Brawling in Bosnia – World Cups 1,2&3

It was an early start for a dawn flight. We were bound for Zagreb where the ever inconspicuous British buses would scoop us up in the searing Croatian heat and carry us forth to Banja Luka, Bosnia and Herzegovina.

The busses had spent the past week at the Junior and U23 World Championships in Solkan, where the British Team had enjoyed just a modicum of success. The Christies retained their title in U23 C2 winning both the sprint and the classic, and Kerry picked up a silver in the K1 Classic. With Freya Pryce the sisters picked up another Gold in the U23 WK1 Classic team, then with Elsie Landsborough they snagged a silver in the U23 C1 classic team. Not to let the Christies have all the medals Elsie went on to win another silver with her C2 partner Ciara Maloney in the sprint. All the aforementioned girls then teamed up together with Sophie Cameron to pick up yet another silver, in what I believe was the first ever women’s C2 team race – a testament to how the sport is growing and developing.

However it was the junior boys team result that I was perhaps most pleased by. Going into this year we knew the Stevelys were going strong, but two does not make a team. So enter Malaki Grant. Malaki, a strong K1 paddler, had never been in a river racer prior to the winter but we put him on a crash course, with a focus on sitting on washes. The gamble paid off. The boys came in 3rd with Sam and Will helping to knock nearly 2 minutes of Malaki’s individual time. A Bonze medal.

Back home, We’d seen the press releases and Instagram posts, but as the busses carried us forth to Banja Luka we got to hear the inside scoops. The gossip, the drama, the little misadventures missed by the ‘slightly’ sanitized PUK articles. As we crossed the border into Bosnia, we were riding high on their success and exited for what the week ahead would bring.

Banja Luka is renowned for the Krupa Canyon section. This section of the Vrbas river cuts a spectacular gorge through the hills outside the city. It’s hosted numerous international competitions and this renowned course, would not be the section were going to race.

We would instead be racing on the much flatter section of the Vrbas that runs directly through the city. Apparently, there was some sort of issue with the road access on the canyon but we were all having flashbacks to last years race in Veles (which was extremely flat). As a general rule of thumb, I think that if you can paddle something in a marathon boat, then it probably should be paddled in a marathon boat. River racers are for the properly bumpy bits.

Yet after a first lap on the river we were relived to find there were at least some bumpy bits and a few swirly areas to boot. In fact in places the river almost felt weirdly British, if you ignored the lush blue water and hot weather. Needless to say it was still a bit of a gear shift from Mezzana but it seemed like they’d be enough rough for an interesting race, particularly for the mass start – the event that had drawn me to this set of world cups.

Bosnia is an, “exciting” country. To put it politely, the politics are… complex, however all the people we met were extremely warm and welcoming to us. And, extremely understanding when Alex and I realised we didn’t have any cash for our coffee – we did eventually pay. Just after a short side quest to find an ATM that wouldn’t swallow our cards.

As a general rule of thumb the further east you get in Europe the ‘looser’ things get. I mean that both in metaphorical sense and with regards to the taps in our accommodation.
Bosnia’s building regulations are second only to North Macedonia, with our accommodation featuring the presumably mandatory sprinkling of exposed wiring that gives life here that extra little spark. But while this attitude of lax building regulations would send a shock down many a Brit’s spine, it also comes with an air of freedom. During an afternoon ‘tourist-ing’ around the city we found ourselves free to roam the walls of the ‘Kastel Fortress’, despite the star-wars-esque approach to railings (i.e. None – something that would be unthinkable in the UK). It is nice, to be in a place where the powers that be trust you to not to merk yourself at every available opportunity. Or at least accept that if you do, it was your own damn fault.

Of course the quirks with our accommodation didn’t end with the exposed wiring. Us boys were situated up in an attic apartment which had been recently redecorated. No expense had been spared on the fixtures, but clearly the fitting had been a slight afterthought. A large luxurious sink in the bathroom, now obstructed the door from opening forcing any would be loo-user to awkwardly shimmy through the skinny gap that remained. Meanwhile the kitchen sink was tucked so far under the rafters, that it required a Quasimodo impersonation any time you wanted a drink. And whoever had installed it had clearly given up before connecting the overflow. Alex best summed up the accommodation, exclaiming “Its like staying in a Turkish Barbers”. There were even glimmers of sunlight around the edge of the hole, the aircon unit had been thrust into. However, we were grateful for the unit. It was over 30 degrees outside, but mercifully that overworked unit kept our room at a cool 17 – cold enough to give me the shivers at night.

Still it managed to rank as one of the better places, we’ve stayed. Having a bakery on the ground floor was wonderous. Leon alone must have spent a fortune there with his new found penchant for their ‘cheesy bread pastry thing’ (Pita Zeljanica?)

Not being particularly complicated, we more or less had the river down in the first couple of days. That gave use Wednesday as a rest day, before the onslaught of racing scheduled for the Thursday, Friday and Saturday. And what to a bunch of canoeists do on a rest day? Go canoeing of course!

While we weren’t racing on the Vrbas Canyon Section this year, next year it will host the World Championships. To us it seemed very rude not to go give it a little scout while we were in the area! The rest day meant a leisurely morning departure heading south from Banja Luka into the hills. The glaring sun that had defined most of our practice days had been usurped in the night by a thunderstorm. Now we were greeted with drizzle, coating the mountains in atmospheric mist.

As the canyon enveloped us the river narrowed giving rise to playful rapids mixing waves and boils as the rock walls further encroached. Then came the horizon line. The start of the sprint course. Suddenly the river dropped, only to rise again in peaking and crashing waves. We took a moment to eddy out and watch everyone through the grand rapid. Then it was playtime. We took it in turns to cross the mighty haystacks, and taunt the crashing waves. River racers are not the easiest of boats to surf, but they are a lot of fun!

Once we had had our fill, we continued on down the second half of the sprint. Another steep section, more waves and then cutting it close to the house sized boulder at the bottom. it was pure joy! From here the river calmed returning back to playful rapids and boils until these too faded as the canyon released us from it’s grasp.

That day we exchanged stories of our extremely restful activity over lunch as Leon devoured yet another cheesy bread.
“Any requests for this afternoon?” asked Jamie.
“Could we go again?” replied Eddie. We all burst into laughter.
“Your supposed to be resting”
“I know, I just love canoeing”.
I think we’re all excited to paddle again here next year, but sensibility prevailed and instead we took the opportunity to do a little ‘tourist-ing’ around the city.

Classic Day arrived, and with it the Sun and the heat returned. It had all the makings of a suffer-fest. As we waited for our starts we sheltered from the Sun in the bus. Despite the odd joke the focus amongst the team was strong. So strong, that Eddie managed to walk into a giant metal chariot, that he somehow didn’t see. We waved the girls off for their runs, and eventually it was time for us to race too.

The sun was hot, but mercifully the water was cool. No kags today, just a spray deck and the lightest top I could find. I was boat 99, chasing down previous European Champion Maxence Barouh. I’d joked with Leon earlier about how I was going to catch him – though truth be told I was more relived he wouldn’t have the chance to catch me! My race went okay – I tried hard and there wasn’t any drama, but something seemed to be missing from my form. I finished 23rd, a respectable time, but not one I’m particularly proud of. Unfortunately I didn’t quite catch Maxence who eneded up in 3rd.

