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.

Third time’s a charm: Mezzana 2025 European Championships

Last year the River Noce was high. And I mean really high. In the UK we don’t get that much steep big water. It’s a different style of paddling from what we are used to but what shocked me most was the sheer power behind the water. Not half way through the classic race and my forearms were so pumped that gipping my paddles was a challenge and pulling them back against the heavy water was near impossible. So, when it was announced that the river Noce would host the 2025 European championships I knew I had to do one thing: Get strong.

This blog has a tendency to get a little sparse over the winter months. That’s not because I’m not paddling, far from it in fact. The UK Wildwater calendar is at its busiest over the wet season, but its also the time of year where I tuck myself away and focus on training for the biggest events of the year.

I’m a paddler at heart. I enjoy being out on the water more than anything else, even through the tough winter months. But paddling isn’t always the best way to get stronger so this winter I beat a retreat to the warm sanctuary of the gym. That’s not to say that I did no paddling (I still paddled nearly once every day), but rather I shifted the focus to lifting up big heavy things in the hope it’d help with the big alpine water. The gym is less fun than paddling but Tamsyn McConchie, my bestest gym buddy, was on hand to keep the fun, motivation and discipline alive.

But winter wasn’t all about getting “swole”. For every one part of fitness, racing requires another 2 parts of skill. From my marathon days, I’ve always been reasonably good on the flat, but (and despite all my plastic boating) translating that onto whitewater has always been a bit of a challenge. The answer to that is simple though, more boat time! And not just more boat time, but maximising the time spent on the rough.

We were fortunate with the rain this year and scored a massive high water day on the Dee, and another on the Dart. Comically on the Dart, the water didn’t come until we’d finished racing. But we hung around and ran laps and laps and laps until the light faded and our bodies couldn’t take another run. It was a very good day!

Over the winter it seemed nearly every weekend was spent paddling a different river, and when we weren’t away I’d be on our local whitewater course at HPP. As spring dawned and we regained some light in the evenings, resistance sessions dropped off the plan to give way to Dalek Mondays – A sessions featuring attainments and sprints down the bottom “Daleks” section of HPP. I could already feel the benefits of the time spent in the gym with an ability to grip the water like never before.

By the time selections rolled around I was feeling reasonably confident. Once again it was the now familiar trip up to Grandtully. The result: A decent enough classic (3rd) but 5th in the sprint – probably my best ever sprint result. Combined they were enough to book my ticket to the European Championships.

On the evening of the 30th of May and elite strike group departed the UK. Said strike group was comprised of Myself, Freddie Brown as well as Kerry and Emma Christie – basically everyone who’d raced the previous year and understood just how challenging the river could be.

When we arrived in Mezzana we were met with a very different river to the one we had left behind the previous year. The high water (or potentially some diggers) had moved around some of the larger rocks on the river bed, changing some of the racing lines, most dramatically on the sprint course.

The other noticeable difference was the river levels which were dramatically lower than the year previous. High water is a relatively rare occurrence, but the extent of the difference came as a surprise, with the Noce being transformed into a rock dodging obstacle course.

We set about figuring out the lines and adjusting to the fast flowing water. The slightly lower level suited us. The water was still a lot heavier than anything in the UK but it wasn’t too much of leap. That said the level was far from static, often rising and falling over 10cm between laps. Fortunately this changed the character of the river more that it did the lines but after a week of paddling on the Noce we were starting to feel happy with it at any level.

One thing that was harder to adapt to was the altitude. Mezzana sits at nearly 1000m. While that’s not an extreme altitude in and of itself, it is almost 1000m higher than Nottingham, and it really showed whenever we tried to pull hard. Through adrenaline and altitude, I seemed to screech up to my maximum HR on nearly every session, and it took a fair bit of focus to pull it under control.

By the time the second half of the team arrived we’d just about got everything figured out – and then the heavens opened and the river began to rise. Once again we found the character of the Noce shifting and changing. There were no major changes to lines, but as waves steepened and stoppers flushed out we could take on a little bit more this or afford to be a little less left of that. But slowly the paddling shifted from the familiar rock gardens to big volume and high power water.

