5th. August 2007. Day nine.

Sunday morning - John and I reckoned that breakfast would be served at about 9am but everything was closed up! No sign of any life at all. Looking up and down the wet main street in the miserable rain, things looked bleak. Being a Sunday - nothing was open. This was not good - I had been looking forward to, and needed, a big breakfast. We went back up to the room and endured a nervous wait until closer to 9:30am. Surely there'd be food then. If not, it would have to be just a few snack bars if we could even find a shop!

Close to 9:30am we went down again but everything was still closed. Heading back up to the room, in my desperation I tried another innocuous looking door. It opened and inside was a dinning room with the smell of cooked bacon saturating the air. Whatever door we were supposed to use it didn't matter now - we had arrived in paradise, complete with the Full Irish, tea and toast.

After breakfast we packed up and returned to the kayak, still securely tied up. I changed into my kayaking clothes and made arrangements with John on where to meet. Looking at the maps, there was nowhere suitable to meet for "elevenses", so we agreed to meet for lunch at Barley Harbour, about a third of the way down Lough Ree. Although this was one of the big dangerous lakes on the Shannon River, it didn't seem to have the same reputation as Lough Derg, yet to come. However, I was still a bit apprehensive about it. My Shannon Navigational Chart, said "Lough Ree is a large lake and may be dangerous in strong winds. Try to cross the lake in the company of another boat." I wouldn't have much open water to cross to get to John at Barley Harbour, so I just focused on that, taking one section of the lake at a time.

I gave John my order for lunch, which was a terrific luxury! Even just removing that small task was a problem shared. OK - handed over. Better still.





I donned my jacket and got going in the rain. The weather was not pleasant but it was good to get going, and good knowing that I'd have company for the day. I went down the relatively narrow river channel from Lanesborough and then out into Lough Ree. I had been keen to get down to Lanesborough the day before because that way I'd have the whole day to travel down the length of this lake. I ventured forth, out into the open waters. There was no wind. Conditions were calm. I was relieved.

I had optimistically told John that the rain would stop and right enough, within about an hour, the rain was gone. A little later I stopped at Millstone Point for a break and a cereal bar. I checked my phone and there was a text from John. Our plan was coming together. He had reached Barley Harbour and was sending me on the GPS reference point from his GPS. I loaded that into my GPS and could see exactly where to go. Looking the 5km across the lake towards Barley it was difficult to make out any landmarks in the haze. The mountains, forests and other land features just merged into one blue-green shape, barely distinguishable from the lake. While I would have been able to navigate it using closer landmarks as I travelled, it was very comforting to have the GPS reference to know I was definitely in the right direction, with possibly a ham-sandwich at the end of it.

I paddled away from Millstone Point, past Clawinch island and on between Priest's Island and Muckinch Island. From here I crossed the wide stretch of water and Barley Harbour began to take form, from simply a different colour on the far-away shore to stone walls and discernable shapes. My GPS was telling me how long it was going to take me to get there. Twenty nine minutes. Twenty eight. Paddle, paddle. Twenty seven. The minutes dragged by. With very little changing, it was hard to distract myself. The scenery didn't change, the water stayed the exact same, there were no boats going by. Even the slight waves were predictable. Twenty six minutes. I had to force myself not to look at the timer. Paddle, paddle.

The harbour was clearly in view. John's grey car became visible. As I couldn't see John on the harbour looking out for me I suspected he'd be in his car reading the paper. Minutes later, no - John wasn't in his car. Where was he? I strained to look. Ah - there he is - over by some trees taking pictures.



John's pictures are good, aren't they?!

I steadily and silently paddled into the harbour. He didn't even see me. I let a shout. He was shocked! I had made good time.



We enjoyed a nice lunch in the car park beside the harbour. I went to brew some tea but then discovered that my milk had turned sour. Not to worry - John had bought drinks. Sandwiches, bananas and Jacobs Figrolls for dessert.


All too quickly it was time for me to get going again. I had booked into the luxurious Hodson Bay Hotel for that evening so we arranged for John to bring my baggage there. He needed to get back to Dublin that evening, but he generously offered to check out the next planned overnight stop for me (Banagher town), to see what it would be like for getting out of the kayak and for camping or B&B's. Then he was going to deliver my stuff to the Hodson before heading back to Dublin.


It was sad saying goodbye to John. As with the cycling section earlier in the trip, it was terrific having him there. But this time saying goodbye was even worse because I was all too aware of how lonely the trip could be. The boring river sections were interspersed with the odd interesting gem, but then I had nobody to share it with at the end of the day. I was beginning to get cold. We said our goodbyes. I wrapped up well and clambered back into the kayak. John took photos as I headed off into the lake. I put on a brave face.





As this was its narrowest point, I paddled across Lough Ree and then headed down the right hand side of the lake. This was a slow laborious task so I just concentrated on whatever next headland or marker buoy I needed to pass. Down past Rinnaghan Point, buoy 5, Warren Point, buoy 4, buoy 3. At around buoy 2, with about an hour left to go before getting to the hotel it lashed rain. Absolutely hammered down. I didn't have my jacket on and I was too far away from the shore to divert there. The rain just kept going, non stop. Head down, paddle, paddle. The thoughts of the luxury of the four-star Hodson Bay Hotel loomed large in my mind and kept me going. The minutes ticked past, the rain lashed down. Thankfully, there was no wind. Buoy 2 …… buoy 1 and around Yew Point. The river surface had that look of rough concrete with the rain pelting down on it. Keep paddling Seamus, it won't be long now.

