Tuesday 8 September 2009

Stage 3

Arriving in transition I found my crew with the boat mostly ready to go for the portage to the lake.

A few quick adjustments were made, a snack snacked and after donning my spray deck and buoyancy aid I was off for the push to the lake. The big-wheeled trolley rapidly showed its value as I bounced up the farmers track passing a couple of boats struggling with small-wheeled ones. A lift over a gate saw me putting the boat into the water at the gentle shore for the first test of my weakest discipline. The first lake was Crummock water (around 4 km) followed by a portage (1 km) to Buttermere (2 km).

We were told that we could take any line down the lake but that the wind was gusting around a lot and the western shore may be smoother.

As I set off the lake looked similarly windy with squalls of wind and rain appearing everywhere so I took the lead of the boats ahead and took the racing line for the shortest paddle.

Things started off well enough and I settled into a rhythm through the small chop on the water. As we neared the middle though the wind really started gusting and blowing me around. The waves started getting up and everything was getting a bit interesting. I ploughed on, trying to follow instruction and power down the waves to surf them and then let the next catch me up. The rudder was proving invaluable and largely let me steer the course I wanted although I was being blown eastwards a bit but nothing that was a problem as I was heading for my intended landing zone.

At one point a really strong gust of wind whipped the paddle out of one my hands and sent me toppling sideways. Fortunately a grab for the paddle and vague bracing stroke saw me stay upright but with a very raised heart rate!

Finally the end of the lake got close and I pondered the route for the portage. The obvious choice was a bridleway running the corner of the lake along the stream running into Crummock (which comes from Buttermere but we were told isn't paddleable), but Liam had recce'd that and said the terrain was horrid and would be a struggle with a trolley (unlike his 11 kg surf ski which goes on a shoulder, my 27 kg boat needs a trolley). Another option was a series of footpaths cutting through the middle and turning into tracks for a campsite.

In the end the wind made the decision for me as the cross-wind blew me away from the lake corner and trying to turn back led conditions a bit testing for me as I paddled across the waves which were rising to break on the shore. I headed for a nice friendly looking patch of beach and surfed in to firmly ground the boat out before splashing ashore. I was clearly the leader as another three boats cruised in behind me.

A quick recce showed I was in the footpath I wanted (although annoyingly just the wrong side of a gate). With the boat on the trolley I soon came to a nasty knoll which extended to the water edge and made wheeling impossible. I shared lifts with a female solo (Karen, who I would meet a lot in the next few days) and we were soon on better, but boggy) ground. The trolley handled this well and I jogged to the campsite where I joined a small track along a stream which was much better going. The only obstacle was a gate with a sharp turn which took a few attempts to wiggle through (not assisted by the pair who were there about the same time who didn't help holding the gate. I know we're racing but would the thirty seconds it would have taken to help me out really have been important. Things like this really irritate me; we're all struggling to beat the course, we're clearly not in with a shot of winning, so why not have a bit of common courtesy it just makes everyone's life easier. Rant over.) And then I was out onto a tarmacced track for a jog to Buttermere.

Putting in at a little beach the lake looked much calmer and this proved correct. It was a short and slightly blustery paddle to the landing point, but with the ominous sight of Robinson fell looming up over us and disappearing into the clouds; this was going to be a tough run.

A short push over another boggy field got me into transition where everything was (not much as I was paddling in my running shoes). The first attempt to leave saw me forget my bib, and on the second attempt I forgot the map, only being rescued as dad dashed down the road shouting after me!



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