Dare to Tri
“There is not enough money in the world to persuade me to do that ever again!!”
These were not the words I had hoped to hear when one of my caving clients emerged from the regular haunt, Swildons Hole cave, high up on the Mendip Hills.
Usually people are tired, but exhilarated. I was surprised that an Olympic triathlete hadn’t taken to her first time caving as I’d hoped. Physically she had no issues at all, but mentally – the underground world just wasn’t for her.
Having previously spent many years at ungodly hours of the morning, up before the sparrows to present BBC breakfast from the red sofa, Louise Minchin was used to putting on a brave face and a front – even when things were going horribly wrong.
Nothing went wrong on this trip and we had a fantastic day – but nothing would encourage her to try it again.
My exploits in caving and cave diving had inspired her to include me in her new book, due out May 2023 – called:
‘Fearless’ – Adventures with Extraordinary Women.
I had no idea how she found me – but I’m so pleased she did.
Not so much that I had featured in her book, don’t get me wrong, which was super lovely – but I had met a GB triathlete…and my mind started whirring.
Newly single and in need of finding my real self again, plus my never-ending battle to be smaller, lighter and faster, I started to consider the idea that I might be able to do a triathlon.
I had always wanted to – after all, as my good friend and iron man veteran Darren Morley says;
“Why be shit at one sport when you can be shit at three?!”
The only thing that always held me back was the inability to ride a bike.
Over the last 18 months I had somewhat fixed that – so I had no more excuses really.
Another friend suggested the Langport triathlon. A friendly, local event, the super sprint looked perfectly doable. Only 200m swim, 15km bike ride and a 3km run. How hard could it be?
"Did you see them?"
The drive from Oban to Peterhead is a pain. Let me explain.
I’m a trustee of the charity Ghost Fishing UK and we were surprised and delighted to have been nominated for the Fishing News Awards in Aberdeen that week.
Not one to turn down a posh party, I booked the time off work and had a few days spare in Scotland beforehand.
Seizing the opportunity, I booked my VHF short range radio exam in Peterhead sailing academy while I was in the area. It had been a long time coming as the exam centres were slow to re-open after covid.
With that passed and out of the way, I found myself in Peterhead at a loose end. Peterhead is one the most significant fishing ports in Scotland, if not the UK, so I thought I’d go and do a bit of ‘fisheries liaison’ for the charity, after I took on the role among other roles, last year.
After a brief visit to Peterhead, in the pouring rain, I decided to make the most if this rare free time in Scotland and head on up to Fraserburgh.
This port had been super supportive of our charity and I was met by Tommy the harbourmaster and Jill Smith, who took an awful lot of time out to talk to me, answer my questions and understand more about the charity.
It was during this conversation that Tommy said “We’ll see you at the Fishing News Awards then on Thursday!” We would indeed.
“And the expo at the weekend….”
Pardon what?
“The expo. You are going aren’t you?
It is THE fishing event of the year. You HAVE to be there!”
I hung my head in shame. I had no idea what the Scottish Skipper Expo was or had even heard of it. It began the day after the Fishing News Awards and all our expo stand stuff was in Cornwall with Fred Nunn.
I promised I’d buy a ticket and go as a delegate, to at least start some conversations.
The rain continued to pour and I went back to my car and phoned Fred to tell him about my successful meeting with the harbour. I also told him about the expo.
“Well, I was going to come up to the awards anyway…” said Fred (news to me) “So I could chuck all the expo stuff in the van….if you can get a stand?”
A few manic phone calls later and we had a stand secured. We were going!
A chilled posh frock evening had turned into a frantic 3 day event.
Dolly our social media lady was on her way up by plane. We stuffed her into a taxi so Fred and I could spend the day setting up the stand at the P&J live exhibition centre, a seriously impressive venue next to Aberdeen airport.
Then it was poshing up time. Most of us had forgotten to scrub up after 2 years of covid and ‘not going out’.
We were piped in by some bagpipes and there was no shortage of fizz, with a truly electric atmosphere.
The food was exquisite and all locally sourced. We were joined by a gaggle of Ghost Fishing UK divers who came to represent the charity and before long, the winners were announced by the hilariously funny Des Clarke.