Around a corner and past the trees blocking my view. The Hotel. The magnificent, luxurious grandeur of the Hodson Bay Hotel. This was no tent. At that point I got such a lift I could have paddled back up Lough Ree again. I was bursting with energy. The glorious Hodson Bay Hotel. A beacon for weary travellers with adrenalin surging through every morsel of their being. The rain didn't matter one jot. I had made it. Give me a dangerous lake any day and I'll bring you to a temple of opulent indulgence. The Hodson Bay. Getting here suddenly meant so much to me. I was halfway down the country. Halfway through my expedition. I had tackled a journey and was halfway there. The rest was suddenly achievable. A long way off, but I was now heading for the finish. I was on top of the world.

Remarkably, before I travelled the last few hundred yards, the rain stopped and the sun came out in a matter of minutes. It was like the weather was giving up fighting me. I lifted my kayak out of the water, up the slip way, and parked it on the grass in front of the hotel, watched by bemused onlookers. I grabbed my paddle and marched proudly up to the reception desk in the hotel. I was thoroughly soaked. Water was dripping off everything onto the polished marble floor. Drips from the paddle, my spraydeck, my t-shirt, my shorts, my life-jacket, my squelching runners, and my hat. The looks I was getting from the girl behind the desk were already of some surprise but when I asked if my brother had left my bags with her, those looks turned to complete bewilderment. I was completely expecting her to be expecting me. To almost know all about me. To smile and welcome me and hand me my bags. She didn't know anything about me, my bags or John. I placed my paddle against the desk, quickly checked in, and stepped out of my puddle to get to my room.

The people in the lift politely shoved around to make space for my paddle. They smiled politely. I was soaking wet, from head to toe. My clothes would have smelled of the rain, the river and four days of paddling. They looked at my attire up and down, ever so slowly. It was time for me to tell them all about my trip - to relieve their inquisitive interest. Instead I smiled - devilishly.

I got to my room. Where was John? It was 5pm. I rang him. He had travelled to Banagher and was now on his way back. Yet again he was astonished at how quickly I had travelled. He expected to get to the hotel at 5:30pm. I put on a jacket and went out to keep an eye on my kayak. I hadn't locked it yet. On the way I met an old friend of mine - Liam O'Sullivan, with his wife, aunt, cousin and baby son Cillian. We had a great chat about the trip as they showed quite an interest in it.

John arrived and we unpacked his car of my stuff, bringing it up to the hotel room.



John's plans had changed. Sinead was going to collect Deirdre, so John could now stay for a while. This was terrific - another evening of company. We enjoyed a substantial meal, followed by a few leisurely pints while watching Tiger Woods on the telly, winning another golf competition. Finally, after more goodbyes, John headed off and I went to bed. To a big luxurious bed.


I had paddled 26km that day. If I was to get to Banagher the following day, to a B&B discovered by John, I would have to paddle over 40km. It would be a long hard day. I needed my sleep. It came quickly.

4th. August 2007. Day eight.

The silence woke me at about 7:30am. Pure quiet - not a sound. The walls of my tent were bright. The sun was clearly shinning down. But the storm? It was supposed to go on for days. Why so quiet? It should have been raining with wind rattling the tent. I unzipped the door and looked out. Incredible - it was a beautiful day! I could not believe it. I don't think I've ever been so awake so quickly. I began to think that this was just a temporary lull in the storm. Maybe I was in the eye of the storm , with conditions about to change within hours, or minutes. This could be just a gap in the weather. But all I needed was a gap to make a quick dash for Roosky. I got up and dressed as quickly as possible.

Initially I thought I'd skip breakfast and get going while conditions were good, but while getting ready I began to relax. Conditions were too calm to change that suddenly. There was no wind, a perfectly clear blue sky, no clouds, and not a ripple on the water. A fantastic day. I was going to meet my family. It was going to be an easy paddle. The sombre thoughts and fears from the evening before had evaporated along with the storm. My mood was changed completely. I was dumbfounded by how the storm disappeared, and I was ecstatic! I celebrated with breakfast of sliced white bread, sandwich spread and a banana. I think I sang while the pot boiled.

I had everything wrapped up, packed away and I was on the water at 8:45am. I silently slipped away from the slipway. My kayak cut through the perfectly still water, with just my paddles making the odd soft sound when dipping through the surface. I had fought the weather, struggled through terrible conditions, faced defeat but kept going. And now it was like the weather was rewarding me. This was glorious.

I went through Lough Nanoge and out onto the main river this second time but in a completely different mood from the evening before. I was upbeat and confident. I was going to complete this expedition.

I paddled a half kilometer down the river to Lough Tap. Here the river opens wide and although I knew from the map that I should continue down the right hand side of the lake, the poles in the water to guide boats directed me to the left - out to the centre of the lake. Looking ahead I could not see the exit of the lake because the masses of reeds made the route indiscernible. I followed the poles to the centre of the lake and carried on. There was no sign of any more poles. More paddling and I realised there was no exit from the lake over here on the left. My map, which had been soaked the previous day, was packed away and I couldn't get to it. With the reeds along the sides I couldn't stop and get out to get at the map. I was annoyed at myself, and annoyed with the river navigation. Searching the lake edges I simply could not see any way out - just reeds and reeds. In my mind I recollected the map, and the diagram of the lake. The exit from the lake should be to my right, so blindly trusting my memory I went that direction to seemingly nothing. I had annoying thoughts of having to retrace my tracks and go back two kilometers to get land and recheck the map. After five minutes of very uncertain paddling a navigation pole was just about visible from the reeds. I was now going in the right direction.

