[ Some photos are here. John Leopold’s write up of the same trip is here. Plus some video by Nick Clendon, and another video by JK]
Friday 13th May
1pm – Meet John and Reg at Reg’s house to load up my car with our kit. More important than kayaking kit is a decent chair apparently. Set off for Folkestone and the Ferry to Francais!
5:30pm – Hurrah, we’re first to arrive at the ferry terminal! And, as a bonus, we even manage to get an earlier ferry – despite me forgetting my spare Euros are stashed in my passport, so Ferry bloke thinks I’m trying to bribe him as he checks it. Luckily, Ferry bloke chuckles at my mistake (and doesn’t find the 10 kilos of pure cocaine hidden in the boats).
7pm – Good news: ferry leaves on time. Bad news: it’s stuffed with approx. 1 million French school kids. More bad news: to quote my mate Neil, the sea’s “as rough as his Mrs’ knickers”. Even more bad news: French kids now being sick everywhere! Yet more bad news: ferry reaches Calais only to stop about 100m short of docking – we’re in for a delay, and now I feel as sick as a French school kid. The others from BCC overtake us, grr…
11pm – We dock! I’m feeling seriously ill, so opt to drive to try and take my mind off it. Put the hammer down in the trusty Beemer all the way to Reims.
Saturday 14th May
Early hours – John and Reg take it in turns to drive while I sleep, only occasionally waking to sample service station sandwiches and bottles of coke. The sun comes up over the Alps, Mont Blanc rises majestically up through darkening clouds… Matt gets a speeding ticket for driving too quickly through the Mont Blanc tunnel.
We cross in to Italy – the rain begins. Reg identifies a shortcut on the map. We can’t find it. We stop elderly Italian lady in picturesque mountain village – she explains the directions to Campertogno. In Italian. We pretend to understand, and follow the vague direction she pointed. Unintelligible Italian lady was right! We’re almost there.
11am – Arrive in Campertogno! More rain falls. Are given complementary coffee in the campsite café! Sat in the café are Deb Pinniger and Simon Westgarth – we’re mixing with the pros! They both excitedly say: ‘Holy shit it’s Bristol Canoe Club!’ (not really). The others from ‘Team BCC’ all arrive within about an hour – we couldn’t have planned it this way! (No, really, we couldn’t have planned it this way.)
We mess around with tents in some light rain, and then decide to paddle as a group on the Lower Sesia. Polly gives us a safety briefing (clearly, the club’s reputation precedes us). After much discussion of rescue tactics, lines, signs etc., we all get on the river and make the sign for wood every few yards, giggling like idiots as we go. Great river, beautiful valley, clear clean water. No dramas. This is fantastic!
Evening – Group meal at the campsite pizzeria. We all have loads of courses and several buckets of wine each – average cost is well under a tenner. Everybody is drunk and being silly (i.e. normality reigns).
Sunday 15th May
Morning – Group paddle on the Middle Sesia. Another great run, lot’s of staircase rapids, more beautiful scenery. We urgently think up a new river signal for “find an eddy urgently – Italian girl sunbathing”.
Get to the Sesia Gorge, take one look at the entrance rapid and realise I’m not quite the paddler I thought I was. It’s big and scary. Watch Nick, Matt, John and Ernst negotiate the rapid in a variety of styles – upside down, sideways, submerged, backwards. A distant foghorn announces the arrival of HMS M3 – Martin’s barge ploughs through the feature, knocking aside rocks and altering the river bed. Oddly he aces the line only to roll on the flat bit afterwards. As the dedicated paddlers disappear off into the gorge, the dedicated coffee drinkers quickly find the nearest café.
Evening – We sit around the campfire (Matt nabs best chair), sipping exquisite wines and beers. Simon Westgarth stops by for a chat and offers advice on rivers to run.
Monday 16th May
Rain. Lots of. Rest day for the coffee drinker’s club (including honorary member for the day, Matt. We head down to Varallo. Mum (Theresa) and Dad (Reg), get impatient as children (Mackey, Matt and me) moan and whine as rain falls. We find a coffee shop.
Afternoon – We get the cable car up to the mountain-top church of Sacro Monte Di Varallo after waking the operator from his grappa-induced slumber. Nice looking (if you like that kind of thing) church is at the top… including basement filled with pictures of car crashes and angels and notes from the survivors (scary!), plus lots of small buildings with life-sized wooden-figure reconstructions of scenes from the bible (freaky!).