By the time classic day arrived the river had risen to 0.85m and we got a familiar message from the race organisers: The water was too high for the sprint course and the classic would now finish at the bridge above it, rather than the bottom of the sprint course. It was a mixed feeling around the British team – the sprint is a brilliant section of water and we all wanted to race it, but given how heavy the classic felt already, we’d probably wouldn’t miss it all that much.

Unfortunately my classic didn’t quite go to plan. It started strong-ish (once I got off the awkward starting raft). It seemed as if all the strength work had paid off, at least it did until I got to about the half way point. All of a sudden the wheels feel off. As I struggled within the waves I made a few surprise line decisions with empty arms carrying me to previously unexplored areas of the river. The result: 31st. Not great, not terrible. Possibly still not strong enough.

Following a strange schedule, Thursday, the second day of the competition would hold both the team sprint and team classic races. This left us with an interesting problem as we normally decide the members for the team run based off of our individual results. We could follow the normal approach for the team classic, but we wouldn’t be doing our individual sprint runs until Friday. After some “discussion” we concluded that the best way to decide the team would be to hold our own little time trial.

The river had dropped slightly following the classic and our contacts on the inside said, we’d likely be back on the sprint course proper for the team racing. So, after a brief lunch break, we returned to the top of the sprint for our time trial. The rules were simple: Best of two runs, fastest 3 paddlers would be in the sprint team.

My first run went a little askew. A raft was out training and nearly pulled out in front of me. Collision narrowly avoided, I brought the run home into 4th, less than half a second behind Alex, but still in 4th place. Safe for now, Alex, Freddie and Huw waited for me to do my second run. Pressure on, but raft no longer a factor, I pulled as hard as I could muster and shaved more than a second off my time. I was now sat in 2nd, just behind Huw and it was Alex and Freddie in the hot seat. Unfortunately for me both Alex and Freddie managed to improve their times, landing me back down in 4th. But the racing was close with less than 0.03s between Alex and myself. Next to nothing on hand timing, but the result is the result and I conceded the place in the team race. Still the race practice was invaluable and we all felt fired up for the races the following day.

The Thursday kicked off with the sprint team race, which can only be described as carnage. With minimal practice on the proper sprint course even the top teams were struggling. The mix of white water and washes always makes team racing difficult, and Mezzana is an extremely difficult course. Across the board there were some ‘creative’ lines as paddlers found themselves carried offline to undesirable locations. Unfortunately both the British women’s and men’s teams suffered spin outs. At one point Alex and Huw found themselves virtually on top of each other, leading to Huw spinning out just before the finish, inevitably leading to a DSQ, as the 3 teammates failed to finish within 15 seconds of each other.

It was a disappointing result but it lit a fire under us for the team classic that afternoon. We picked our running order from the classic times. Freddie would lead, I’d follow and Huw would bring up the rear, hopefully being able to use his burn to close any gaps at the end. The plan worked a charm, off the start I stuck to Freddie like a magnet. Following him down was like a master class in big water boating, and down the bigger bit he acted like my own personal Mosses, parting the waves for me. However after the half way point again I started to faulter, and instead of remaining on Freddie’s wash I started acting like a bungee as I fell off and then had to fight to get back. Everything came to a bit of a head down the gorge where I missed Freddie’s lunge to the right and I ended up stuck on the wrong side down the left. The mistake put several boat lengths between us, meanwhile Huw had gotten lost further back. We had to ease of the gas a little to regroup as we headed down towards the sprint course that made up the final leg of the classic.

The lesson from the morning was clear, leave each other room, but not too much room down this difficult section. At this point I was blowing steam out of my ears as I attempted not to let Freddie pull too far ahead, but we managed it. As we crossed the finish line my forearms were so blown I briefly lost hold of my paddles, but Huw closed the gap on the line and I managed to pull myself back together narrowly avoiding a little dip in the river. We came in 8th place, very respectable and a big improvement over the morning.

