CANOEING
Article and images by Ross Montandon
A Weekend in
Over the last few months in this very magazine you will have read, and in some cases envied, paddlers who have run open boat trips across the English Channel, in the wilds of Canada or to the Fjords of Norway. The appetite for travel and exciting adventure has always attracted paddlers of all backgrounds. This lavish wanderlust of ours keeps us paddling and feeds our hunger for journeying. But, what about the journey closer to home? Touring and exploring some of the UK’s countryside can provide excellent adventures on our very doorsteps, and there’s no better way to enjoy them than by cruising down a river in an open canoe. Thus I found myself in a car heading through the sweeping green vistas of Northumberland to have a little ‘Huckleberry Finn’ adventure of my own in the beautiful Tweed Valley.
“After a cold, dark winter the bright jovial life that erupts in spring can be a bit dazzling, the colours seem sharper and bolder; very much like a children’s colouring book. The Tweed, now meandering through a valley of hills covered in coppiced woodland seemed to be celebrating a cocktail party of triumph in the spring sun.”
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CANOEING
“If I was Huck Finn I’d keep on travelling, but there’s always another story, another day for paddling and another adventure just waiting to be had.”
After many miles of lush green vegetation erupting from the rolling hills we arrived at the small town of Walkerburn, which sat 40-miles south of the lively city of Edinburgh. Here lies an outdoor Mecca for walking and canoeing and the steep tracks, created by the encouraging Forestry Commission, allow the mountain biker to get their fix for downhill adrenaline. This open invite to amble across the Scottish countryside seems to attract many outdoor enthusiasts. For the next two days I would be experiencing this dangerously beguiling countryside on the silver ribbon of the River Tweed. My dearest Father, and a very good friend, Robin Busby, who holds an impeccable amount of knowledge regarding adventure in the UK, accompanied me on the trip. We spent the night bivying under the canopy of Scots pine in the Plora Wood Nature Reserve. Through the night we listened to the big pipes echoing from the local football match in Walkerburn. Perhaps the only instrument that can provoke the
the natural characteristics of this picturesque place. The Tweed has a wide catchment area, which holds its flow very well all year round. We had encountered the river at an all time low, but even at such a low level, the river helped you along the gravel beds and allowed you to progress at a relaxed pace. By 11am, or coffee time as it is known to open boaters, the glorious sunshine was bringing out the vivid colours in the hills. After a cold, dark winter the bright jovial life that erupts in spring can be a bit dazzling, the colours seem sharper and bolder; very much like a children’s colouring book. The Tweed, now meandering through a valley of hills covered in coppiced woodland seemed to be celebrating a cocktail party of triumph in the spring sun. Out on the river local fishermen took advantage of the solitude,
same feeling as marmite, you either love them or hate them! The morning light broke through, promising an enjoyable day on the river. With a heavy portion of porridge sticking to our insides and the comfort of a night spent on a peat sprung sleeping platform, we were well equipped for a day on the river. We leisurely took to the water and drifted happily down taking in
often heavily competing against the herons that also believed that the Tweed was a top notch fishing location. They kept us entertained with their graceful swoops as they cast shadows over the river. The sun sat high in the sky as we continued on our Northern Mark Twain re-creation. The river twisted and turned through the valley exposing grand estates with well kept plots of land and houses
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that can only really be compared with castles. The river soon widens as it skirts the town of Galashiels, inviting more people to the river to picnic and soak up the much-missed sun. Continuing in the same benign fashion the river then drifts out of the busy banks and returns to the welcoming peacefulness of the countryside. You really could be in the wilderness, in places the sound of silence was a pure nirvana; and to think people say that the UK is over crowded!
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CANOEING
“You really could be in the wilderness, in places the sound of silence was a pure nirvana; and to think people say that the UK is overcrowded.” Around every corner was a view worth seeing, the outdoor enthusiasts sweet shop, bar the rotting teeth. On occasions you could round a corner to find a vintage bridge standing high with grace and grandeur over the river, dwarfing the paddler below. Looking up at these monuments with reverence you soon realised that you couldn’t see the bridge from below any other way than by canoe. A view few have seen. The surrounding hills narrowed giving a sense of complete aloneness. The river twisted and turned back on itself until we found our ideal camp spot. The most inviting prospect to any paddler, walker or mountain biker is the ‘right to roam’ act that exists in Scotland. It enables like-minded paddlers to paddle most rivers and camp anywhere, respectfully. There is always a threat to this law with people taking advantage of this privilege and abusing
it, but we must do our best to keep it. Without it we would never be able to experience wilderness camping to its fullest. Camp life took over and we created a short-term abode for the night. The everlasting stench of fresh garlic growing in the woodland seeped into our clothes and sleeping bags. Warmed and fuelled by a hot meal we crawled into our cocoons and slept by the warmth of the fire, drifting off to a night of mumbled dreams. We awoke early next morning to steamy porridge and the sound of the natural world waking up around us. With a long drive back home we were keen to hit the water early to avoid the hoards of Sunday traffic. By 8am we were off down the river once again, sceptical about whether the sun was going to join us for the rest of the trip, but sure enough out it popped to accompany us on the Tweed once more. On the river
we were making tracks poling on the shallows and taking reserved lines down the shallow weirs. The treat of the day was a long, narrow, technical rapid with plenty of obstacles to challenge us, and plenty of spots to get the boat jammed. After a brief inspection away we went picking our way through the labyrinth of shoots and rocks. Joining us on the river too, swans and oystercatchers kept the journey colourful until we reached Kelso. Marked by it’s prominent church near the river, civilisation beckoned once again. Like all good things coming to an end this was one of them. If I was Huck Finn I’d keep on travelling, but there’s always another story, another day for paddling and another adventure just waiting to be had. You may have noticed that this trip didn’t include a helicopter airlift, or a reckless haul out of a canyon, or being held captive by a tribe actively partaking in cannibalism, or, indeed, being eaten by bears! All of this could have happened of course… But it was about two old guys and a young open boating apostle, and we did have a good old-fashioned real adventure right on our doorstep!
A Weekend in
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