The Yak Exe Descent
It’s winter in Britain: cold, wet, and no adventure races. Time to try something different, and white-water kayaking has to be a good bet. The Exe Descent is a classic river race held in Devon every November incorporating 19 miles of white-water and 10 large weirs. You can paddle it in anything from a chubby Canadian canoe to a rather less stable 2-person racing kayak or “K2” like us.
My companion for this feast of watery fun was London resident Ian Edmond – in his spare time one of New Zealand’s top adventure racers with several wins in the Southern Traverse and Coast to Coast races under his belt. Ian also has a lot more wild-water racing experience than me, so I was flattered when he insisted I go in the front of the boat (with control of the rudder). Until I realised that I was the one who was going to get submerged at the bottom of each weir.
The start of the race is an experience in itself, with the first weir at Salomon Ponds only 100 metres downstream. The 40 kayaks in our class were all jostling for space on the start line – while simultaneously paddling backwards to avoid being swept downstream before the gun. A bad choice of line down the weir or a clash with another boat, and we would be on our way home with a handful of glass-fibre fragments instead of a kayak.
The problem with weirs is that while you can see all you want from downstream, from upstream it’s a bit like sailing off the edge of the world and you have to commit yourself totally before you can see what lies ahead. Ian had it nailed, and with blood curdling cries we shot straight down our intended path and in between the largest waves at the bottom. The river shot round a bend through lines of standing waves, water washing over the thin nylon spray decks covering our knees and we were on our way.
We were also fast approaching our biggest nightmare: Tiverton Town Weir. Powerful sheets of water churned and criss-crossed each other leaving little room for error. There were boats ahead of us going in all sorts of directions, but we stuck to our own plan. Power down the left-hand edge of the weir in a fast chute, a tight turn below to avoid hitting the high concrete wall, and with a lot of muffled curses we paddled safely through the mayhem below.
There was plenty more entertainment to be had on our journey to the sea: a railway bridge so low that we had to stick our heads between our knees as we passed underneath; shortcuts through submerged trees where we zip-zagged frantically to avoid getting stuck – Ian in the back helping the boat around with his Nomad paddle. At one point the waves filled the kayak so full of water we had to stop to empty it. Big swirls and eddies of water turned us where they wanted to. We paddled over the debris of Thorverton weir – completely washed away since the last race two years ago. At Bickleigh weir where we’d sat eating a nice carvery lunch the day before, I got the boat sideways and nearly put us in.
But it was the big weirs that punctuated the day. At Four Pynes (or “4 pints” as we dubbed it) there’s a steep drop down a 3 metre high ramp. Coming too cautiously over the top, we slid down the correct line…and came to a grinding halt in the big white “stopper” wave at the bottom. Unable to paddle out of the foamy mass of water we lost balance, rolled over, and exited the kayak to swim it to the side.
Having damaged our rudder, we approached the last two weirs with some trepidation. Portaging was the sensible and cosy alternative: take the kayak out of the water and run round the side of the weirs before putting back in to paddle across the finish line. But Ian was up for paddling them, and I knew deep down that I’d never forgive myself if we didn’t.
We had been told we had to take the first weir on the left, but had only considered the right hand side on our recce. Closer and closer we paddled until I thought I could see the main flow of water escaping below us. Turning the boat at the last possible moment, we gunned it for the edge. Bam! Straight down the weir and through the “stopper” wave at the bottom, with no time to celebrate because – dodgy rudder or not – we had to get the kayak over to the far left side of the river quick in order to make it down the final weir – Blackaller.
Creeping along the left bank we waited until the last possible moment, then turned sharp right and gave it everything as we shot off the edge of the weir. The front of the boat plunged downwards and disappeared. For a moment everything went white, and then I rose out of the water on the far side of the stopper wave. I reached forward to paddle us to safety and pulled hard, on the wrong side of my paddle. Losing balance we slipped irretrievably into the churning water, and held our breath as the power of the water swept us back under the surface.
Spluttering and then laughing we swam our way over to the side, emptied the kayak of water, and then chased another competitor over the finish line a few hundred metres away.
Pete James
See some photos in the Bristol Canoe Club photo gallery
[ More about the Exe Descent from Steve Bennett in the Spring 2003 magazine ]