Unfortunately my detour down the left hand side of the gorge had put a not insubstantial hole in my race boat. This left a slightly bitter taste in my mouth as I realised I’d be spending a slightly stressful evening doing boat repairs. Last minute boat repairs are part and parcel of a river racing trip. Over the course of the week I was far from the only one with the angle grinder out – Phil and Andrew had to improvise a new skeg one evening after the river claimed the original one from their C2.

My hole, was in the tail, which is an infamously difficult area repair as the boat geometry gets all funky and you can no longer use square patches. Fortunately I’d spent the trip spectating Freddie, our resident composites experts on all of his repairs and, after a brief consultation, I set about my work. The rest of the team departed for the classic/team prize giving (Kerry and Emma picked up a silver the the WC2) but by the time they returned I had finished one of the cleanest repairs I’ve ever done – although it did turn out to still leak a little so I had to redo it once I got home!

Kerry and Emma collect their C2 classic bronze

I’m not sure if I slept much that night before the sprint heats but it didn’t matter because the mood down at the sprint course was electric. The Mezzana Sprint course is difficult. But that difficulty brings an air of possibility. Mistakes are costly, but anyone could make one, and that means opportunities for all.

Simon Oven of Slovenia, and winner of the MK1 classic, demonstrated this best during his first sprint run. One small mistake dramatically pinned him up against ‘Freddie’s Rock’ to an audible gasp from the onlooking crowd. Fortunately, he managed to work his way off and rectified the mistake in his 2nd run

Somehow, amongst the chaos of the sprint course I managed to put down two pretty solid runs of 1’00.41 and 1’01.30. Still a way off the finals but it did land me with another 31st place (there must be something special about that position) but 3rd Brit, quite the achievement for a classic specialist.

The big dogs above must have been very impressed, as after my 2nd run I was invited to do commentary for the remainder of the runs. With Jamie Christie as my partner in auditory crime, we attempted to spice up the live stream with all our insider knowledge on which waves contained the hardest rocks. Of course we promptly gave the commentators curse to nearly anyone we complemented. Our friend Jan Sindelar, was maybe the hardest done by the curse. Jamie had been praising his clean paddling style just before he got dumped into a hole. Although Luca Barone came a close second with my compliments on his sprinting pushing him into every rock on the course. We may have also called Tjaš Til Kupsch ‘the smallest of the Slovenians’, a comment he called me up on while towering over me at the after party. Strangely they didn’t ask us to do commentary for the finals…

The rest of the British team posted some strong times but not quite strong enough to make the finals, with both Freddie and Huw missing it by the skin of their teeth. Only the C2s ended up qualifying for the last day of the competition, a slightly disappointing end to an otherwise fantastic trip.

Except for it wasn’t the end. Just because the racing stops, doesn’t mean the fun does! The 1993 world championship course has become the stuff of legend. Starting further down the Noce than the current course, it is bigger steeper and even less forgiving. We’d run it a couple of years back much to the envy of some of the other teams, and with no racing for everyone except the C2s we began eyeing it up again.

Over a couple of end of competition beers messages were sent out to rally the troops, most notable to Sasha from Czechia who’d dubbed us the crazy Brits when she spotted us paddling the section last time – high praise from the crazy Czech!

The next morning, after a little bit of miscommunication, we gathered at the start of the 93′ Classic course. The river was looking higher than the last time we’d paddled it putting a few people off. But we still had a tough little troop of myself, Jamie Christie, Freya Pryce and Sasha soon-to-be-Biscuit. As we’d been waiting for Sasha to arrive I’d found a massive hole in the bottom of my practice boat and was desperately duct-taping it to try and plug the leak, but as we put on it seemed like it may just hold.

The 93′ Classic starts innocuously enough. A few fun rapids but nothing too much to write home about. Then you come to a weir. Its’s an awkward drop but there is a clean-ish line to be found on the left. After the weir the bimbley rapids continue for a short while, lulling you into a false sense of security. But then by a bridge the river just drops away. The gradient increases, the waves tower above your head, and it doesn’t stop. No flat bits to recollect yourself, no pauses to catch your breath, just rapid after rapid after rapid.