Further down the river I was out into Lough Boderg. By this lake the wind had picked up slightly and in the wide exposed area, the water was choppy, with waves about a foot high. But they were steady, predictable and easy to navigate. I made my way to the narrow channel at Derrymacstur which leads to Lough Bo Finne, and stopped at a small island of stones and trees, where the river bank isn't covered in reeds. I got out of the kayak and enjoyed a rest and a cereal bar. At this point I had travelled approximately 6km from where I had camped the previous evening. It struck me how fortunate I was that I had turned back to camp at the Albert Lock jetty because there wasn't anywhere else suitable further on. Even this place was covered in rocks and completely unsuitable for a tent.


As I crossed Lough Bo Finne, the familiar N4 road between Roosky and Dromad came into view. The remainder of that journey across the lake seemed to take forever. I had made good time and knew I'd have time to change and relax before my family arrived.


I entered the channel between the peninsular of Derryonogh and East of the Shannon. The area was very recognisable, as for work I had travelled the nearby road many times on my way West. Within minutes I was entering Roosky and looking for a place to stop. There was a private-looking slip way behind a building on the right-hand side of the river, just past the roadbridge. I stopped at that and got out - it was 11am.

I changed into dry clothes and packed all my equipment back into the kayak. I then sat there enjoying the sun and nibbling on peanuts, while checking my maps for the next leg of the journey. My brother John arrived at about 12 o'clock and needless to say, it was terrific to see him. Shortly after, my sister Cecilia, her husband Brendan and children Carolyn and Richard arrived. I was thrilled to bits! We went into the local hotel - The Shannon Key West, and had a three course dinner. I thoroughly enjoyed the time spent recounting just about everything that happened on the trip. I say "just about everything" because I opted to hold back on any detail that described the dangers on the water. Apart from knowing that Cecilia simply would not have let me carry on, I was also aware that it would be unfair to leave her and the others with such grave concerns about my welfare. There was a lot of river to go yet, and there had been regular warnings about the dangers of the now infamous and ominous Lough Derg.

After close to two hours we went to the local shops, stocked up on supplies, and then John and I said our goodbyes to Cecilia, Brendan, Carolyn and Richard. They were going on to holiday in Mayo, but John was staying with me for another couple of days. The time spent meeting family was a rejuvenation of energy and psychological stamina. It was a tremendous boost and gave me more drive to keep going. Journey on!


John and I went back to the kayak and I changed into my kayaking clothes. We looked at the maps and it was clear that the next obvious place for us to meet was at Tarmonbarry - the next bridge over the Shannon. John rattled off a few pictures while I paddled away.


At the nearby Roosky lock I chatted to the lock-keeper and a few people on their boats, before venturing on down the river.


Reeds and more reeds. As far as the eye could see. Reeds and reeds. Each side of the wide river. This went on, and on. In fact very little else changed other than the odd passing boat with its chug chug chug and a friendly wave. People on the river, or even beside it, are very friendly. They smile and wave. I don't know if that was particularly for me because being a kayaker I was a bit different to the usual traffic on the river. Or maybe there's lots of smiling and waving goes on anyway. Either way, it's good. The river for me was very lonely at times so any sort of human interaction was uplifting. And a break from the multitude of reeds.

I paddled down the right hand side of Lough Forbes and then into the relatively narrow river again (although still about 150m wide!). Around a few bends and the bridge over the Shannon at the town of Tarmonbarry came into view.


Even from some considerable distance away I could see John standing on the bridge, and as I came closer I could see his camera lens trained on me.




John directed me to a steps going out of the water where I could attach my kayak and get out. We had a discussion on progress and I knew I could keep going for another couple of hours at least. With John to drive on ahead and check out hotels or B&B's it took the trouble and uncertainty out of getting evening lodgings. We looked at a map and I suggested we aim to stop at Lanesborough - about two hours down the river.



John went into the local hotel and appeared out with a tray of tea and scones with strawberry jam and cream. Now THIS was the way to travel! High tea by the side of the river!



After the feed I got back in the kayak and paddled down to the next lock about two hundred yards away.


There was a long long wait as they packed boats into the large lock from the other side, closed gates, filled the lock and opened gates on my side to let them out. By this stage I had got cold and was keen to get moving.


As soon as the last boat was leaving the lock I shot in the gate and made for the chain-hold at the front of the lock. The lock-keeper was not impressed at all and gave out to me for coming into the lock early. She said that "kayakers should wait until everybody else is in". It was only then that I realised that a number of boats moored up at the edge were waiting to go down the lock! Knowing my presence was small and could be moved easily around the lock, and feeling a bit cold, I really couldn't care while she moaned and groaned another few times.



The minutes seemed to tick by very slowly, with me increasingly colder but eventually the lock level dropped, the gates opened and I shot out.



I went straight for the bank, got out of the kayak and put on a jacket. I had lost about forty five minutes at that lock. John and I both agreed later that I would have been much better carrying the kayak around the lock and getting in downriver. But that kind of delay wasn't normal, and I didn't know how suitable it was to launch from the stony bank just downstream from the lock. The cosy feeling as the jacket warmed me was terrific as I paddled down the river, past the reeds.

