Point of Ayr marks the entrance to the River Dee. It's all sand now, I can't go any further today.

 A much better day than hoped for puts me nicely in position to leap frog Chester onto the canals tomorrow.

Night, night.

28 nm - 6:30 hrs

Pascale: The Canal section has started..

Day 7 - Porthdinllaen to Penrhyn (Beaumaris) - Homecoming Tedium

As I mentioned; north of the Dyfi the landscape changes, the Snowdonia mountains begin to flex their muscles here. But the Llyn Peninsula fools you for a while. It detours you away from the hills. The early stages are low grassy cliffs, interspersed with smudges of Blue Bells.

However paddling NE out of Porthdinllaen you are soon aware of the three peaks of Yr Eifl, the steep sides dropping down to the water's edge. The hills are back, looming over the coastline.

The wind softened a little over night and moved more NE. Just what you want for a 4 hr paddle to Dinas Dinlle - a headwind right on my big nose.

 6:30 otw, nice.

It was a tedious, sloppy, choppy crossing and I was only running on 3 cylinders. Another going-on-for-ever stage. Eventually I made it to DD, but it was high-water and I could see all the makings of a soggy make-a-tit-of-yourself-get-out ahead of me. So tag on a couple more miles against the flow to get out in the sanctuary of the Menai Straits. 

On the way a dangler took umbridge at my route and half-heartedly pelted me with stones (I think it was half-hearted, perhaps he was just weak from lack of exercise).

But finally it was done. Tide was against and home 15 mins away, International Rescue had driven around to cart me off - a comfy bed beckoned.

However going home has its downsides. Rather than a simple of life of boat, tent and drybags - if you want something it is in one or other of the first two, wrapped in the latter. It's hard to lose things, and good for a man with a routine. Life is simple, though slightly smelly.

But a few minutes at home and kit is everywhere. It's hard to resist the temptation to wash, dry and swap things. Admin pokes it's way into your life too - pointless crap creeps in. Not good for a man with a routine.

A few hours later I am prepping to get back on the water, just the length of the Menai Straits to paddle before bed. Once again it is just boat, blades, kit and me - relief.

The wind has dropped nicely, the early flow is sluggish but soon it's 6 kts towards Felenheli, that'll do. The NE winds could have made this a splashy slog, but now it is calm and almost perfect.

Passing Pwll Fanogl I meet 3 paddlers heading up the Straits too. Steve (Watt? forgive me) says they are paddling the Land's End to John o' Groats trip. I'm a bit too zonked to understand the implications of what he says. We chat for a while and then all move on, it's getting late. Later I realise and think of a list of questions I would/should have liked to ask. To Steve and all, hope it goes well.

The Straits is my home water, I've paddled many miles here, a couple of thousand get-ons here now. So I find it strange that I see it through different eyes tonight, it's not my usual training spot but another slightly new and alien part of the extended coastline. Even with all that familiarity, strange.

Anyway, less of that. As it falls to dusk I land at Trwyn y Penrhyn, and in best Mummies-little-soldier style I am once again whisked off and put to (my own) bed.

30 nm - 6:40 paddling.

Photos Part 1

Day 6 - part 2 - Off the water at Porthdinllaen

Sat around for the afternoon, waiting for tide and wind to balance out. Finally, and rather optimistically, I got back on after 5, to scrounge a few more miles - Porth Dinllaen or Trefor as destinations.

It was a N wind which blew as I made my way NE along a rock coast. Not a great combination. When the flow picked up at each small headland things became lumpy, with a couple of unpleasants thrown in there too.

I took to squeezing between the edge of the flow, as it deflected off the headlands, and the headlands themselves, in order to avoid the worst of it. This left me in a narrow zone between the unpleasant stuff and the breaking stuff. There wasn't much room for error at times.  Literally between the rock and a hard place.  

All those seemingly mindless loops in the Swellies in those miserable winter conditions now paid off. They were there to teach focus, parts of today used that focus.

Across the bays I was coming in rather than going out, to catch the slower, and  less boisterous, water. Sort of reverse scratching I suppose. But we slowly moved along, Taran and me.

Trefor was too far, and the siren call of Porthdinllaen was too much. I'd gained another 6 miles to total up to 27nm for the day - 5:40 on the water.

Schlaft gut.

Day 6 - part 1 - Abersoch to ? - Bardsey Swing Shift

A dawning realisation late last night that I would need to dodge the weather to get around the end, and tick off Bardsey Sound.

There was also an unwelcome realisation that this would involve moving from late shift to earlies. Whichever way I tried to fiddle the maths, there was no avoiding it. At 23:30 it dawned that the alarm would be set for 05:00 - in turn for an 06:30 otw time. Bugger.

