The British team for the world cups 3&4 consisted of Kerry/Emma Christie in WC2 and WK1. They were accompanied by Mags Dilai and Laura Milne in WC2 with Laura also Competing in WK1. Competing in MK1 were Jacob Holmes, Rob Jeffries, Freddie Brown and (yours truly) Nick Boreham. Andrew (the Crow) Crowhurst raced MC1. Billy Blackman, Ian Grieg along with Helen and Jamie Christie made up the coaching and support volunteers.
Some races become the thing of legend. These are the races recited in the oral history of Wildwater, passed down from coaches to paddlers. In the lead up to the event it looked like the world cup in Mezzana could share all the main ingredients of these legendary races. The primary ingredient of course, being a fuckton of water.
Talk of the high water had already begun in Veles, with the Italian team starting the rumor that they may have to move the sprint course if the river continued to rise. The Alps had a lot of late season snowfall bringing unseasonably high levels across the region. Even the famous L’Argentiere campsite to be evacuated as the rivers rose. But for those of us watching the gauge at Mezzana the excitement had begun to grow.
We arrived in Italy feeling fresh having spent 2 days rattling around in the back of the Minibus. It had been a long drive from North Macedonia and a good game of country bingo, passing through Serbia, Croatia and Slovenia to reach Italy. Sadly Alex had to depart after the racing in Veles, but we managed to find some suitable upgrades in the form of Rob, Jacob, Laura and Mags.
As promised the river was high, higher than we’d really expected. At the get on I could feel the dual emotions of fear and excitement churning in my stomach. “Remember, you are at your most stable with the paddle planted firmly in front of you”, Jamie briefed us before getting on the water. “And fill your boat with as many airbags as possible”. Full-on safety briefings are a rare occurrence for river racers (they’re not often needed), and few of us could remember that last time we’d seen Jamie so serious. But we didn’t need to be told twice, we’d all seen the remains of one of the Austrian boats circulating on Instagram. For anyone who’d been complaining Macedonia was too flat, Mezzana was about to drastically shift the average.
Arguably the biggest section of the Classic course is the pre-start from the get on down to the starting eddy. And, after the calm of Veles we peeled out of the get on eddy into a baptism of fire. Although this was of course the near freezing alpine melt water type of fire.
Instantly I took the first wave to the face, nearly washing my contacts out and forcing me to gasp from the cold water. Still blinded by the water l struggled to get my boat pointing in vaguely the right direction and we were off.
This year we would have just 2 days to learn the river that now seemed completely different from when we had padded it the previous year. In some ways the high water made this easier. Gone were all the little rocks, and tail taps, now replaced with waves so large it felt more like getting lost in the sea.
Sometimes a river forces you to become a better paddler and the Noce was relentless. Every stroke had to be timed. From wave to wave, peak to peak, attempting to weave the bow through the few openings that presented themselves. We’d all paddled rapids like this before, but nothing that was so continuous. Dodge the hole, cut the corner, round the rock, the river just kept coming. In just under 12 heart-pounding minutes, we’d reached the bottom, narrowly beating the shuttle. But our nervous faces had been replaced by big grins, as we eagerly loaded up buzzing for another run.
We managed two classic laps before lunch, and another one after, before our attention shifted to the sprint course. Throughout the day we’d begun to acclimate to the big and fast water but the sprint course was a marked step up from the classic. Here the river drops away, the gradient increases, and water accelerates into a mailstum of rocks, waves and holes. Despite our growing confidence on the classic course, the sprint course still looked intimidating, and we spent quite some time planning our lines through the mayhem.
The first few strokes of the sprint are pushing out into the sea of waves and holes, hoping you don’t get lost in the chaos. Then the river makes a slight turn to the left and accelerates down to the big rock and the main drop. Hold on. As you hurtle towards the rock, diagonal waves try to force you off line, don’t let them. Cut the big big rock just slightly too close for comfort and get ready. As the boat sails across the lip of the drop, the bow becomes light and you must plant the all important right stroke to pivot the boat on a dime to line everything up for the second half of the onslaught.