Watch from mountain top as a dedicated bunch of paddlers negotiate the very flooded Mastallone gorge.
Evening – more drinking around the fire. Head off to bed and listen to iPod for awhile. Fall asleep. Am woken by raised voices round the fire: Matt (sat in the best chair), Mackey and Robin argue about the amount of moon showing. It all gets a bit vocal, Matt insists 2/5ths plus a ½ is the same as a 4/3rds… or something. Robin disagrees loudly. This goes on for awhile, in a slurred sort of way. Put the iPod back on.
Tuesday 17th May
We head to the Mastellone, for a paddle to include the gorge section. The river is low…. But not low enough to stop me and Theresa pulling some ace playboating moves in an unexpected stopper (intentionally naturally), which results in a swim for me.
After the first section, the others disappear into the foreboding Mastellone Gorge – it’s committing to say the least. Coffee drinkers club find a great spot to watch them tackle the entry rapid. They inspect. They inspect some more. Then decide to walk. They all look decidedly uncomfortable as they head off into the distance. We watch from high above as Matt and Martin do synchronised rolls in probably one of the most inaccessible places in the Alps. Scary stuff.
Coffee drinkers club head back to the same café in Varallo before going to meet the more dedicated at the get out. We find a great viewing spot for the final rapid – a really meaty, tight section of falls. Unfortunately our viewing spot is from a Hydro-electric plant… last serviced in 1923 and looked after by a 100 year old Italian guy whose job is to come out of a small house every hour and push a button. He is a walking bottle of grappa. He and Mackey have a conversation for awhile. Neither speaks the others language, but they seem to understand one another.
The dedicated paddlers emerge from the rainy mist, knackered and desperate to get out.
Back to our local coffee shop for more Italian goodies. Coffee, cakes and cups of sludge are consumed.
The mystery of what lurks beneath Ernst’s David Beckham-style sarong is revealed as Matt grabs it from him in Varallo high street. It’s reminiscent of Carry on Up the Khyber – many of us will be having nightmares tonight after that sight. Ernst hides in his car to preserve what’s left of his modesty.
Head back to campsite. Traffic is stopped. Car crash up ahead. Not good. The traffic’s going nowhere so we head back to Varallo to find a pizza restaurant. Amazing food and drink, again at the same ridiculously low prices.
Back to campsite for beers in the bar. Ernst attracts the attentions of a German mother and daughter combo (our minds all flash back to the Treweryn trip – what is it about Ernst and women from the same family?).
Wednesday 18th May
Weather has cleared. Beautiful warm sunshine bathes the valley.
Rest day – hurty shoulder. Watch the mental group go and run the Gronda and Sorba slides. Looks awesome. Many photos are taken. Grudgingly wish I’d brought my boat (and some much bigger balls!).
Evening – John pulls together a fantastic risotto, and we happily scoff it down with shed loads of wine. Due to a lack of cutlery, Mackey opts to use the Frisbee as a plate – Ray Mears would be proud!
Thursday 19th May
Lower Sesia again with the coffee drinkers club. This time in higher water (gulp). Feeling brave I put in above the grade IV entry rapid, Little Canada, with Reg and Mackey… and skilfully hit the entrance rock side on and get pinned for a few moments before washing backwards down the rapid. Eventually turn the right way just in time to see Reg emerging from his boat after the hole of doom. Follow his lead by getting a minor trashing in the hole. Miraculously roll up and wash out. Shoulder now really hurts. Mackay bimbles down after us wondering what the fuss is about. We sort Reg out and Theresa joins us.
The river is transformed from Sunday: gone is the rock dodge from last time, it’s now big n bouncy n fast. Theresa aces a tricky section… and then rolls on the flat bit afterwards.
The sun is shining so we stop at a small beach by the river for tiffin. Tiffin consists of paracetamol for my shoulder and some 100 year old chocolate from the depths of Mackey’s boat.
I decide to walk out. Despite not having far to go, my shoulder’s giving me all kinds of problems, so I opt to sit by the riverside in scorching sunshine. As I’m relaxing though, an Italian bloke wanders over and explains something of great importance to me at length. In Italian. Before I can find out whether I am a) trespassing b) have a nice kayak or c) am now his wife, the others drive up and we quickly depart… to a handy café. My shoulder is still in pain, but I’m a big girl compared to Ernst, whose shoulder has departed a few inches from where it should be!
