I could see the eastward stream pulling full bore through a narrow gap. The sea curled over in a chaotic spray of white horses: I felt sick just looking at it
Looking down, I could see the eastward stream pulling
full bore through a narrow gap. Between mighty cliff and
rocky island, the sea curled over in a chaotic spray as the
flow broke into white horses. I felt sick just looking at it. The thought of entering that chop churned my stomach and kept
me awake most of the night. As the next day arrived and the tides were slack, I checked conditions were good - which they
were - sucked up my nerves, and pushed out to sea. Anxiously rounding the corner of Cape Wrath, I entered the waves that
had stirred up so much fear and doubt from the shore. Indeed
it was rough, and required hard paddling to execute success,
but to my surprise the reality of the race wasn’t fear, but fun.
I passed the cliffs with a smile on my face, and with all self doubt removed in the process.
Over the next week I slowly pushed across the north coast
one headland at a time with the same repeating routine of primal fear ashore, and paddling enjoyment on the sea. On
land, safe and dry, my mind was burdened with nerves each
night, but on the water the next day they were washed away with the immediate purpose of the journey at hand.
After several successful headlands rounded, I started to
ignore the voices of fear. Complacently letting my planning slip, this led to my most epic and challenging experience during my entire circumnavigation of Scotland as I rounded Holborne
Head. My second last headland in the north, it was the one day
of my trip where the conditions became what I had feared. This was the day of all days on which I should have listened more carefully to those whispers of doubt.
My mistake was reversing the routine; I had ignored the
A huge swell had risen against the tide and a high wind
whispers of fear which had led to a lack of proper precautionary
bow to stern on their face. The new confidence of having aced
event had been shelved in an effort to escape, afterwards it
lifted the waves steeply enough to easily take my entire kayak
the last few days without issue now turned to desperation, as I found myself fighting for survival for several hours. I
planning. Whilst, perhaps surprisingly, the fear during the utterly consumed me.
On reflection, the experience had been terrifying. It was
remember the moment a wave actually barrelled over me,
the closest I have come, before or since, to having a serious
into the breaking foam. I remember too the crack of waves
with a reluctance to return to the water. It was a valuable lesson,
surfing me sideways as I braced hard, white knuckles piled erupting against the cliffs of an inescapable shore. I remember a horrible sense of being totally stationary as each crucial
emergency on the sea, and for days after it affected me deeply but experience, as always, came just after I needed it.
Those voices can sometimes turn from a hinderance to a
paddle placement wallowed in the waves. Every minute felt
useful tool. I have long said that, the safest paddlers are the
was sinking and I was running out of energy. When I finally
recognises risk and listens to it by matching their planning to
an hour, and every stroke an effort to stay upright. My kayak reached safe harbour, I was so exhausted that I needed help from a stranger to lift my kayak from the slipway. My cockpit was twelve inches deep in water from a leaking deck and I was
shivering hard from the cold water and sheer adrenaline. I was physically and emotionally spent. 64
timid ones, but it is perhaps better to consider that a safe paddler their ability. By acknowledging the ‘whispers’, rather than fear
them, a greater picture of the journey ahead and its possible
outcomes can be made. Knowing when it is appropriate
to listen to them, or to ignore them, is then purely down to experience.