For the next hour there was very little to see other than water, bends in the river and reeds at the banks. But conditions were calm so I got into a rhythm and just kept going. After about an hour it started raining. I had my jacket on so the rain was no problem. It absolutely hammered down with rain hopping off the water. The surface of the water was surreal with all the raindrops hitting the flat, waveless surface - at times it looked just like concrete. The heavy rain lasted about thirty minutes. At one stage I heard shouting and looked across to my left. A boat was passing me about thirty yards away. I hadn't heard it coming up behind me with the noise of the lashing rain bouncing off my hood. Three people out on their boat-deck were shouting something at me. With no hats on and their hair soaking wet I assumed they were in trouble. I pulled back my hood to hear them properly. They shouted their question again - "Do you want to join us for dinner at Lanesborough?". I declined their very kind offer, shouting back that I was already meeting someone else there. I paddled on, in the hard lashing rain, uplifted by such a friendly gesture.

With nothing much to look at, and my head kept down by the rain, the steady rhythm I had developed brought me to Lanesborough remarkably quickly. As I got near to the bridge I was somewhat surprised to see that John wasn't there, but then not surprised because of the dreadful weather. Who would want to stand out in this?! But John was busy getting us accommodation. I stopped the kayak at a slipway and rang him. It was 8pm. He was very surprised at the distance I had travelled so quickly and drove to meet me. He had booked us into a B&B nearby so we locked the kayak to railings in a private harbour and drove to the B&B.

We had eaten during the day so after a shower and change into dry clothes we went for probably the most enjoyable pint I have ever had. I had paddled 38 km that day. This was my first pint on the journey, and being so hard earned I savoured every mouthful.


Back in the room I studied the maps for the coming day, working out a plan to meet and eat. We watched telly for a short while before I finally put my head on the pillow, which by now was a luxurious treat, and then within seconds I succumbed to sleep.

3rd. August 2007. Day seven.

The calm before the squall. The calm before the storm.

Text message from my brother John at 6:50am: " Float on! ".

When I awoke in my tent at Acres, it was all very peaceful outside. I was near a main road so every now and then I heard a car go past. I got up and made myself breakfast of sliced white bread with Heinz Sandwich Spread, a cereal bar and a cup of tea. Everything was damp from the night's rain, but it wasn't raining now. While packing up the tent, a man from one of the boats moored up nearby stopped and enquired about where I was going. He was very interested in the trip and wished me well. Then his dog went to the toilet on the grass beside my tent and he went berserk with the dog, giving him a few lashes with his morning newspaper! The poor man was so apologetic I felt sorry for him, never mind the dog!

I was on the water at 9:30am and paddling quietly and leisurely down the canal. I was impressed yet again by the numerous shades of green. After some time I realised how fortunate I was that I had turned back the previous evening because there was no suitable place to camp for quite some distance. For most of the canal, with its man-made vertical banks, it wasn't possible to even get out of it. I met two canoes coming towards me with two people in each. They were going up the canal, to come back down the alternative river route.


I carried on and began to notice that I was looking forward to the next lock, as it provided a change from the shades of green, which were now becoming monotonous. I got to Dromeague Lock and chatted to the lock-keeper. I went through that lock on my own. Next was Battlebridge Lock and more chatting to the lock-keeper and other people in boats passing through. They were all suitably impressed with the trip I was doing but some expressed surprise that I was going to cross Lough Derg, further down the Shannon. The comments were usually expressed something like … "You're even going to cross Lough Derg?! ". I didn't dwell on the comments - I didn't have much choice but to cross that lake and it was a bit off yet. After that lock, the canal joins the river once again. I expected a reasonably fast flow that would take me down the river, but the difference was effectively negligible. However, the water was cleaner due to some flow compared to the relatively stagnant murky water of the canal.

I followed the river down towards Hartley Bridge. The river had now opened up wide compared to the section before Lough Allen. This was completely different. It was possibly 80 yards or meters wide in sections, with reeds growing densely and deep at the river banks. The reeds could have been 20 meters deep so there was no access to the bank. I didn't realise it at that stage, but I was to get used to seeing reeds, for quite some time!

At about Hartley Bridge I noticed the wind picking up. It wasn't particularly strong, but noticeable all the same. As I was following the course of the twisting turning river, the wind was coming at me from different directions. Over about 30 or 40 minutes, the wind gradually increased. I was comfortable with the travelling and saluted or waved at various boats coming towards me or passing me from behind. At a turn just before Carrick-on-Shannon I rounded a bend and felt a strong wind in my face. I didn't change my paddling routine and carried on as I was.


Then suddenly a sudden gust caught my paddle and whipped it back over my head while I held onto it. The force nearly turned me and the kayak over. I held tight to the paddle but let the wind take it whatever direction it wanted. I knew if I fought it, the force could topple me. My kayak was turning in the water. I slowly took the paddle and started paddling to straighten up the kayak and maintain my direction downstream. I became aware of the waves that had been raised by the wind - not big but maybe eight inches and fast. The strong wind continued to push me. This was not easy. I needed to concentrate. Being in the centre of the river, I was 30 meters from either shore so going in the water now would be a problem. I used my body weight, paddle and balance to counteract the wind and waves. I brought the kayak around and paddled hard into the wind. I bounced up and down over the waves. I had gotten a fright by the sudden squall, so I headed to a natural sheltered area within the reeds.

