The weather looked unreliable so we all decided to have a van-based day exploring the area. We had breakfast, piled in the van and headed off to Wasdale, Eskdale valley’s dead-end neighbour where Ryan and I had set off from to climb Napes Needle the previous day. We were keen for the others to experience the dramatic landscape of the drive along wild Wast Water and the remote quaintness of Wasdale Head hamlet.
Wasdale Head, St Olaf’s Church
Dad navigated the twisty roads and we arrived in the valley after a 20 minute drive. We stopped at a wide, grassy area of Wast Water’s western bank so Bosun could have a swim. He frolicked merrily, unconcerned by the chill of the dark, glassy water, while we hopped over rocks and took in the vastness of the rolling mountains all around us. The most iconic was Great Gable, stood majestically at the head of the valley, its triangular glory perfectly framed by steep, symmetrical fells on either side.
Damp dog in tow (it’s impossible to effectively towel dry a thick-coated labrador) we got back in the van and continued along the narrow road to Wasdale Head. We parked up and walked along a path between delightfully bucolic stone-walled fields to England’s smallest parish church, St Olaf’s, which sits in a little wooded churchyard in the midst of the fields and fells. It’s charmingly tiny, with a low tiled roof, pebbledash walls and simple rectangular shape, and the inside is wooden beamed, whitewashed and extremely cosy, with rustic décor, rows of wooden pews, a little stained glass window and a small altar backed by deep red, velvety curtains. Mum in particular was very taken, and as we waited for her outside we read stone memorials to the mountaineers lost in the hills.
We left the church and walked a short distance between more little fields to Wasdale Head, the hamlet that seems to revolve around the iconic Wasdale Head Inn, a long, three-storied building painted cream with thick black windowframes set beneath the hulking backdrop of Yewbarrow fell. Ryan and I had been there a couple of years before to use the landline to inform Ryan’s dad of our safe return from a six-mountain hike (the valley has zero phone signal), and the place had a pleasant, familiar feel. We pottered around the little shop adjacent to the pub before going back to the van and driving back to the banks of Wast Water.
Paddleboarding on Wast Water
As is convention I was desperate to squeeze as many adventurous activities out of the trip as possible, so I inflated the paddleboard borrowed from Ryan’s brother Tom (on a seemingly long-term basis), portentously informed everyone that there was no need for me to change as I had no intention of getting wet, and – avoiding the dog at all costs – made my way out onto the water. Being alone on the lake was isolating and wonderfully liberating, and I felt like I may as well have been the only person on Earth. My world was reduced to a 7x3ft plastic board, a tiny speck set deep between the steep sides of rolling, rugged mountains, and looking over to the opposite bank I faced an insurmountable wall that formed the northern face of Ilgill Head, whose 609m summit was shrouded in thick white cloud. Grey scree seemed to flow down from the cloud, forming channels like rivers which widened to deltas and estuaries before depositing into the lake. Rough scrub, grass and heather peppered the hillside wherever it could take hold, and there were no signs of human interference – it was too steep for a path.
Fighting the wind as it tried to push me towards the southern end of the lake, I crossed half a kilometre of cold, dark water to this intimidatingly lofty wall of scree, clambered awkwardly onto slippery rocks, cut my toe and waved excitedly across the lake at the others – who weren’t even watching – as if I’d discovered uncharted land. I retrieved a stick for the dog, returned to my tethered board and just paddled around for a while, ignoring the rain, countering the wind and relishing every moment in the immense, lonely wilderness. My hiking trousers were wet from kneeling on the board and being rained on, but I didn’t mind – thighs dry. Eventually I was waved in for lunch, so I returned to the western bank, beached the board slightly more gracefully on the pebbled beach, packed up and joined the others in the van for mum’s delicious bacon sandwiches.