Jamie led the group down with Freya and Sasha following in tow, while I formed the rear guard. That was until Jamie over cooked it on one of the turns and span out, leaving Freya, a relatively green paddler to find her own way down one of the steepest sections. Fortunately Sasha managed to find a sneaky overtake amongst the waves and holes to come to the rescue. Jamie, made it back out into the flow behind me, and we kept this order skirting past holes big enough to clean my arm pits all the way to the get out.

The mood at the end was ecstatic, with grins stretched across everyone’s faces. Sasha proclaimed it was the best river she’d ever paddled, and it was even better than… – well I won’t say. It had been difficult but we’d all survived in one piece and a new found respect for the paddlers of old.

We returned to the sprint course to cheer on our C2s and then it was time to pack our bags. It was hard not too feel a little sad as we prepared to depart. 2 weeks had flown by and I didn’t feel ready to leave the mountains behind. We started saying our fond farewells at prize giving, comparing stories of lines gone wrong, catching flack for some of my commentating and boasting of our run down the 93′ classic course. There were some beers, a band and some dancing. Then a long walk home, before the long drive back to the UK.

At some point someone said some kind-ish words to me: “It is so good to see you all trying so hard. You’re still not very good, but you are improving and improving. You always come from so far a way, with so much enthusiasm and it is an inspiration to all of the other small nations.”

I think he meant the bit about being us being shit in a good way? But overall the sentiment seemed positive. Mezzana is perhaps my favourite place to race, and while it’s not currently on the calendar for next year, I’m crossing my fingers that there may be a last minute addition. Maybe even on the 93′ course…

British Wildwater Selections (3/3)

Hello and welcome back to the final installment of drive to survive’s significantly less cool cousin: Canoe to do [yet more canoeing but this time at an international]? The name is a work in progress…

Part 3 was supposed to take place on the Trywern, a terrific but technical river. However this was not to be as the water companies neglected to release any water from their dam. Sometimes it’s hard not to feel jealous of the French paddlers and their amicable relationship with EDF. Could you imagine a British water company not just willing to coordinate dam releases for sensible times but also wanting to sponsor events and athletes. What a fanciful thought. Still we can’t be bitter, it’s not like they are regularly dumping shit into the river. Oh wait…

So instead of the might T, we found ourselves on the slightly less mighty Dee. The Dee is still a lovely river. The main rapid, serpent’s tail offers up an experience similar to that of being fired out of a gun down the death star trench. The boils down the bottom combined with a helpfully overhanging rock pesent an exciting little challenge at speed that often leaves you second guessing your line right up to the point where you make it through (or don’t).

This final selection event would be the decider for the World Cup events. For the World Cup all our points from all the previous selection events would also be counted. WIth a couple of good results in the bag and 6 spots to play for I found myself going into this final even in a relatively safe position, bar some sort of major disaster. Thus, it seems inevitable that just before racing started I kicked my footrest out.

With the river being low, most of the lines revolved around successfully dodging rocks, and on one of my Serpent’s sprint practice run I was slightly less successful than I’d previously been. Applying a touch more speed than on the previous run I was dismayed to discover that the pillow wave I’d normally ride was a lot less pillow-y and a lot more rocky than I’d thought. Fortunately, I was paddling my old ‘bash boat’ but the ensuing collision was forcefully enough to remove some of my beautiful repair work from the bow and send me flying through my previous attached footrest.

Being the clever boy I am, I’d forseen this sort of complication and had brought my repair kit. Unfortunately, there was no way I’d be able to resin the footrest back in before racing started. Cut to me, scrambling around the car park for a screw that I could hammer through the side of my boat to provide a rapid but temporary fix. I was in luck (thank you Ian) and with some brute force to reset the fractured footrest and a little bit of trial and error on the screw positioning I once again had a footrest. And it only creaked a little!

First runs were at 4pm, a late start to racing, taking full advantage of the longer spring evenings. My sprint runs were nothing to write home about. I achieved a 7th place finish. However, I was happy to find some time on my second run and even more pleased that my footrest held.

A traditional post-sprint classic practice lap and subsequent paddle back up the canal put the day’s mileage up to around 20km. Not bad for a sprint day! We retreated to a nearby campsite to eat our body weight in burgers and chips before spending the evening on another classic canoeing activity: lying on the floor and groaning.