In the dramatically different calm shelter of the reeds, I relaxed and assessed my situation. If I had toppled out in the middle of the river I would have been able to swim to the reeds, but what then? I would not be able to force my way through the reeds to the river bank. Wait for a passing boat? While I was there, a boat went past and with the wind and river conditions, even the boat driver was concentrating hard on what he was doing. I knew that if I was in the water at these reeds in these conditions he would not hear me shouting. I would have to swim to the middle of the river and hope a boat driver would see me without driving over me! No - I could not afford to end up in the river. I would definitely have to concentrate hard to get clear of this.

I turned the kayak and paddled out of the reeds and out from the sheltered area. I needed to turn left to go downstream, but the wind and waves were coming from the left and they pushed my kayak right. I realised quickly that I had a battle on here, being very careful not to fight too hard and possibly force myself over. The key was balance. Enough on one side to prevent the wind blowing me over, and enough on the other to stop the force I was putting into each stroke from toppling me. I battled on with hard, strong strokes. Water was splashing up from the river and blowing into my face. I had my mouth wide open to get air in as I gasped for breath from the effort. I got an incredible sense of "do or die". It was clear to me that nobody was going to help me out here. In other similar situations I've been with friends and you expect someone will always bail you out - there'll be rescue somehow. But this was dangerous.

I felt alone.

I got energy from deep within and the muscles responded to every demand. I fought that water and the kayak started to turn downstream. Continued constant and massive effort and the kayak was facing downstream, into the wind and the waves. Just where I wanted it to be. The wind whistled past my ears, the water splashed and sprayed into my face, and I kept paddling. Around a bend and then another. No stopping. What's the point in stopping? I'll just get blown around. I paddled hard. Another bend and the wind died down. More river and a calm descended. Fifteen minutes after the squall I was back to gentle wind, tiny waves and the easy conditions. I carried on, for about another hour, into Carrick-on-Shannon and relaxed in seeing the familiar rental boats moored up on the left-hand side. Around the bend and the familiar road-bridge came into view. I knew lunch wasn't far away.

I had checked out the river bank in front of the Landmark Hotel in the previous weeks and knew there was a grassy area slopping down to the river, which enabled me get out and tie up the kayak. I changed into dry clothes and enjoyed a three course meal in the hotel, sitting at a table by the window which allowed me keep an eye on the kayak. I studied my maps and tried to figure out how far I might get in the afternoon. When planning the trip I thought I might make Carrick-on-Shannon by evening but now I was well ahead.

Some of my family - my brother John and sister Cecilia and her family, had said they would meet me along the route. Cecilia and family were passing by on their way to Mayo. John was planning to spend some time with me. I was looking forward to meeting them. That morning in my tent at Acres, I had recorded on my dictaphone how lonely the trip could be. I passed people along the way but didn't get time to chat for long. Also I was very keen to share my experiences with someone I knew. It was hard to experience so much during the day and then in the evening, when everything went quiet and I was inactive, I had nobody to discuss the adventures of the day with. I longed to meet family.

Pouring over the map in the hotel I reckoned it was too far to Roosky, but maybe I could camp somewhere in-between, and then make Roosky the following day. I contacted John and Cecilia and told them the plan. Roosky was good for them! I went into Carrick-on-Shannon town and bought a small cooking pot. I had been carrying a tin of Ambrosia creamed rice with me ever since John gave it to me in Fermanagh but didn't have anything to cook it in!

Back at the kayak I changed again and headed off. Conditions were calm with a slight breeze. I paddled calmly out of Carrick enjoying the inquisitive looks and encouraging waves from those on the river banks and those in boats. All was peaceful. About a kilometer out from Carrick I rounded a bend and the wind hit me full in the face. It picked up seemingly from nothing to a strong persistent level. It was so bad that I contemplated going back to Carrick. But the thoughts of turning back did not sit well. I got annoyed at the weather and simply didn't want to be defeated by it. I looked at the boats going past and nobody was waving, for which I was glad. It wasn't safe to let go of the paddle with one hand. The boat drivers were all concentrating on their driving. Conditions had deteriorated rapidly. Facing defeat head on, I got stubborn. I reckoned that if I came around one bend and conditions changed that much, perhaps I would go around the next bend and I'd be back to calmer conditions. They could get worse, but I'm an optimist!

I looked at the next bend, possibly half a kilometer away, put my head down and went for it. It was a tough, tough battle. I was fighting the wind and crashing though small waves, with the spray generated from my paddle and blown up from the waves lashing against me. The bend came and as I rounded it I could see the river open up into a wide area with absolutely no shelter, and no change in the conditions. The next bend was a kilometer away. But I could see it so I went for it.

That brought me to another open area called Lough Corry, but again I could see the following bend. And so on it went. Bend after bend. It was hard going. It was tiring. It was a constant battle. But with each bend I was winning, and I was getting used to it. The weather seemed to be throwing lots at me but I kept going. Also, along the route, I realised that all the boats were coming towards me, heading for Carrick-on-Shannon, but none were passing me. It dawned on me that nobody was leaving Carrick! Were the conditions too bad? Were these boats coming back for shelter? Was I the only crazy fool to venture forth? At first it worried me, but as I journeyed on, I relished in the fact that I was winning the little fight I had taken on against the weather, and that gave me more drive to keep going. If it's not the body producing adrenalin, it's the mind making you survive.