I’d had far too much champagne and prosecco, convinced that a nomination was as far as we would go. So both to my delight and horror, Ghost Fishing UK was announced as the winner of the Sustainability Award.
The walk to the stage was far longer that it should have been and we posed briefly for photos (thank goodness there was no need for a speech!) and ran back to my table as fast as possible, treading on some poor guy in my heels as I went….
Gobsmacked, all eyes were now on us for the next two days at the Skipper expo. Our award was in pride of place on our stand. Loads of people we had never met came to congratulate us and it was a huge ice breaker, enabling them to come and chat to us.
We didn’t meet an ounce of negativity from the fishing community and over the two days, Fred and I had all the conversations, in person, with all the people we had wanted to meet over the last several years.
Another social evening of superb food and drink had been laid on for the exhibitors on the Friday and the Saturday was a slightly quieter day at the expo, allowing us to meet and talk to key people and organisations properly.
It is so important for our charity to engage with the fishing community in a positive way and this event has shown that the fishing community care very much about the environment they live and work in and want it to thrive.
Amazing Annecy
“The Marmots were singing, the vultures circling and I froze my a** off!”
“The Marmots were singing, the vultures circling and I froze my a** off!”
Sometime in the early 2000s, en route back from the epic Dent de Crolles cave system in the Chartreuse, France, we swung by a town called Annecy.
It frankly, took my breath away. A clean, cosmopolitan town with tree lined streets casting gentle shade over the many restaurants and bars, over looking a warm, mountain lake with a mountainous back drop. The canopies of parapentistes circled the mountain slopes, dormant ski lifts awaited winter and water skiers zoomed about all over the lake, dodging pedalos with beer swilling tourists.
It was idyllic and I vowed to go back.
It was almost 20 years before I did.
With a triathlon looming, what better excuse than to train for it on the banks of the stunning lake Annecy.
I was delighted to join a new vessel and a new company after the Licanke expedition. The Seven Atlantic is well known as one of the best flagship saturation diving vessels in the north sea. She didn’t disappoint. A friendly crew and lovely working environment, with a great back-to-back – I was able to settle into my training without issue.
I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to come with me to France at short notice. The upside was, it left me free to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.
I loaded my van with a sea kayak, bikes, swimming gear, camping gear and pretty much anything I thought I might need. It was weird going to France without any diving kit.
Figuring as a free agent, time was my own, I saw no reason to bomb it straight down to Annecy. Besides, camp sites have weird opening and closing hours there so it made sense to arrive in daylight and not be trashed when I got there.
I was super motivated – captivated even – by the Tour de France Femmes. It had been some 30 something years since it had been allowed to take place. One of the stages passed through the champagne region of France. A quick search on Komoot and a few emails to the Epernay campsite and my plan was forming.
I set up shop at the campsite after an uneventful journey and planned my ride for the next day.
The route was 45 miles or so and took in all the famous vineyards such as Bollinger and Moet & Chandon.
It was warm, sunny and there were a few tell-tale signs of the tour that had passed through a couple of months earlier. I was super grateful for the municipal water fountain which also doubled as a book swap library!
The route was somewhat lacking in cafes, so by the time I got back to the campsite on just an energy bar or two, I was ready for a good feed.
On the advice of the campsite owner I was directed away from the pizza and frites I had been longing for and instead ended up in the best rated restaurant in Epernay. It didn’t disappoint I have to say.
I got on the road the next day down to Annecy and checked in at the campsite. The sky was a little moody and being September, the weather had started to become a little unstable.
Warm, sunny days were met with windy, thundery nights, sometimes with some serious mountain lightening storms.
It was during one of these evenings when the temperature dropped and the wind began to pick up, my fellow campers and I treated ourselves to the local burger van.
As I tucked in beside my awning, a lovely Welsh couple sheepishly wandered over to me. Looking up as they approached, they said "Um, I don't suppose you've heard?" They looked sombre.
"Oh" I said "Has she, ummm....."
They nodded.
The Queen had passed away. The mood on the campsite was strange. It was peaceful, people of all nationalities stopping to chat to each other - and several of us cracked open a bottle of something fizzy that we were keeping aside for some occasion.
