The Storm Gathering

The 3rd Ravenglass Seaquest- kayak orienteering in a Force 5 gale



...What is he doing...? How can he possibly take so long to punch a checkpoint??

I am on the Ravenglass estuary, and what I thought was going to be a fun kayak event has turned into a battle for survival with Mr. Beaufort's friends. As I acquaint myself with no. 5, gusts of no. 7 muscle in, uninvited, it has to be said.

Unable to stay in one place in the raging wind, I mouth the international symbol for 'I can't stay here, I'll meet you beyond the bridge..' but somehow, I don't think Stu has got the message.

I subsequently learn that Stu was not punching a checkpoint, but emptying his boat after a poorly timed dismount.

Beyond the bridge, I have a chance to collect myself after the frenzied race start. The first gusts have ripped the course map off my deck. The camera, optimistically wedged under a bungee, is deluged in water and isn't going to be recording the event for posterity as I'd hoped.

As Stu wades through the windy glue towards me, I see the next checkpoint in the distance. One half of a double kayak pair has got out onto a grassy bank, but then disappears completely down a hole on the other side. It's a fascinating aspect of estuary orienteering that the checkpoints might be on land one minute, seaborne the next.

Trying to turn the kayak in these conditions requires skill and strength (both of which are lacking) and I stove the bow of my boat into a muddy bank. Stu and I are doing well, speedwise, after our trip to the Aeolian islands. But I'm breathing as hard as I would in a fell race.

The calm before the storm: paddlers large and small

As the estuary opens back out towards its mouth, the wind's fetch is allowed a free rein, and I just can't keep on course. The boat weathercocks wildly and no amount of heaving on my part will make a jot of difference. I resign myself to being shunted unceremoniously several hundred yards to the opposite bank. It's gusting Force 7 now, I subsequently learn.

The gale is picking up steadily, and a spirited pair in a banana yellow double sit-on-top kayak pass by, oblivious to the raging storm.

Back at the village over a well earned pint of Timothy Taylor's Landlord, the pub is crowded with bright red, salt-encrusted, beaming kayakers. We've come second in the mixed pairs, behind the couple in the banana yellow sit on top. An event to remember, to savour for all it's hardships and tribulations.

And you know what? As we sit there in the pub, the wind drops away to nothing. The sea is blue again, and not battleship-coloured. Isn't that just always the way...?

Must be the wreckage of a previous Seaquest...