Normally I like to follow up a naff sprint result with solid classic performance, but sadly I only managed a 6th on Sunday. Blame it on a bug or not having paddled my bash boat enough recently. Either way it was a bit of dud to end on.

Still 6th was enough and I’m delighted to say that I’ve made the Senior World Cup team alongside the Senior European Championship team. It’s barely two weeks now before we jet off for Skopje so while this is the end of the selection series, it’s just the start of this season’s racing!

Offical team anouncement

Photos by Dave Singleton

British Wildwater Selections 2023 (2/3)

“But do you know what you did well?”

“Yeah, I pulled hard and took smart lines”, I replied.

“And how is that different from what you did yesterday?”

The past weekend saw part 2 of the British Wildwater Selection Series. This event would be finalising the team for the Senior Sprint Worlds Championships in Augsburg along with the Junior/U23 teams and contribute towards the selections for the World Cup Series. Oh, and the Sprints were also this year’s British Sprint championships.

Having secured a place on the Senior European Championships team last weekend (YAY!) at least some of the pressure had been lifted and I was relieved that this event was happening at my local spot Nottingham and not another 6 hour drive away. The event followed the same pattern as before, with sprints on Saturday (this time in the evening) and Classic early-ish on the Sunday.

You’d imagine that racing on my home ground (or water) would confer a sizable advantage, however thanks to a small access ‘predicament’ we’d only managed to get on the white water course in wildwater boats a couple of times in the last year. This meant, with additional course configuration changes, everyone found themselves on an equal footing. As such I spent the entire hour of our allotted practice time squeezing in as many practice runs as I could, trying to get to grips with the complex boils and eddy lines that define the Holme Pierrepont course.

Some nice photos from the weekend + my “slightly too close to the groyne face”

Between these practice runs, warm ups and the race runs I manage to rack up an impressive 10km of paddling/walking back up on the Saturday afternoon. Some people would argue that this was maybe not the best sprint preparation. Those people would probably say that you should rest between practice and racing. Those people are probably right, but this was all part of my gamble to get as much time on the course before the Sunday’s Classic (my main target) and because I figured there was a greater danger of haemorrhaging time with a bad line, than there was time to gain from being able to pull slightly harder.

Did this plan pay off? In short, no but also possibly yes? My first sprint run was very clean, however I managed to guff the start which cost me vital seconds. My second run had a much better start but I had to scrub off some speed to avoid piling into a groyne, which screwed up the next bit of the line and also cost me vital seconds. Somehow both runs ended up being roughly the same time. I did manage to slightly improve my position when compared to the previous weekend, and it was a good learning experience, but one that has probably cost the selection for the World Champs this year.

Okay, disappointing. But did the plan pay off for the main target, Sunday’s classic? Well this is where the ‘proverbial’ boat gets lodged across the entrance to the white water course.

Somthing somthing, shit creek

This was somewhat suboptimal. With an entire flock of fire engines descending on the scene and few other options, the decision was made that we would be racing on the flat. While this will probably go down as the worst classic course in wildwater history, after my disappointing sprints and a 2nd place the previous weekend I felt like I had a point to prove.

There is arguably one positive of not having anything substantial at the end of the Classic: there is no need to worry about leaving anything in the tank for trivial tasks like controlling the boat. You just pull as hard as you can, safe in the knowledge that if you can see when you cross the finish line you’ve done a bad job. I’m happy to say that I did a very good job and once my vision returned I was rewarded with a 1st place, an Easter Egg and 25 points towards my World Cup bid. A strong finish to a good weekend, but with lots of lessons to learn. (Thanks to Orange for the debrief.)

A selection of atheletes and Easter eggs

While I haven’t done the maths, I’m reasonably confident I’ve missed the selection for Worlds. On reflection I’m in two minds about this. I have a somewhat complex history with Augsburg, a course which was largely responsible for this blog’s hiatus. It would have been a great story to return after everything and enact my revenge, but I’m not a great sprinter and I prefer classic racing. With limited annual leave and money I’d still probably choose Euros and World cups over a purely sprint event. Still, it’s always nice to have the choice.

