10th. August 2007. Day fourteen.

In the morning, I went down to the Derg Coffee Shop underneath the B&B for breakfast. I enjoyed a mighty big fry, as usual. Back in the room I packed all my equipment into my plastic refuse sacks and made a few trips over to the kayak, before returning to the B&B to pay my bill and sign the visitors book. I would highly recommend the Deg B&B if staying in Killaloe/Ballina.

I dragged the kayak up onto the grassy bank, about two foot off the water, and packed it with all my equipment. I didn't want to chance launching off the edge. Even at this late stage in the kayaking it would be disastrous to loose some equipment if I capsized. I lowered the kayak into the water and climbed aboard. There's a handy concrete shelf just below water level which allowed easy access.

As I paddled down the canal, a large group of ducks moved in front of me - paddling and half-flying, splashing and bobbing about. Eventually I think they reckoned I was after them so they took off in a noisy splashing panicked flight.


I carried on out of Killaloe, around a big sweeping bend and entered the "lower lake". I was amazed at how expansive this stretch of water was. It didn't look anything like this big from the maps. I paddled on crossing the lake, in wet but calm conditions. The lake is about four kilometers long and eventually I started getting near to the Guillotine gate near the Parteen Weir.


With the gate in sight I started getting cramp in my leg. I had never got cramp in a kayak before, but I suddenly realised it is incredibly awkward. I tried to stretch my leg out in the kayak. No good. Sticking out of the kayak was equally no good and put me in danger of toppling. I was trying all sorts of moves but nothing was helping.

I could see that the Guillotine gate was open. Earlier that morning I had rung ahead to the lock-keeper at Ardnacrusha Dam to advise him of my plans, as advised by the maps for this stretch of water. I wanted to head for the edge of the lake to get out of the kayak and stretch out my leg. The pain was very uncomfortable. But I had visions of the Guillotine gate closing as I was doing some stretching. I paddled hard and went for the gate. The pain got worse. I paddled harder.


With my leg in agony I made it through the gate, made a bee-line for the canal edge and leapt out of the kayak as quickly as possible. The relief in the stretching was pure pleasure. I walked up the steep sloping thirty foot high man-made banks of the canal and looked around. Fields and water.

Taking the canal and the Ardnacrusha route was a choice I had over taking the Shannon river route. I choose this route because I wanted to see the famous Ardnacrusha Power Station Dam, and experience going down the two huge locks. One is a seventy foot drop and the other thirty foot. And also, I reckoned I had seen enough of the river to last me quite some time.

Ardnacrusha power station (Irish: Árd na Croise, meaning Height, or Hill, of the Cross), originally referred to as The Shannon Scheme, is Ireland's largest river hydroelectric scheme and is operated on a purpose built canal connected to the River Shannon. The plant includes fish ladders so that returning salmon etc. can climb the river safely past the power station. The electricity generating plant is composed of three vertical-shaft Francis turbo-generators (installed in 1929) and one vertical -shaft Kaplan turbo-generator (installed in 1934) operating under an average head of 28.5 metres. The scheme originally was designed for six turbines, with four turbines fitted. The 85 MW of generating plant in Ardnacrusha was adequate to meet the electricity demand of the entire country in the early years. The full output equates to about 332 thousand MW generated on an annual basis. Ardnacrusha generates at 10.5 kilovolts (kV) but this is transformed to 40 kV for local distribution and to 110 kV for long distance transmission

The section of canal before the dam is called "Headrace". It comprises of perfectly formed high sloping banks, thirty foot high, on each side of the 100 foot wide water. If I had thought the earlier river was boring, well this was a whole new world of boring. Practically nothing changed for the 11.6km section. And at my average of 5 or 6 km/hour, that's a long, long time of pure boredom.