Through the drop. Before you can even see again you need to be paddling. This 20m may be the only ‘flatish’ section of the course. You need the speed to race, you need the speed for control. Take the left edge of the next two holes then start pushing right through the large haystacks. Clip the right edge of the last stopper then it’s power on all the way to the finish.
It’s not over yet though. You’ll know you’ll have crossed the line when you take the biggest wave to the chest. Then you’ll have to fight more waves to desperately make an eddy before the river falls away yet again.
Remarkably my first run down the sprint was surprisingly composed. Not fast, but fortunately controlled. Unremarkably, the mistakes started appearing as soon as I started trying to apply the power. It seemed every subsequent run would reveal a new and exciting mistake, usually leaving me with shaky giggles, in awe that I’d remained in my boat and made it to the bottom
Freddie was less fortunate. On one run he was blinded by the diagonal waves, and at full power, attempted to cut the big rock in half. Sadly, in the grand game of rock-river-boat, rock beats boat. Freddie managed to regain his vision just in time to see the mistake, but not enough time to forestall flying though his footrest as he made contact. Then the water took him. Watching the gopro back, he was under for a while, before being mercifully washed towards the side. Then, like an angel, France’s Luca Barone descended the bank to help pull Freddie out. The boat too was quickly retrieved from the river, virtually unscathed (bar the footrest). Tragically however the event failed to make one of Luca’s famous instagram reels.
We weren’t the only ones having fun. One of the french C2 paddlers was whisked away for stitches after becoming overly familiar with the riverbed and one of the Aussi paddlers managed to put a lovely hole in their boat (which I’m sure was the cherry on top of the lingering Macedonian bum-wee). In the evening Mags went for a jog down the river and returned with reports of numerous kayak carcasses wrapped around the rocks.
That night the resin was out. Freddie was busy fixing his footrest and Laura was addressing a tasty crack on the cockpit of her K1, that had been achieved using nothing but the powerful waves. The rest of us huddled over our comforting bowls of pasta and shite, reviewing gopro footage. We all felt battered from the river. There was one more day of practice, and the river continued to rise.
The last day’s practice had a couple of practice laps on the classic course and a bit of time on the sprint. We showed the now bum-wee-free Aussies the lines we’d managed to figure out then rested up for the afternoon. Freddie and Jacob set about patching up the Australian C1, attempting to make it “raceable” for the next day while the rest of us helped by popping out for ice cream. We stood watching the sprint course. The river had now shifted from its beautiful alpine blue it had originally been to a glacial brown. The infamous big rock from yesterday was almost underwater. The river was still rising. Our phones buzzed with an updated start list, people were beginning to pull out.
Race day always arrives too soon. I was still feeling sore from the days before. We eyed the gauge over breakfast, although the river had peaked at about 3am, the levels were still higher than we’d paddled it yet. The nerves had returned.
Normally the warmup at Mezzana is extremely short. A quick 30-40 seconds down the pre-start. However that rapid is normally more than enough to raise the heart rate and wake you up for what is to come. Now with the shrinking eddies on the river it would be non-existent. Two minutes before our start you’d be allowed to get on in what remained of the starting eddy, held by the safety team. A minute before your start, the person in-front would be released, and you’d be passed to the starter. The next minute was go!
We’d had the news early on in the week that the sprint course, which usually makes the very last section of the classic, would be amputated from the classic course. At the time I’d been somewhat miffed about it. Generally the longer a classic the better I do, and its semi-tradition that classic courses end with one final ‘fuck you’ at the very end. However, as I crossed the finish line I felt nothing but relief. Our coach Jamie had advised us to keep the boat ticking along on the bumpy bits and put the power down where it flattened out, except it never flattened out. I’d started strong, perhaps too strong, and by the end I was struggling to find the strength to keep the boat on line. Honestly, I’m not sure I would have survived the sprint course at the end. There were a few big mistakes on the run that cost time and energy. Plus a couple of big wobbles as the tiredness set in. The result? A thoroughly okay race. Not one I’m overly proud of, not one I’m particularly disappointed in. But certainly a race that makes me feel hungry to learn and improve.
