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Ray Goodwin’s – it’s all in the timing
My first adventures in the outdoors started back in 1968 with an ascent of a snowy mountain in North Wales. I nearly didn’t come back from that trip up Cnicht when I took a slide on the rather icy snow slopes on the descent. It was a case of we are here, and we will do something.
Our leader, bless him for introducing me to the outdoors, was inexperienced and slack. He had let us, fitter lads, off the leash to race to the summit without him as he stayed with the slower folk.
On one of the sections, I slipped and started sliding down an increasingly steepening slope. Before I picked up much speed, I managed to use the edge of my boot on a protruding rock edge and stop myself. We didn’t have crampons or axes, and to be frank, we wouldn’t have had a clue what to do with them anyway. It was being there and ‘having’ to do something.
The disconnect that so many have with the natural timings and opportunities in the outdoor environment leads to accidents and failures. Folk try to plan as if the outdoors was a static environment. So often, I read on Facebook of Snowdon/Scafell/Ben Nevis events planned for a specific date and frequently at a time of year when bad weather can be expected. Ascents are made with little regard to the conditions. Paddling is no different. Weather, river levels and tide can make a thing either doable or not or even the difference between something easy and something on the edge. For me, these factors are part of the joy of planning and executing trips; I want to feel a real connection to the environment and work with it.
Irish Sea: the creation of an opportunity
Back in 1994, I planned to cross the Irish Sea by canoe. Dave Howie was my partner in crime, and we had been discussing it through the previous winter. We were going to attempt to sail it, which meant we needed very specific conditions. The sail and canoe would operate best around Force 3 or even up to Force 4. We could do it in either direction, which increased our opportunities, and we put aside two weeks in which we could be sitting ready to go.
As the allotted days arrived, we gathered various forecasts looking for that window of opportunity but storm after storm battered the Irish Sea. Finally, a consistent forecast of Force 4/5 presented itself. It was beyond our desired condition but within what we thought we could handle. Unfortunately, it meant that there would be a big sea running. It was on, but it was marginal. We took the ferry to Ireland for a start out of Dun Laoghaire.
The crossing took twenty-two and a half hours and was one of the most intense things I have ever done. The last hours into Anglesey were particularly stressful, landing in the early hours of the morning. Back then, we only had flares as a form of distress signal, and out at sea, it had felt lonely and committing.
So, what could we have done differently? Well, very little as both of us could only afford to set two weeks aside. Perhaps we should have cancelled it? We had the skill and the knowledge, but it was a far closer thing than I liked.
Irish Sea: taking an opportunity and a complete contrast to the canoe crossing
Two years after crossing the Irish Sea, I had been guiding a sea kayak trip around the northern end of Jura and out to the Garvellachs. Driving back south, I was still tuned in to listening to the shipping forecast on Radio 4. The internet was not in existence, and this was the best forecast for the sea stuff. It has been consistent with an Irish Sea forecast of easterly force 2, and it was perfect for an Irish Sea crossing.
Having done the crossing in a canoe, it was apparent now to paddle it in a sea kayak. The first was to break the news/ask permission from my partner at the time, Jen. Even though it was our first weekend off in a while, she understood, ‘Do it but don’t expect me to smile about it. Next, it’s time to find someone to paddle it with. I phoned one mate, but he was working. Before I could ring anyone else, the phone went. It was Terry Storry. No preamble but straight into, ‘Have you seen the forecast?’ Yep, I sure had. There was no mention of what trip; it was obvious to anyone that paddled on the sea. Agreement was quick, and I phoned Nigel Dennis to see if we could borrow a double sea kayak. As ever, Nigel was obliging and helpful.
The next day we met at 12.00. Sorted the sea kayak, food, and drink, and at 21.00, we started paddling from Soldier’s Point in Holyhead. The crossing was uneventful in an oily rolling calm. Sixteen hours later, we arrived in Ireland, seeing sunset and sunrise on the crossing.
Terry and I had never paddled a double sea kayak before or had been on the sea together. It was a case of seizing an opportunity and knowing the right calibre of person to do it with.
Possible North Sea crossing
After the canoe crossing of the Irish Sea, I was looking at the next ‘big’ thing. The North Sea from either mainland Scotland or Shetland was beginning to seem, if not attractive, at least possible.