It’s a slightly weird world in which you compete against your friends to see who gets to go on a ‘holiday’. What often gets left out of these posts are the pre-race board games, chaotic cooking of saturday night dinners and the pungent ‘naughty kids on a sleepover’ vibes that we exude anytime we go anywhere. I’m very excited for Euros. I have never been to North Macedonia before and it looks like we’re going to have a cracking team for it.

Shortly before that we’ll be having the third and final selection race to decide World Cups. With a 1st and a 2nd, I wouldn’t say my selection for in the bag, but it’s definitely bag adjacent. That said it’s not over till its over and racing on the Tryweren can be spicy! (If by spicy you mean, full of rocks!)

Full results at https://www.wildwater.org.uk/

Photos thanks to the Singletons

British Wildwater Selections 2023 (1/3)

Like all good things (and small intestines) this year’s wildwater selections comes in three parts. The first of which was just held this weekend up at Grandtully.

Scenically situated along the river Tay, the Grandtully slalom site is just a little bit too far from almost everywhere in the UK. Nevertheless it is here that the frigid Scottish waters tumble down the valley to form a rare thing in the UK: a whitewater river with barely any rocks! (The exception being the one rather large rock). And it is here that the first third of the 2023 British Wildwater selection races took place.

The startline and Jacob in his camouflage whopper

The selection policy is (almost) simple. There are three selection events, each with a sprint and a longer distance classic race. There are 3 international events, but not all with a classic. For each race you are awarded points for your position, 1st gets 25, 2nd gets 19, and third gets 14 with points declining exponentially-ish as you go on. All the points get added up and the best 4 paddlers for each category (MK1, WK1, MC1, …) are selected. However not all selection races count towards all the international races, and for the world cups 6 people can go. With this in mind I believe the best tactic for selections is to just try as hard as you can in everything and then work out which trips you can afford to go on later.

The weekend at Tully followed a familiar format, sprints on Saturday (best of 2 runs) and the Classic on Sunday. I traveled up the Tully Thursday evening to get in some sneaky practice on the Friday, letting Scotland put the ‘remote’ into ‘remote working’. I’d brought with me the new boat, which looks very dashing and is significantly less leaky than my old one. Jealous eyes declared it the ‘spiderman boat’ or ‘naff captain america’. Either way you’ll now hear me shouting ‘Avengers Assemble!’ whenever our team run formation starts falling apart.

Unfortunately my beautiful Sicario had only arrived in the UK two weeks prior, thanks to a shipping headache created by the “B-that-must-not-be-named”. This led to a fairly manic week of trying to outfit the boat while it dominated my small flat. Fortunately, my panic prevailed and I more or less managed to fit the footrest and knee foam in time for at least a couple of sessions on the flat before I departed for Scotland.

Above, the new boat takes over my flat. (Cardboard was used for templating the footest and was not the final product!)

However, this did mean that the Friday in Scotland was the first day I actually paddled the boat on ‘the rough’. Coincidentally this was also when I discovered that I hadn’t quite gotten everything to how I wanted it. Thus, despite some Friday fiddling, I found myself duct-taping additional foam hip pads into the boat with less than 20 minutes before my first sprint run. This is definitely not the best race prep I’ve ever done, yet it somehow wasn’t the worst or most chaotic pre-race I’ve had.

Unfortunately even with my last minute additions, my sprint results were a little disappointing. This wasn’t all too surprising given I was (or am) still getting used to the handling of the new boat and while I managed to mostly put the boat where I wanted it, I was struggling to find the power throughout the run. Still while it stung to be so far off the pace, I’m sure this will come with some time. Plus, Sunday was the classic, and classics are my jam.

We awoke Sunday fueled with a lovingly cooked family meal and fearful of forecasts of snow and sub-zero temperatures. Daylight savings had cruelly robbed us of an hour of precious sleep, but being as knackered as we were we’d mostly passed out around 9pm anyway. As we loaded kit into cars the weather was not nearly as frightful as forecast, but Scotland by and large had not received the notification that it was now officially Spring. This led to some debate on the shuttle as to what to wear for the race and emboldened by anything above 2⁰C I opted for a shorty kag. Mostly, hoping that the threat of hypothermia would encourage me to get to the finish just that little bit quicker.