We raised a toast.
RIP M'am.
Each day I got out to have a mini adventure. First I managed to ascend my first mountain on a road bike – the mini Col de Leschaux. Biting off more than I could chew, I went for Le Semnoz at the end of the trip which wasn’t the smartest idea. The Marmots were singing, the vultures circling and I froze my a** off! Even less smart was not taking a jacket as it’s really quite cold at the top of mountains! I was glad to get back down to the col and into the warm sunshine again.
My sea kayak gave me lots of fun on the lake and I paddled right into Annecy itself which was a stunning experience.
I found the most perfect little boat stand which made a great bike rack for practising transitions and I had a little circuit set up – swim in the lake, jog along the pontoon – transition to bike, lap of the campsite then transition to running shoes….jog round the campsite….
Unfortunately the worry of leaving the bike unattended prevented me from doing the full distance, but it was great for practising transitions.
Not long after I drove home I had the small matter of the Great Exmoor ride, which was a complete blood bath – ok, I finished it but doing such a hilly route when I was still sore after my escapade up Le Semnoz, was a daft idea.
A week later came my first triathlon.
I was delighted to complete it and not finish last. My swim was quick, but I’d over done it and was out of breath for quite a while once I’d jumped on the bike….then, given I had done no running training at all, the 3km time was very, very poor.
I knew what I had to do to improve and vowed to take myself away on another training camp before the next one.
It was fantastic to have three amazing friends turn up – complete with cream tea and prosecco and their cameras – I was so grateful to Lisa, Jo and Paul for coming along and offering support and encouragement. They are the best.
"It sounds crazy enough to be fun"
Sump 2 in Izvor Licanke is committing.
We worked out that if you go as fast as possible in the milky visibility on the scooter, you can just about pass it without having to undertake any decompression.
I scootered alone through the sump, my brain completely focussed on the thin, white line and keeping the speed up on the trigger and enough oxygen coming through my breathing loop.
Close to the end of the sump, as it started to ascend, I dropped off the scooters and made my way up the wall from 45m to the surface.
Surfacing in dry passage without somebody to chat too is both disappointing, but also relaxing.
The time is your own and you don’t have anyone else’s problems to concern yourself with.
I was impressed with the cave passage and made 3 journeys with my fins and suit bottle, then my rebreather, then my bailout bottle.
We renamed this piece of passage 'Helen's Highway' after our good friend and CDG treasurer of over a decade.
It was befitting of the whole team rather than one individual. After a cave diving and technical diving career of over 20 years, diving all over the world, to the shock of everybody, Helen took her own life at the start of the first Covid-19 lockdown in 2020.
Helen was one of those women I looked up to, wished I could be like and her generous, kind and very thoughtful nature was something I aspired to.
She once told me (when she sent me a Christmas present and I hadn't sent her one) "You don't give to receive". That was Helen all over. She didn't deserve to die that way.
It took me 20 minutes to get to sump 3 while carrying equipment and 15 minutes to go back to sump 2 empty handed.
I took it steady as I was wearing a drysuit and didn’t want to puncture it, but also moved methodically and efficiently. Being a caver of 26 years definitely has its advantages. You cannot be stumbling or uncoordinated beyond a sump.
I quite often chat to myself when I’m alone in a cave. Usually coming out with swear words and exclamations of incredulity when encountering something that is a nuisance.
Not far from where sump 2 surfaces, is an annoying boulder choke. Huge rocks balanced precariously and haphazardly atop one another block the passage. There is a convenient hole just the right size for me and a KISS rebreather to get through. I tried not to look too closely at the boulders - and tried even harder not to brush against the ones above me.
I trudged back and forth to a gravel ‘beach’ believing that the lake ahead was the start of sump 3.
Once all my gear was there, I started looking for the dive line. As I got down to water level, I realised this was not a sump at all, but in fact another lake.
Marvellous.
More swear words came out loud.
I moved my gear again, item at a time across the lake which was out of my depth and finally after a bit of rock-hopping, spied sump 3 and the line tied off properly above the waterline and well back on dry land. My ex-trainee had done good.
