Thirlmere Tour

At Armboth.

Early June. The day after our Wainwright Walk with TC. This time it was our neighbours B and G who had taken some time off work, to join us for a canoeing trip.
The weather was perfect.

G and B set-off. Helvellyn Gill opposite, Whiteside Bank and Browncove Crags.

B is demonstrating here a paddling technique which I haven’t given enough thought to before: the no-stroke. Sit in the back, keep quiet, hope your other half doesn’t notice. It seemed to work well for him.
We only had one skeg – a small keel – between the two boats. TBH and I went without and were therefore a bit prone to going into a slow spin.

Deergarth How Island, from our picnic stop.

It was TBH who had suggested Thirlmere and I was very surprised to find that it was allowed. Bizarrely, you can canoe or kayak, but not paddle-board or swim. We had the reservoir almost to ourselves, perhaps because there are ‘road closed’ signs here, there and everywhere, even though the road from the north is actually open as far as the Armboth car park.

Circumnavigating Hawes How Island.

I’m not a big fan of forestry plantations, but I have to confess that they gave a great backdrop to a canoeing trip. We could almost have been back in the Adirondacks, aside from the sounds of the busy A591.

Fisher Crag.

There were lots of dragonflies and damselflies about, but it was hard to photograph them from the canoe.

Happy times.

Looking back to the islands.

It was a shortish trip, shorter than our Coniston paddle had been, but very enjoyable and then we headed homeward for a BBQ in B and G’s garden. Can’t be bad.

Coniston Water Canoe

Across the lake to Top o’ Selside.

Not had many paddling the periphery posts for a while.
TBH was really keen to take advantage of the stunning weather and get out in our inflatable canoe. She’s especially keen to canoe on Wastwater – Coniston Water was a compromise involving less driving.

Looking north along the lake.

In brief, we parked a little north of Brown Howe car park (which was heaving), paddled along the west shore northwards for a bit, then across, back down the east side to Peel Island and then back again, finishing with a bit of muppetry where we couldn’t agree on where along the shore we had parked.

The Park and Top o’ Selside from Torver Back Common.

The big surprise was that, although the areas around Brown Howe and Peel Island were quite busy, everywhere else was very, very quiet, so it was a very restful trip.

From the east side of the lake to the Coniston Fells.

I find the canoe quite uncomfortable to sit in, so we stopped frequently on the shore for drinks, and a swim and, on the shore of Torver Back Common, for a picnic lunch. Also, the bottom and one side of the boat need a little more air pumping into them from time to time.

Pano.

Coniston Fells from another rest stop.

Looking south down the lake (to Slatestone Fell?).

Peel Island – busy.

A final view north up the lake.

A brilliant little outing, and one I’m sure we will repeat at some time.

Map of our route – I forgot to start the app at the beginning.

I’m quite surprised by the extent to which we managed to canoe in reasonable straight lines.

Boating and Swimming, Coniston Water

Coniston Water

The forecast suggested that this would be the last day of fine weather during the week. We managed to get out of the house reasonably early, but even so Brown Howe car park was already chocker when we arrived. Fortunately, true to form, Andy had a plan B, and had used satellite images to pick out a lay-by suitably situated, just a little further up the lake.

There followed a fairly lengthy interlude of inflating boats and Andy’s SUPB, lugging everything – boats, picnic rugs, tables, stoves, food, badminton set, etc – across the road and over the wall (much higher on the lake side than by the road), then frying-up bacon for breakfast/brunch.

It was a very chilled day. Swim for a bit, read for a bit, paddle a canoe for a while. Repeat.

As I set-off for a swim, TBH and A went past me in our canoe.

“Are you swimming right across?” TBH asked. “Because if you are, we can give you a lift back.”

That hadn’t been my intention, but now a seed had been planted. I kept going and there came a point where going back would have been as far as continuing. I actually didn’t swim right across Coniston Water, only as far as Peel Island (the model for Wildcat Island in the Swallows and Amazons books).