I finally reached and entered the Jamestown Canal. The river route would take me in a long loop north through Jamestown and around through Drumsna, but the canal by-passes all that. Also there is at least one weir along that route which I would have to negotiate, and not knowing the access in or out of the river I took the canal. I was suddenly into calm sheltered conditions. Paddling along the placid water was serene, tranquil and quickly became boring compared to the earlier struggle, but I enjoyed the breather. This was easy!

After a couple of kilometers I reached the Albert Lock. As it was around 6pm, during the canal section I had been keeping an eye out for some place to camp. But as usual, the canal banks did not provide anywhere to get out of the kayak. At the landscaped area around the lock I could see flat areas of cut grass. That would be ideal for my tent. I saw a few concrete steps going up the river-bank out of the water which was the only place for me to get out. However, the lock was open in my favour so I went on into it, thinking that I'd get a place to get out after the lock. I went though and to my dismay could see no suitable place to stop. I could also see there was a large queue of boats here in Lough Nanoge, waiting to use the lock going upstream. It turned out they were all looking for shelter and trying to get off Lough Boderg - the next big lake on the river.

As I passed through the small Lough Nanoge, I looked to my right and could see a channel of water veering off to some area, with a boat driving that direction. I thought about checking it out, but then decided I could paddle for another hour and still have plenty of time to camp. I turned right, out from the lake and into the main river. The wind was suddenly strong again and I resumed the struggle. Head down and big effort - just as I had done for the afternoon. I continued like that for about fifteen minutes before I realised my heart wasn't really in it. I was getting hungry and tired. Stopping, and the wait to get through the canal as water levels change had slowed my system right down. I stopped to assess.

I looked up the river. It seemed to go on for miles and miles with just reeds on each side. It was wide in the section I was in - maybe 150 meters, and I could see from my map that it was just going to get wider when I entered Lough Tap. With all these reeds I reckoned that I might have to go for a long time before I would get a place to get out of the river. No - this was madness. I was tired, it was getting late, I was hungry and the weather was deteriorating. I turned around and went back. I had probably gone half a kilometer, so psychologically this wasn't easy to do but good sense directed me.

I got back to that channel of water going off to the side of Lough Nanoge and went down it. As I turned a corner I could see loads of boats, possibly eighty, moored up on jetties. I was delighted and knew I'd somehow get a place to stop. Jetties are no good to a kayaker because they are too high to exit or enter from, especially when in a filly-laden boat like mine. I carried on down past the boats and saw a boatyard, and knowing there'd be a slipway, my spirits lifted even more. Minutes later the slipway appeared between moored boats and I was out of the water near a flat grassed area. I had travelled 28km on the water that day. I saw a man working on his boat so went over to ask him about this place.


It apparently was a private jetty but on explaining my predicament he reckoned there'd be no problem! He was fascinated with my trip and, called his wife out from the boat to hear all about it. They both enquired enthusiastically about the details. He then spoke about Lough Derg and told me of the dangers of taking that on. He said it can be like the sea, with waves five foot high, and big boats often don't risk it depending on the conditions. He said that if I really had to do it, maybe I should try tag along with another boat to try and get some shelter from it - or at least assistance if I got into trouble! My troubles were being laid out in front of me. This was not what I wanted to hear after a difficult day on the water. But I was meeting my family in Roosky tomorrow and that was something to look forward to.


I unpacked the kayak and pitched my tent on the flat but very bumpy grass. As I was putting the tent up, the flysheet was billowing around in the wind. It felt like a storm was approaching. I made sure that everything was secure and in out of the weather. I felt uneasy. I didn't want anything to spoil meeting my family. I climbed into the tent, again alone after a hard day's exciting adventure. I checked my mobile phone for messages. Here was the first I read, received from John, 7:16pm : " Met Office gale warning & small craft warning for tonight and severe weather warning for Sat/Sun. No panic. Just batten down the hatches!! Roosky 12:30 OK? ". No, no, no - that was not what I wanted. Not bad weather now - not when I needed to make Roosky. OK, I could ask them to come to this boatyard but what a miserable depressing place to meet your family on a big expedition. I wanted to get to Roosky and that was that. I started to feel down. I opened another message. This one from Annette, received 7:06pm: " Having a pint with TJ for his birthday. Will have one for you.. Hope all's going well ".

If I'd been in Dublin I'd have been having a pint right now. Heineken, no doubt. Instead, despite having survived a squall and testing conditions, I was in a boatyard. It was safe, secure and reasonably sheltered from the inclement weather. Exactly what I needed, but it was a miserable boatyard nonetheless. I was getting further down. I rang Annette. She was enjoying herself with TJ and Trisha in some pub. Her phone was passed from one to the other as we all briefly chatted about the trip. I was aware that the battery on my mobile was dying. I needed battery life to contact my family. The phone conversations were doing me no good at all. I wanted to be there, enjoying a drink. I needed to get off the phone. I was feeling worse and worse. I made my apologies and abandoned the call. Thankfully Trisha, to whom I was talking at the time, seemed to understand. I was now miserable.