It was a comfortable kitting up spot and I was soon in the sump which only took 4 minutes to cross. I surfaced at the edge of a sloping ramp which led around a corner. I couldn’t see any further into the cave from the water, due to a huge rock flake obscuring my view. I knew that sump 4 was only a couple of metres further on and, given I did not have enough bailout with me to dive it, figured getting de-kitted was pointless.
Feeling a bit deflated, I set off home.
As I prepared to dive back through sump 2, I tested my 'go to' bailout bottle. This one stays with me at all times and the regulator is necklaced for easy access. I took a breath and got a complete mouthful of water. I checked the mouthpiece but it seemed intact.
Looking closer to try and decipher the problem, to my horror, the actual second stage body of the regulator itself had split. Clearly this regulator could not withstand a bit of caving.
This was completely unfixable. I was faced with diving home with only one bailout bottle and with no buddy, could not steal anyone else's.
I did not hang about on the way home and took a big sigh of relief when I reached the slightly shallower part of the cave, as I knew one bailout bottle would now get me at least to the decompression cylinders staged at the bottom of the shaft.
This trip was not one to be done solo and I vowed not to do it alone again. There were too many eggs in just one basket.
I surfaced to find a very chilly Mark and Lou waiting to greet me. They got me out of my equipment quickly and after some warm water with nothing else in it, we bagged up some items that needed to be taken out and plodded out of the cave.
Once I had something of a phone signal, I called my friend and cave diving buddy, Anton Van Rosmalen. The Dutchman was in the south of France and was wrapping up his own cave diving project in a super deep system called Coudouliére. This neighboured a system I and my team had been exploring and they were currently only 25 vertical metres away from each other…
Anton had visited Licanke briefly in 2015 and not returned. This was his opportunity to see the entire cave for himself and do some exploration here.
He took an hour to think about it and line some things up, before he replied to say he was in.
He laughed down the phone “It sounds crazy enough to be fun!”
He had no idea…..
The good news for Anton was that, despite driving 14 hours to Fuzine and arriving in something of a ‘space cadet’ state, he had very little work to do. Ok, apart from completely rebuilding his rebreather and charging everything he owned, the good news was that all the scooters and bailout bottles were already in the cave.
All he had to do was dive... and cave... wearing his rebreather…
Luckily Anton dives the same unit as me, a manual KISS. He hadn’t arrived long when I was already eyeing him up as a spare part dispenser.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare BOV have you?” I pondered.
“Of course”.
I knew he would have.
The front of mine had fallen off somewhere in the cave and I was worried about gravel ingress jamming it open. I put the spare in a pot ready to go into the cave.
We assisted Anton on getting his rebreather to sump 2 and did some housekeeping.
I re-lined and re-surveyed sump one and Fred, Lou and Mark set about finishing the dry cave survey between sumps 1 and 2 as the original data had been long lost. They did some bolting and photography and generally wrapped up the list of 'jobs' this project produces.
Rich continued convalescing and Anton headed back to the house to finish preparations.
The team decided to take an extra day off, knowing that the push dive would take a very long time. And it did...
This expedition has received generous assistance from several organisations and businesses listed below. We are grateful to our Croatian friends for their help and support over the last 6 years.
The expedition reports, funded by Mount Everest Foundation, are available to read here:
"We had all become distracted by the loss of a 5 grand scooter..."
Rich and I conducted the important but tiresome task of sorting cylinders to be filled, checking regulators, fixing regulators, dealing with fizzing pressure gauges and cracked o-rings and analysing each cylinder, before packing them into their own tackle bags for transportation through the cave.
This is all done in a relatively pleasant environment of Krnica dive centre and a dip in the sea afterwards is always welcome.
The team began to arrive at the airport and we loaded the rental van with Js of oxygen, trimix and air banks and Mark’s entire collection (almost) of camera gear.
We headed up to Fuzine and moved in.
The next morning we headed to the cave entrance. We had never been here in August and were shocked to see the water levels had dropped dramatically. Sump 1 was still a sump, but it added extra faff having to lower equipment down onto dry land rather than the convenient deep pool we had been used to.