I don’t know how far it is. A few hundred metres. A few lengths of an Olympic pool. But by the time I was mid-lake I started to feel a bit small and a bit lonely. I was a bit concerned by the paddle-steamers and yachts plowing up and down the lake, and whether they could see me. Maybe I need one of those day-glow floaty things!

When I arrived at Peel Island, all of my kids were there, jumping in off some rocks.

In the event, it was Andy who came across the lake in his canoe to fetch me. Paddling back across the lake took a tiny fraction of the time it had taken me to swim across.

The Madley Mariners coming in to shore.

Unfortunately, the day ended with one of our all to frequent trips to A-and-E. Little S was hit in the eye by a shuttlecock, a freak accident which left him temporarily unsighted in one eye. It was horrible, particularly frightening for Little S, obviously. I’m pleased to report that his vision soon returned, but the incident has left me with less pleasant memories of what had been a smashing day until then.

On and In the Tarn

Inevitably, we hired kayaks and had a paddle down the Tarn.

Andy demonstrates that you don’t have to be young to be bonkers.

The Tarn is a bit more racy than the Dordogne, with some shallower, fast flowing sections and lots of places to stop for swims and for the DBs to throw themselves into the river.

The scenery is amazing, the water beautifully clear and very inviting.

The beginning (I think) of Les Détroits – the straits.

You can perhaps see, in the photograph above, that there are a lot of people congregated on the shingle bank downstream. They are examining a fast-flowing section which we had been told we should portage around. In fact, everybody seemed to be canoeing the little rapid quite successfully, so we did the same.

The section through Les Détroits was quite odd – suddenly we were fighting a strong, chilly head-on wind. Once the steep cliffs either side of the river receded the wind calmed down again.

Our route took as past the campsite (I think we stopped for ice-creams) and then past the mushroom rock, just after which there was another small fast-flowing section. Having successfully navigated that, I was upended by one of the flat-bottomed commercial passenger boats which ply the river with, it seems, almost complete disregard for the many canoeists also on the water. Somehow, I didn’t lose either my hat or my glasses, and only my pride was hurt, but I was infuriated and may have hurled a few choice Anglo-Saxon expletives after the departing boatman.

On a couple of occasions, later in the week, we drove a little down the valley to swim in the river in an area where a substantial rockfall in the past has left the river choked with huge boulders.

It was a fascinating spot. The water was very deep and, in places, where side-streams issued into the Tarn, the water was bracingly cold. Upstream, the water flowed through narrow little channels and forcing a way upstream became both challenging and exhausting, but highly enjoyable.

The big boulders in and by the river provided numerous opportunities for big jumps into the water. Even A joined in. Me too, but nothing too ambitious.

It was a great find, enlivened, for B at least, by the radar speed sign on the road above the river – which he found he could trigger by running along the road.

Following J-Dawg down the Dordogne

An idyllic lunch stop.

So, once again, we rented canoes and kayaks and paddled down the Dordogne. It’s the obvious thing to do frankly, and it’s hard to think of a finer way to spend a day.

TJS, TSS, LS and TJF take a dip in the Dordogne.

We stopped for a swim in this spot last time we visited the Dordogne, and I was very much looking forward to doing the same again. I’d brought goggles because I was confident that there would plenty of fish to see in this stretch of water, and I wasn’t disappointed. As on our previous visit, I followed a large fish which had barbels around it’s mouth (a Barbel then?) which was also being followed by around a dozen smaller, stripy fish, possibly Perch?

B realises that his kayak will double up as a stand-up paddle board.

Most of the party opted for solo kayaks, but our friend J-Dawg (who has been burdened, by her daughters, with a whole host of nicknames) was concerned that she would find herself continually going around in circles and getting left behind, so I joined her in a larger canoe. Now, I’m hardly an expert paddler, but I can generally get a boat to travel in something approaching a straight line, ironically using something called a J-stroke, or my inexpert approximation to same. To be honest, the canoe was very comfortable and an excellent choice.