Egremont and St Bees
The rain didn’t subside so after lunch we left Wasdale, stopped at the nearby Sawmill farm shop (nice but pricey) and drove west out of the Lakes to the town of Egremont. I’m sure it’s a nice place but the weather didn’t do it any favours – to me it seemed decidedly grey. We bought supplies from co-op, dashed back to the van and moved on to St Bees, a nearby village on the coast. We stopped in a large car park overlooking the foggy sea and I tentatively suggested a walk on the beach, which motion was unanimously rejected. We sat in the van for a while pondering what to do; it was claggy, grey and wet, so we agreed that rather than get soggy and miserable, we’d return to the campsite and relax like normal people do on holiday – a notion that was totally alien to me.
Back in Eskdale
Dad drove us back and to my surprise the relaxing was actually quite nice. Ryan and I watched Ammonite on my phone, a lovely film about the life of Dorset fossil hunter Mary Anning, as rain drove down on the tent, mum cooked dinner and we all ate in the awning. The weather started to clear in the evening and at 9.30pm Angus, Ryan and I decided to walk the dog up the hill behind the campsite.
We went past the waterfall we’d found a couple of days before, climbed up a track and emerged onto an open, rolling moorland plateau looking out toward the high fells around Scafell Pike. The sun set over the mountains, casting a stunning red glow across a mackerel sky, and with some minor resistance we managed to prevent Bosun – who was otherwise very well-behaved – launching himself into the smooth water of Eel Tarn. We navigated around some rugged, rocky outcrop and returned back the way we came, extremely pleased to have squeezed an very pleasant, scenic sunset walk into an otherwise wet, poor visibility day.
We drove down in the evening and met our friend Gus in the car park near the Square and Compass pub at Worth Matravers. This pub is something special – I’ve mentioned it before but on reflection it deserves its own post, so I won’t go into detail. We turned up, ordered three Kiss me Kate ciders and drank in the garden, enjoying the mild summer air and sea views.
Once we were a pint or so in and approaching the giggly stage, a Spanish band started playing from a small gazebo next to us. We didn’t understand a word but appreciated some post-covid, impromptu live music, especially when the keyboardist came out with an impressive solo and the singer donned some bright yellow, horizontal-barred sunglasses with flashing rims which had no business being designed, manufactured or worn, but somehow added to the slightly trippy atmosphere.
My hazy memory suggests that we chatted to the singer and came away with some random band stickers, listened to a mind-numbingly repetitive encore song which had approximately two chords and precisely two lyrics – te and amo – , stayed until (and a bit beyond) last orders, got unintentionally drunk and (on my part) threw up outside the van. I’m not proud, so I’ll move onto the next day.
Saturday 28th August: Paddleboarding Winspit to Swanage, 6.5 miles
Gus slept in the pop-top roof of the van and reported that it was surprisingly comfy, although I suspect he’s too polite to say anything less. We had bacon and sausage sandwiches for breakfast, packed a day’s worth of paddleboarding stuff and walked the mile-or-so down the beautifully green, wild valley to the sea-level ledge at Winspit. After some exertion, the three paddleboards were pumped up and launched.
Section 1: Winspit to Dancing Ledge
We paddled away from the shore and looked back on the sheer limestone cliffs that dominate the long Purbeck coastline, topped by rolling green fields under a blue sky punctuated by fluffy, harmless-looking white clouds. The weather was dry and the sea was fairly calm, but an annoying north-easterly headwind hampered our progress and disturbed the water enough to make travelling in a straight line very difficult for me, as I’d borrowed Tom’s short-finned river/lake paddleboard.
A kayaker passed us and asked if everything was okay, which we perhaps should have taken as a warning. I told him we were fine and enjoying our trip from Winspit to Swanage and he looked at me as if I was positively mad.
After a frustrating half hour Ryan and I swapped, realised to my amusement that he was heavy enough to submerge the board, then both jumped on the family-sized board that Gus had lent us. We paddled along happier, towing the other board, speaker blaring one of my questionable Spotify playlists. Gus flew ahead at an impressive speed on his racing board, which cut through the water like soft butter.
