Day 7:- Medical Emergency - Summer Arrives

After an uneasy night worrying of rodent attack in the barn, the rejuvenated
but apprehensive looking team awake to sunshine and hopes of topping up
their pasty skins with a bronze suntan

After yesterday's gruelling leg from Athlone, sunshine greeted the earlier risers from their slumber in the swallow "infested" barn although most exercised caution knowing full well that weather conditions can change very rapidly in Ireland. Coughing and wheezing and for some an Alka-Seltzer or two to allay the previous nights Guinness excesses, the paddlers climbed into the boats ready for the paddle to the Tipperary/Galway border. All set off as optimistic  as ever and some even broke into whistling as the journey begun. The weather remained favourable and unusually the row passed relatively uneventfully as we took in the scenery and meandered our way down the river. In fact this leg was undoubtedly the most uneventful of the whole time we were in Ireland, hence the way I'm babbling on and trying to think of something at least half readable to type. It was a chance however for us all to take in the beautiful surroundings that rural Ireland has to offer and even had the time for a floating picnic of energy bars and chocolate and  for one the chance a power nap as we drifted aimlessly down the wandering Shannon. We plodded on and reached Banagher where we had a "stretch the legs" break, a few sarnies and an opportunity for one of the team to "chance his arm" with a local girl who's young son took an interest in the canoes. After sighing and shaking her head the flame haired female turned and hurriedly trotted away much to the aghast of the would be lothario. When Mundy returned from what must have been his months grocery shop we again took to the water. The tranquillity of the saunter down the Shannon continued and again we had ample time to take in the sights and sounds of the river. 

Pete suffers terrible injury but manages to
soldier on despite agonizing pain 

The peace was about to be abruptly ended as a shout and whistle from one boat alerted the others that we had an urgent medical emergency on our hands. The boats at the front sped Hawaii-five-O like back toward the stricken paddler and thoughts of a dislocated shoulder, epileptic fit or even a potential drowning worried the wannabe first aiders. Panting after the exertion of the sprint they appeared perplexed when they could not really fathom out what was actually wrong. Pete then revealed the trauma that he was having to endure............a blister on the middle index finger... After applying a lovely looking blue plaster  the "rescue" teams gave Pete a terrible slating with the abuse continuing long after the first aid was applied with one wit suggesting that the "injury" was more likely obtained not from his gripping the oar tightly but by perhaps gripping another stubbier object in the privacy of his own sleeping bag the night before.

Pete survived the lambasting and eventually we arrived at a small marina on the Tipperary/Galway,disembarked then headed into Portumna Co Galway and to the An Caislean pub so Pete could exercise his infected pinky with a pint of Guinness or two.

Pete (Green boat : front) adjusts headwear blissfully unaware of the "gammy digit" agony that he would soon  have to endure

In all a very relaxing day compared to others so far and after pitching the tents returned to the delights of an evening spent sat in the pub........an activity very familiar to most of the team.

Day 6 - 4 Star Accommodation - Fish Attack- Snoring

Threatening skies at Athlone Co Westmeath  has the team moaning and
griping earlier than usual for the leg to Shannonbridge Co Offlay.

Leaden skies and a cold wind greeted the oarsmen at Athlone as hopes of a more fruitful day than the previous one were dashed. With hindsight the dead blackbird on the pavement near the van may have been an omen for what was to come. However humour in the face of adversity as always was the order of the day as an attempt to place the unfortunate bird in the pocket of one paddler which was unfortunately detected  was  then wedged under the vans windscreen wiper completely oblivious to the driver when he pulled off.

From the very start the wind  was blowing straight in our faces but luckily the waves were not so much of a worry in the river than the wide open water of the loughs and did not require us to constantly bale out water. Paul Mundy aka Smeagol reported that he was feeling a bit "Manflu-ey" and did not feel well, but arguing, sneezing and sniffling this bold and gallant pioneer carried on regardless in his pursuit of canoeing immortality demonstrating steadfast loyalty to the his fellow crew..........although he didn't stop bloody moaning all day. Threats of an "oar around the ear" quelled his wailing and he soon buckled down to some light paddle dabbling.