Furthermore, inside the cave the normally flooded deep lakes which we scootered equipment across were now wading depth. This meant a prolonged carry with each of the 15+ bags, scooters, rebreathers and camera gear.
Another factor was that the low water levels exposed rocks that had never been trodden on, as they were usually underwater.
We weren’t long into the carry when Mark found one; carrying a heavy dry tube, he trod on a slab which I normally caught my knee on when scootering across the lake - and it snapped right under him.
I heard shouting and hurried back to the spot where Mark had ended up. His knee had shot down a slot after the rock had broken and twisted. After a quick assessment (good job I’m a Paramedic) I was happy to move him and after the initial shock, he felt better and had a good range of movement. His thick neoprene wetsuit had supported him enough to prevent any further damage and he wanted to carry on.
It was a stark reminder that we were thin on the ground for support and we couldn’t afford to lose a single person. Added to the extra time and effort involved with lower water levels, we knew this trip was going to be tough.
The carry was also interrupted by my nagging concern that I had only seen 2 scooters carried into the cave. I knew there were 3...
After some discussion, 2 divers were sent back to sump 1 to look for the missing Suex XK1. Somehow it had come free and was hiding in an alcove on the wrong side of sump 1.
Several hours later, as I headed back to the lakes to get another cylinder bag, I heard an almighty bang and loud voices. Then silence. Back at the climb, nobody was there so whatever it had been could not have been that bad….
It turned out that Rich had attempted the awkward climb up into the boulders and slipped, falling backwards whilst wearing his JJ rebreather; the huge slab of rock behind him bending the frame.
He was unhurt but we vowed that despite the climb being short, we should put in proper bolts to discourage people from free climbing it with only a hand-line - especially with thousands of pounds worth of heavy, expensive gear on their backs…
Rich pointed out that we had all become distracted by the loss of a 5 grand scooter and needed to concentrate. With such a small team, two of whom had never been in this cave before, the pressure was starting to show.
It seemed to take an age to get all the gear to sump 2 but it got there and we set Fred on the task of checking all the cylinders and regulators. A few had succumbed to the carry and we switched them out for new.
It had been a long day and the team elected to take a day off the next day rather than launch straight into the push dive. This was a wise decision.
We spent our ‘day off’ brushing up on cave survey, knotting more line and sorting cameras.
The next morning, Rich and I got into our drysuits and the team got ready to see us to sump 2 and off into the unknown.
We had not even got as far as the boulder pile when again, I was called back. This time, Rich was in trouble.
He was coughing incessantly and complaining of exhaustion. He could barely put one foot in front of the other and he wasn’t even carrying anything. We feared the worst and sent him out of the cave.
Did he have covid?
I carried on to sump 2 whilst thinking on my feet about what to do. We were a man down and there was only one diver left capable of pushing the cave. It was all down to me. I’d have to do it alone...
A tall order
Caves remain the last frontiers on Earth that cannot be discovered unless you go there in person. Most of the easy pickings have long gone.
As the covid-19 saga rolled on into 2021, the likelihood of me being able to get to Croatia with a team to continue pushing the cave Izvor Licanke, looked gloomy.
As June approached, the travel restriction hokey-cokey continued and getting even the most enthusiastic divers to commit was proving impossible.
Travel through France was a no go and with a heavy heart, yet again I had to cancel the expedition.
Preparations had been stop start - how on earth do you plan an expedition when you don’t know who can come, when or even if it will take place and how you will ultimately get there.
Nothing was open, nothing was really working and, admitting defeat, I took a chance on August.
Figuring that holidays abroad and getting people moving would be good for somebody’s economy, I took the first of many risks, that partly by luck and partly by judgement, paid off.
For some reason August was rammed for most people so it was with a small team of 5 that we headed out to Croatia, with a tall order ahead of us.
The 2019 expedition had yielded a further 2 sumps beyond the deep sump 2 and the dive line ended some hundred or so metres into sump 4.
We had no idea if sump 4 would surface or plummet deeper. This is both the beauty and frustration of cave exploration - no human has ever been there; it cannot be photographed from space or planned by flying over it or studying it as you can with mountains. Even the world’s deepest ocean trenches have now been mapped.