We passed some big caves, resisting the temptation to take a closer look as we realised that reaching Swanage might be an ambitious task. Hedbury Quarry seemed to take forever to pass, and eventually we reached a very busy Dancing Ledge after about an hour and a half.
Section 2: Dancing Ledge to Durlston Lighthouse
Lunch at Dancing Ledge was a good idea as it broke up the journey, lifted our spirits and gave the tens of people sitting and swimming there a chuckle as we attempted to beach and re-launch the boards over the sharp-barnacled, uneven rock ledges. Ryan’s homemade Scotch eggs went down a treat – I think he’s finally found his calling.
The wind seemed to die down along this section, which was by far the most pleasant. We paddled happily along the calm surface as the sun warmed our skin, and even when it clouded over the air was still mild. “You’re Beautiful” came on the speaker and Gus fell in the water, presumably due to James Blunt-induced overexcitement, and we watched a handful of climbers making their way up the blocky limestone cliffs. It was interesting to see the areas we usually climb from this angle because the abseil-in trad climbing at Swanage tends to feel quite lonely, as if there’s noone else on the rock, but there were quite a few people fairly close together who wouldn’t have been able to see each other.
Section 3: Durlston Lighthouse to Peveril Point (AKA Peril Point)
After another hour along the long, straight section of cliffs we reached Anvil Point and Durlston Lighthouse, which had taunted us for so long by not appearing to get any closer. This stretch changed our course from due east to north-east, so the land no longer sheltered from the chilly northeasterly wind.
It took us a painfully long time to get past some people fishing at Tilly Whim caves, then along to Durlston Head. We stoicly rejected the offer of a tow from a jetski, paddled hard as the strange little turrets of Durlston Castle on our left barely moved at all, and fought the frighteningly strong currents around the corner between Durlston Bay and the open sea.
Eventually, after some soul-destroyingly slow progress, we made it around the headland and into the less-windy-but-still-quite-choppy Durlston Bay. This was tough news to swallow as I’d forgotten that this bay lies between Durlston Head and Swanage, so had expected to turn the corner and see the finish line. Exasperated but kind of bemused, we pushed northwards along the wild, empty bay using land reference points to check that we were actually moving, watched enviously as Gus made the whole thing look easy, and regrouped just before Peveril Point to agree how to approach the treacherous-looking thin, rocky spit.
Section 4: Peveril Point to Swanage beach
Acutely aware of the lookout station directly to our left and the numerous people observing our plight, probably with a mixture of concern and amusement, we adopted a plan to paddle aggressively past the rocky finger as if striding confidently into battle. Gus went first and again made it look easy, although he later confessed that his life had flashed before his eyes and he thought the end was nigh.
Ryan and I reached the choppy water, which looked as if a frenzy of sharks were feeding just below the surface, and paddled hard. I thought things were under control until I glanced left at the rocks and realised that we were making absolutely no progress whatsoever. I irritably expressed my concern when Ryan decided to point out (using his paddle, which at that moment should have been being used as a paddle) how mesmerising the calm water ahead of us was. Recoiling at the telling-off, he returned to paddling and we made it past the choppy section, thinking we were in the clear.
As it turned out, I was right to be suspicious about the rolling, mesmerisingly calm water that appeared abruptly beyond the choppy bit. We quickly realised that the flattest sea was in fact the worst, where the currents are strongest, and I watched hopelessly as the water pulled us effortlessly back. Ryan said something along the lines of “let’s go as hard as we can”, I refrained from sarcastically replying “you reckon”, and we paddled our sorry little shoulders off to get out of the current. The paddleboard we were towing was pulling us back and it took nearly everything we had to paddle fast and hard enough to escape, but by some miracle we eventually made it out before muscle fatigue set in.