Phtotos from the weekends’ racing

I like classic racing. The longer distance just gives me a bit of time to settle into the race and I can focus on just getting the boat running well. That said I definitely spent the first few minutes of this race cursing Alex as his prophesied tail wind manifested itself as biting head wind, freezing hands and sucking all the speed from the boat. But once I’d dropped further into the rapids I found my ‘happy’ place and began to feel comfortably at home in the new boat. This all seemed to pay off and having navigated the main Tully rapid with an appropriate amount of “face melt” I crossed the line to claim a 2nd place and the 19 points it brings. Hopefully this should be enough to get me to Euros…

Arguably more important than my position was that with a time of 14:31.69 I’d beaten Kerry. This has become a bit of a running joke amongst the senior men but having beaten all the boys at the last couple of events she’s actually a real threat (and a lovely training partner). Honestly, I’m not quite comfortable with my 10s margin on a 14 minute race!

Selections part 2 of 3 comes this weekend at Nottingham’s own HPP, which will be the decider for the Senior, U23 and Junior worlds. Tune in to the next blog post for a slightly delayed recap of events!

Photos by the lovely Dave Singleton

Full Results on https://www.wildwater.org.uk/

Btches be Btchen

It was 5am when we crawled out of our tents. We’d arrived at 11:30 the night before and did not have nearly enough sleep. Regardless, we clambered down below the lifeboat station with our boats. As we put on our decks the sky had begun to glow but the sun had not yet seen fit to emerge above the horizon.

I have a little bucket list for canoeing, and for as long as the list has existed the Bitches has been near the top. For those not in the know, the Bitches is a tidal rapid that forms between the most south west tip of Wales and Ramsey Island. Named by old-timey sailors who swore like old-timey sailors, the Bitches is a formidable stretch of water and has been the ruin of many craft over the years. But, for plucky kayaks the waves formed on this rapid offer some of the best surfing in the UK.

Tidal rapids are something special. They seemingly spawn from nowhere as the moon and sun literally align to haul oceans over otherwise unavailing rocks, and where once sat quiet and calm water emerges a beast foaming at the mouth.

That metaphor may be a slight hyperbole, but fortunately like their werewolf brethren, tidal rapids follow the lunar cycle making them pleasantly predictable (unlike the rest of the UK’s rain fed rivers). Unfortunately today’s ‘pleasant prediction’ was that the bitches would be running around 6am-ish. Thus we found ourselves taking our first paddle strokes somewhat unsure as to whether we were the early birds or the worms.

From the get on its roughly a 3km paddle up the coast and across the Channel to the Bitches. This is best done while the water is still fairly slack and it can still be a bit of a slog, particularly in short boats. The paddle adds a small level of jeopardy as it’s impossible to know the form of the feature until you get there. This elevates the Bitches a mere park and play into a propper adventure.

We passed snoozing seals and hugged the coast, eddy hopping up the sea as the tide started to move like a great lumbering freight train beginning to depart the station. Across the channel we could begin to see the white caps around the black needle like rocks that form the Bitches, and so we left the comfort of the mainland and departed into the nearly 1 kilometer ferry.

And it really is a ferry glide. As soon as you pull out into the channel it becomes apparent how fast the water is already moving. It is here that you may start to understand just how exposed you are, floating in a tiny boat in an ambivalent ocean. But stomach that feeling for now, keep paddling and eventually you’ll find yourself in the large swirling eddies below the rapids. It will all be worth it.

I don’t really know what to say about the surfing. You know, it’s kind of the main event, the reason you’d go. If a bunch of white water paddlers are willing to subject themselves to well in excess of 10 paddle strokes to get anywhere it’s got to be pretty bloody good. And do you know what? The Bitches is really bloody good.

I think Jack’s photos speak louder than any words I could muster. We had hours of gorgeous soul surfing on beautiful glassy waves.