The only thing of slight interest was O'Brien's Bridge. A few years ago, with friends I had jumped a few times from that bridge the forty-five feet to the river below. We measured the distance , so I'm sure about the forty-five feet. And the drop feels all of fooooooooorrrrrrrrtttttttttttyyyyyyyyy fiiiiiiiivvvvvveeeeeeeeee feet. You smile when you leave the bridge, you get the immediate enjoyable falling sensation, then you get light-headed as everything inside you seems to be moving up, and you're still falling, and then you involuntarily stop smiling as you loose control of your muscles, and you wonder how long more, and then there's an almighty crash as you hit the water. You look up and the surface is a big distance up there. You need air after such a rush. You swim upwards, which takes forever. Your lungs hurt from holding out. Eventually, when you're close to giving up, you surface and take in a wonderful huge breath. You float and think about what a fantastic feeling that was - worth doing again.


I paddled, looking at the underside of the bridge with fond memories.

At Cloonlara Bridge, I stopped for lunch. It was lashing rain with absolutely no shelter around. I was already wet, so for twenty minutes I sat on the grass eating a sandwich, sardines, a cereal bar and a yogurt, with rain falling onto my food and dripping off my peaked cap, while I was getting cold.

Back in the kayak it wasn't too long before I saw Ardnacrusha coming into view. It was a wonderful sight. Not only did I badly need a break from the monotonous canal, but it was also because of all I've heard about Ardnacrusha.


Ardnacrusha was built under the leadership of the German firm Siemens-Schuckertwerke during the mid-1920s and was a major project undertaken by the then new Irish Free State. In 1925 the works commenced after the passing of the Shannon Electricity Act, 1925 and by 1927 the project was at an advanced state. A completion time limit of three and a half years, with penalty clauses for failure of adherence to this limit, was written into the contract. The contract price was £5.2 million, and the final cost overrun was £150,000. By this time the Electricity Supply Board (ESB) was established and took control of the scheme and electricity supply and generation generally. At the time, it was the largest hydroelectric station in the world, though this was soon superseded by a much larger station in Russia. Most of the skilled workers and engineers on the power station were Germans. The camp set up for the workers included living quarters for 750 men and a dining room that seated 600. Initially, employment for 700 was provided, whilst at its peak there were 5,200 employed during the construction phase, with this dropping back to 2,500 near completion. The construction project was not without controversy, with national and governmental debate over wages, conditions, strikes, and spending over-runs.

Ever since I was a boy at school, we've been told how this facility revolutionised Ireland. It brought electricity to every man, woman and shed in the country. It transformed us from a dark oil-burning lamp land to a modern cosmopolitan Nation, competing with all the Great Nations. This was definitely the stuff of legend. This might have had something to do with an inspirational teacher of mine being from County Clare. Thank you Mr. Barry McGann, Sir.


And here it was in front of me. Ardnacrusha. Looming larger and larger with every excited stroke of the paddle. The gigantic concrete structure grew wider and wider, higher and higher. I was gracefully and humbly paddling up to history itself, in all its concrete glory. The gate of the lock was open and inviting. The Pearly Gates of Engineering Heaven beckoned. Was that St. Peter waving me on?

No. But there was a man in an orange hat directing me where to go by waving me in. He may have mistaken my sense of awe for trepidation. In my appreciation of the structure, I'm sure I slowed my rate of paddling. I paddled on, into the lock.

Despite the fact that there were no other boats for miles around, in such a huge structure, I somehow expected other boats to arrive and for me to be just part of a group. The man with the orange hat shouted something like "Are y'alright down there? ". I shouted yes and the gate started closing behind me. I was on my own.


A group of people - about eight adults and children, were looking over the lock wall and marveling at the whole arrangement. A man in the group said "You must be mad going down this - you're a brave man! ". It all added to my sense of wonder and deep excitement.


With the gate behind me closed, the water level started dropping slowly. At first it was no different to the other locks that I had been down during the trip. But then, as the level dropped further and further, the water falling from minor breaches in the door behind me was splashing down onto the water behind me. All the sounds reverberated around the enclosed chamber, getting increasingly hollow as I descended slowly. Every so often, one of the children would look over the wall and say "Wow! ", making the adventure better each time.


One of the adults was so impressed that he took a picture of me with his mobile phone, shouting down that he'd send it to my phone. From about sixty foot down, I shouted my mobile phone number up to him. The sound bellowed like from a big deep drum.