“It takes a lot of experience to race on water like that” Jamie consoled us. Secretly I think he was a bit smug. Jamie had raced as a forerunner (an unofficial participant), and beaten all of us except for freddie. “In all my years of racing I can’t remember a course that was ever that continuous”. Jamie has more experience racing than most of us combined. But I’m determined to catch up.
In the afternoon the girls returned to the classic course for the C2 with Mags and Laura collecting a 3rd and the Christies bagged the silver. While only three WC2s actually finished the race, surviving the course in C2 was a pretty big achievement in and of itself, given all the boats that pulled out.
Once again the river was rising. As we collected ourselves post-classic the news began filtering in that due to safety concerns the sprint course would be moved. The new sprint course would be the final, and ironically, the flattest rapid of the classic. So that afternoon, post classic, we were back practicing to learn the new sprint.
The start for the new sprint was about level with ‘Leon’s Rock’ from the previous year, where a bunch of bushes had just been cleared out. The sprint then rounded the final right hand bend under the bridge before finishing just above the designated get out eddy, into a reasonably chunky hole. Within a few laps we’d figured out the fastest line was simply to hug the inside of the bend, although this had the unfortunate side effect of putting you on the opposite side of the river to ‘get out’. What followed the finish then was a rather bouncy ride across the hole before a few frantic paddle strokes to just scrape into the eddy. It was certainly a line, but not one the safety team enjoyed watching. Knackered from the classic, we retired back to the chalet for dinner and bed.
Once again we arose, still battered from the previous day’s racing. Once again the river had risen. We left early to squeeze in a few, ever so slightly, fresher practice laps before the sprint heats kicked off. Despite the increase in levels, the right line still seemed to be the best bet much to the displeasure of the safety team. In fact I discovered that the eddy below the ‘propper get out’ was much easier to reach after blowing out on the sprint, so long as you avoided the big pour-over at the bottom. This gave the safety team an immeasurable number of kittens as I, and others, narrowly avoided bombing down the old sprint course. By the end of practice their litter had grown so large that we were told racing would be delayed by an hour, so they could move the finish a little further upstream.
A quick refresher on Wildwater sprints: At international events there are two sprint heats and a final. The first 5 paddlers in the first heat go straight through to the final, while everyone else who didn’t make the cut must do the 2nd heat. The first 10 paddlers from the second heat then join the 5 paddlers from heat one in the final. The final decides the ranking of the first 15 paddlers and all those losers who didn’t make the final are ranked off their 2nd heat times.
I don’t really like this format. Mostly because if you know you’re not going to make the top 5 in the first heat, that run is just a practice run. If I were to re-write the rules, I’d take the top 5 from heat 1, the top 5 from heat 2 and the top 5 combined times from the remaining paddlers. That’d mean you’ve always got some skin in the game for both heats, and the format rewards consistently good paddlers alongside those who can pull out a blisteringly fast single run.
But I digress, I was treating the first run as a practice. In fact so was most of the British team, with Billy and Jamie tactically posted along the race course to give video feedback in between our runs. Despite moving the finish about 20m upstream nothing really had changed, not the race line or struggle across the other side of the river to get out. In fact the post race fatigue only made that harder. The only big revelation from the first run is that you could cut the corner harder and stay much further right than we’d initially thought.
In her first run Kerry had let herself get washed out left, in part to make sure she hit the all important get out eddy. But armed with the new info from Billy I found myself briefing her on the bridge between runs.
“So you think I should just stay right?”
“Yeah. Stay right, hug the bank and don’t worry about the eddy until you’ve crossed the line.”
“And you’re sure the 2nd eddy below the proper one is easy to get?”
“It’s fine, I’ve been in there loads” I said, somewhat forgetting to mention the pour-over.
To her credit, Kerry fully adopted my advice. Absolutely ragging it down the right until the whistle went. Then she had to make the eddy. The stopper just after the finish was a bit of a lottery at the best of times and as she emerged from the other side of it Kerry was not entirely facing in the desired direction. Exhausted from the sprint she heaved the boat around into the second eddy, but not quite high up enough to avoid the pour-over. She fell into it sideways, and watching from the bridge we had a small heart attack as she disappeared upside down.