Caves remain the last frontiers on Earth that cannot be discovered unless you go there in person. Most of the easy pickings have long gone.
We got lucky with Licanke in that access problems for the local cavers and cave divers globally had been lost for 20 years, but we managed with the help of locals, to gain legal access Licanke.
Thus, the end of the line laid by the French prolific cave explorer Frank Vasseur, was ready for the taking and with his permission (always ask, never just take) we began exploring the cave.
Since 2015 my team have now extended this cave by a further 1,229 metres, bringing the total length of the cave system to 1623 metres.
What we lacked in numbers in 2021 we made up for in talent. We are always fortunate to have a National Geographic and globally acclaimed underground photographer, Mark Burkey, on our team, He was taught to cave dive by my own fair hand and has let rip ever since, photographing beyond sumps all over the place in some really quite hard-to-reach places.
Louise McMahon was new to the team and relatively new to cave diving, Highly intelligent and a fast learner, she brought various skills with her but most importantly, is a computer whizz and she offered to re-survey the cave system as far as sump 2 and produce a proper survey of the whole known cave.
Fred Nunn was a last-minute acquisition. I had taken him caving a few times and he took it all in his stride. He had thousands of dives under his belt, all of them in the sea, but it was not a difficult task to up-skill him in the cave diving skills he needed to cross the first short and shallow sump and he passed his course with flying colours.
Fred is often described as ‘Heath Robinson’ - a real problem solver. We hadn’t long invited him when he was already making lead flashing for the dry tubes and weighting systems of all sorts to tidy up our attempts and sinking unwieldy camera boxes and dry tubes.
The two push divers were myself and Rich as our chosen third partner was unable to get out of Mexico due to covid.
It was what it was. We knew it would be tough - and it was.
Hebridean Adventure, Part 4
…I heard screams coming from the shower cubicle opposite: “Muuuuuuummmm!!!!! It’s craaaawling!!! It’s got it’s tentacles out!!!!”
Eriskay & the Uists
The next day I jumped on a ferry across to Eriskay to stay on South Uist at a lovely little campsite called Kilbride. I chose the campsites owing to their proximity to good launch sites and sand beaches. This one didn’t disappoint. It had nice facilities, a really good café and a white sandy cove right there in the doorstep.
The first day the weather was a bit grey and rainy so I opted to ride. The road north of Kilbride towards North Uist, whilst it follows the coastline, you can’t actually see it so the ride was a tad dull but I managed a 39 mile round trip to the far side of the land bridge to North Uist and back.
The following day looked better for paddling though a bit overcast still. I headed north with the ebb tide and planned to ride the flood tide back which worked perfectly.
Long stretches of sandy beaches and glass calm waters accompanied me, along with huge seal colonies everywhere. Seals are such timewasters, I could spend ages just sitting still in my kayak watching them.
About 10 miles later, I spied a good lunch spot on a long, sandy stretch of beach which looked immaculate at first glance. I didn’t have to womble far from my landing spot to find scraps of litter and lost fishing gear everywhere. Then, I came across a half buried trawl net with a dead, decaying dolphin carcass right next to it.
I picked up as much small litter as I could and shoved it in the hold of my boat and set off back to Kilbride, damp, windswept and tired.
There was a teenage girl on the campsite who is scared of spiders.
I was on the loo this morning when I heard screams coming from the shower cubicle opposite: “Muuuuuuummmm!!!!! It’s craaaawling!!! It’s got it’s tentacles out!!!!”
Now, last time I looked the friendly daddy long legs in cubicle 2 doesn’t have tentacles...but anyway...
Next thing, we had screams coming from her tent as one had moved in for the night. She practically burst through the side wall of the tent like a hedge backwards to escape the deadly beast. The whole campsite was now trying to find - and remove - Mrs long legs to get a good nights sleep....
The next day I spent a while driving around the islands and enjoyed some sand in my toes and a brief paddle in the crystal clear waters of Eriskay while I waited for the ferry to come in.
I didn’t want to go home.
It had been such a stunning adventure, with a seemingly unlimited amount of freedom and the only thing that curbed it was ferry times - but even then, I managed to jump early ferries whenever I showed up and there was nothing too much trouble for the Calmac staff.
