Last year I went to Wareham and hired a canoe. I knew from experience the year before that although rowing boats are so much more romantic, they’re a lot heavier and a lot more difficult to manoeuvre. So having discovered that canoes are easier, I went off to Wareham on the first niceish day of the year and did that again.
On the one hand, messing about on the river in a t-shirt seems like a memory from another century already. No jumper? No waterproof? In the UK? In May? May 2021? On the other, the weather wasn’t as good as it felt.
Another thing I learned last year was that if you’re going to paddle a canoe solo, you need to know how to do a J-stroke. You only get one paddle and if you paddle on the same side, you’re going to go round in circles. If you swap sides, you’re going to fill the boat with water while doing a wildly uncontrollable series of zigzags. The J-stroke is effectively paddling both ways at the same time, enabling you to easily and serenely paddle in a straight line.
I’d watched the videos. I knew how to do it. And once I was in the canoe it instantly became very obvious that I didn’t have a clue. But whereas I’d relished the lightness and swiftness of the boat as I splashed river water everywhere last year, I was frustrated and angry at my own incompetence this year. I shouldn’t be! I’m a novice canoeist out for only my second paddle ever. No one has taught me to do it properly and I shouldn’t expect to be able to. I should just enjoy the splashing and the river and the sun.
What was also working against me was the weather. The weather and the tide. This section of river is close enough to where the mouth empties into Poole Harbour that it’s dramatically affected by the tide. On this occasion, the tide must have been going out because there was a very strong current trying to pull me backwards. Coupled with a hearty breeze and certain sections of my short trip upriver were like competing in some extreme challenge.
(This video makes it all look a lot lovelier and less stressful than it really was!)
In fact, there were times when all I had to do was lift the paddle out of the water to swing it backwards for the next stroke to completely lose control. The wind caught me, the current caught me and suddenly I was doing an involuntary handbrake turn in a vessel without a handbrake. I had no fear of capsizing, and the river is well under ten metres wide if I did fall in, but it’s still disconcerting to suddenly be spun like that.
Even that I could have coped with, if not for the kayakers. They were less affected by the conditions – the kayaks cut through the current like a hot knife through butter and they had wonderful, wonderful double-ended paddles and thus a lot more control than I did. But they didn’t have the sense to keep well away from the uncontrollable canoe. I missed the man. I heaved-to for the left bank and he passed but I got swept right across and despite frantic paddling and scooping, I did have a minor collision with the woman. I clung to the right bank, trying to moor in the reeds with nothing more than my paddle and my hand but despite the river’s desire to dump me in the reeds, it didn’t want me to stay there.
I was a lot happier to spin and crash and wail once I was alone. The river twists and turns, which means the wind is more violent in some stretches than others and of course, the current varies as you round bends. Well do I remember that from Mr Wyatt’s year 8 geography lessons, the story of Charlie wading into the fast part of a bend. Now, some 20+ years on I was experiencing it first hand.
By the time my watch told me to turn back, I’d lost almost all my confidence in my ability to control the canoe. The last couple of stretches before getting back to the quay are lined with moored yachts. Granted, most of them look like they were abandoned about the time Mr Wyatt was teaching me about currents, mildewy, one of them floating about a foot under the water, but it would still be a bad thing to ram them. I was almost glad to return to the quay.
Alas, it was not to be. A few boats – including the infernal kayaks, which I’d had to dodge again as they returned – had come in at the same time and a few customers had set out too. In short, the staff had their hands full and I was asked to paddle off for five minutes and come back when they had the time to bring me back in.
Well, the tide was low enough for me to get under the bridge and go for a few minutes in the opposite direction. Last year it had been high tide, the arches flooded, and they suggested lying flat on my back in the canoe if I wanted to go under. I’m glad I didn’t. That bridge is wider than it looks and it took some work to get under in a straightish line. I immediately realised that was a mistake. Quite apart from the pub garden facing the water, there’s the main quay packed with drinkers and ice cream-eaters on both sides, giving my incompetence a far bigger audience than it deserves. And then there’s the small but shiny boats moored at the quay, including the tour boat. If I stayed, I was going to very publicly hit something. If I continued downstream I’d find two lines of non-abandoned and quite expensive yachts moored down the middle of the river, members of the nearby Redclyffe Yacht Club. I let the river do me another handbrake turn and paddled back to the relative safety of the other side of the bridge for a few minutes of crashing harmlessly into reeds before I could hand my boat back.
Yeah, I’m telling a tale of how I can’t paddle and if you read the rowing boat adventure linked above, you’ll have seen how I can’t row either. I’m a more competent kayaker, though and I’m doing both my Discover and Explore awards later this month. I’d still rather take a canoe out for a lazy paddle on the river on a sleepy Sunday morning and no doubt if the weather improves, I will.