From there it was plain sailing through the gentle water of Swanage Bay. We paddled triumphantly past the people watching us near the lookout station, between the moored up boats, under the pier and onto the southern end of the busy beach. Relieved to feel solid land beneath our feet, we checked in with Gus to make sure he struggled with Peveril (later named Peril) Point too – he reassured us that he did – and we packed up our stuff.
A few celebratory drinks
We traipsed through the busy streets of Swanage and quickly found ourselves in the tucked-away garden of the White Swan with a cold pint each. The customary post-adventure, post-near-death-experience debrief ensued and we laughed about how – with hindsight – oddly enjoyable the journey had been, and how – even with hindsight – it wasn’t quite all enjoyable. A combination of all day sun, exposure to the elements, hunger, fatigue, relief and on my part lightweightedness meant that the alcohol got to us quite quickly.
We caught the bus from Swanage to Acton with our big paddleboard bags and walked a mile across a field and along a quiet road back to the van. To the others’ delight I managed to flick a big dollop of wet sheep poo up the back of my legs, thanks to my April to October flip-flop policy. We met Tom and Cam (Tom’s girlfriend) in the car park, had a discrete barbecue as we watched the sun set, then returned to the Square and Compass to while the night away. After last orders we came back to the van to talk more rubbish and play card games, but I don’t remember much of that.
Sunday 29th August: Snorkelling and climbing at Winspit
Sunday was comparatively relaxed. After breakfast the five of us walked down to the sea-level ledge at Winspit and had a dip in the sea, with varying levels of reluctance. On jumping in I dropped my snorkel mask, which was thankfully retrieved by Ryan. The others messed around while I snorkelled over colourful rocks covered in all kinds of barnacles, anemones, plants and algae, underwater forests of long, gently swaying seaweed and fish, including large, tropical-looking red, yellow, blue and green wrasse.
We sat talking, eating, drinking and people/dog watching on the flat, rocky ledge, enjoying the sun. Around mid-afternoon we persuaded a reluctant Gus to try rock climbing, so we walked up the bank to Winspit west Quarry and Ryan led Bread Knife, a grade 4 sport climb up a corner crack with a couple of tricky-ish moves for the grade. I belayed while Gus trembled his way up (in Vans as Ryan’s shoes didn’t fit him, poor boy), until he reached a difficult section and decided that the most sensible option was to come down. He did a good job of putting on a brave face – we only realised his genuine terror once he was back on the ground.
I toproped the climb, came down, then toproped again to clean it once we realised Gus wasn’t getting back on the wall. Having successfully managed to put him off climbing, we walked back up the valley to Worth Matravers, all jumped in Tom and Cam’s van and went down the road to the Scott Arms at Kingston for dinner.
We were pleased to find that their outdoor Jamaican shack was open and serving food for the first time since we’d been there, so we found a table in the busy garden overlooking Corfe Castle and ordered various jerk dishes. We were all starving and the food seemed to take an age to come, but it was so worth it once it did – I’ve never had proper Jamaican food before and it was lovely – sweet, spicy and incredibly satisfying. We enjoyed the evening sun and the lovely view (but not so much the occasional sewage smell coming from a drain in the garden) over a couple of drinks, then Tom and Cam went home ready to work the following day.
The remaining three of us walked 3 miles back to Worth Matravers as the sun was setting, through a cattlefield and along a wild, narrow, steep-sided wooded valley on a path filled with slugs and stinging nettles. I’m glad I took a headtorch because it was absolutely pitch black when I turned it off. We emerged in a field at the back of Worth and walked to the Square and Compass via the cobbled village. The rest of the evening involved mead, jelly snakes, deep conversations, admiring the mustard walls and eclectic décor and a visit to the pub’s fossil museum.
Monday 30th August: Mountain biking at Puddletown Forest
We got up, packed up, had a classic van breakfast of eggs in purgatory and headed about half an hour west to Puddletown Forest, where Gus knew some mountain bike trails.