However, any disappointment in my classic result was soon forgotten as Freddie crossed the line. Freddie had decided that today was the day to trial his new nutrition strategy: bicarbonate of soda. Any athlete will tell you that race day is always the best day to try something new. For those not keyed up on the science, sodium bicarbonate (aka baking soda) is an alkali, which means it can help neutralise lactic acid that builds up in your muscles. However, the side effect of bicarb can include bloating and nausea, which isn’t too surprising given bicarbonate of soda is what you put in those kids volcanoes!

Freddie crossed the line in visible discomfort – which to be fair, is pretty common for a classic. Yet, this looked to be quite an extreme and different discomfort to normal. He claimed he’d been fine during the race but a few moment after finishing he began doing his best volcano impression – much to our amusement. Everyone in the British camp had predicted this exact outcome, and to see it manifested like the fountains of Versailles brought tears to our eyes.

Those, not in the British team were less amused. In fact they looked quite concerned. Probably because in his wisdom Freddie had washed the bicarb down with a healthy amount of beetroot juice. Said beetroot juice was now colouring everything a dark red, making the whole scene look pretty macabre to the casual observer. We tried to reassure everyone, through breaks in our laughter, that Freddie was okay and was definitely not dying. Tjaš, from Slovenia, remarked that this is how he wanted to finish every race as he watched the scene unfold. Freddie quipped back “yeah, but you wouldn’t do this just to get a WK1 time” before expelling more beetroot juice from his body.

Kerry took a bronze in the WK1 and then the a Silver with Emma in the WC2. Freddie decided not to bicarb the following days.

The following day was sprint day. We’d taken great care to rest up the previous evening in the manner that all great athletes do – lounging on the sofa, marathoning the Shrek films.

The sprint course through the centre of Banja Luka was very reminiscent of the course in Veles: Flat. There was lot of flat. A long old flat section, before dropping into a few waves and powering through to the finish. The waves were a bit bigger than Veles, and it was certainly possible to get them wrong. Something that wouldn’t be too difficult after absolutely burying yourself on the initial flat pool. Though arguable the hardest aspect of the course was narrowly avoiding a hidden reef just off the start, and then making sure you lined up correctly over the horizon line before the waves. However after a few days of practice we were feeling pretty confident, and hopes in the team were high for for a final given the similarities to Veles.

In Wildwater Sprints there are two heats, followed by finals. In the first heat, the first five paddlers qualify for the finals. Then, everyone who didn’t qualify in the first heat races in the second and the first ten paddlers from the second heat qualify for the final. The final is a one and done type affair, and everyone who didn’t qualify for it is ranked by the time from their 2nd run. This means that unless you make it through in those first 5 qualifiers (which I am extremely unlikely to do), the first run is just a practice. Everything is all on the second run.

Personally, I don’t think that makes a great format. But I’ll be damned if I don’t exploit it for my own ends! My race plan was simple: chill out a bit on the first run, – I mean still try, but not the full 110%, just treat it as a practice. Then, smash it on the 2nd.

I finished my first run with a time of 51.87s. All the way down in 46th place, over 7 seconds off 1st. But that didn’t matter, it was part of the plan. And I had rehearsed the important things. Not just the line and locking onto the water with powerful strokes, but also the warm up, getting changed, faffing about and all those little parts that add up to make the race routine.

Then the day got a little chaotic. With heats and finals all on the same day, the schedule was packed. It kept changing up until that morning as the organises shuffled the different classes around. We should have had an hour or two between runs, just enough to have a little nibble of lunch and rest, but as 2nd runs drew near we still didn’t have a start list. Then came word that we’d keep bib order, 10 minutes later we were going on heat 1 timed (a difference of nearly 30mins for myself!). Then the girls started their 2nd heat – in bib order? Needless to say the confusion didn’t make the race prep any easier.

I got on, leaving myself plenty of time to spare. A slightly extended warm up then slotted into my place in the queue. Go time. The only thought in my head was “pick it up, pick it up”. Based off the first run, to qualify for finals I had to knock 5 seconds off my time. To do that I’d have to bleed out my eyeballs before I got to the horizon line. Bleed I did. Somewhere in the midst of the race I faintly heard our coach Billy screaming “Up! Up! Up!”. Time to dig even deeper, 110%. I don’t really remember the rapid, it was pure-auto pilot, but I knew it felt smooth as I poured everything into the last few strokes to over the line. 47.72 seconds. A colossal improvement of 4.15 seconds. But not quite enough. In the end I came 22nd, 2nd fastest Brit – just two hundredths of a second behind Alex. But neither of use were through to the finals.

We gathered along the banks to cheer on Kerry and the C2s. Kerry had managed to qualify for her final in the 1st heat and put in an incredible run to finish joint 4th, 0.2 seconds off the medal. She’s yet to achieve a K1 sprint podium, but it feels like it’s on its way. The C2 was another matter though, with Kerry and Emma securing another silver to match their result in the classic. Amongst the boys there was a little disappointment that none of us made it to finals. We take a lot of pride in the girls’ success, but we’re hungry to replicate it – difficult though that may be. But, as I watched back my Sprint with Billy on his phone I couldn’t hide a smile. It was one of my best sprint results to date, and for that I was proud of it.

The third and final day of racing brought the Mass Start Classic. River racing usually operates on a time trial format which gives everyone a fair race. In contrast, mass starts are chaotic carnage, but that is exactly what make them so much fun. We normally run a few in the UK throughout the year, but rarely (if ever) do we get such a stacked start line.

Any start procedure on a moving river is destined to be a little troublesome. We were instructed to line up behind a rope which would be raised on ‘GO!’, but with flow nothing is that simple. Any attempt to push or jump the start would lead to disqualification. The line was tight with over 50 boats crammed across the river. I’d been planning to sort of sneak in at the last moment and find a gap between some faster boats in the hope they’d pull me clear from the impending melee. However the plan began to go awry as my ‘last moment’ extended into minutes and the gaps came and went as everyone jostled for position. The tension was building, the pressure was on, and the start line felt like a powder keg ready to…

“GO!”

The air exploded with water and whirling blades. I guffed my first stroke. I’d been busy trying to reposition myself on the other side of Lean Bogaerts (111, BEL) but it was to late – I was now in the brawl for positions. Ahead of me Tristan Meersman (72, BEL) and Ilija Kleut (76, SRB) collided, screaming across the river, but fortunately the wash carried my bow over the two paddlers and I tried to power round the side. Ilija came back quick though, now on my right but then someone (Tristian maybe?) clipped my stern spinning me into the Serbian forcing us and a few other unfortunate competitors into the the shallows of the first rapid.

(In retrospect I probably should have backed off and tried to go around Ilija, but isn’t that just the power of hindsight.)

It felt like we were stuck in the shallows for an eternity, watching the whole field come past. The carnage continued as we tried to re-join the flow on the first rapid. Swaths of boats continued to pass, nearly forcing us back into the slow and stagnant parts of the river, but fortunately I was able to bounce my bow over some of the mess and back into the narrow conveyor belt of water.