TBF on the left, the raft is the younger members of our party.

But one result of this arrangement is that I have a lot of photos of the view downriver which feature J-Dawg’s life-jacket and fetching pink bucket-hat in the foreground.

TBH looking very happy.

Roque-Gageac

B in more conventional canoeing style.

Château de la Malartrie

Castelnaud-la-Chapelle

Château de Beynac

All-in-all, a fantastic day’s outing.

Kayaking Down the Tarn.

Another excursion, this time on the River Tarn, which was faster flowing than the Dordogne, less busy and more dramatic, especially in Les Détroits, ‘the straits’, where the ravine narrows and is closed in by cliffs on either side…

Once again, we stopped regularly to swim, including a stop at the campsite which was conveniently situated for lunch.

This time the younger members of the party each had their own boat, which was definitely a better arrangement, and they enjoyed larking about standing in their kayaks and rafting up to traverse across the front of each others boats.

If anything, this was even more enjoyable than the Dordogne paddle and unlike that trip, when I was tuckered out by the time we finished, I would have liked to continue, although that’s not possible because the river enters a dangerous jumble of boulders downstream.

Once again, I only took photos when we stopped, whereas Andy has more photos, including many excellent ones of our respective kids. You can find his post here.

 

Canoeing on the Dordogne.

One given of our trip to France was that it would include some canoeing on the two rivers we would be staying close to. This is something Andy has done on his previous trips and promised to be a real highlight of the holiday. In the event, the whole trip was great and it’s quite difficult to choose a favourite part, but the canoeing certainly didn’t disappoint.

Actually, this spot, featured in the first three photos, is a strong contender for favourite for me. This was the same day that Andy and I had walked, in clearing mist, to the bakery together, and, whilst we were there, we found a canoe hire place and booked four three-man boats. Later, we were all back in Castelnaud for a bus ride to our start point, near a village called Vitrac if I remember correctly. This shingle bank was the first of many places along the river where we stopped for a cooling swim and the warm honey-coloured rocks, the incredibly clear water and the numerous fish we saw made it very memorable. We watched a couple of fish which were really quite large. I think they were Barbel, although any opinion I give about fish must be taken with a huge pinch of salt. One of them was persistently shadowed by a much smaller, stripy fish – a perch perhaps? Although, why a perch would trail alongside a much bigger fish I don’t know.

The river was quite fast flowing here and we found it best to swim downstream and then walk back up before heading back down again.

This…

…is another one of our stops. The river was even more powerful here, but the main current was on the far bank, under towering limestone cliffs. On our side the water was heavily silted and very warm.

The Dordogne was generally very warm. When we stopped at Castlenaud Andy and I had a memorable demonstration of just how warm whilst the others went off into the village for ice-creams.

We swam upstream to the mouth of the Céou. The water flowing into the Dordogne from the Céou felt positively icy and the Dordogne like bath-water by comparison. It was a strange experience, since you could swim through alternate pockets of warm and cold water.

The mouth of the Céou is just about dead-centre of the panorama below.

From Castelnaud we paddled on, to eventually stop between Beynac and Les Milandes. I think there was some talk of the whole route being 16km. Regardless of how far it was, I know that I was very weary that night on the campsite. Missing from my photographs and description is some of the spectacular scenery we canoed past: Beynac was stunning and Roque Gageac even more so, but I didn’t have my camera with me, relying on my phone which, most of the time, stayed safely inside the watertight plastic barrel which had been provided. Andy has a waterproof camera and has more and better photographs, so I’m looking forward to his post of this trip on his own blog.

