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canoeing, kayaking and other adventures

canoeing and kayaking adventures born in the Southeastern U.S. and now centered in Scotland...

Sunday, November 27, 2005

A New Perspective of the River Tay – 20/11/05

A week of zero degree goodness parted by Saturday afternoon to allow us a sunny and (relatively) warm Sunday on the River Tay at Stanley. A beginner’s trip was on the EKC calendar. We decided it would be a grand opportunity to christen our Pakboat with its first river trip. Our first trip at Stanley was when the river was “very high”. Lucas and I were excited to have the opportunity to see it when it was just “high”. We were more excited to see it from a proper tandem canoe.

Rob and Emily graciously offered to pick us up so we (and by “we” I mean Lucas) didn’t have to haul seventy pounds of boat in a bag to the lockup. As an added bonus, we got to sleep for an extra hour that morning. As Bonus #2, Lucas brought along his paddling CD featuring the hit single “Gear Queer” for everyone to enjoy on the drive to Perth.

We skipped the boat shed rendezvous for optimum canoe assembly at the get-in. Turns out, we needed it. A Pakboat in winter does not stretch as far as a Pakboat in summer. Rob and Emily split their time between unloading their kit and helping with boat construction, which was much appreciated. After tugging at various bits of canoe skin, we settled for an almost stretched configuration with the bottom skin and built the rest of the boat around it. As Lucas would say, it was good enough for ketchup.

Our boat was assembled and we dressed quickly so Rob could run the shuttle back to meet the group at the get-out car park. Tarantino references in the post-trip emails suggested that Rob rode the return leg of the shuttle in someone’s car boot.

Once the usual faffing at the get-in was completed, we hit the water. First goal was to paddle upstream to play in the aftermath of Campsie Linn. Familiar faces surrounded us, from fellow newbies Rich and Helen, to young Miss Rhian and her dad Chris, to champion swimmer Callum, boat shed keymaster Alan and some others whose faces look familiar only when surrounded by helmet and cag.

We ferried across the river and then paddled upstream, something we couldn’t do a few weeks ago when here with Amy. A short portage across the foot of an island led us to another short ferry through one of the Linn’s whirlpools so we could practice break-outs and break-ins across a fairly strong eddy line. We learned that our usage of break-out and break-in was incorrect. One might break out of the main current into an eddy to take a breather or scout the next bit of river, and one would then break in to the main current to continue downstream. That usage makes sense, but breaking in to the eddy seemed much more natural.

After a brief spin in one of the more sluggish whirlpools, we queued loosely for our break-out practice. Fear of the seventeen feet of Pakboat led to expectations that we might impale any poor kayaker if we attempted a proper break-out. We proved them wrong. As Chris said, the boat turned on a six pence.

With everyone safely in the eddy, a few tried their luck at stern squirts before the group drifted downstream. The basic procession was one inexperienced boater per intermediate or advanced boater, with Rob and Emily leading the pack and us sort of taking care of ourselves.

First rapid of the day was the weir. The middle line was chosen and a procession of ducklings was organized. The regrouping point was the massive river right eddy just after the drop. After Callum demonstrated the swim-a-thon potential of this approach, a new strategy was proposed. Rhian decided not to run the drop, so she rafted with her dad and Rob. The orders for the rest of us were to leave the massive eddy alone and regroup at a friendlier eddy downstream.

We brought up the rear of the procession, plowing straight through the haystacks at the bottom and learning that our fair craft did not have the same gunwale height as a hardboat. The lateral waves were cold. We stopped at the first convenient river left eddy to dump out the boat before finding our way to the regrouping eddy. Our break-out into that eddy left a bit to be desired as we nearly impaled poor Emily.

Surfing in the big boat will require a bit more practice. We got on the wave by the regrouping eddy, but didn’t really stay there very long. Everybody else who tried to surf was having trouble staying in it, too, so we were comforted to know it wasn’t the boat. After the last trip, it was hard to think of this level as “high”.

On the drift toward the next rapid, again a change to have distinct rapids, Rob warned us of the big gnarly hole that would be about ¾ of the way down the next wave train. As we passed it, I thought the Terry Johnson naming scheme would have been very appropriate there. It really was just a wee fluffy puppy.