I’d been seeing red since the collision. The frustration had given me a little extra oomph to claw myself back into the race, but as the everyone strung out I began to realise I’d over cooked it a little. I still had some good fight left in me, putting in burns here and there to defend lines but climbing over the wash was becoming a struggle and after the sprint course I hit a wall.

From here it was roughly 2km of flat and once again, to my dismay, the positions started slipping away. Maybe the biggest insult was watching Luca Barone (107, FRA), a self confessed sprinter pull past. It wasn’t a slight I was going to take lying down. I took a brief moment to recover, trying to bring my heart rate down a little, and breath a little bit of life back into my muscles. Then it was time to turn and burn.

I slipped past Aljosa Travar (86, BIH) but it wasn’t exactly a sprint to the finish. My arms felt like concrete, and my lungs where on fire, but I dug deep and paddled as hard as I could. The last the last two minutes of the race seemed to stretch out for an agonising eternity, but slowly and surely I was clawing Luca back in. As we came in towards the line we were level pegging. With my vision beginning to black out and on the verge of cardiac arrest I found one last ounce of power to just inch ahead.

It was a small victory, but a valuable one. Aljosa let out an almighty scream as he crossed the finish it’d been a hard fought race, but an enjoyable one. The smiles around the finish line were testament to that. Everyone gathered to swap stories of one eventful race. As we got off the water for the last time the mood was clear, we want more of these races.

There was however one small oopsie. Somewhere in the scrum off the start I broke my right paddle blade. I’d heard it crunch in the first few strokes and to be honest, I was just grateful I still had a blade at the end. I don’t think I even hit it on anything, but lets be honest river racing blades do not live an abuse free life. So on the off chance, you fancy donating to the ‘Nick’s new paddle fund‘ it wouldn’t go unappreciated.

Finally it was time to pack up, prize giving and home. The Christies’ collected their medals – this time including Jamie who’d won the masters mass start race (Billy also came a close second). We set off for the long journey back to the UK still buzzing from our races.

Sleep in the heat – An Epithath for a dog

One Christmas, back when I was a kid, my parents got me a long fishing pole rod thing. Not for fishing (of course!) but because I was into making terrible films and the thought was I could put a GoPro on the end of it to get a ‘crane’ shot – This was long before the whine drones filled the sky.

Eager to test out my new ‘toy’ we took the canoes out onto the canal and, in the tropical waters of the Twixmas period, the camera fell off into the water. Some would think that’d be the end of it. But with my dad being the kind of dad he is, I soon found myself diving over the side of the canoe to retrieve the silvery smudge at the bottom of the deepest part of the canal.

The water was cold but as I dived in, head first, the camera came within not quite grasping distance of my fingers. It was here that I realised my mistake: I was still wearing a buoyancy aid. Cruelly remembering its purpose, the BA hauled me back up to the surface. Coughing and spluttering I was dragged back in the canoe. Scout, our dog, was going mental. He’d been sharing the boat with Dad and myself and this was clearly the most exciting thing he’d ever seen. He leaped and bounded all over the boat unable to sit still while I sat shivering in the bottom of the canoe.

About two weeks back now Scout had to be put down. He’d had a good innings, a month shy of 15 years, which is not bad for a little Poodle. However I’d be lying if I said it didn’t come as a bit of a shock. These words have taken a little bit of time to come together, so please excuse this departure from this blog’s regular schedule for this extended epitaph. (Scout loved canoeing so that’s how I’m justifying it.)

After years of pestering from my brother, my parents finally relented and we brought home a little black ball of fluff, cradled inside an A4 paper box. He soon grew, chewing anything and everything in his path, including at one point a wall. We named our little ball of fluff Scout, although I’d often refer to him affectionately as ‘trouble’. Both names were very fitting.

Scout became a regular occurrence down the canoe club (BCCC) often accompanying my dad in an open canoe. He could frequently be spotted with two paws up on the bow of the boat doing his best impersonation of Kate Winslet in Titanic.

Scout’s other favourite games included nabbing at the water while you tried to paddle, or even better jumping between different boats! He was never a graceful swimmer – looking more like my grandma trying to keep her hair dry – but this never seemed to deter him or reduce the regularity that he (and any unwilling participants) would end up in the drink!

Like any dog Scout loved walks, comically big sticks, escaping the garden (such an apt name), barking at people on the street and just barking at anyone who came to the front door.

Trouble, did not enjoy going for a run. The one time I tried it, Scout gave up about half way round and decided to walk with a more sedated family.

For Scout digging up the dead pigeons the foxes would stash in the garden was considered a delicacy and the sign of a particularly good day. Afternoons and evenings were spent snoozing on the sofa, while demanding eternal belly rubs (He’d paw and grumble at you if you dared stop). Eventually he’d fall asleep occasionally twitching his little paws and ‘harrumphing’ at whatever he was chasing in his dreams, you know, classic dog stuff.

The last time I took Scout out he’d been staying with me briefly up in Nottingham. I took an open canoe out from the NKC and we (or rather I) battled a pretty disgusting headwind up the river to nearly the suspension bridge. A pathetic number of miles compared to my usual outings, but that wasn’t really the point. Scout was just excited to be out in a canoe with me again. Bounding about as if he was a pup again, pulling his usual tricks. At one point I thought he was even going to try a transfer into McIntyre’s K1. Thankfully I remembered to grab a few photos of his greying face looking fucking majestic.

“It’s weird how music peaked when I was most emotionally vulnerable”. I got the sad news while I was up in Manchester – visiting friends and, ironically, seeing a band called Pup (hence the title). The quote which can be attributed to my good friend Andy was made while we were discussing the band’s latest album in relation to their first two. Weirdly their new album “Who Will Look After The Dogs?” seems to be hitting hard all of a sudden.

I got that camera back in the end. I took off the BA and plunged into the cold winter waters again. I was bloody freezing. But, as we paddled home, Scout kept me company.

Scout, and all his trouble, will be sorely missed.

The Czechs who came to Tea (Dee ECA Cup)

If I had one word to describe the weather in the UK it would be ‘changeable’. And, after one of the mildest Autumns the paddling community can remember, change the weather did.

The last of the 2024 European Cups Race was to be held on the river Dee, North Wales, and the Czechs had assembled a small invasion force. Their plan had been to arrive early on Tuesday and tour round the UK sampling rivers and campsites. But as they disembarked the ferry they were shocked to find empty rivers and snow blanketing. It was then that they turned to the backup plan: Nottingham, and my apartment floor.

Anyone who has visited my flat may be wondering how I could possibly fit 5 Czechs plus an additional Slovakian. However where there is a will there’s a way and my unannounced house guests proved adept at tessellating themselves into my limited floor space like a bizarre game of human tetris.

While it might be lacking in warm weather, beautiful scenery or even clean water, Nottingham is surprisingly a paddlers’ paradise. Between the white water course, river, lake, canal and the nearby weirs there is never a day in Nottingham that one can’t go canoeing, and there is rarely a day when we don’t. Something our international friends were a little bit horrified to discover.