I went over to where some men were working on a boat. I asked them if I could charge my phone and they kindly told me to go ahead - "no problem". I plugged it in and went for a walk around the boatyard. I looked at some of the nice boats moored up. There were people in some of the boats but not many. All the time the wind was picking up and dark clouds were rolling in. Apart from the obvious weather, there was something playing on my mind. After half an hour I went back to get my phone. On walking back to my tent I noticed it shaking violently in the wind. I had noticed an empty large boat shed in the work area. I reckoned that if all came to all - if my tent blew away during the night, I'd grab what I could and make for the shed.

I got into the tent, and as there was nothing else to do, or nothing to read, I got into my sleeping bag. I was still bothered by something and now formulated in my mind exactly what it was. Sense was telling me that if conditions were too bad in the morning I would not go kayaking. I would stop the trip for a day and hold out until conditions improved. However, the adventurous and stubborn side of me was telling me that I was not prepared to be stopped by the weather. I realised that I would make a go at the kayaking regardless of what the conditions were like. This actually frightened me and was what was bothering me - playing on my mind. I knew that I would take the challenge on - regardless of how reckless it might be. It was stupid, foolish and unfair to everyone if things went wrong. But there was something incredibly strong driving me to get to Roosky to see my family. And I was going to face some very real danger to do that. It frightened me to think how reckless I was going to be. It frightened me even more to think that I couldn't stop it. Part of me was saying "be sensible " and the rest of me was thinking "I know you won't be ". I did not feel good that evening. I now felt the lowest I have been in a long, long time.

I looked at my watch at 9:30pm. The wind was howling, the rain had started lashing against the tent like bullets from a machine gun, the tent was shaking ferociously, the noise of the storm was intense. I fell asleep.

Some hours later, in the middle of the night, I was awoken by a sudden burst of noise and energy from the storm as it shook the tent violently. I thought to myself "it's only that brutal storm " and I was back asleep again within 10 seconds.

2nd. August 2007. Day six.

I awoke reasonably early in my comfortable apartment - probably about 8am. Well early considering I was on holidays! I got up and starting packing some equipment, and putting my walking gear away for collection from Dowra some other time. I knew I'd be able to leave it all in a bag here at Noel Keegan's place and collect it in the coming few weeks. While I was just finishing shaving I heard footsteps on the metal stairs outside the apartment. Just as I was wondering where they might be going there was a knock on the door! It was Declan - Noel's son, and they were ready to help transport my kayak to the river! I quickly put on a sweatshirt and went downstairs, where Noel was waiting with his van. He mentioned about the river being very rocky at the bridge in the town, and suggested that I might be better off launching my kayak from a field he owned just outside the town. I suspected it might be the one I'd checked out the previous day, and said this to Noel, but agreed it was worth checking again. Declan and I carried the kayak into the van, and luckily I had my kayaking gear all ready in bags because that went into the van too. We headed off, with me sitting up front beside Noel and Declan trying to balance in the back! While we were driving Noel said he heard I had camped in a field outside of Dowra the previous night. I couldn't recall mentioning this to anyone so was somewhat surprised how he knew. It turned out that the kindly old woman who let me use her field was Noel's mother! Fate brought me there for sure.

Noel's field was the same one I had checked the day before, but I went down to the end of it, as far as the river, just to check again. No - it was still not a good idea to go from there. I told Noel I'd take my chances with the rocks in the river, so we back into the town and unloaded the kayak and my bags down a grassy bank, on a flat piece of ground beside the shallow river. The kayak has storage compartments front and rear, and some space to hold gear in the middle of the kayak in front of my feet. I packed everything as neatly and securely as possible and then headed off to get breakfast in a local pub. The pub was empty and as I tucked into a full Irish with no egg, a man arrived in, ordered breakfast, ignored all the empty tables and promptly sat down at mine! I was a bit taken aback but knowing I wasn't local he immediately starting chatting! I was very quickly at ease as this Dub and Brian Kerrigan, a county council worker in the later stage of his career and part-time farmer with softly spoken county brogue chatted over a long and filling big breakfast.

After breakfast I went back to the apartment. Noel was out so I asked Bridie to pass on my thanks to Noel and Declan. Noel's help in storing my kayak for two weeks, giving me accommodation and getting my kayak and equipment to the river was invaluable. I am extremely grateful for his help.

Back at the river, I changed into my kayaking clothes - t-shirt, life-jacket, shorts and runners. After a bit of messing around moving things from one bag to another, I was ready. I was apprehensive, maybe a bit nervous, but longing to get going! I could see I had a few rocks to cross before getting to water that I could float in, so I stepped into the river, dragged the kayak off the bank, and away I went - walking down the river!


Sensibly, I had tied a long piece of rope onto the kayak, because the river was flowing strongly enough to take my kayak away quite quickly. I got past the first section of rocks and clambered into the kayak. I was going! Kayaking down the Shannon! I'd started!


I probably got just about 15m when the kayak rubbed on stones and I was out walking again. This went on for some time. Walking a bit, kayaking for a bit and then back walking again. I was loving it. I was quickly well away from the town and in complete solitude. The surroundings were fantastic. A small river, with banks covered in trees and all sorts of greenery overgrowing down to the river.

I was pleased to see that the river was passable. Where there were trees fallen down into the river, they weren't completely across it, and where the bushes and branches were overgrowing onto the river there was always some gap to get through.

But not knowing what to expect around each corner, and with all this such a new experience for me, it was fantastic. I thoroughly enjoyed that river section which lasted about five miles from Dowra.


I know other people have been down that section of river but it was easy to imagine I was the only person that had travelled that way - everything was so remote, undisturbed and left to grow naturally and wild.