As the video later reveals, an innocuous ‘tap’ on a rock whilst going over a small fall dislocates Ernst’s shoulder before he has to run a 3-4 meter drop. The video also reveals Nick’s professionalism as a cameraman:
Ernst: “Nick! Nick! I think I’ve dislocated my shoulder.”
Nick: “Martin, go and help Ernst, I’m filming!”
Luckily a passing Dave Carroll manages to put Ernst’s shoulder back in. Ernst was then packaged off to hospital where, presumably, beautiful Italian nurses helped him to recover (let’s face it, they were probably twins, sisters or mothers and daughters or something).
Dinner is muted… but Ernst arrives back in great spirits and retires to the bar to watch the video of his accident and provide commentary alongside Dave Carroll and Simon Westgarth. German mum comes over to provide TLC to Ernst (no sign of her daughter though).
Impromptu gig begins in the bar as some boaters seem to have brought their guitars. None of us are drunk enough to appreciate it, though.
Back to the fireside for more beers, tales of derring do and arguments over chairs.
Friday 20th May
With Ernst unable to paddle, him, Mackey and me decide to go walking. We head up into the mountains along a path which allegedly runs past 50 odd churches. Scenery is amazing and we find a deserted village complete with green pastures and Alpine cows on top of the mountain. (Unfortunately no twins, mothers and daughters etc are around to check on Ernst.)
Evening – our last night so we head to the local restaurant. Our appalling Italian means none of us are sure what we’ve ordered, but the meal is fantastic and yet another bargain.
Saturday 21st May
I go and pick up the dedicated paddlers following a quick run on the Middle Sesia – 6 people and 5 kayaks into the trusty Beemer is its finest hour so far.
Then it’s packing time. BCCs base camp is dismantled and cars are loaded. After a swift farewell coffee we’re ready to depart.
After several attempts we head out of the valley towards Milan. Matt’s Fiat struggles to get above 60mph due to tyre problems and, worse, Swiss border control are also suspicious of the Welshman and we have to wait forever as they interrogate him (perhaps they recognise him as the famous Mont Blanc tunnel speeder?). After a full body cavity search they release him and we head in to Switzerland.
The heavens open. Biblical-scale rain, thunder and lightning are all around us as we stop in a Swiss service station. Ernst cradles a bottle of beer and stares at the rows of pornography which line the service station shelves (I suppose he’s going to miss the use of that arm).
We press on into Deutschland. I catch a glimpse of Matt disappearing down a side road, but it’s too late to stop and help, so we find some services for a German-style nosh-up.
I have a sleep in the back of the car as we thunder down the autobahn. I’m woken by the sound of the engine growing quieter – have we reached Calais? Are we about to board the ferry back to dear old Blighty?
No. We’re lost. Big style. And we’re alone in a small German village. John pulls into a handy space outside a shop…. Miraculously Martin and Theresa’s cars pull in behind us. Much discussion is made of how to get back on the main road to France. We depart… We arrive back at the same handy space outside the shop. More discussion. Martin asks which direction to head in, so I jokingly tell him not to worry as we’ll meet back here in five minutes anyway… We do. We re-re-re-depart. Eventually, after some local sightseeing, we lose Martin as he spots an exit to the motorway and makes a bid for freedom from the village of doom. More driving around, and finally we also find the right route. Hurrah!
Sunday 22 May
Early hours – the sun is rising. We approach Calais. We’ve lost the other cars through fuel stops. Nobody has seen or heard from Matt for sometime. As we pull into the ferry terminal though, the car in front of us is Matt’s. As we pull into line up for the ferry, the cars in front of us are Martin’s and Theresa’s. Once again, you couldn’t have planned it.
The ferry is free from school kids and the sea is glassy flat. Things are looking up!
Arrive back in Blighty. We all sprint from the Ferry back towards Bristol. Matt’s car finally dies at the side of the motorway. I pat the Beemer lovingly and coax her into the final few miles. Drop off Reg and John.
Arrive home! It’s good to be home, I think … for about 5 minutes, and then wish I was back in Italy.
And I still wish I was back there. Oh for a simple life of cafes, campfires, inane conversations, great coffees and pizzas… oh, and a bit of paddling too.
Jon Kerswell