The rest of the rapids that followed were similar bouncy waves with actual flat stuff in between. This Tay was a completely different river, although still lacking in useable eddies. We didn’t do much eddy hopping, but I got plenty of practice timing the back paddle stroke that Daniel Boone taught me. By the last rapid, I had the timing right on for the approach wave train, and we kept the boat (mostly) dry through the slight right turn through the boogie water below. Robin’s perfect wave was completely absent below the get-out, so we caught the official get-out eddy and discovered a skinny set of rock stairs leading up to the trail to the car park. Lucas made like a turtle with the canoe and I made like a pack mule carrying the rest of the kit up the 39 Steps to the car park.

Getting the boat back in the bag proved to be just as tedious a task as getting it from the bag into canoe shape. Worse, not everything fit back in the bag. We loaded the canoe back into the boot of Rob’s car in three bags instead of one and wedged ourselves in amongst the wet kit for the drive home. As an added bonus to an early return to town, we adjourned to the pub for a post-paddle pint. I learned what Leslie meant by flat brown beer. Although, it lacked in bubbles, I have to disagree with her about it being flat. It was bitter and less bubbly, but damn good compared to the fizzy yellow stuff back home.

By the next morning, the sitting room looked like a war zone with canoe and kit strewn everywhere. Note to self: do not plan on entertaining on a Monday night following a Sunday paddle.

Thursday, November 24, 2005


Aftermath of the Pakboat christening on the River Tay

Monday, November 07, 2005

Guy Fawkes Day – 5/11/05

In 1605/1604, a group of thirteen angry Catholics, disappointed in their government, tried to blow up the houses of Parliament with gunpowder. The hope was by offing the king and the Parliament, the Catholics could triumph over the resulting anarchy and create a government more appropriate to their liking. The Gunpowder Revolution never got the kick-off that it needed. The plot was betrayed the before King James set foot in the Parliament. A few years later, King James decided there should be a holiday, celebrating the failure of the plot. The mercenary Guy Fawkes was not the leader, or even one of the instigators. He was the one caught with the gunpowder on that fateful night, so the day is named for him. The celebration is known more commonly as Fireworks Day or Bonfire Night for those particular aspects of the celebration. Bonfires are built, fireworks are set off and effigies of Guy Fawkes are burned. Supposedly, effigies of the Pope were burned in the bonfires, too, in celebration of the plotters’ Catholic roots, but I don’t know how widespread that practice is anymore.

The official celebration of city of Edinburgh no longer involves a large bonfire and a burning effigy of Guy Fawkes or the Pope. Instead, the celebration involves a huge fireworks display which one can enjoy for £4.50 per person at the Meadowbank Stadium. Disappointed in the lack of bonfire, we passed on the official celebration and instead chose to be among the couple hundred idiots to climb Arthur’s Seat without a torch that night. Based on the age of the crowd, the number of fireworks set off throughout the park and the general ambiance, my guess is that we were in the very small sober minority.

We walked from our flat to Holyrood Park through a frickin war zone. There were fireworks going off everywhere. Our neighbours across the street had a roaring bonfire in their backyard and they set off a handful of fireworks. More neighbours down the street had a less impressive fire, but a more impressive arsenal of fireworks. We walked up Craigmillar to West Mayfield to Dalkeith Road under a constant barrage of green and red and white explosions accompanied by the telltale eeeeeeee’s, poof’s and pop’s. After we turned the corner, we heard the unsurprising Dopplered wail of fire trucks. Inevitability.

Holyrood Park is just outside the University of Edinburgh campus with most of the dorms. As we were walking toward the entrance, so were many dormitories. That neither Lucas nor I brought a torch was immaterial. The ambient light, the procession of freshers and the occasional resourceful kid with a torch guided the way. In retrospect, we chose one of the more difficult routes to the top, with the occasional rock scramble required in unreliable light. Every time we looked back, fireworks were visible in every direction. Some of the people less excited about climbing Arthur’s Seat in the dark were exploding their own fireworks from the flatter grass below.

