Oct 3rd, Saturday, early morning. We were off to the River Washburn! Debates had been long and wide on whether we should really make this trip, after all last year’s unpleasant memories of the arduous road-work-strewn journey, the crowded river and – most dauntingly – the search for a campsite where vans and canoeists are welcome (see issue #1 of the newsletter !!!). On the other hand, the Washburn is refreshingly different from other British paddles in that it is small and fast (though not furious) with many tiny tree-obstructed eddies (and literally no big ones). In the end, this threw the balance and we set out to catch the last opening of the year.

From the long list of interests only a small group turned out to be game for it. We all met at the access point at Blubberhouses: Trevor and David were there, plus Robert Warren for a day’s paddle as he had to be back with family duties, and Spencer who “popped round” from a work assignment in Manchester just “to see what it is like” and take a few pictures.

The drive up had been good for all of us, as thanks to the previous year’s road works there was now an extended bit of motorway that took us well past Leeds… The trouble had been finding the actual site – not so much for Sean and me as we had been before, but for the others. This time, there was no sign put up at the crucial turnoff from a little side road into the private estate of the local Water Services below the reservoir dam to hint at a canoeing event in this forsaken spot on the map. Instead, a huge board screamed “Keep off these premises!” in fat red letters. No wonder all the others had already surveyed the area from various angles (including the top of the dam!) before they even got to the destination.

The missing sign, so we were told by the organiser who came round to swap helmet tags and parking stickers for hard British currency, had been stolen during the previous tour weekend and had not been replaced for lack of funds. To add to their misery, another loss event seemed to be heralded by plenty of rain – quite atypically for the season: All the rivers were up and calling, and dam-released Washburn held little adventure for the local canoeist squad under such circumstances. By the time we registered, around mid-day, there were a mere 30 paddlers on the tour; a bonus for us, though, as we were invited to camp right there at the access! Needless to say we were more than pleased to be spared another “campsite odyssey”…

Rapidly, the sunny spell that had greeted us and tempted Trevor and David onto their mountainbikes deteriorated into the usual rain clouds and we changed into canoeing gear. The wet element seems to be just so much more bearable on the water… Wading through thick mud, we transferred our boats to the one and only get-in and posed for a photo by the ominous warning signs “This river is not for novices!”; “Provide your own safety!”; “Please paddle in small groups - no more than 4 paddlers!” In the background loomed the dam, and Sean and David pondered the potential downhill canoeing fun to be had if the release would be facilitated over the top edge of the reservoir rather than through pipes at its bottom.

The pipes had all undergone repair work earlier this year, which had sabotaged our plans of using the May Washburn Tour as training for the Club trip to the Alps. A perfect idea, because the Washburn as a river is probably as close to an Alpine mountain stream as you will get it on this island. But the May Tour had been cancelled…

Now the pipes were very much alive again, spewing out a substantial amount of cold water – quite a thrill from the very start. I felt much more confident about it than last year. A few ferry-glides for warm-up and we were all rearing to go. We would do eddy-hopping, always making the eddy the person in front had just left. Or so we thought. But a few metres downstream the river narrowed, the water got faster yet and those eddies were small, and all our careful plans went out of the window. The major exercise now was in actually making any eddy at all! We did get in some playtime as well, though, on small waves along the way and – for the more advanced – a river-wide stopper.

Soon we came up to what they call the Mill Weir and what is a four-foot drop into a small pool from where the river hurries on in a restricted bed with plenty of boulder and tree-trunk obstructions along the sides. Sean went off first to set up additional line cover, while we were waiting in one of the few big eddies (it looked like the swamped entrance to a ford). We were supposed to go one at a time and negotiate the drop on our own to improve our river-running skills. It seemed ages until Sean came running back to tell us we could go ahead. The drop was still further away than what we had remembered, but the long wait had positively hyped me up and in my mind the “easy little ledge” I had shrugged off earlier had swollen to a thunderous waterfall that was about to devour me… Off I went – the banks wooshed past me and I hit the only rock that obstructed the straight path down the middle, nearly causing me a heart attack. I managed to get half a dozen breakouts on the way, which made me feel better, and then came the drop. Down I bobbed and perfectly broached on the last rock of the pool. Talk about anticlimax… A moment later, Trevor came shooting down and right on top of me, so there we were hanging off that rock between the two of us!