But our panic was undue. Not a split second late and Kerry had rolled up just in time to be pounced upon by the safety team. The line paid off though, Kerry had bagged herself a place in the finals tomorrow.
Soon it was time for my second run. I thought back to Macedonia. Death or Glory! And pulled hard with everything I had. I flew down the course arms screaming, crossing the finish as a panting mess. I only just narrowly avoid the same mistake as Kerry with safety pulling me up into the second eddy. Rolling out of the boat onto the bank, I could just about make out the italian commentary, and if my shaky translation was correct I was currently sat in 10th place. Bubble Boy.
A quick look at the results confirmed my suspicion. 10th place, with 5 more paddlers to go any of whom could knock me out of the bubble and out of the final. I settled in next to the Jefferies to count in the paddlers. But, as each one crossed the line I narrowly maintained my place. 5 paddlers, 4 paddlers, 3 paddlers, 2 paddlers, 1. Leo Montulet, the final MK1 down the course. The tannoy narrated my predicament to the whole area as I held my breath. It was not to be. Leo (unsurprisingly) crossed the line into the final. I was now 11th and would not be racing tomorrow. But I wasn’t disappointed (okay I was a little) but 11th is still an incredible sprint result for me and one that I’m very proud of, especially given the tough field.
Meanwhile ahead of me Freddie had made the final, we celebrated as we walked back to the bus. What an end to my World Cups! Tomorrow, Freddie and Kerry would race in K1 in the finals alongside the C2s. But in the meantime the rest of us enjoyed a well earned beer, as we watched the prize giving for yesterday’s Classic race.
That night there were thunderstorms and, in a bizarre plot twist, the river rose. Those of us who’d not reached the final had decided to enter a local Italian race on the classic course. However, before we’d made it to the start news filtered through that they’d canceled the race, not only that but they’d also been forced to cancel the finals. Not overly impressed by the farce of making eddies in the heats, the safety team had decided with the extra water they could no longer guarantee the safety of everyone involved. The move left more than a few people disgruntled. Not only because there would be no finals but also because all times would now be taken from the first heat, which was frustrating for those of us who’d saved ourselves for the second. Some people suggested the finish should be moved to a better location, or even slanted to force everyone over to the left hand side, but the decision had already been made. Prizegiving would now be at 13:00.
But just because the racing was canceled, doesn’t mean the fun had to be canceled too. And, with a few hours to spare before prizegiving we definitely had time for a cheeky classic run.
Once more unto the breach! The pre-start blinded me for the final time as we launched off into turmoil and I fought to keep the boat pointing in the direction I wanted it. Now even the ‘flat’ sections of the river were filled with hay stacks and only as you created the waves was it possible to glimpse what lay before you. Even at our ‘recreational pace’ the water was heavy as we flew down the course in under 10 minutes. 10 minutes of pure joy. At the get out we were beaming, exhausted and elated.
We made it back to the apartment just in time to shove a sandwich down our throats and scoop up the rest of the team before we departed again for the final prize giving. The Christie sisters had claimed another silver in the C2 sprint, with the French taking gold and the Czechs snatching the bronze. However La Marseillaise didn’t play out for too long as Kerry and Emma had won enough points over the races to claim overall 1st place in the world cup series!
In fact we had all done rather well, the Andrew ‘The Crow’ Crowhurst locking in 3rd place overall in MC1, while Freddie and I finished 7th and 8th respectively in MK1. We celebrated that evening with a lovely stroll along the river with our aussie friends followed by beer, icecream and one final farewell team dinner.
From here the Christie family holiday departed for the Junior and U23 European Championships in Switzerland (where more great success would follow) while the rest of us made our way home. We were so sad to leave, that we almost didn’t. That however is a story for another day. For now I’d just like to say a massive thank you to everyone involved in the trip (paddlers, coaches and volunteers). These trips are always a joy to be on and I hope I manage to capture just a slither of that here.
To anyone who thinks that these trips and Wildwater paddling sounds like fun, please reach out over social media. We will be running some beginner friendly races over the summer (just checkout https://www.wildwater.org.uk/races/category/races/). Come give it a try and we hope to see you there!
River Stench 