To follow my adventure is photos, check out my Instagram page.
I highly recommend the following campsites and eateries if you are ever heading over the Outer Hebrides:
Wavecrest Campsite, Barra
Fidden Farm Camping, Mull
Kilbride Campsite
Dana Villa, Oban
Enjoy this final little AV which sums up my mini adventure in the Outer Hebrides. It was an absolute pleasure to visit and I hope it will not be too long before I can return...
Hebridean Adventure, Part 3
I was sure someone would find my body sliced in half through the glass door of the shower where I’d slipped on my eco-friendly conditioner bar…
Beautiful Barra
In the morning I headed back to Oban to grab the Barra ferry and rocked up at the very delightful Wavecrest campsite. Right on the beach, it promised good paddling but it was time for the bike again.
The campsite boasted showers so I treated myself - and couldn’t even get that right!
The £1 shower started as soon as the money dropped and I stupidly hadn’t even got undressed. In my haste, I plunged my hand into my wash bag and felt the blade of my eco razor slice off the top of my index finger.
Without even looking, I knew what I had done.
Crap.
Blood poured everywhere.
Determined not to waste my £1 coin - I only had one - I wrapped the sliced finger in loo roll and held it up above my head which slowed the bleeding a bit, whilst I tried to shower and wash my hair in the allotted time.
This is awkward anyway, but in my eco-friendliness I was using shampoo and conditioner bars which made things even harder, trying to get the lids off the pots and I kept dropping the bars. I was sure someone would find my body sliced in half through the glass door of the shower where I’d slipped on my eco-friendly conditioner bar.
What a way to go.
The shower stopped without warning at the conditioner phase - could have been worse - and I tried to get dressed without getting blood on any of my clothes, before mopping away the blood splats on the shower floor. FFS.
Back to the car, arm in the air, I single-handedly fished out my first aid kit which had enough to patch things up for the night.
Fortunately, a diver friend of mine who knew the area well, with the assistance of Facebook, pointed out the local A&E which I could visit on my bike ride the next day.
In the morning, having spent a relatively comfy night with my arm hooked over the headrests of my car, I re-patched my finger and set off round Barra for a stunning ride. As I headed north towards Barra airport, the sea became more turquoise and sparkly, the sun tried to come out and the sands got whiter and longer.
When I say airport, it is actually a sandy strip of beach and the tiny twin props were in and out all day.
I spied a good launch spot for my kayak and continued the ride around the island, stopping off in Castlebay to chat the the local (only) friendly paramedic in his ambo, before locating the A&E. The nurse was lovely and we had a good chin wag before she stuffed all sorts of fancy finger dressings in my bag and sent me on my way. 26 miles with only one evil hill.
News travels fast on Barra. By the time I got back to the campsite, the owner and his wife enquired as to if I was the lady paramedic who had sliced her finger off - and was there anything they could do. Bless them. I expect they felt terrible but I assured them it was all my own doing and I had cleared up the mess. They couldn’t have been nicer.
Despite being on the beach, the weather wasn’t ideal on the west side of the island the following day, so I drove my kayak up to the launching spot I had found and with a bit of effort, got myself and boat down to the beach. The tide was going out which made for a bit of shuffling to find deeper water. I was just getting afloat when a twin prop zoomed right over my head - right at the point I noticed a sign saying: “Stay off the beach when the wind sock is flying and the airport is active”. Oops.
I made a hasty exit across the bay and imagined the pilot shaking his fist at me.
Bloody tourists.
I had a cracking 11 mile paddle and the white sand made the colour of the water just unreal. It could have been Greece were it not for the 8 degree water temperature.
Hebridean Adventure Part 2
…but with two bottles of single malt and a bottle of gin on his back, he lost his balance and found himself upside down in a bramble bush!
Marvellous Mull
After a quick lunch stop at a castle on Karrera and playing 'dodge the Calmac ferry', it was time to take the short journey over to Mull to meet up with my old diving buddy Darren Morley who had been living there for some years.
He had been doing all sorts of triathlons and sportives and I knew he would be up for a decent bike ride.
