The Whitewater Swim Team of the Ribble Canoe Club conquer the Tri… Trew… Tra… a big river somewhere in Wales.
It was an early morning in October when President Stig, Burgerboy and some serious Ribble type coach guy called Clive set off for the big, huge, Welsh river. There was a slight delay because Clive who emailed us his address for pick-up, forgot to give us his house number so at 5.45am we were looking in people’s windows and whispering through letter boxes, “Pssssssst Clive are you in there?”
Eventually we spied him through the window, sat in his Y fronts eating his chucky egg and soldiers. He then refused to leave until he had eaten his 3 Weetabix and put on his lucky socks - a sign of big things to come!
Anyway, off we set through the fog and into the valleys, we wandered around for 2 hours before we discovered we were at Lluckinglost, somewhere near the Shitweryn Wales. A further ½ hour later and we found our way and arrived at the Welsh National Whitewater Centre.
Before I continue I should give you some background to our adventure. It all began with the new E.E.C. directive about river mapping, geological density surveys and reducing water qualities which were beginning to threaten the existence of the endangered Welsh leek.
Anyway the cost of said surveys fell to the Welsh Canoe Association, who upon investigation found the projected costs to be in the £300,000 bracket for the big, huge Welsh river. Obviously they found this to be unachievable but luckily they were directed by the BCU who asked for Whitewater Swim Team consultants; Stig and Burger Boy to take a ganders at it.
I’m getting boring and anorakky-scientific now, but not many people are currently aware of our Swim Team Environmental Projects (We’ve just recently returned from an emergency aid expedition in the North Pole, where due to global warming Norman of the North’s house was beginning to melt and his whale meat supplies were beginning to curdle – without thought for our own safety, we air-lifted him a freezer and cut the arms off all his parkas to prevent sun stroke). The Stig has just emailed me – stop picking on Norman!
Anyway I’m drifting off again……We arrived at the centre and met several other swimmers from canoe clubs around the UK, who spoke of grade 2’s, 3’s and 4’s, as I never got any GCSE’s I stayed out of that conversation. Some of them wore full face Darth Vader helmets and kept saying awesome, mega, eddys and hello to someone call draulics. I don’t know much about this canoeing lark so I kept me mouth shut and occasionally rubbed me chin, saying mmmmmmm and nodding me head. I think they fell for it.
We then met our level 5 river god type coaches who asked us to introduce ourselves. Everyone had vast experience of being a coach, I’ve only really had experience of buses so I said nowt and rubbed me chin again, mmmm.
Eventually everyone introduced themselves with the exception of myself and Stig……………. then the Stig began – “I’ve mainly got experience of level 2 and 3 rivers, I’ve been paddling about 2 years, I’m currently training to be a Level 2 Coach and from this course I hope to gain yyaaaaahhh!”
That’s when I kicked him and called him, “You big lying git.”
I grassed him up for what he is; the Swim Team President, 79 swims last year, has swam most of the Lake district rivers, winner of the 2006 D’Ribbler Award and is sponsored by Bazooka Verruca face cream!
He then sulked for a bit whilst I regaled all with tales of my many swims, my bombproof ham, cheese and Swiss rolls as well as my experiences on buses.
The coaches then split us up and with uncanny accuracy split Coach Clive into one serious group and the Swim Team into another, sort of more remedial type kayaking group. The Coach then asked us to follow him to the start of the river, Stig immediately reverted true to form and followed the coach. Fifty yards later the coach said, “Don’t you think you should bring your boat, it helps you know” – Buuuuusted!
Anyway we paddled all day with the exception of a little swim I did whilst checking for depth at the entrance to the graveyard. In a nutshell our coach told us to forget everything we’ve ever learnt and to learn just 2 new paddle strokes; the Shagga and the Squeeze. When Diane, one of our fellow paddlers stated she had a problem with one of her strokes, the Coach jumped on us before we could even open our mouths – we weren’t going to say anything, honest!
We now adjourned to our B&B where we were offered 2 rooms – once again they split us up – me and the Stig together and Clive in his own room. I was getting a bit paranoid now, why do they keep putting me with the Stig. I’m a serious paddler not a D’Ribbler! We then went to Llballla to get some grub and booze.