No problem, though, as Sean could easily pull us free before getting back into his boat, and we went straight into the next challenge: A set of big haystack waves ahead during which we were supposed to do breakouts. No such thing, of course… I ended up all the way down before I found a safe haven to wait for the others. Panic over! From there, the river meandered peacefully through overhanging trees and bushes, providing an idyllic end to an exciting paddle.

Since Rob wouldn’t have the chance to get back on the next day, Sean and David accompanied him for a “quick” 2nd run before the water would shut down. While Trevor prepared for the shuttle, I retreated into the organisers’ canteen tent where I befriended the young lady who presided over teas and burgers, a distinct advantage, for hot food and drink were ready for the cold starving warriors when they got in.

Then it was time to say farewells to Rob. Spencer had already left earlier (probably wet to the bone), so this left Trevor, David, Sean and me to sort out something to do for the evening. Our abode for the night was even less attractive than an ordinary campsite – a rough car park with a toilet block that had to be shut off at night because the pressure of the water (apparently straight out of the reservoir !!!) was too much for the pipe work – brilliant piece of engineering! We opted for a drive around the vicinity which was unfamiliar but pretty enough with moory hilltops and quaint old villages. Rob had told us of a stunning class 5 rapid on a nearby river called Wharfe and we decided that this would be worth a visit. We found the river easy enough but it took us various detours and passes until we got the turnoff to “Linton Falls”. We could hear the roar right from the car and after negotiating a few major puddles which left us with rather wet feet we found the lookout point. The Wharfe was nearly in spate due to the big rainfalls of late, and the terraced falls were certainly commanding. Of course, Sean found a line... Luckily, no access there and then! Back through the puddles, we remembered a pub on the way and stopped there for a meal and a good laugh contemplating the best way to take photos of the water rushing into “The Drop” just after the dam’s release in the morning.

By the time we got up on Sunday, we found that Trevor and David had left “camp” already. We found them down by the stopper, David treating his Medieval to flat-spins and pop-outs and Trevor trying to ban it all into his camera. They had indeed been down at 9 a.m. and put the previous night’s ideas into action, although the arrival of the flow had been far less stunning than anticipated… We followed David down for an extra run of the Mill Weir and then all went back to the top and got on. This time, the eddies seemed bigger and the drop smaller. Trevor and I broached one tree-stump further upstream, which seemed to count for an improvement. I managed a breakout between the haystacks, too, and was rewarded with retiring in an eddy right next to a nice little playwave that kept me amused until David and Sean felt like going on.

We left it at the one run for the day as the weather was getting progressively worse and, back at the car park, all sneaked into the canteen tent. There’s warmth in numbers, they say… By now, we got on quite well with the organiser crew and even had the rest of the burgers split between us for free! The second day had been “better business” and they had made a bit of profit on the food side, so things did not look quite as poor as the day before, but still they told us it was unlikely that they would run another Washburn Tour. This was when we learnt how the whole thing works: There are six recreational Washburn Tours planned for a year, however, they are not run by the BCU but by individual Clubs – in this case Sheffield Canoe Club. The responsible Club has to pay the water release fee (£480 per day !!!) as well as a fee for the usage of the car park and toilets. Quite astronomical amounts for a little far-off unknown river…

So whether there will be other Clubs volunteering to run the tours next year, providing an opportunity for a different weekend out, still stands in the stars. For us, however, the 1999 October Tour will be in good memories for a long time - and we would certainly like to go again!

by Petra Hudson, November 1999