As predicted it was very hard going against the wind  and at one stage in a particularly exposed part of the river in was decided that we'd be better of stretching our legs and dragging the boats through the shallows thus giving our arms a rest. Traipsing through these shallows proved possibly to be the coldest time of our voyage. Shivering we blundered on when suddenly a commotion at a boat being lugged up ahead broke the monotony. In an apparent loss of all faculties Steve was shrieking and ferociously kicking the boat and it was assumed that "the hand of madness" has swept upon him. Noel appeared to be making some type of rescue attempt as it was realised that Steve was under a sustained attack.

Vicious beast repelled as crewman wins
battle to keep foot in tense life and death
struggle at Irish swamp

"Get it off ! Get the f****** thing off" Steve cried as he continued to boot the boat in an attempt to dislodge the beast.

It was surmised that a " diabolical and aggressive pike-like creature of hideous proportions" had bit him through his shoe !. The rest of the team idly sauntered up to aid in the audacious rescue effort giving no thought to the possibility of coming to a sticky end themselves at this Irish riverside. Closer inspection of the monstrosity attached to the foot  revealed however that he had stumbled upon a fishermans lure which at most was about four inches long and cunningly disguised to look like a perch. Roaring laughter ensued as thoughts of the cold and wind vanished and ten middle aged men shivering, laughing, and hauling canoes through the reeds in the middle of Ireland must have seemed a rather surreal sight to people in the passing boats.

When discovering a small leech on my own leg and with the "plastic perch" assault  it was decided that we would be best to board the boats again and take our chances against the wind rather than the wildlife. Eventually the wind eased and we reached Shannonbridge. The drivers on the trip were charged with the task of finding camping sites for the lads in the boats. When inquiring in the Shannonbridge tourist office it came as  no surprise to learn that there were no sites in the vicinity. However the person in the office made a phone call and it was decided that we could spend the night in a barn behind a pub on the river bank. This invitation from the Tourist Office was made without the owner of the barn having a clue about his new tenants, and when asked if it would definitely  be ok the response was:-

"Ah don't worry lads it'll be no problem, he wont mind at all"

And they were right he didn't mind at all which sums up the friendliness and relaxed attitude of all the people of  Ireland both sides of the border and if anyone is reading this from across the Irish Sea I thank you all for your hospitality on behalf of all the team.

After frequenting the local hostelries in the village and in particular the fantastic Killeens Bar we retired to our barn which, apart from the snoring of the "Human Generator" (Carl) which forced Shorty to sleep on a wall at the side of the river, slept surprisingly well, except that is for Shorty.

The terrified team have a lay-in covered head-to-toe by sleeping bags to avoid
any rats, mice and spiders not forgetting the dive bombing swallows

Day 5 - Sinking - Bogs - Waves

Lough Ree 

Lough Ree at Galley Bay just East of Knockcroghern Co.Rosscommon was like the proverbial millpond on the morning we started our leg through the lough to Athlone. Sun shining and wind slight, moral was high and an air of confidence and joviality prevailed. After clearing up the cans of budwieser that Jonny had run over the night before we climbed into the canoes ready for a leisurely paddle across the lough. Paddling was easy and the photographers in the boats had time to snap a few shots without fear of being blown backwards by the wind. Ambling along without a care in the world, warm and wind free, I thought myself very privileged to be here at this time in such a glorious setting and without a worry in the world. Jokes and laughter abounded and when one of the crew noticed that the lake had a "few ripples" on the water toward the headland that we were heading, none were too concerned and most shrugged the comment off and indeed pilloried the "over-cautious" orator. Steadily however the wind began to pick up although and the waves grew, not to bad at first but seemingly increasing every few minutes. Slate grey clouds formed seemingly from nowhere and it was noticed that  most of our feet were now submerged in ever deepening  puddles at the bottom of the boats. Rowing was now getting harder and the wind in the lough was producing larger waves which deposited more water in the boats and made for a more roller-coaster ride through the water. At this stage although it was hard work it was quite enjoyable bobbing up and down over the waves and personally I did not feel in danger or unsafe at all. Then we turned around the Warren Point Peninsula. With the waves now as big as we had experienced during the trip doubts grew as to if we could battle through the water to the next headland which looked a long long way. Of the five canoes we had four of them were "rafted" together in two pairs and one canoe remained single. The single seemed to cope much better in the "maelstrom" and surged ahead of the two rafts which were by now almost continually baling out water with  makeshift "milk carton" balers and in the case of the raft which I was in, drifting out  and backwards into the lake. A decision was made to scramble for the peninsula which at the time we thought was one of the many islands in the lough. This course meant that we would be paddling side on to the wind and incoming waves which is not recommended and it was at  this point that my own sphincter started twitching a tad and thoughts of treading water after we had sank abounded. All four of us would have given Redgrave and Pinsent a run for their money as we paddled furiously without a word being uttered  toward the land and safety. Eventually we managed to get near enough to the rocky shore and just about managed to drag the raft out onto the shoreline. The relief was palpable from all four of the crew as, shivering with cold and adrenalin and after relieving our bladders, we hatched, which with hindsight was an absolutely ludicrous plan, to separate the raft and give it a go in single canoes. Dai and Jonny set of first and worryingly rapidly drifted around the other side of the peninsula and out of sight of the two of us left on the beach. 