No clock of any kind meant I had no idea how long it took to reach the first summit (not the “Seat” itself), but once we were there, we could look in every direction and see fireworks exploding or coloured halos around the hill’s other peaks. For the first time, we could see the small glow of local bonfires in the distance. Sadly, the effigies of Guy were too small to see.
Some people enjoyed setting off bottle rockets from the top of the hill. Others traced words and shapes with sparklers. Some sat and enjoyed the show. Some enjoyed it a bit more than others with some marijuana. One industrious reveler had carried a battery operated radio with him. I just wish his taste in music was better.

The big celebration at Meadowbank Stadium was not visible from our perspective – the Seat was in the way. We decided to hike/stumble over to see if we could find it. We found a few paths across the hill. In general, looking down, the darkness was either a hole, an opportunity to fall off the hill or a trail leading somewhere. These dark lines were trails, but we walked slowly just in case. Once around the base of the Seat, we saw the stadium and its show in the distance. We made it there in time to see maybe the last ten minutes of the show. It was impressive, but not $8 impressive.

Once we were at the base of the Seat, there was no reason not to finish the last few metres of the climb. At the top, we found ourselves amidst another see of unknown and probably intoxicated college students, so we took a quick glimpse of the lights of City Centre and climbed around bodies and bottles to get back down to where we were. After enjoying a few more sights of the city, we decided it was time to find our way down, well before the drunks.

The far side of the hill is a much easier climb than the park entrance. The steeper parts have a rock trail and a chain fence to follow. Considering this path down wound through some of the darkest parts of the park, we appreciated both. It took us only a few minutes of meandering to find the paved road that winds through the park. Left or right would take us to the exit. On the way, we saw what looked like water, so we walked left to investigate.

The water was indeed water. Ghost swans eased across the lake as we walked beside it. In the darkness, it looked like a natural loch instead of the dammed pond we found at the base of the hill a few weeks back. I think the water diversion made for a much longer walk home, as we had to follow the paved road first to the bottom and then around Salisbury Crags to get back to the park entrance by the dorms.

We could have walked out one of the other entrances, but each of those would require a longer walk or multiple busses to get home. We walked among more fireworks, especially once we were at house elevation. By the time we reached the roundabouts at the appropriate park entrance, the celebrations had degenerated to fireworks atop the hill, fireworks along the path down, fireworks launched from the Crags toward Arthur’s Seat. Again, sirens wailed in the distance. Inevitability.

One group of college kids at the base was just finishing off their collection of fireworks when we arrived, so we lingered a bit to enjoy the last of the show. The “big one” was a collection of maybe ten red and white explosions launching from one bigger than average tube. Not bad for an off the shelf kaboom. In the distance, the faint glow of torches down the paths showed the partygoers retreat from Arthur’s Seat. It was time to call it a night.

The fireworks continued as we walked home, but the pops and kabooms became much more infrequent. We were home before 22:00 and by 23:00, they were extremely intermittent. I suspect that I slept through the last of them. Sunday night felt like Guy Fawkes’ wake. Intermittent fireworks punctuated the night, but lacked the extent and intensity of the previous celebration. This time of year is the only time that fireworks are sold in the city of Edinburgh, but I bet the sales would compare well to Tennessee’s annual fireworks revenue.

I think next year, we need to host our own bonfire.


On the way to the park, I spotted a B&B where I would not pay money to stay.


Close to the top, Lucas poses in front of the Edinburgh city lights.


From atop the hill, the castle and City Centre were easy to spot. If you squint, you might see some fireworks. Squint harder!


The top of the hill wasn't enormously cold, but it was windy.


The bonfire blazes in the distance.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Adventures with American food

Lucas had a bunch of the MBA folk over for an evening of "American" food last week. The menu consisted of chili and cornbread for dinner followed by chocolate chip cookies for dessert. The meal was a success, as you can see below. Of course, success is in part how you define it. I have no photos of happy people eating our creations.


Lucas made chili


and I made chocolate (Scottish?) chip cookies.


The cookies survived the partial conversion to metric units quite deliciously.