As I got deeper in the lock, I was all too aware of the water pressure that must have been on the gate up above. I thought about what might happen if the gate gave way and suddenly released the water in on me. Would I shoot out of the lock like a cork from a Champagne bottle? It was intimidating and I suddenly felt very vulnerable. Nerves jittered in my stomach. I was thoroughly enjoying the whole terrific experience.



My descent slowed and stopped. Slowly, the gate opened in front of me and revealed another lock. I went into that and waited.


I seemed to be there a long time, wondering if I had gone into the right place. I also wondered if I was supposed to get out. I would have liked to get out to look around the dam but there was no way out from my position. The lock-keeper appeared and apologised for the delay. I got chatting to him, and he clearly remembered my brother-in-law John Cowhey's father Ger who worked for the ESB at Ardnacrusha for many years. We chatted for the time it took the water level to drop another thirty feet.



The next gate opened and just before I left I asked in a shout what his name was. "Ger Reid " came the shouted reply.



Travelling the massive Ardnacrusha lock on my own made me feel very special. I know they are obliged to facilitate boaters - something to do with a right-of-way, but nonetheless I felt special. Thanks Ger. A terrific engineering experience, coupled with fear, anxiety, trepidation, nerves and excitement.

I went out the lock gate into "Tailrace" - the section of canal below the dam. With water being let off the dam, the current here was much stronger than any part of the whole river from the very start. The scenery here, with trees on each side of the bank, was also much more interesting. I was carried along at a fast pace, only needing to paddle to steer.

Within minutes I was down under Parteen Bridge and then where the canal rejoins the river, I was out into the slower River Shannon again. I quickly went under Shannon Railway Bridge and saw a turn left for the Abbey River. From my map I could see I had a choice here, to go straight, along the course of the River Shannon, or to take this left for the Abbey River. They both ended up in the same place about 2km later. But my map showed that there was a weir on the Shannon at Thomond. I didn't fancy capsizing at this late stage.

I went down the Abbey River and was surprised at how quickly everything became industrialised. Up to now, the long Shannon River had been surrounded by fields and reeds. The river was now channelled by a high wall on each side, with office blocks towering overhead.


I enjoyed the change, and took my time travelling the short section of river.

I went under O'Dwyer's Bridge and turned right under Abbey Bridge. Next was Baal's Bridge and then the Mathew Bridge. I knew my target - Curraghgour Boat Club, was just around the corner.


At least a year before the trip I had checked out Limerick and found Curraghgour Boat Club would be an ideal place to stop. I wrote to the Committee and received the reply that the Committee "unanimously voted to give the assistance requested ". They gave the telephone numbers of no less than four members who were willing to give assistance. This was extremely helpful of them and particularly paved the way for the trip to be arranged in earnest. I am still exceptionally grateful.

Another weir, joining the Abbey River back onto the Shannon River, was just in front of me. I had to pass that and turn immediately right. I had studied the tides in the weeks before the trip so I knew the tide was almost in. The tide brought the Shannon River level up to the top of the weir, so there was no drop off. I went over the flat weir and turned right, going upstream. The Shannon River was driving me back. I paddled hard and saw the Boat Club to my right. I couldn't believe what I saw - there was a large boat on the slipway which could prevent my landing.


I paddled over to the slipway and tried to figure out my options. There was about two foot of space between the boat and the edge of the slipway, but the hull of the boat curved out preventing walking up the slipway. There was no room on the other side as the boat was tight against the wall. I tied my kayak to small rungs in the slipway and got out onto the slimy slippery concrete surface. I scrambled up the slipway on my hands and knees under the protruding hull of the boat.

A member of the Club was in the boathouse. I think his name was Pat. He offered to help me but I didn't know yet how I was going to manage getting the kayak out. The slipway was treacherously slippery so I got a length of rope from Pat. I tied that to the top of the slipway and lowered myself, on hands and knees, back down to my kayak. I was going to take my equipment out, one piece at a time, and bring it up. But just looking at my predicament, I knew that would be far too dangerous. I needed both hands to stop me falling from the thin bit of slipway available to me.

