Earlier this year I was asked to take a party of “the older boys” for a canoe trip on the River Severn. This was a Youth Group from the London area who were camping at Pools Quay. I arranged the camp-sites for the proposed trip and then joined the Group’s camp.
One night with them confirmed me in my belief that “the older boys” were beyond the control of their leader, and that this was the reason it was suggested that a canoe-camping trip would be so good for them. In any case, the river at this point is not really wide enough to allow much training for beginners.
We launched from the embankment which carries Offa’s Dyke Long Distance Footpath (MR 274133) in this area. There was quite a lot of water and a fair current, so my first concern was to collect my brood and form a raft in the reeds at the side. One after the other was helped into the water with his craft, and as each one left, I detected a look of relief on the Leader’s face.
Uncertainty and a touch of fear certainly quell unruly spirits and there was much nervousness for the first attempts to control the boats. From one bank to the other, at first, but gradually making progress, this untidy party moved down the river. They were very aware that their sleeping-bags were in the boats (properly packed in waterproof bags) and so were being very careful not to capsize. The current was quite fast, so reasonable progress was being made – little thanks to the paddlers! These paddlers were travelling much further than was necessary, due to their zigzags and circles, and were soon feeling tired.
This is the time that capsizes are the most likely, so I soon called a halt for lunch. The banks were muddy and reedy so I decided that it would be possible – and much safer – to eat our sandwiches whilst rafted together. This quite appealed to the boys who felt so much safer when holding together. It was a good time to give further verbal instruction.
I detected a reluctance to split the raft after our break, so I let this 11-boat raft find its own way down the river. With the occasional visit to bushes and trees we careered down the river, past the mouth of the River Virnwy, to our first camp-site at Royal Hill Inn, Melverley.
With tents pitched on the grassy slope between the Pub and the river, and with nothing to harm in the canoes, a few boys asked if they could try paddling again. “Why,” I thought, “Couldn’t they have done more paddling on the way down!” They were soon satisfied – it wasn’t so easy trying to paddle against the current. One boy capsized but was soon ashore again.
The Pub sold sweets and soft drinks to the youngsters who, surprisingly, did not attempt to buy anything alcoholic. Their efforts had tired them and they were soon in their tents and sleeping peacefully. I also had a good peaceful sleep – perhaps mine was nervous exhaustion!
The next day’s paddle was a little shorter – about 8 miles – and the boys were becoming more at ease in their boats. They still pestered for spells of rafting, now in smaller groups, and just a few were now scorning this and really “paddling their own canoe.” Perhaps they were now putting more effort into it, for the result when we reached the camp-site at Montford Bridge was just the same – quite ready for bed when they had cooked their evening meal.
Again, a peaceful night! As is usual for me, I woke early. Since everything was still peaceful, I got dressed and went for a short walk. Within a few hundred yards I saw a newsagents shop and, most surprising, found it open. I decided to buy myself a paper and some chocolate.
I don’t know what time this shop opened: certainly very early and when I put my note on the counter, I was asked – in the nicest way – where I had come from at this time of the morning. I explained that I was camping, having canoed down the river.
Imagine my surprise when this was denied by the shopkeeper! I protested the truth of my story – to no avail! “Oh no you are not canoeing! I’ve had canoeists in here before!” she said. “What makes you so certain that I’m not?” I queried. “Your note isn’t wet!” she replied.
The third day was a long one. The sun came out, and it was quite warm. The river, which has done quite a bit of twisting, now excels itself by making a huge loop around “The Isle.” At Isle Grange, if it was possible to portage across the neck of land – 300 yards – it would be possible to cut off 5 miles!
The boys did quite well although seemingly exhausted. Where we landed there were a few small shops and the boys, suddenly with abundant energy, dashed over to buy sweets. They were “full of themselves” for completing the journey.
Before leaving – when the boys had been collected to return to camp – I strolled into the shop myself. The shopkeeper was most impressed by the boys: “I understand that they are the British Junior Slalom Team,” she said.
Reprinted by kind permission of the Author from a forthcoming book he has written.
Dek Davie