Beep, pigging, beep. All too soon - up and at 'em fatboy!  The Boss was surprisingly chipper for such a start, and even I felt a little excited. We had a mission, and a challenge ahead. Rather than just slogging the crossings, we had to paddle the sound, dodge the weather and scratch against the tide to make Porth Oer. The timings would be tight. Plenty to keep you occupied.

As soon as I paddled out I had flow with me, thank f for that. About time. Looked good for the plan.

Beyond Porth Ceiriad the wind made itself useful with a nice following sea, big enough to catch but no leaning back necessary - spot on.

The Taran came alive. For the last few days she had sulkily, even resentfully, tolerated the sun-baked crossings. A bit like me. But now this is what she was made for, we flew along. Ride after ride, ticking off the miles. Yeehaa!

Crossing the wind-funnel of Hell's Mouth was a little lively but manageable. And as we entered Bardsey Sound true the water speed took the fun out of the waves, but as we were making over 10 kts who gave a folk?!  13nm in 2 hours - that'll do nicely.

Of course there's a sting. Tide timings were tight, the main flow didn't go around the corner (nobbing off towards Scotland or somewhere) and all I had left was the early feathers of the ebb.

In or out? Well no choice really - back to what I know best. I'm a good scratcher. In close, using the eddies along the base of the cliffs to make some headway NE. I wanted to gain what I could. The wind was due to go northerly and strengthen at 11:00. No scratching allowed then.

After brief foray into Porth Oer and a bit of blue-sky-thinking under the grey skies, I scratched a little more to Porth Colmon.

Some may have said they were so 'stoked' at this point, but though I may be a bit of a twat at times, I'm not a pretentious one. I was rather chuffed. The plan had worked.

 Here we await at PC for whatever is next.

Day 5 - Aberdovey to Abersoch - Surface Tension Graveyard

The day starts early, 5ish with another tent reshuffle. In a moment of naïve romanticism I pitched last eve in the dunes - well I had no choice really. In the night the wind strengthened and soon the tent started shipping sand through the mesh panels, too much mesh not enough panel. Once the camels moved in I figured a little early morn reorientation was needed, followed by mutch spitting and eye rubbing. Oh the glamour.

And then we had a minor tragedy. Overnight my wee-wee bottle went missing! I propped the trolley with it as I loaded the boat after landing but on getting ready to repeat the process for the drag down to the water - no bottle! 

This was not just any old pee-bottle, this one had history. It had been on so many records and trips, through thick and thin,  even twice around the UK - a feat I think is unique in pee-bottle history. 

It was to take a place on the mantlepiece in retirement. We had bonded.

Alas no more. The trials and tribulations life throws at us.

If anybody finds it I'd be grateful if you could post it back. (You might want to wear gloves.)

The start was sluggish, with too much wind and too much 'wrong' tide. The plan was to head up the coast a short way to Tofanau and cross to the Llyn Peninsula. But I wasn't ready for a 19 miler in that wind. So further up the coast, looking for the wind to ease, the distance to get lower and me to wake up.

Paddling N of the river Dyfi you see a change in the scenery, the rolling lush landscape of West Wales is replaced with the stark gunmetal silhouettes of the Snowdonia mountains.

Eventually I stopped S of Fairbourne, feeling that I was paddling into a corner. 

Mid-afternoon conditions settled and Mummy's little soldier finally felt man enough to paddle out. Abersoch here we come.

The morning paddle saw no wildlife at all - always a bit of a hint. But the afternoon brought more Shearwater and Gannets, along with a scattering of Fulmars. 

About 5 miles out the surface of the water was covered in a black 'dust'. It turned out to be countless insects blown in the offshore wind. The numbers were incredible, the 'dust' stretched for an hour of paddling. The more capable, took an opportunity, and hitched a lift. Soon the big-pink-lifeboat was festooned with gnats, flies, bees and more - crawling everywhere. 

Though this insect redemption was marred to by a minor tragedy. A hapless fly landed just as I took a bite from my sandwich - yum. Guess neither of us saw that coming when we got up this morning.

Eventually I made it to Abersoch (Free trip to the Tudwal's with every 18 mile crossing!) to be met by the welcome sight of The Boss. In range of home now.

I fancied a boil-in-the-bag free night (jeez, the 'silver ones' make me fart like an elephant!) so we ventured into town for a pizza.  If you fancy a pizza, and you find yourself in Abersoch then try 'Crust'. The gentleman was friendly and helpful, and the pizza's were rather special.

A fart-free night of sleep followed.

26 nm - 06:45 - plus a couple of hours on  the beach