Warren Point "island" where four
disconsolate Englishmen
thought they would reamin
marooned for all eternity

Mundy and myself made our attempt taking a great effort just to get into the canoe and when we did, drifted alarmingly fast in the sea-like waves out and away from the sure and also in the wrong direction. I will admit now that when being buffeted about  out in that canoe I was as scared as I have been for a long time and remember giving the straps on my life jacket a few tugs to ensure they were as tight as they could be. How we got back in without capsizing will remain a mystery to me and I'm sure also to Mr Mundy . But get back we did and we walked around to the other side of the peninsula and were very relieved to sea both a dripping wet Jonny and Dai folorn like looking out to the water. In fact Dai was the first of the team to plunge into the water and thus for three lucky patrons of the Hope & Anchor winning the pub sweepstake as to who would enter the drink first.

Very genuine worries for the safety of the others were now foremost in our minds as neither were in sight or answered their phones. We had a look around and to our surprise and puzzlement we found a narrow footpath through a wooded area, and when Jonny fired up his GPS app on his phone confirmed that we were in fact on a peninsula and not an island and not lost for all eternity thus spirits were raised a little as we knew we had an exit route. However dragging canoes in flimsy "wet boat shoes" firstly through a damp moss infested wood which spawned thoughts of the film "Deliverance" and a sticky end for us, then through a shin deep bog complimented with what cows deposit from under there tails, up a hill, down a hill, through thistles and nettles, not forgetting the odd horsefly or three, we would probably have been better off setting up home on the shore and adapting to a  life of beach-combing. Survive we did and managed to get the vehicle up to the field we were in and back to "civilisation".  To their credit the canoe with Steve and Noel managed to get to Hodsons Bay albeit with great difficulty and no doubt some hair-raising moments. The other raft sank but was baled out and salvaged and a local fisherman towed four shivering oarsmen into the bay just outside of Athlone Co Westmeath

Lustful fans of Hasadryoar and the Irish Deliverance team
sit outside the Hope & Anchor in hope of a glimpse of the
swashbuckling canoeists 

Everyone eventually arrived safely and more the wiser for the ordeal. Inevitably tales of this epic day will be told to awe struck swooning females, of the heroic battle against the cruel Irish elements with wildly exaggerate stories of ten foot waves, wild winds, demented Irish woodsmen, horsefly's the size of budgies, and bogs up to the armpit. Women will flock to the Hope & Anchor to meet the legendary Hasadryoar and the team. No doubt we will have to deal reporters, offers of drinks, lustful nights with nubile young things, and no doubt marriage

.............we'll be in the Hope on Friday night watching the England match.

Day 4-Ventriloquist - Rain - Smeagol - Mundy Video

Paul aka Smeagol (left) in a rare moment
of abstinence 

Paul Mundy aka Smeagol has somewhat suprisingly emerged as the best drinker on the trip, ahead of the legendary Hasadryoar. Whist being acknowledged as the heaviest drinker his diminutive stature seems ill equipped to hold the vast amounts of liquid imbibed . His antics at the camp site at Eniskillen last night  produced probably the best laugh of the whole trip.

