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.