During the day Molly did an excellent job of showing our guests down the white water course, but it was the evening sessions, in the dark and sub-zero temperatures on the Trent that shocked our friends. I’m led to believe that over in Czechia it gets so cold all the rivers freeze and they all take up more appropriate and sensible sports like skiing.In contrast, the UK climate exists in some sort of anti-goldilocks zone where it never gets cold enough to do proper winter sports, but is more than cold enough to be utterly miserable. Yet there is a saying that “there is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing”. And in the bleak midwinter, bad clothing consists of anything less than a hat, cag, pogies, and at least two thermals. But we paddle on, as ice forms on our boats and spray decks freeze like concrete. Getting off the water Alexandra turned to us and said “We have a newfound respect for the British, you are very tough!”

Maybe the highlight of their stay was the Canoe Thursdays session. The brainchild of Nicky Cresser; ‘Canoe Thursdays’ is an effort to grow the C1 and C2 classes at Nottingham Kayak Club (and the UK in general). It’s a session that has played no small part in the entire British Teams’ success over the past year, and it was a joy to share it with everyone, particularly Alexandra and Viktoria who’s unbridled love for the canoe class, is at least half of the reason why us Brits climbed into (and then promptly fell out of) C1s in Macedonia last year.

We finished the session with a little pizza party in the NKC clubhouse. For all the geography and waterways that make Nottingham a paddlers paradise, it is really the community here that shines the brightest. Upon the return to my flat I treated everyone to a ‘wee dram’ of Scotch to toast the visit and the weekend’s racing ahead.

Outside of paddling the Czechs had busied themselves with touristing around Nottingham, visiting the caves and poking around the castle, but there was one major UK tourist attraction they wanted to see above all else: Clarkson’s farm. The mention of this had raised a few eye-brows around Notts, particularly as we tried to explain that it would be quite a detour on the way from Nottingham to North Wales but our visitors were adamant, Diddly Squat is a ‘must see’ on any visit to the UK. Over our whiskey, Alexandra had explained the show had been a big hit (alongside Top Gear) back in Czechia as we rewatched an episode and how the show had gotten everyone talking about the plight of farmers, much as it has here. Plus they explained that they just enjoyed driving around the UK and seeing all the different styles of towns and houses. It’s enlightening to see all that you take for granted through the eyes of others. She then went on to tell us a tale of how she had once told an old lady she looked like Jeremy Clarkson. Somehow, said old lady took a lot of offence to this comment, much to Alexandra’s surprise. For the life of me I can’t think why…

While it was lovely hanging out with everyone for a few days, one thought had persistently troubled me: The low river levels. Rarely are you unable to paddle the Dee but as the water gets lower it certainly becomes more unpleasant. Alex had been over to the racecourse at Llangollen the previous week, and had described the experience as ‘crunchy’. With folks traveling from across Europe to come to our little race it felt embarrassing to show them UK paddling at its absolute worst.

These conditions (cold and empty) persisted on Friday as paddlers from France and the Netherlands joined the practice sessions on the Dee. However I’d spent the week making prayers and sacrifices to the rain gods and fickle as they are, the rain gods answered on with storm Bert.

It had rained heavily through Friday night, and by Saturday morning practice, both the river and temperature had risen to much more comfortable levels, although those of us who know the Dee well knew the river level was unlikely to stop there. All rivers in the UK are extremely rain dependent. Small catchment areas generally means rivers are quick to rise as it rains and then promptly fall off as the weather clears up. The Dee is by no means the worst offender, but with the heavy rain melting the snow that still blanketed the hills we knew there was a lot of water on its way, and yet we still underestimated how much and how quickly the river would rise.

As rivers rise the racing lines down them can change quite dramatically. In the case of Serpents Tail, the rapid we were racing, the line entry to the crux shifts from hard right over towards to left. Both lines converge to fire you through the tight constriction at the bottom, but the change to that entry move is significant. As we sat in the warmth and shelter of the Chain Bridge hotel watching the river rise, the debate in the British Camp was whether it was worth abandoning all of our practice down the right and whether the river had risen enough to do a ‘hail mary’ down the left.

In a standard sprint race, you get two runs and your final time is taken as the best of the two. But with the river rising as it was, we were almost guaranteed to get a faster 2nd run. Therefore we were split between two schools of thought: Play it safe, do the first run down the right then try the 2nd run on the left, or do both runs down the right, with the 1st run acting as a bit of a practice for the 2nd.

By the time I’d made it to the start line the river had risen even further and was starting to lap around the feet of the volunteers on start duty. I decided to go for the 2nd option and when the whistle blew I set off for the left line.

Unfortunately everything went askew quite quickly. Not only does the line down the crux of Serpent’s Tail change with the level, but so does the little lead-in rapid. As the river widened and the waves grew I found myself a little lost and astray from the main tongues of flow that would carry my speed. Still I dug deep and worked myself back online for the drop into the main event of the rapid. The last time I had run the left line was well over a year ago, but my memory served

me well, as I skirted the large holes down the main ramp of the rapid. However as I crested the final wave, the river revealed that the end of the rapid, that had previously been the constriction, was now a chunky hole feeding into an undercut on the right. I managed to sneak in a right hand stroke, keeping the bow up and narrowly avoiding the undercut, but my speed stalled out on the boils behind this and I once again found myself fighting to reaccelerate the boat as I headed for the finish. It was far from a perfect run, but I now knew what I could do to fix it on my 2nd.

Alas the second runs were not to be. In the scheduled hour between our first and second runs, the river continued to rise and rise and rise. The river was no longer lapping at the feet of the starters; it was now flooding them. All the timing equipment had to be moved and the second runs abandoned. Our final times for the last of the 2024 ECA cups would now be taken off the first run alone.

It was a disappointing end to the race series but the mood quickly shifted – just because the racing was over didn’t mean the fun had to be! We quickly assembled a rag-tag group ofBritish, French, Dutch and Czech paddlers to enjoy a rare delicacy: a high-water Dee lap.

We set off in a mega-train so long that it was impossible to see both the start and end of our soggy conga line. It was hard to believe how quickly the river had risen, and the rocks that we had stood on earlier that morning to scout the Serpent’s Tail rapids were now deep under the water. We continued down the river hooting and roaring our way down the full classic course. Now free of any ill-placed rocks the Dee was a fast flowing joy ride down to Town Falls in the heart of Llangollen. Here we jumped out of our boats and went to inspect the final rapid of the river.

Town Falls is the last and largest rapid on the major section of the Dee. Once upon a time it was raced regularly by wildwater paddlers, but in recent years it had fallen out of favour due to some safety concerns and the wish to run more accessible races (plus it doesn’t look particularly pleasant at lower levels). However as we eyed it up from the bridge it looked as if the river levels were on our side and I offered to lead Will Stevely and Jan Sindelar down. It was, in truth, the first time I’d run it in a propper wildwater boat, but the line isn’t too hard and I was feeling confident following our lap of the rest of the classic course.