Puddletown Forest is a large area of Forestry Commission leased woodland interspersed by bridleways, firebreaks and footpaths. It’s quite hilly and after a climb up a sandy, gravelly track, we emerged from the trees onto a high, heathery ridge. Mountain bikers have carved natural trails through the heather and the first section we did was very narrow, overgrown and scratchy, which woke us up and started the adrenaline pump.
From there we went to find a couple of bombhole-type bits with flowy jumps and steep drop-ins. I’m confident downhill but very much in the learning stage of jumping a bike, so I messed about on my own while the other two flew around all over the place. Some of the jumps looked crazy – way too ambitious for any of us – and I wonder how on earth people manage them. The ground was nice, compact dirt, but the tree roots were a bit annoying as they threatened to throw wheels off course at the most inconvenient moments.
We spent the rest of the afternoon riding around looking for more trails, which cropped up either side of the bridleways and provided some lovely singletrack riding. Some of it was quite committing (mainly because of the loose ground, roots, steepness and drop-offs) but we made it round fine. The trails have been named but the location feature of Gus’s Trail Forks app was playing up, so we had no idea where we were or how to get to each one; instead we ended up riding along until we saw something that looked good. One trail in particular had a lovely section of flowing, S-shaped berms, and another had some fun, technical rooty downhill.
I felt quite sluggish after a long weekend of exertion, drinking and a less-than-ideal amount of sleep, but I really enjoyed the riding and I’ll definitely come back. It’s the kind of place where you have to spend time to work out how to get around, but I’m sure that once you do it’s easier to link the trails together and cut down on the firebreak/gravel track riding.
Tired and hungry, we accepted that the weekend had to finish at some point and made the unanimous decision to soften this blow with a team McDonalds. We packed the bikes up after 3 hours of riding and met at Ferndown Maccies, where we ate naughty food and agreed that we can’t leave it too long until the next adventure… and so concluded a pretty epic weekend.
A couple of weeks ago Ryan and I took five days’ annual leave with the hope of taking the van up to the Lake District. Unfortunately lockdown rules still prevented overnight stays, so we decided to make the most of some local adventures.
Saturday – MTB, Swinley Forest
Saturday morning saw us up bright and early to try the mountain biking trails at Swinley Forest, Berkshire. We went with Ryan’s brother Adam and Ryan’s new bike, which deserves a mention as he treats it like a second girlfriend (I think I’ve been subtly usurped).
It was well worth the hour-and-a-quarter drive from Hill HQ. We did the first half of the blue trail, then the whole red trail, then the second half of the blue to end up back where we started. The blue is 6.25 miles in total and the red 8 miles. Like most purpose-built trails, each is broken up into sections of varying difficulty and length, which meant there were ample opportunities to stop and gabble excitedly about how we nearly hit that tree, overshot that berm or slid out on that corner.
The trails are mostly quick singletrack through mixed forest, with plenty of lovely, sweeping berms, technical rooty sections and smooth jumps (not that I’ve learnt to actually jump yet). There are plenty of exciting downhill bits, but strangely it doesn’t feel like you’re spending much time going uphill. I might do a more detailed post another day, but overall this was definitely, definitely, definitely a place to return to.
We nipped in to visit my parents in Alresford on the way back to Hill HQ and spent the evening drinking cider. Day 1 – great success.
Sunday – Hiking, New Forest
We had a chilled morning sprawled over a map in the garden planning the upcoming week, then went for a walk from Telegraph Hill car park on the Roger Penny way. We headed south into a lovely ancient woodland in search of the site of a Royal Hunting Lodge, tramping between the vast old oaks and beeches whose leaves glowed bright green in the sun. We could hear a beehive high up in the trees and the foxgloves grew above my head, and there was nobody around – we could have travelled back in time a thousand years without knowing. The site was just a small clearing in the trees with a slightly raised mound around the edge, and we poked around before heading back to pack for the next day.