Three hours later and after a few beers, we start telling stories and confessions – then Coach Clive dropped the bombshell……
Not many people know this - but prior to taking up the Kayak, Clive excelled greatly in another recreational activity, the art of Dance. Clive felt pleased and relieved knowing that he could confide his secret with the swim team and stated that for one of the first times in his life he no longer really felt repressed. Later whilst leaving the pub, Clive did a cartwheel and declared to the world, “I’m Loud! I’m Proud! I’m the Lord of the Dance!” Little did we know the demon we had released.
The next morning we kitted up, got our boats and waited with the other paddlers outside the centre. It was then that Clive came out, he strutted from the changing room, sashaying past the other paddlers with his boat and head held high, I could have died on the spot. He was wearing his WRSI helmet, a pair of wetlook patent leather shoes, a sequined catsuit unbuttoned to the waist and a number 66 on his back (later to become 99) and he once more proclaimed to the world, “I’m Loud! I’m Proud! I’m the Lord of the Dance!”
He was next seen 1 hour later doing the 180° upside down Rumba down a stretch of the big Welsh river.
Anyway back to anorak stuff – as promised I completed a full riverbed survey of the graveyard section of the big Welsh river.
Whilst swimming upside down in my boat I forced my helmet back onto the nape of my neck and used it to scrape a selection of weeds and fauna from the riverbed, which I then deposited down the neck of my cag for safe keeping.
With sampling completed I then commenced the rock density testing, for this I used my head. I ensured that a full head on collision, just like a conker, took place with a selection of varied sized rocks, ranging in sharpness and density. It was then that I remembered my Whitewater Swimming Masterclass: Lesson 1 and the scientific difficulty in extracting air from water so I decided that it was time to pop the spray deck… lean forward and pull the ejector strap…..oops can’t lean forward… watch that rock with my chin… sh**… bang!… oops another rock… sh**… bang!… I know, I’ll smash me knee through the spray deck…… bang… right into another rock… bang!… sh**… I think I’m drowning…… aah bliss… I’ve escaped… swim… rock… bang!… s**t… paddle… bang!… sh**… bang!… you get the picture.
Whilst I continued with the survey, Stig made himself busy monitoring river current patterns using the red stain emerging from beneath my boat. With the Graveyard riverbed survey now complete, Stig tested the water quality. This was achieved with a secret, mystery play boating move called the “180° Up & Under”, Stig being the pioneer of that particular move.
It’s sometimes easy to see why he’s the Swim Team President, 177 yard swim, upside down whilst river tasting for water quality.
Anyway we then adjourned to the National White Water Centre First Aid Room to discuss our findings.
The medic stated that it was of paramount importance that I immediately report to the Casualty department of the nearest hospital.
President Stig stated, “I’ll get him there immediately, time is of the essence, just give me directions to the nearest hospital, we mustn’t waste time!”
“It’s in Wrexham about 50 miles south” said the medic.
“Whoooa! Whoa! wo! It doesn’t really look that bad now when you look at it, if he lies down and we slope his head to the floor I’m sure he’ll stop bleeding, I mean, he isn’t even unconscious and he’s still breathing, I can take him to the hossi’ tomorrow,” said the President.
“Why don’t you give him your car keys,” said the medic.
“Whoooah! Wot! It’s a Mazda and I’ve got calf skin seats… yada, yada yada…” get the picture, anyway tick followed tock and after much in depth discussion it was decided that the Stig would monitor my condition closely for the next 24 hours.
Anyway, so ends another Swim Team adventure; the Welsh Canoe Association got their riverbed surveyed on the cheap, Burger Boy got thrown off the course, Stig broke the Swim Team record with his 177 yard swim, Clive rekindled his passion for the Cha Cha Cha and we all went home for tea and cakes.
*No canoes, sheep or Burger Boys were harmed during the writing of this article and any resemblance to Eskimo type characters, living in igloos, hunting Polar Bears and called Norman is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2007 by Ribble Canoe Club.
May not be reproduced or redistributed without author’s permission. Originally posted in the November/December 2007 newsletter, on Ribble Canoe Club’ web site. Republished here with permission.