As we dropped in through the entry waves, I once again got a little lost and took a tail tap through the second stopper, but I quickly got back on track. I paddled straight at the balcony that sits above the smooth line through the falls before hopping the boat onto the shelf, avoiding the slots to either side. It’s here that I realised the ‘smooth’ line we’d scouted from the bridge was in fact much bigger and steeper than I’d anticipated (isn’t that always the way!) but I planted my paddles deep and rode out the frothy rollercoaster. We collected ourselves at the bottom with big grins excitedly swapping the little trials and tribulations we’d experienced during our descents. It was the perfect end to the day and left us frothing at the mouth to race the classic on the river tomorrow!

The rain didn’t abate overnight and the river continued to rise. We awoke early on Sunday with the aim to scout the river and squeeze in a practice run before racing commenced. However, by the time we’d made it to the top of the course we received the message from the race organisers that the classic race on the river had been cancelled, the river was now too high and there were no longer any safe, access or egress points from which the race could be run to a reasonable degree of safety. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but at least there was a backup option: to run the race on the canal.

The Llangollen canal was dug around the 1790s to transport coal and iron ore from Welsh mines; the canal is renowned for its beauty (and the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct). But, more importantly it also forms a very convenient loop allowing canoeists to paddle back to the top of the river section. Our race would go down the canal from Horseshoe Falls to the Llangollen Wharf dodging such treacherous obstacles such as bushes, narrow bridges, and a horse drawn barge. It perhaps wasn’t the most exciting ‘wildwater’ course we’ve ever had, but a race is a race and we threw ourselves into it all the same.

With racing complete there was just enough time to squeeze in a sneaky fun lap of the now extremely high Dee (now at 1.78m on the gauge). We assembled a crack little squad of myself, Nicky, Jacob, Freddie, Huw, Leon and Jan and headed down to the get on. At the start Nicky gave a quick but serious briefing, a rare thing in river racing, but one that served to underline the seriousness of the moment. “This is dangerous, really really dangerous. If you swim you are going to lose your boat. It’s going to be really fun, but we just need to be extra careful”.

We eddied out and blasted down Serpent’s Tail, now transformed into large wave trains and more akin to what we had paddled in Mezzana this year than a small Welsh river. The fun continued downstream with even the flatter sections featuring enjoyable undulating waves. The river was pumping so fast it felt as if we had strapped jet engines to our boats. Perhaps my favorite move was at Mile End Mill, sneaking past stoppers and using the big pillow off the island to make the sharp right hand turn. While I couldn’t quite shake the nervous energy from knowing the full consequences of a swim, I could not hide my utter joy with a big grin plastered across my face.

We eddied out shortly above the Town Falls section. The usual get out (above the falls) was now completely underwater leaving us with little options other than to run the falls blind. For Jacob, Freddie and Huw this would be their first time running the rapid and we briefed them on the line. The decision was made they would follow Nicky down while Jan, Leon and myself would sweep at the back and with that we set off for the final rapid.

With the rising river entry holes to the falls had now transformed into large standing waves. So large that once Leon crested the one in front of me he disappeared out of view behind it. Despite their size, I navigated these waves with ease but then to my alarm I massively underestimated the size of the boil behind them. The boil turned my boat near-sideways to the flow, and in my fight to get the bow back downstream, I didn’t manage to get over to the balcony. Below the jaws of the rapid opened up before me, it was too late. As the river dropped away I used the lip to swing my bow towards the largest breaking wave of the sequence. That brief moment seemed to stretch out in time as the wave loomed above me, and all of a sudden I was engulfed by the water.

But all was not lost. As the wave bared its teeth, I reached out with my right blade and dug it deep within the bowels of the beast, providing enough purchase to launch myself out the other side. I used the squall of waves behind it to fling my bow into an eddy on the left and regain some composure. In the eddy on the right was Leon, having suffered a similar line. We had a quick laugh together before swinging our boats round to crash through the final wave under the bridge and trundle over to the get-out. We were beaming as we walked up to the car park, and Jan later remarked it was some of the best big water paddling he’s done!

Despite the cancellation of the race the weekend had been a massive success. While Jan had taken the win in both the classic and the sprint. Alex Sheppy racked up enough points to win the overall ECA sprint cups series (in MK1), with Freddie bagging the 3rd place. Even better, in the WK1 Kerry, Molly and Emma had taken 1st, 2nd and 3rd overall, a clean sweep for the Brits! Molly and Kerry continued their ECA cup success in WC1, securing 1st and 2nd places overall. And, of course in WC2 the Christie sisters secured yet another 1st, with Iona Partick and Laura Milne hot on their heels in 2nd. Jacob Holmes and Rob Jefferies also managed to secure a 3rd place finish. Meanwhile in the classic, while I had come 2nd to Jan by 1.11 seconds, I had been the first Brit, making me the 2024 MK1 British National Classic Champion. A lovely end to a fantastic year of paddling.

We said our goodbyes, as we left the prize giving at Chain Bridge Hotel. It had been a whirlwind few days but an absolute pleasure showing our friends round (at least a few parts) of our tiny island. In 2025 we will be hosting another two ECA cup races, one in Nottingham and another on the Dee. I for one can’t wait to see everyone for next year’s adventures.

Tyne Tour ’24

There is a beautiful chaos to a mass start. The tension slowly builds as everyone jostles for space and the line is slowly called forward. Then, in an instant, the air explodes with water and the whirl of paddle blades.

The Tyne Tour is one of the highlights of the racing calendar. The mass start is one the primary reasons, but fireworks, fish n chips and of course the infamous Tyne tour cèilidh make this one of the more unique events.

No plans survive the start line, and I rapidly found my dreams of a clean start dashed upon the rocks. In the first few frantic seconds I managed to tuck behind onto Huw’s wash. I thought it’d be a fairly safe position but within moments the swell from the washes uncovered a large rock and I found myself catapulted up into the air. I managed to shuffle off the rock but now I was in the mailstrum furiously fighting to find places for my paddles in the shallows.

You’d be forgiven for thinking the race was lost here, but ahead of me I could spy the front group scrapping so hard they all ended up on the wrong line. I took my chance. Digging deep I cut across the pool at the bottom of the first rapid and snuck around the little island with Kerry in tow. When the channels converged again, we were leading the race.

Of course with 12 odd kilometres still to go things wouldn’t stay like that forever. Soon enough we’d been caught by a group clinging onto Jamie’s & John’s K2.

There’s a small misconception that you have to paddle a Wildwater boat in a Wildwater race, but the truth is you paddle pretty much anything you like. SUPs, Canadian Canoes, Plastic Boats and (if you think you can get it down the course) even K2s!

(Go check races in your area!)

Photos: BW Photos https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100092349242840

We had a valiant effort to stay on the K2 wash but eventually they got away from us in the shallow shingley rapids leaving myself and Leon ahead of the rest of the racers. We continued as a pair until shortly before wardens gorge, when I beached myself on a small rock and Leon got away. I was reeling him in towards the finish but eventually I ran out of river and Leon took a well deserved win in the MK1. Huw and Jacob crossed the line to take 3rd and 4th while Kerry bagged the win in the WK1.