It began to gnaw at my brain. My speculative planning was influenced by my abject failure to climb the Troll Wall in Norway (the highest vertical wall in Europe). We had trained physically and mentally for nearly six months for the wall, but we could only put two weeks aside because of our jobs. Bad idea. We sat for two weeks at its foot, waiting for the weather to clear and even had one forlorn attempt before the storms forced us to retreat. We did not have the time to sit it out and wait for stable weather. All that training and money was for nothing.
So that failure influenced my planning for a possible North Sea crossing. We could easily need four days to make that crossing and needed a very stable weather system. Kay Henry of Mad River Canoes was very impressed by my Irish Sea crossing in a canoe was interested in sponsoring me. She wanted to know what it would take for me to do it. I came up with a figure equivalent to a couple of months of lost earning for a paddling buddy and me.
Kay was shocked and wanted to know how come. Easy: we would spend our time waiting for that weather window, which could be months; we would need to be available at short notice; hence the need not be working. But what, I think, finished it for Kay was when I said that even then, I wouldn’t guarantee to attempt the crossing, no weather window, no attempt. I felt disappointed when she didn’t come through, mind there was also a real sense of relief knowing that I wouldn’t have to live through that pressure.
The pressure of time (a lack of)
My first trip on the Bloodvein River is a classic example of allowing oneself to be put under pressure by a lack of spare time. I had work already booked in for August and September when a couple of customers asked me to organise a wilderness trip in Canada. The Bloodvein was soon settled on, but the guidebook suggested 12 days for the trip, and I could manage a slot of 10. I had always travelled faster than guidebook times, and the customers were experienced, so it was possible.
Things started to go wrong from right at the start. The weather was poor when we arrived at Red Lake, and we immediately lost a day as the floatplane could not fly us in until late on the first day.
We were now down to just nine days. There was no slack whatsoever, and being September sunset would be a real constrictor on long days. Then the heavens opened day after day, raising the river to flood conditions. We could not afford to sit it out if we were going to take the ferry and our shuttle connections from Bloodvein Village at the end of the trip. I felt under massive pressure from time, water levels, and the customers.
The final ingredient for a near disaster was that Lina and I were paddling well, and we were prepared to push it. We got my/our comeuppance on one of the bigger rapids, which had a non-existent or non-obvious portage. We decided to run it; there was a line, but I cocked it up and ended up with us being swept into a horrendous area of boils and whirlpools. It was one of the two worst swims of my life. I got sucked down so deep it went dark. I didn’t think I would come up in time to get a breath (but I did). Lina was relatively unscathed, but we were both shaken. The lack of time had been part of the poor decision making.
Since then, I have allowed more time for the trips with customers and have built in at least one extra day to cope with contingencies and another as a day off mid-trip. This slack removes a lot of pressure on me as a guide through most of an expedition. It does cause a slight issue towards the end when it can feel that we have too much time, but that is far better.
Waiting for the opportunity (both big and little)
When my daughter, Maya, was just five years old, I wanted to canoe around Puffin Island with her. The combination of scenery, birds and seals was irresistible. But I needed it to be in the summer (warm water), a neap tide and low wind, and I didn’t want to take any real risk with Maya on board. Well, summer was a busy time for me as a guide and coach, and I waited as long as I could, but no opportunity matched those criteria. It was the following year before my time off work matched with conditions I was happy with. The paddle was an absolute delight, as I knew it would be, and I could relax and enjoy the whole thing.
Dee in a day
The big wait was for the right conditions to paddle the Afon Dyfrdwy (River Dee) in a single day. Chris Charlton and I had previously paddled the Great Glen from Fort William to Inverness and the River Spey from Loch Insh to the sea in a single weekend. We now had our sights on our local river. Immediately after our Scottish trip, we had started discussing it. But we needed very specific conditions. High water but low winds, enough daylight to get all the white-water section done and finally, we are both self-employed, a day when we were both available.
We waited almost two years, and then an early May storm dropped its load into the river. The wind was dropping right off to nothing, and there was enough daylight. I phoned Chris, and it was on. We started in the early morning hours on Llyn Tegid (Bala Lake) and started padding in darkness. It was a golden opportunity, and all went well with the white-water section done in nine hours. It was then into a long flat-water plod as the river meandered across the Cheshire plain. After 16 hours, we reached the tidal section and Chester Weir. The long wait for the opportunity had paid off.
Timing, opportunity creation and even opportunism have played a big part in my success in the outdoors. It has allowed me to connect in a meaningful way with the rhythms of the natural world.