And Other Seas…

Just occasionally, after very heavy rain, the fields behind our house can flood. It’s a rare occurrence, but the downpours towards the end of November brought the most extreme flooding we’ve seen in our time here…

This is what it looked like on the Thursday morning. On the Wednesday evening I’d driven through water which, I suspect, I would have baulked at in daylight. After I took this photo, we struggled to commute into Lancaster, having to turn back twice where roads were closed.

Of course, every cloud has it’s proverbial silver lining. Where I saw flooding, the DBs saw an opportunity. On the Wednesday night they’d already been out together for a ‘paddle’, or more accurately, a wade, in the temporary lake. On the Thursday they decided to go one better.

And paddle a kayak in the field.

It was windy, and pretty cold, so we didn’t stay out for long, but it was an unusual experience, to say the least.

 

How Do I Get Down?

We were at Fellfoot park with a bunch of friends from the village, for the annual church picnic. To us the park has become Fell-ten-foot Park because of Little S’s unfortunate experience here: our family has track record with tree-climbing accidents. I spotted A high in the tree and decided to take a photo. She managed a smile, as you can see, but was hissing at me, not wanting to attract the attention of our friends, but wanting a private word with me:

“I don’t think I can get down.”

After taking this ideal opportunity to lecture a captive audience on the inadvisability of climbing anything you aren’t absolutely sure you can definitely climb back down, I relented and helped her find the good footholds on the knobbly trunk which she was having difficulty picking out from above.

The weather was very changeable and would eventually have us abandoning our idea of a barbecue in the park. However, this didn’t deter The Tower Captain from taking his Mirror Dinghy for a row…

…or the boys and their friend E from swimming to the far bank. This was some feat, because, after rain, this bottom end of Windermere has quite a strong current.

A and I also took one of our inflatable canoes out, which she described as ‘extremely relaxing’; presumably much more enjoyable than being stuck up a tree.

I chatted to a National Trust volunteer about photographs of camping pods which were on display and she told me that the plan is for the Park to become a campsite, or perhaps, in part a campsite. Apparently it has been one in the past. The Trust’s campsite at Low Wray, at the far end of the lake, was fully booked for the entirety of August when I tried to make a booking, so more capacity for camping on the lake shore seems like a sensible plan.

Hutton Roof, A Snake and Skaville

Speckled Wood butterfly.

Whit Bank Holiday weekend. This first two photos are from another opportunistic quick fix: B had a party at Capenwray Hall, I thought I would have a couple of hours at least to get out for a walk from there. Sadly the driveway which I had assumed would be a right-of-way, because it links to a footpath, turned out to be private. I drove to the Plain Quarry car park on Hutton Roof instead, but was a while getting there because I got stuck behind a couple of cyclists on a very, very narrow country lane (they weren’t riding abreast, the lane was just too narrow for me to safely pass).

As a consequence, my walk was a bit shorter than I had hoped, but at least I managed to get out for a wander in the end. It was hot and sticky and quite hazy. Once again on Hutton Roof I was tantalised by a cuckoo which called incessantly and seemed so close that I was sure that I must see it if I looked hard enough. I didn’t, but not for want of trying.

I didn’t linger too long looking for the cuckoo however, because I wanted to get back for a surprise visitor which I knew would be arriving toward the end of the party…

It’s some kind of Python. B was very taken with it.

On the Sunday we all went to Cartmel to see Jools Holland and his Big Band. I didn’t take any photos, so I’ve added a youtube clip of Mister Holland featuring two members of The Selecter, who also appeared as guest singers at Cartmel – a real highlight for me.

It was a great afternoon, with three support acts, a fair, sunshine, a tasty picnic with some friends, and a few family games of Kubb.

On the Monday we took our canoes to (S) Fell (Ten) Foot Park at the southern end of Windermere. It being a beautiful, sunny Bank Holiday Sunday the park was extremely busy. I’ve certainly never seen it so packed. Not that it really detracted from our fun. We messed about in our boats and then had a swim in the Lake. Well, four of us did: TBH was engrossed in her book.