We celebrated that evening with the Tyne tour tradition of fish n chips, fireworks and the cèilidh (where we even got Jamie Christie up for a few dances!).

Sunday of the Tyne tour saw a more conventional Classic time trial, but it also played host to the “unofficial mixed C2 British Championships”. The brainchild of Nicky Cresser, the aim was simple: get as many C2s racing as possible. After the success in Spain, how could I not oblige?

I buddied up for the race with Elsie who’d picked up a Silver and a Bronze at the Junior Europeans this year with her partner Ceira. WIth three medals between us in the boat it had the promise of a star studded combination. However, while success may breed success, past performance is not indicative of future results, and no amount of medals can substitute time in the boat together of which we had none. So we were extremely grateful for the long paddling down to the start line.

Despite this our race went remarkably well. Sure I speared a few rocks so hard I nearly threw myself out the boat a couple of times, but we got the boat running smoothly with a fair chunk of speed. That was until warden’s gorge.

In the gorge we got a little out of shape being pushed from one side to the other, then down the final drop we caught a rock, power flipping us into the river. The swim was short and brief, only complicated by my dead legs, having been kneeling in a C2 for 40 minutes. Tragically I lost a bootie, but we picked ourselves up and finished the race. We didn’t even come last, although we were (unsurprisingly) some way off of the top spots.

1st place went to Kerry and Leon, 2nd to Emma and Nicky and 3rd to Ceira and Crowhurst. It was all smiles at the finish though as we swapped stories of rocks and shoes with the other crews, before we rushed back up to the top to do it all again in K1s.

Dream work makes the team work!

We first came to Sabero three years ago for the 2021 European championships. At the time just making it there had felt like an achievement. Looking back now, it is crazy to see how far we have all come…

I didn’t make the cut this year for Worlds in K1. I wrote a little about it at the time here. It’s a testament to the increasing standards in the UK, but it also sucked. Fortunately there is a tried and tested strategy for failed kayakers: getting in a canoe.

The canoe has been a long overlooked discipline in the UK, at least within Wildwater. But, thanks to a push from Nicky Cresser, it has started to gain some traction, with the women even seeing just a little bit of success! Us men however, had done our utmost to steer clear of the one bladed witchery. But with a swathe of us missing out on the K1 selection this year, the canoe categories were suddenly our last hope for a holiday in the sun.

Queue the world’s most frantic training montage as, in a matter of a few weeks, I went from wobbling and unable to keep a C1 in a straight line, to just about getting the boat to where I wanted it be and finding a modicum of power. Those early weeks in the canoe were a lot of fun as I leapt up the learning curve. And as the second round ‘canoe selection’ event neared I almost felt confident.

What confidence I did have, had been misplaced. While I finished first out of the non-canoe canoe paddlers at the event, I still didn’t meet the minimum time required by the performance criteria. The minimum performance criteria exist to prevent the UK from sending absolute muppets to World Championships, but with mere weeks under my belt in C1, it appeared that I was still a muppet.

Luckily I hadn’t put all my eggs in the same boat. With a little encouragement from Nicky, Freddie and myself had decided to also enter in C2. Here it seemed our inexperience managed to balance itself out on each side of the boat, leaving nothing but power! – or at least that’s what I told myself. Afterall, false hope is better than no hope. Mercifully we were able to put in some solid-ish races and secured our holiday to the World Champs in Sabero, Spain.

My trip to Sabero started in the traditional fashion. A complex string of planes, trains and buses to transport myself from a wedding in the middle of nowhere to a competition in a different middle of nowhere (this time in Spain). The journey time just scraped under the 20 hour mark, most of which was spent attempting to sleep on whatever seat or floor I could find. But as always it was worth it and I arrived at the team accommodation just in time to find everyone tucking in for our favorite dinner: pasta and shite.

The rest of the team had arrived a few days earlier and that evening we settled down to watch some of the GoPro footage they’d taken and revise lines for the classic. Not that I had to remember that much as I’d be in the rear of our C2 staring at the back of Freddie’s head.

The lines were mostly as I remembered; a mix of wave trains and flat swirly pools. The key, as always, was remembering which corners could be cut and by how much while hunting down all the little flow ladders that could carry the boat speed.

Towards the end of the classic and nearing the start of the sprint was one particularly tricky little rapid where the river fell diagonally off a weir-like ledge. It was a chaotic mix of boiling pools and shallow little ladders which led to a heated debate over the fastest line through the mess. Eventually the consensus settled on staying high over the pool and dropping into the choss towards the end of the weir, but Jamie was quick to add “if you find yourself getting sucked off, just go with it”. I’m 90 percent sure he was talking about the weir but there was no way we weren’t going to mercilessly rip that phase out of context! On the plus side, at least everyone would remember that section.

We’d taken three MC2s out to Sabero, a full team, and the first time we’d had a full MC2 team in recent memory. Out of the three MC2 crews Freddie and I were the most inexperienced. Rob and Jacob had paddled (albeit briefly) together at Treignac and had flirted with C2 a few times since then, while Andrew and Phil had put in at least one solid weekend training together at Stanley. Meanwhile Freddie and I had paddled together at selection. Thus our few days of training before the competition were mostly spent learning how to paddle the boat together.

The C2 is an absolute battleship of a boat. They carry a lot of momentum and once the boat starts tracking off line it can be very difficult to correct it. Jamie says there is a dark art to C2 paddling, and he is right. Between the two of you you must be in agreement about where the boat is going, which edges are needed and maintain stroke timing. The best crews do this almost instinctively. Freddie and I were not quite at that level but over our two days training we managed to mostly coordinate our edges, with cries of ‘left’, ‘right’ and ‘up’ to differentiate our edges from wobbles in the tricker sections.

Arguably the biggest challenge was not getting the boat to run but rather the seating position. Whereas in Kayaks you get a nice comfy seat to sit on, in canoes you kneel. As anyone who’s been in a canoe for more than five minutes can attest to, this can be more than just a little uncomfortable. Even with my regular attendance at NKC’s Canoe Thursdays, I’d finish a classic with dead legs unable to walk. Meanwhile Freddie, not used to spending so much time on his knees, was really suffering. In an attempt to relieve some of the pressure on his legs, Freddie attempted to raise his seat a little, but misguided over where he was perched on the seat, he only succeeded in building himself a little ‘ball plinth’. Eventually through plenty of boat time and some strategic yoga we got ourselves into a state where we would at least survive the classic.

Once the final day of training was over it was time for the opening ceremony. As our accommodation was a good 50 minute drive from the river and the ceremony, we’d elected to hang around after our final afternoon training session and enjoy a picnic in the hot Spanish weather. However, someone clearly forgot to inform the weather of our plan. Instead it had decided to piss it down. Fortunately we’re the British Team and while the weather could dampen our sandwiches it couldn’t dampen our spirits! As the other teams arrived we all huddled under what shelter we could find, enduring their many jokes on how we’d brought the rain. Eventually though there was a break in the weather and after a few speeches in Spanish were loosely translated into English the ICF anthem played and we were all off to bed – only slightly soaked.