Monday and Tuesday – Bikepacking, New Forest
Unsurprisingly, bikepacking is backpacking on a bike. Our first bikepacking expedition took us on a meticulously planned route across the New Forest via gravel tracks, bridleways, the odd road section and the occasional resort to “as the crow flies” navigation through woods, thicket and bog.
We started at Hill HQ in Fordingbridge and travelled southeast, ending up in Beaulieu on the opposite side of the National Park after a great day of cycling on variable terrain through variable scenery. Highlights include a Portugese fireplace, trailblazing through wild, scratchy, boggy bits of forest, a weird bit of old woodland where all the trees (mature and deciduous) had died but still stood tall, dry and leafless, and a lot of leafy enclosures.
We wandered round Beaulieu in an unsuccessful search for a shop, ate a delicious panini snack looking over the estuary and reluctantly agreed that we should continue to Brockenhurst for further snacks. Those 8 miles dragged, especially the road climb out of Beaulieu, and at one point we found ourselves on a very narrow, very overgrown path. Eventually we reached little Tesco, stocked up on snacks and cider, and found a perfect camping spot in a little gorse clearing on some heathland just north of the town.
We heated tinned chilli and rice, chatted rubbish and drank cider. We didn’t bother putting the tent up because it was quite warm, so we just slept on the groundsheet and a sleeping bag. It was cloudy when we went to sleep but I woke halfway through the night to a sky full of stars, which was amazing. In the morning we had all-day-breakfast and porridge (respectively, not together), packed up and squeezed out of our little gorsey circle.
Having cycled 41 miles on day 1, the most fearsome enemy of day 2 was the saddle. Even the flat, straight old gravel railway line out of Brockenhurst was uncomfortable at best, even though the views over the scrubby, pony-spangled heathland were lovely. We headed west and stopped in Burley to peer through the windows of the famous witch shops, then slogged up the hill for lunch overlooking the grassy, gorsey valley at Picket Post.
Apart from going off-route in the last enclosure and inadvertently extending the ride a little, the cycle back to Hill HQ was uneventful and verging on type 2 fun due to the unpleasantness of sitting down. We got back mid-afternoon and sprawled on the grass, sweaty, tired and relieved to be out of the saddle. We’d done a further 28 miles that day, bringing the total mileage to 69 on the dot.
Despite the soreness, we’d both had a whale of a time. The only thing we’ll do differently next time is carry more on our bikes and less on our backs – everything was in backpacks except for the things in my handlebar and frame bags, so we’ll get some panniers/saddlebags. Bikepacking allowed us to cover a significant distance – the breadth of the New Forest and back – in just a couple of days, without rushing and mainly offroad. We saw forest, heath, hill, valley, river and bog, a whole load of nature and some pretty villages. There’s no feeling of freedom quite like camping out under the stars and being able to carry everything you need. 8/10 overall (minus one for each sore arse).
Wednesday – Exploring and Mountain boarding, New Forest
We hadn’t made a concrete decision as to what to do due to a post-cycle inability to do anything productive, so on Karen’s suggestion (mummy Hill) we went to Hurst spit across the other side of the New Forest. We stopped on the way for a quick wander round a pond, parked in Keyhaven and walked through the saltmarsh nature reserve to the spit, which is a long, stony peninsula between the mainland and the Isle of Wight. We had lunch on the beach while watching a kiteboarder, decided that we quite fancied kiteboarding, and walked the length of the spit to Hurst Castle. It was closed due to coronavirus but the walk was nice.
On the way back to Hill HQ we stopped at a spot with a little slope to play around on the mountain board. We took turns whizzing down it before deciding it’d be a good idea to try sitting on the board. It wasn’t – I ended up with a leg peppered with gorse splinters and Ryan friction-burnt his ankle on the wheel.
Thursday – Chill, Warminster
The heavens opened on Thursday and we allowed ourselves a chill day. We went back to my cottage in Warminster via Ryan’s in Bowerchalke (we’ve been staying at Hill HQ throughout lockdown) and sorted out our climbing/camping gear, Ryan cooked Thai green curry, and we watched films. Stepbrothers is still funny.