It really is the land of the long boats and I had a great time ripping around in my RPM, hoping over the central shoulder, to crash down in the curler on the far side. Some slightly more competent freestyle paddlers (looking at you Harry & Jack) were even able to pull off some blunts in their long-boats and the slalom boats could tear up even harder than my old plastic with their added speed. But, above all else I was probably most jealous of the surf kayaks.

Curious and reclusive beasts not often spotted in the UK, this was truly their natural habitat. Their flat bottoms, and knife sharp edges seemed to offer an unparalleled amount of fun on the fast green wave, even if it does take an unparalleled amount of concentration to avoid being power flipped into oblivion.

But fear not there are spots for short stumpy boats too, and portaging over one of the rocky outcrops means you’ll always be able to make the wave even if your boat or your biceps are not fast enough to ferry onto the main wave. There are also other features and waves to be found along ridges of rocks. These include, but are not limited to a curling wave that had a tendency to randomly swallow people and one that Harry Price described as ‘interesting’. So, make your own decisions on that one.

The main wave was by far the friendliest although, off the back of it the sea could be a little ‘‘munchy’. I definitely scored one or two mystery moves, and another member of our group actually suffered a deck implosion, so maybe remember those air bags. This was probably the first time most of us had ever had to use an x-rescue in anger. But not me, I was too busy eating sandwiches on a rock.

I’m also reliably told that a little bit of swell makes everything a little spicier and complicates the eddy access, as everything surges up and down several feet. It also increases the likelihood and size of the ‘way-home-whirlpools’, but more on that later.

*Harry proving he can paddle short boats anywhere and “Mr Teapot” about to get swallowed.*

Once everyone is knackered and the fun is over and done with, your paddle is not over and done with. While the paddle out is a sedate slog, the paddle back is certainly spicier. The route back to St. David’s lifeboat Station looks simple, but by now the tide is pumping even faster than before and will do everything in its power to flush you out into the Irish Sea or drag you towards some inconspicuous looking white caps.

It was just as we were considering these two fates that a certain Mr Teapot mentioned the way home ‘way-home-whirlpools’. “Way-home-whirlpools?”, I answered. “I hate whirlpools” replied jack”. And just like that all three of us were headed round in a big circle as a ‘way-home-whirlpool’ opened beneath us, threatening to suck us all in. These delightful features can form as you pull out of the relative calm behind the bitches into the main current and are certainly something to keep an eye out for. I have long been a believer that swans make the best sprint coaches, but they come second only to large whirlpool spouts that are already grasping at your tail.

Having survived our little ordeal, our attention was drawn back to the whitecaps. In actual fact these are far from inconspicuous and once in the current they barrel up faster than anticipated. As you rapidly draw closer you might make out a suspicious horizon line in the middle of the sea. This is Horse Rock, a series of underwater stacks in the middle of the current that form far less friendly whirlpools big enough to sink actual boats, let alone kayaks. Going through this is not recommended.

Thus there are 2 options. Option 1, a mad ferry above horse rock where you’ll be convinced you’re about to be flushed into it regardless. Or option 2, a mad ferry below the whirlpools where you’ll be convinced you’re about to be flushed out to sea. Personally, having now flirted with both options, I’m an option 2 man. I think the lifeboat will do a much better job of rescuing me if I’ve not been pre-drowned by Horse Rock. Plus, I’ve been meaning to visit Ireland some time regardless.

With only a few brief moments of panic we made it back to the lifeboat station, and clambered back up the steep steps. With the early start we were off the water by 8:30am. Just in time to grab Breakfast in St. Davids and spend the day doing whatever it is normal people do at the beach. Later we bag the evening tide and then a slightly more sociable 7am session the following morning.

With all the hazards and a veritable sea of consequence the Bitches is a highly recommended trip, but only for seasoned paddlers. There are local boat tours of the rapids and wildlife if you want to see the spectacle. If you pick a good tide, you may even see some paddlers out for a play. Or perhaps myself as I will definitely be back.

Thanks to everyone who made this trip.

Side Note: If traveling down from the north be sure to swing by Gloucester Services for what can only be described as an enlightening experience.

River Stench

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

Tag: rapid