Race day started leisurely for the C2 crews. We weren’t racing until 14:00 and as such we relished a rare lie in. Made all the sweeter by the fact the K1s and C1s were forced to depart at the crack of dawn. We caught up with the rest of the team over lunch at the finish. Classic day had already yielded some great results, PBs for many of the team and a silver for Kerry. The first British medal at a senior world championships since 2016. The pressure was on for our C2s!

We should take a second to talk about the MC2 class. It is a class that has been dominated by the French and Czechs for as long as anyone can remember. Maybe one day we’ll be able to challenge them again, but for now they are well out of reach, already locking up the first 7 places between them. Making up the rest of the start line was a swiss boat, the Germans, Croatians, Italians and of course the good old US of A. For us the aim of the game here was just to be the best of the rest.

We set off on our run. The previous day Jamie had followed us down carefully coaching our edges which we put into good practice. The course seemed to flow well and we had a rather successful ‘sucking off’ section before dropping into the sprint course and screaming across the finish line.

We crossed the line into 3rd place just behind the other 2 British boats, but inevitably we wouldn’t hold those positions. As the other boats finished, we were steadily bumped down the standing, eventually finishing in 11th, 12th and 13th. Behind the French and Czechs, the Germans had slotted in, tailed by a Spanish and a Swiss crew. It was a reasonable result for three new crews, but excitingly as we counted back up the results list it put us as the 3rd fastest team. Could we scrape a medal in tomorrow’s team race? If we could it would be the first time any of us had stood on a podium. Theoretically the next fastest crew was the Spanish and we had 20 seconds on their slowest boat. It almost seemed too good to be true and yet it was so tantalizingly close.

Of course, the girls had already shown us up, with Kerry and Emma taking the gold in the WC2 race.

Team racing is hard. The first boat across the start line sets the clock ticking and the last boat across the finish stops it. The aim is to use each others washes to help pull everyone along, but anyone who’s tried to wash hang in a river racer will tell you that it’s no easy feat. Trying to do it on the rough is even harder. Trying to wash hang on the rough in a C2 is near impossible.

We left the accommodation early the next day to get in a sneaky practice run for the team race, although we quickly discovered we weren’t the only ones with that idea. We tried a few different combinations for the order and played around with the start a bit finally concludeding that we’d send me and Freddy down first followed by Andrew and Phil with Rob and Jacob taking up the rear. “1%” said Phil, “that’s all you and Freddie need to beat the fastest Spanish crew. 1% faster and we could do it”.

“12 down!” that was the split we got from Nicky at the half way bridge. We’d already been racing hard and it was not the split we wanted to hear. Freddie and I were trying are damnedest to find our 1% and yet we were already 12 seconds down on the fastest boat ahead of us. Freddie and I grit our teeth and tried to dig a little deeper. The other two crews trying to hold on.

With muscles screaming we crossed the finish line. “Segundo para Gran Bretaña”. My Spanish isn’t great but it’s good enough to translate that. 2nd. Not good enough. The French and the Czechs were still on the course and they would inevitably slip into 1st and 2nd bumping us down into 4th and off the podium. Had it been too much to dream that a team of fairly inexperienced C2s could steal a medal at the world champs? Probably.

But upon inspecting the results we realised we couldn’t be too disappointed. We had beaten the Spanish (our main rivals) and we had improved upon mine and Freddie’s time from the previous day. But it was the Germans who snuck into 3rd place. A couple of their boats hadn’t raced the classic yesterday and so they hadn’t factored into our team race calculations. They beat us by a healthy margin too, about 30 seconds. There was experience in their boats and it showed.

Any sorrow was short lived and we patted ourselves on the back, a good result and a job well done. Onto the celebrations Billy Blackman and Jamie had collected Bronze in the over 35 C2 and Billy had won the Over 55 race, to claim his first gold! – Proving there was still hope for us yet. Tina and Mags also bagged some more bling in the senior ladies while Laura, Chloe and Kerry picked up a surprise Bronze in the WC1 team and Kerry collected her Silver from the other day as we baked in the Spanish sun through the prize giving.

We celebrated over dinner. “This is already the most successful world championships I can remember” said Jamie, “and we’ve still got the sprints to go!”. Kerry thanked everyone to a thunderous amount of applause. “These medals, and these results are a team effort. They’re thanks to all pushing each other on all the training camps and early mornings”.

“Ignore the medals, ignore the positions. If you look at the times everyone is closer to the winners than the last time we were here. We are all on a good trajectory” said Nicky. “Success breeds success”.

Success does breed success. But I’d argue the thing that grows and sustains success is a positive and supportive culture. Building this culture within the team might be Nicky and Jamie’s greatest achievement. The day before racing Nicky set a challenge to the team: everyone had to write down an anonymous compliment for everyone else on the team. These were compiled into envelopes and distributed out to everyone. It was a joy reading of my classic ‘prowess’ vs Freddie’s power on the sprint. These messages went a long way for the less confident members of the team and gave everyone a boost before racing.

The sprints didn’t bless us with the gentle start of the previous days. Instead the whole team was up early to sneak in an extra couple of practice runs. Freddie was feeling pretty broken from two days of classic racing so we kept it short and sweet, confident that if we could replicate our lines in the race we’d nab a pretty reasonable time. So we set up camp to cheer on the team and rest up for our race.

As soon as the buzzer went Freddie found an extra gear, leaving me struggling to keep up with the rate. Not looking entirely dissimilar to an epileptic spider we crashed through the first few drops but then in the waves we lost an edge. We managed to prevent the boat from swinging wildly off line but we bled a lot of speed and crossed the line eager to improve.

For the second run I felt more prepared. I now knew Freddie would find a feverish stroke rate and was prepared to match it. We came down the first couple of drops nice and smooth and kept everything together through the waves and swirls. It felt near perfect – at least up until the last bend. We must have gotten the angle ever so slightly wrong down the penultimate drop as we found ourselves careening into the wall. We’d flirted dangerously close a couple of times, but this time we smashed into it at full speed. Freddie doubled over on the impact while I ripped out the straps holding me in place, flying forwards and nearly joining Freddie in the front of the boat!

Obviously this wasn’t the result we were hoping for, it was a disappointing end to our debut in C2, but there was still hope, could we redeem ourselves in the C2 team sprint the following day?

MK1 Team (featuring a ‘mounting’)

We sat on the start line. We’d had a few good practice runs as a team, but executing the plan in the race is always a challenge. After the disappointment of the team classic I don’t think anyone dared dream too big, but then from the top of the course we could here the commentator: “Primero para España”! At that moment my heart skipped a beat. We knew we could beat the Spanish, and after us was only the Czechs and the French. Could we do it could we steal a medal. “No, focus” I thought, “just do the job at hand”.

As soon as the buzzer went it was a blur. We peeled out of the eddy in close formation. Nose to tail we made it through the first drop, then the second. Still together. Shoulders screamed as we tore through the wave train then at the last crux it seemed like we would almost loose it, but we held on. We crossed the line in close succession, Andrew and Phil cutting a heroic line across the finish and into the eddy.