Friday and Saturday – Camping, fishing, climbing and paddleboarding, Dorset
We left mine in the morning and drove to Worth Matravers, all packed up ready for camping, climbing and fishing. We parked in the usual car park and walked the other-worldly path down to Winspit Quarry, where I learned to climb a couple of years ago.
The disused limestone quarry is situated in Purbeck on the east Dorset coast and the path down to it goes through a lovely, timeless valley, flanked by steep-sided grassy fields and lined by hedgerows teeming with wildlife. The sea rises flat and high in the V of the valley and everything is strikingly blue and green. The quarry sits on a rocky, blocky stretch of coastline that falls away about 15 sheer metres to the water crashing over the boulders below.
We turned right at the little bay which divides the two climbing areas, went past the West Quarry and carried on along the limestone platform until we got to the last cave before sheer rock dictates the end of the walkway. It’s more of a dugout than a proper cave, about 4m deep, 2.5m high and 10m wide. We plonked our stuff and Ryan cast a fishing line out over the edge. Unfortunately he lost an imitation ragworm to the unforgiving rocks below, which ruled out bottom fishing, and it was too windy for spinning so our fishing expedition ended there.
We spent the rest of the day chilling in the cave, overlooking the sea and watching the birds go about their long flights parallel to the cliffs. We ate leftover Thai green curry supplemented with (on my part, anyway – Ryan refused to participate) foraged sea kale and sea beet. Despite my strong inclination against sitting still, it was relaxing to just listen to the sea, put the world to rights and admire the long, wild coastline visible to the east.
Sleeping in the open cave on just a mat and under just a sleeping bag was wonderfully liberating and we got up later than we should have. By the time we’d packed up and walked the short distance to the bolted West Quarry climbing area it was starting to get busy, so we shot up and down the easygoing climb Bread Knife while it was free. We decided to try out the Quarryman’s Wall area across the bay, only to find it even busier. People queued for Tom’s Patience and every route at 6a or below was taken, so we dithered bitterly for a few minutes before deciding that Saturday morning shortly after lockdown restrictions were eased wasn’t the best time to be at Winspit.
We plodded the twenty-minute walk back to the car and left for Swanage, hoping to get some fishing in. Luckily we’d kept Tom’s paddleboard in the car just in case, so we parked in a sneaky spot away from the touristy centre and took it down to the almost empty beach east of the popular bit. The tide was low so we cancelled our fishing plans and I took the paddleboard out in shorts and a t-shirt, shortly to discover that even with a relatively calm sea, a river board is definitely designed for use on the river. I was soaked quite quickly after my first attempt to stand, and although I got the hang of it, rogue waves kept catching me off guard and I took some spectacular tumbles.
Ryan trotted out to join me and I alternated between messing around on the paddleboard and indulging in the first bit of swimming I’ve done for several months. I’d been in the sea about an hour before realising I was a bit cold, so I waded back to the beach like some dreadful wet creature and pulled on some dry clothes. We drove back to Hill HQ for cider n chill with the Hillbillies, a bit irked to have had our fishing and climbing plans thwarted but pleased with our impromptu paddleboarding trip and glad to have had a couple of days on the Dorset coast.
Queuing for climbs – not my thing
Post-paddle
Sunday – Sulking, Hill HQ
It was father’s day so I met mum, dad and brother at granny’s house in Sarisbury Green, east of Southampton, and went for a lovely walk along the River Hamble. Apart from this and an evening barbecue at Hill HQ it was quite uneventful – a day of winding down after a week of as many activities and adventures as possible, given the lockdown.
Taking advice from a first-timer is generally not best practice. However, two weeks ago I found myself wishing for some simple answers about SUPing from someone who wasn’t a) highly experienced and convinced I knew what he was talking about, or b) trying to sell me something.