An attempt to sit down in his seat after sinking about a dozen cans of cider was about as dainty as the first moon walk. Amid raucous laughter he stumbled and lurched toward his chair which was worryingly quite near the camp fire. Eventually managing to deposit his meagre frame on his seat his meandering only served to shake up the contents of the can he was holding which when opened inevitably spilled out all over his hand and onto the deck.

After a marvellous breakfast at he farmhouse of our extremely friendly Northern Irish hosts we were all set up for the next leg of canoeing. A grey and drizzly day was not to much of a worry as it seemed the dreaded wind had died down from the storm during the night. We boarded the canoes in our sheltered inlet of the Shannon only to be stopped in our tracks after about five minutes by a whistle from the last boat. Jonny had forgotten to put his life jacket on. A deluge of sarcastic comments flowed as he paddled back to retrieve the essential wear. Our hopes of a relatively wind free leg of paddling were dashed as we turned into the Shannon from our small tributary river. A strong headwind meant for another gruelling days paddling to the Irish Republic border. The customary swearing and ranting at the wind arose as the canoes struggled against the blow. When the wind was this strong during the voyage, which actually was most days, it is not so much the physical effort of paddling, which is hard enough, but the mental strength not to give up. Each had there own way of dealing with it Jim for instance just put his head down and stared trance like at the small whirlpools stired up by his oar. This technique was probably not best served however while sitting at the back of the boat where you had the responsibility of steering the vessel as on occasions we found ourselves careering towards  "The Green" (reeds,trees, bank, etc.) My own method when at the front and free from steering duties was to shut my eyes and think of............well that's personal.....but they were bloody nice thoughts ;-) As his monika suggests Hasadryoars' way of dealing with the wind was simply to lay his paddle across the boat and have a swig of whiskey and a fag.

  Irish Waterways  had kindly supplied all the team with a camping mug and as we were about to be very thankful for, some very nifty sky blue waterproof ponchos. All of a sudden the heavens opened and a torrent of rain accompanied the strong wind and cascaded down. Rather than quashing any remaining spirit  the team had it actually was very funny and managed to  spur us all on. The sight of ten sunburned, windswept, and drenched Limey's paddling down the River Shannon in monsoon conditions must have had any local Ulster folk shaking the heads in bewilderment and asking the question why ?. The shower only lasted for fifteen minutes or so and when it stopped we decided on a bit of a mid-river break. Suddenly the tranquillity of our little breather  was disturbed by a rather irate looking man shouting and wildly waving in arms in the gardens of a posh hotel on the far bank. Had we inadvertently paddled into a private salmon stretch of the river ?. A hush was called and we strained to heart what the bloke was shouting at us. A lull in the wind enabled us to hear....

" Hey you boys there...Are yea all from Leamington Spaar ?"  

Puzzled we asked each other if we heard correctly. The Ulster-man repeated his question..

" Yes you boys......Are yea from Leamington Spaar ?"

We heard right..

"Yeah"

Punching the air he said:

" Fair play to you boys, keep going now, well done you boys....hoorah hoorah"

We can only surmise that he had heard of our exploits on the radio or we had met him earlier on route and spoke to him. Either way he took the trouble to run out of the hotel and down the bank and cheer us on. This sums up the friendliness and hospitality we received from the people of Northern Ireland, and I think I can speak for all that his action motivated us all to keep going and will serve as a reminder of our time in Ulster.

Team bewildered  by dummy-less ventriloquist apparently offering
food and water in rural  Co.Fermanagh  

We eventually made the border and disembarked at a bridge at Derrylin Co. Fermanagh on the border with The Republic. We met with even more warmth from a local whose land we  dragged the boats out onto. Without moving his lips he said very quietly:

" umm err ssmm err WATER ?..aah umm haa..smmerr  nnnnnnn  COOKING "?.

None who were listening to the man had a blind clue what he was saying except for the two words Water and cooking. We concluded that he was offering us water and something to eat but before we could answer he casually ambled off back to his house waving and wishing us luck (I think). Dai then told the lads who were out of earshot of the man that we had obviously just met a fine Irish ventriloquist which met with widespread merriment from all.

We eventually drove over the border and found a camp-site at Knockcroghery Co.Roscommon to start at Lough Ree in the morning.

LINK TO PHOTOGRAPHS