“Primero para Gran Bretaña”. There was a moment of stunned silence as we glanced at each other. We’d done it. A guaranteed 3rd place, our first international medals. The Czechs and French crossed the line into 2nd and 1st, but we were already celebrating. Water was thrown into the air as we were joined in the water hugging and cheering.

What followed was a blur of congratulations, celebrations and at least a couple of beers. It was a struggle fitting everyone onto the podium to but we just about managed it. The celebrations continued on the bus ride back to the accommodation (featuring a rousing rendition of the kings of Leon song – ‘This C2 is on fire’) and well into the night upon our return.

We’d just about recovered by the time we disembarked the ferry back to the UK.

“Anything to declare?”

“Just all these medals!”

It’s now been a short while since we got back, and honestly it’s taken a while to process everything and come down off Cloud 9. As always there was so much I had to leave out, Huw’s 18th, Jacob leaving his paddles on the wrong bus, Lucy’s broken thigh bars, teaching the Estonians to paddle C2 and so much more. These write ups are done so heavily from my point of view but it is incredible to see the progress the whole team has made.

On the ferry home I overheard Jamie chatting to Ciara & Elise, our upcoming Junior C2 boat. He asked them “How good do you want to be?”. Success begets success because it allows you to believe that success is possible. It would seem it is dream work that makes the team work.

Selections 2024

0.1 of a second. Sometimes that is the only thing in it.

I’ll be honest, selections are my least favorite time of year. Once you’re at worlds or whatever you’ve qualified for you’re free. It’s just you and the clock and the best you can muster. Selections are not like this. They’re the first real test of the work you put in over the winter and they are fraught with uncertainty as to whether you’ve done enough to earn a spot on the team this year.

In some sports and disciplines (particularly ones that may or may not go to the olympics) this stress and pressure can break friendships as everyone looks towards the limited team places. But I am grateful that in the UK river racing is not one of those sports.

River racing selection usually follows the same structure every year. There are a series of races (this year 2 sprints and 2 classics). In every race 1st place gets 25, 2nd gets 19, and third gets 14 with points declining exponentially-ish as you go on. You then take your 3 best results, add them up, and the people with the most points get the spots on the team. It does get a little more complicated if there is a tie, and technically the points are calculated separately for each event (e.g. World Champs, World Cups, U23s etc.), but that’s the general gist of it.

For the World Champs there are 4 spots in each category and the points system is designed to ensure the 2 best sprint paddlers and the 2 best classic paddlers get selected. By and large it does this very well by heavily weighing 1st place finishes. In fact a first place, almost guarantees a team spot. Therefore my plan for this year was simple, in order to relieve the stress of selection, I just needed to have a great weekend at the 1st set of races on my home turf in Nottingham. Ironically, the pressure was on.

The Nottingham sprint race would also double as an ECA cup. With music blaring and Ben Oakly on the mic providing commentary, it was a lively atmosphere. Unfortunately though, almost immediately, my plan started falling apart.

I’ve never been a strong sprinter but I’d thought my familiarity with Nottingham might give me a helping hand. It was not to be. Sadly a silly mistake on the first run, and a slow exit from looping pool on my second left me with a disappointing 9th and a measly 2 points. Still a good classic on Sunday could save the weekend.

It was not to be. 7th. A complete disaster. In retrospect, I’m not sure what I’d expected. I’d been pretty ill with a chest infection in the run up to the event and was midway through a course of antibiotics I’d hoped would nuke it hard enough to race. Instead I coughed and sputtered over the finish line to what felt like a crushing defeat. The previous year, I’d smashed this race securing my spot for my target events, and now it looked like I might not even make the world cups. I wandered around prize giving, feeling a bit lost and questioning whether I’d wasted the winter. Fortunately Nicky was there to give me a little pep talk. All was not lost and I could still pull it back at Grandtully.

I left for the long drive up to Scotland Wednesday evening. The plan was to sneak in a couple of days training on the Tay with Jacob prior to the Race at the weekend. I’d be lying if I said the intervening two weeks had been stress free, but the chest infection had (mostly) subsided and a few good training sessions had me feeling stronger and more optimistic about securing a world cup place, at the very least. Jacob had done significantly better at Nottingham, but with two 4th places he was riding the bubble for worlds and both of us needed good results.

My first few laps on Tully were twitchy. They always are, every time I visit. Jacob described it “like the sea”. The Tay is a big river and the waves don’t always seem to form in discernible patterns, appearing almost out of nowhere. Even the flat bits are difficult. On such a wide river, it’s easy to start second guessing yourself as to where the fast current and best lines are. But, after a couple of days of paddling I was beginning to feel at home on the river, and what was more, I was really enjoying myself.

Saturday, sprint day, rolled around and I decided to take this to heart. “You’re here because you enjoy canoeing. Stop stressing, just put down a run I could be proud of”. 7th. Okay, not the best position but I nailed the line on my second run and ended up in the mixer, only 0.51s of 4th, a much better result.

The rest of the day was spent hanging about with friends in the best by the river, joking about the rampant local beaver population (which provided some great strava captions). I had a lovely little catch-up with Vicky over a sociable classic practice lap and in the evening we walked Jacob’s dog, before concocting the classic river racing dish: pasta & shite. All in all, it was just lovely.

Classic Day. 1st. Fueled by pesto, pasta, and anything else we’d found in the cupboards, I managed to glue together everything I’d learnt in the past few days. It’s rare that the stars all align for a race but when it does it feels fantastic. I knew it’d gone well when I crossed the finish line, but it wasn’t until I reached the car park that I got the good news. Instantly the doubts that had been building since Nottingham lifted and I was happy just knowing I could still put a good race down.

The 1st secured me a world cup spot for this year, but sadly it was not quite enough to nab the last MK1 world championship spot. Mags and I did some napkin calculations on the way home and it seems I missed out to Leon by just a measly 2 points. What is truly wild is that in that same classic Leon came 3rd and Freedie came 4th, just 0.01 seconds behind, and 5th was a meger 0.08 behind that. In a 14 minute race! Working out hypothetical points gets complicated fast, but the margins for that last spot are wild. If any of those results had been mixed around, anyone of the three of us could have nabbed the spot.

That’s been indicative of the racing across all of the selection races. I’ve not talked about it here, but the women’s racing has also been extremely close. Going into the events even reigning U23 World Champion Kerry wasn’t sure she’d secure a spot! (She did, she absolutely smashed it. But the other girls had her nervous!)

The full teams for this year have just been announced HERE. Congratulations to everyone who has earned a well deserved spot and commiserations to everyone who has narrowly missed out. While it makes for tough racing it’s great to see the standard of paddling on the rise in the UK and between the ECA cups and other races there are still plenty of opportunities for anyone and everyone to race somewhere sunny and warm this summer. Personally I’m very excited to be headed back to Macedonia and Italy for the world cups!

Finally, in the UK we are making a big effort to push all the wildwater disciplines, not just K1 so there will be a second round of selections soon to fill any missing spots. So perhaps after our ‘success’ at the Euros last year, maybe I’ll try and get to the worlds in C1, or perhaps Freddie and I could make a C2…

River Stench

Kayaks and irreverent misadventures, from in and around the water.

Tag: canoeing