Two weeks later I’m that person who can give simple advice, and I’d like to help anyone who is in the same exasperating situation that I was. This is aimed at those looking to try SUPing for the first time.
Here are some questions I wanted answers to:
Hire or tuition?
I had assumed that hiring a SUP was as commonplace and straightforward as hiring a kayak or canoe. You pay, they give a standard safety brief and kit you out, you paddle off into the sunset. When I looked into SUPing I was surprised to find that lots of places offer kayak/canoe/boat hire and SUP lessons or tours, but not SUP hire. This made me wonder whether it was much harder, riskier or more complicated than it looks. Having found a place to hire SUPs supervision-free, I tried it and was not enlightened. It requires more balance than kayaking, but I wouldn’t say that it is significantly more difficult or dangerous.
Verdict: Unless you really struggle with balance or coordination, I’d say just hire a board and give it a go. It may help to Youtube the paddle technique and body position beforehand, but it’s pretty easy to pick up as you go along. It’s usually cheaper and you’ll have more freedom to explore where you like. (If you’re rich, feel free to buy all the gear – after taking proper advice – and learn that way and/or lend it to me…)
How do you do it?
The hire place will probably go through this, but just in case they don’t:
Place the SUP in shallow water with the front facing outwards, away from the beach/bank/slipway. The front and the back look similar, but the back has fins underneath that help you travel in a straight line. Climb onto the middle of the board and kneel with a wide stance, facing forwards.
Hold the paddle with one hand at the top of the shaft and the other hand about halfway down. Place the paddle into the water on the same side as your lower hand. I found that the best way to learn to paddle was by doing it, experimenting with stroke length, speed and angles. I’m definitely underqualified to give detailed advice on this!
When you’ve got a feel for the board and paddle, try standing up. Use your hands to steady yourself and take it slow. The work isn’t just done by the arms – you actually paddle mainly with your core, using your legs to stay firmly on the board.
How easy is it?
An impossible question to answer as it comes down to your balance, coordination, strength and confidence. I was surprised at how easy I found it – most hire boards are very stable (the bigger, the easier) and you can get the feel of it by starting on your knees. Some people will be standing up within ten minutes, but others have just as much fun paddling around kneeling down.
What are the risks?
Getting eaten, bitten or lost, drowning, being hit by lightning or crushed by a boat, missing the World Cup final, contracting an exotic disease or ending up on a deserted island with just a beaten up old volleyball for company. Maybe you should stay at home.
No seriously, you’re surrounded by water, exposed to other water-users (many with powerful engines and poor manoeuvrability) and at the mercy of the weather – the risks are self-evident. Just be sensible and listen to safety warnings and you should come out alive.
How does it compare to kayaking, canoeing etc?
When I first saw a paddleboard I thought something like “what’s the point of that, why not just get a kayak?” Then I tried it and realised that it’s totally different. You get an entirely different perspective of the water from a standing position, and I had a much greater range of movement which felt really liberating. I’ll write a separate post on my first experience SUPing.
Equipment: Do I need…?
Buoyancy aid:
No. However, like most water activities, you should wear one, and some places will require you to do so. Even Olympic swimmers drown if they fall unconscious; a buoyancy aid will ensure your head stays above the water.
Wetsuit:
No. If you’re comfortable enough you can wear whatever you like – I was fortunate enough to enjoy SUPing in 30 degree heat, bikini-clad and sun cream-smothered.
Other fancy gear:
No, unless the hire place says otherwise. You don’t need special shoes or gloves – just yourself, a board and a paddle. Swimwear advisable for legal reasons and drinking water advisable for you-really-don’t-want-to-get-dehydrated reasons.
I’d really recommend giving SUPing a go as it gives you a different perspective of the water, a decent workout and an opportunity to explore new places. I’ve covered pretty much everything I wanted to know prior to my first SUP adventure, but feel free to get in touch if you’d like any more amateur advice.
curiousgnome 