I met up with Darren at the local Salen Spar shop where I came across the local moggy, who was very chatty and fiercely guards the community defibrillator!
After a pleasant evening camp, we set off around northern Mull for a decent 44 mile ride. There were some evil hills with hair pin bends that scuppered me but luckily they were only short. The clag was down but Darren took the time to point out all the islands I would have seen on a better day!
We stopped in Tobermory to load up on whiskey and goodies, me thinking that all the hills were done.
How wrong I was! Shocked at the next one I was faced with, Darren kindly took all my whiskey swag and rode it up the hill.
It was to be his undoing as, some while later, a large lorry ran us off the road. Darren was fine but with two bottles of single malt and a bottle of gin on his back, he lost his balance and found himself upside down in a bramble bush! I sort of fished him out and we made our way back to Salen.
No sooner had we got back and Darren was away to rescue a lady from a campsite. He is part of the local mountain rescue on Mull and regularly gets called to drag hapless tourists up beaches, off mountains and out of campsites to the waiting ambulance.
Meanwhile, I set off on the single track road for over an hour to Fidden Farm, right at the other, western end of Mull. This was mean to be a kayaking mecca. I turned up in grey mizzle but parked right at the edge of the white, sandy beach with turquoise, calm waters. It was idyllic.
The next morning I literally rolled out of my sleeping bag and into my kayak for a gentle mooch just south west of Fidden Farm. There were seals and birds a plenty and lovely white sandy beaches on desolate islands for snack stops.
After a couple of nights here, I headed back to the mainland as I couldn’t get a ferry direct from Mull to Barra, my next stop.
On the advice of my good friend Dave Ryall, I found a nice little overnight top right on the shore of Loch Etive. The weather was ok, so I couldn’t resist a little paddle up the loch which was like glass; not a ripple. Then I heard a big splash behind me. I was being tracked by a couple of seals who no doubt hang out there in the hope of an easy meal from the fish farm in the loch.
After an evening of tinned camping food and some wine, I settled in for the night ready for the ferry crossing the next day to Barra.
Hebridean Adventure, Part 1
I did a lap of the island Kerrera which was about 13 miles and I hadn’t been on the water long before I was surrounded by seals!
It’s pretty shameful that, for someone who loves the great outdoors, I’ve been travelling to Scotland and back home again since 2017 without setting foot outside the hotels, harbours and airports.
Covid-19 forced many of us from the south west to ditch the 1 hour flight and take on the long haul to Aberdeen by road.
During one, long stint at sea I made an impulsive ebay purchase of two sea kayaks. Plus some blades and spray decks - and some roof bars…
You see, my kayak marathon days were long over. In 2009, whilst training for a sub 24 hour Devizes Westminster race over 125 miles, I wrecked my lower back and had two bulging discs in my spine. It almost cost me my career and halted a lot of heavy physical exercise for almost a decade. Cave diving apart, of course…
So, I sold all of my racing boats and never got into a kayak again apart from the odd splash on holiday.
I’d been losing a tonne of weight and doing lots of cycling and my back was holding up. I took the plunge and spent weeks offshore planning my next adventure.
I had hoped a friend could join me but her van wasn’t ready. My car-come-camper Agnetha the spacetourer was all kitted out and ready to go. I set off to the outer Hebrides with promises of white sandy beaches, crystal clear waters and seals and basking sharks a plenty.
If Covid-19 has taught us anything it is that life is too short - and we only get one go at it. I decided not to waste a moment and headed down to Somerset, picked up my kayak and the mountain of Amazon purchases to go with it, did a quick cycling sportive (Great Weston Ride) and drove straight back up to Scotland.
To the amusement of my work colleagues, I had quite an itinerary! It was necessary to maximise how much I could see and do and juggle the ferry times and crossings.
My first stop was Oban where I stayed in a lovely B&B called Dana Villa and I found a great little place, Puffin divers, who not only let me park by the waters edge and launch my boat but took a lot of time and good humour to recommend a good paddle.
I did a lap of the island Kerrera which was about 13 miles and I hadn’t been on the water long before I was surrounded by seals!
I just about had enough time to finish my paddle, get the kayak back on the roof and head down to Oban to catch the evening ferry to Mull.