onionbagblog

To the canoes! …was the rally cry come Saturday morning as @AnnaJCowen and I decided to sea test the kayaks that make us feel like we are proper sailing types.

Ahem.

Having bought a couple of basic entry level models from a rather charming sailing shop just outside of Clactonia, a whole month has passed where they have been sitting in the dry dock that doubles up as a back garden.

Whoops.

Time and tide, ‘n all that, and bugger me - we’ve not exactly been blessed of late with a tidal pattern that can be easily accommodated into a weekday and weekend working pattern.

A detailed study of the tidal charts and a consultation of the shipping forecast the night before (I lie - high tide for Brightlingsea - there’s an app for that…) and we were scheduled to be sea bound shortly after 1pm on Saturday.

But first how to get the beasts down to the Quay? This has been occupying my mind a lot of late. It’s not quite on par with a Middle East peace proposal, but warfare of sorts broke out around the regions of Park Road on Saturday.

Apologies to m’neighbours - the girl and I got in a strop over straps. The Rolls Royce of kayak trolleys had been bought, but the small print overlooked attaching the kayaks to the rock ‘n roll wheels.

No worries. A trip to B & Q and some industrial strength ratchet ties were ours for the taking. But not for the tying. We bodged a solution of sorts, and then fell flat on our feet before we even hit the Colne Social Club.

Back to basics it was, and we resorted to the good old-fashioned backbreaking method of carrying the canoes by the handles down to the Sailing Club. The High Street was well off our radar - no one wants to see a feuding couple encased in tight black rubber with additional S & M cable straps wandering past the Deli on a Saturday lunchtime.

Anglesea Road was a pain, but the pleasure was all to come once we hit the water. Wivenhoe is surprisingly short on slipways - there’s either the old Sailing Club entry point by the Ferry launch, or out towards the barrier and the current Sailing Club location.

It was to our very good fortune that just as the champagne bottles were smashed against the hull (not as a symbolic gesture, but as something of a tonsil tickler before hitting the water) we encountered another canoeing couple.

Cripes.

Tips were exchanged, black bondage was mutually admired.

And then we were water bound.

Blimey.

I potted about in canoes as a youth, thinking that a bright red phallic fibreglass body would aid my sexual chances. I know how to control my wrist action, especially so when sitting in an unnatural position.

It was to my great joy then to relive this moment of frisson from my youth, making those first few strokes into the muddy water of the Colne and drifting dangerously close to the flood barrier.

I looked back at the girl and found that she hadn’t even managed to wriggle free of the slipway. I’ve always doubted her technique, to be honest.

It may be a beast to carry down to the Quay, but the kayak glides like an absolute beauty once you are in the water. Observing Wivenhoe from a low water level provides a stunning new perspective.

You can of course get over-romanticised about a bloody canoe, but there was a great sense of history approaching the town from the water, something that generations of folk in Wivenhoe have been accustomed to.

Soon we were paddling past the Rose and Crown, onwards along the side of West Quay and then a sharp left up the Roman River. Fingringhoe had to be done, and preferably so before the already outgoing tide stranded us.

Five minutes up the twist and curves of the Roman River, and the North Essex aquatic nature totally immerses you. Thankfully no baptisms took place along the muddy waters of the North Essex estuary on Saturday afternoon.

Various birdlife accept you as part of their environment, flying incredibly close along the water and offering up spectacular viewing points. The Pisces within was a one happy man in a canoe. Meanwhile the Libra that is @AnnaJCowen was struggling to balance her boat, let alone her astrological scales.

We actually got lost up the Roman River - how is that possible? I’m not entirely sure, but we also managed to get lost along the Wivenhoe Trail the first time that we cycled it. The welcoming tower of St Mary’s was our guiding principle back to base.

A brief paddle upstream towards Rowhedge, and then a drift along with the outgoing tide back to the Sailing Club. Saturday afternoon tea was calling, as well as a hot shower. The Colne really is very mucky little pup.

And so a success of sorts. The struggle with the canoes back to base ‘aint great. We’re exploring other options (*cough* Sailing Club membership…)

But yeah - footloose and fancy free to explore the Colne, the Creek and all the many tributaries in-between. Any excuse to become encased in thick, black rubber.