Before too long I rounded a bend and the river banks opened wide to reveal the expanse of Lough Allen. What a change! From the almost enclosed river, with trees and bushes making a tunnel of green, I was now paddling out into a huge blue lake in bright sunshine. I was relieved to see that the lake was completely calm. No waves, no swell - just a massive inviting flat blue surface. I could see an island - Inishmagrath, a short distance off so I headed for that. I didn't have my spray-deck on but as the lake was so calm I carried on without it. The spray-deck goes tight around the hull of the kayak and my waist, and keeps out water that might spill over from waves. On reaching the island I stopped, got out, and ate my lunch of sandwiches, sardines and a banana. The sun was so strong I had to get into the shade of a tree to stop my legs getting burned! It was glorious sitting there enjoying the weather, the rest from exercise, the food and thought of the trip. I rang a few people, and replied to as many texts as possible.

I went into the centre of the island and explored the ruin of an old church. It was so peaceful and secluded there I decided I'd come back some time and camp on the island. Then back to my kayak and away I went. As I crossed the lake the waves started to pick up. The sudden change surprised me but I was all too aware that conditions can change remarkably quickly on a large lake like this. I carried on for a while, but I was uncomfortable not having my spray-deck on. When a wave nearly came into the kayak I headed for shore. Closer to shore the waves, where they meet shallow ground picked up and I had to be extremely careful not to get engulfed, even though the waves were only six inches high! With the spray-deck on I was a different kayaker. I was much more relaxed, and much more capable of kayaking properly. The nervous movements in trying to keep relatively still were gone and I battled the water like I should have been doing all along! That's the last time I'll ever tackle a lake without a spray-deck on!

I paddled for the afternoon going from one small island to the next. When I stopped for a rest at one stage, I guessed from the speed I thought I was doing, and trying to read the Shannon Navigation map that I was about a third of the way across the lake. Looking at that map it was difficult to establish my position on the featureless lake but I got out an Ordnance Survey map (26) and with some clever reading, and looking at forests on Slieve Anierin some distance away I figured out that I was two-thirds of the way across the lake, on Gubcormongan headland. This was fantastic going! I was delighted with myself. I got going again and was soon facing the bottom of the lake, with a choice to either head for the canal route or stay with the river. Both options meet again further down the river. I knew the canal route would take me closer to shops, and as I'd never been through a lock before I was keen to try that. Also, to take the river there's a sluice to negotiate. I wasn't sure how to navigate that - whether I'd have to shoot down through it, and risk capsizing, or climb up the bank and walk around it. But thoughts of food and shops dictated - I veered left, to the canal.

I stopped before the lock, pulled up on a grassy bank and got out of the kayak. I enquired with the lock-keeper as to how all this worked and he helpfully explained the system. They would open the locks whenever required and while boats had to pay kayaks were free! We were close by the town of Drumshanbo so I changed clothes, walked the kilometre or so into the town and enjoyed a nice meal of roast chicken in "Henry's", with desert and all. On the way back I bought a load of provisions. It's possible to pack a surprisingly large amount into the kayak, so compared to the walking, being able to get all this stuff was such a luxury. I started walking when suddenly a car stopped and a lady offered me a lift. How strange was that?! It was very nice of her, and as it wasn't cheating - this section was not part of the expedition, I jumped in. She seemed to know I was "at the boats" and wished me well when I told her about the expedition.

I changed back into my kayaking clothes and launched off, making for my first ever lock. I moved into it and waited. From the comfort of his office, the lock keeper closed the gate behind me. Slowly I realised the water level was dropping - I could see from the damp mark on the lock walls.


Everything was smooth and slow. As the level I was on dropped, water from the pressure building up on the gates behind me started gushing in.


I was glad I had earlier watched this operation in action so I wasn't concerned. With a few creaking noises, the gates in front opened up and the canal beckoned - smooth, quiet and incredibly green. It was the large number of shades of green that struck me first. From the dark murky water to the bright green of some foliage shinning in the sun. And that water was murky. It seemed thick and soupy. The canal, being so different from the running water of the river, appears to be almost stagnant. I made a mental note to avoid falling in at all costs!

I knew of a place called "Acres" by the side of the water which I reckoned would be suitable for camping. It was only a kilometre down the canal so I paddled for that. But when I got there, there was a playground full of noisy kids! I didn't like the idea of camping there so I pushed on. However, when I stopped at the few places where I could get out of the kayak, the fields were not suitable for camping - all overgrown and wet underfoot with rushes or reeds growing abundantly. It was 7:30pm and I knew I was running out of time to get a suitable place. This search could go on for another hour or two - I had learned from my walking section. Then it dawned on me - those kids would be going at about 8 or 9pm. I turned and went back to Acres, registering a distance of 23km that day.

I got a few curious looks as I pitched my tent on a grassy area and just as I was finished, at about 8:15pm the playground was emptying and everything was going quite. Soon the only sound was the bussing of midges at my ears. I made myself a cup of tea at the picnic table and read most of the paper I had sensibly bought when shopping. However, before I'd finished the paper the rain started, and I was scurrying to my tent with my bits and pieces. In the tent the sound of the rain tapped continuously. There was nothing else to do but go to bed. It was only just getting dark - about 10 o'clock. I curled up in the sleeping back and with the pleasant sound of rain tapping, I drifted off to sleep within minutes.