I had an idea. I took the piece of rope that was holding my kayak. It was tied onto the very back of the kayak. Still holding the long rope, I pushed my kayak out into the water. I then gingerly climbed back up the slipway on hands and knees. At the top, while safely standing, I pulled the rope holding the kayak in such a way that the (back) nose of the kayak came up the slipway. The space was just wider than the width of the kayak. The kayak slipped easily up the slimy surface.

My kayak was landed. The Shannon River was done.

I went into the Clubhouse and rang my sister Marie. She was amazed I was in Limerick already. She would have been out to meet and greet me if she'd known when I was arriving. I had deliberately given the impression that I'd be arriving later. Not knowing the logistics of getting through Ardnacrusha, with no idea how long it would take, I didn't want anybody waiting anxiously in Limerick for me - particularly in this rain. Then when I did get through the dam there was nowhere to stop and make a phone call.

Marie and her son, Evin, came in immediately. I was changed by the time they arrived, with the kayak stored safely in the Clubhouse. It was fantastic to see them. I needed to be with family again. The journey was often tough, but sometimes tough and lonely.

We packed my equipment into the car and just when Marie was expecting me to jump in for the 5km drive to her house I told her I'd see her there - I was walking! She gave me that look of bewilderment. Like I'd gone mad.

This journey was to travel from Malin to Mizen by human effort alone. I was walking. I was positively a steadfast and dedicated Great Adventurer.

Marie completely understood, or gave a good impression she did. Both she and Evin smiled brightly. We said our goodbyes and off I went. I was in fantastic humour. Feeling as fit as I've ever been. I strode off purposefully and confidently. Carrying nothing, this walk would be a piece of cake, a walk in the park, a stroll in the woods. I headed off down Merchant's Quay, and across Bridge Street onto Georges Quay, going east down the quays. After a few minutes of thinking about where Marie actually lived, it suddenly dawned on me that I was going in the wrong direction. Oh how embarrassing. I had successfully navigated the longest river in Ireland, crossing hills and valleys before that, all the way from Malin Head, and here I was going in the wrong direction. So much for the great adventurer.

Thinking that the world was watching me I pretended I was looking for a shop down that road and then sheepishly turned around, going back to Bridge Street. As I neared the bridge, Marie and Evin, who had been negotiating the one-way system, drove past me. I was so, so lucky they didn't see me coming from the wrong direction. How embarrassing that would have been. I turned left across the bridge and went down Rutland St., Patrick St., O'Connell St., O'Connell Ave., Ballinacurra Road, St. Nessans, past the hospital and into Marie's at Dromore. Another stage completed!

I spent a very enjoyable evening recounting as much of the trip as possible. We chatted for hours until finally the effort of the preceding days got all too much for me and I had to go to bed. Marie bravely and kindly took all my kayaking gear and earmarked it for the wash - removing nine days of toil on the water. My bike and cycling gear, which John had brought from Fermanagh to Dublin and then dispatched to Limerick on the train, was ready for me. Evin had dutifully cycled the bike from the train station to the house. He wasn't all too impressed with the hard leather saddle, so deserves considerable recognition for the valiant job he did. Thanks Evin!

I sorted out my equipment for the following day. I was heading into the final stage of the journey - the cycle from Limerick to Mizen. It was due to take a few days, but I was confident and looking forward to the change from kayaking. The only concern I had was that I had never ridden a fully-laden bike. John had carried my equipment in his car on the cycling stage at the start of the expedition. Recalling the heavy three stone of equipment I carried when walking I wondered if the bike was strong enough. Or would I be able to control it? No point worrying now. It would either work out or it wouldn't. After 23.5km on water and 5.1km walking that day, now was the time to sleep. I got into bed, enjoyed the luxury, closed my eyes ….. and slept soundly.

9th. August 2007. Day thirteen.

Warm, cosy, and now awake. Ah yes - the B&B in Dromineer. Just a short section of the lake to do today - 21km is the plan. Conditions were fine yesterday so I lay in my bed for a few minutes, contemplating how my day would go in nice conditions. I got up and looked out the window. No blue sky, and the lake looked dark. Back to gray dreary weather. It wasn't the bleak weather but the disturbed rippled water that bothered me. And trees were swaying in the breeze. This wasn't good.

I went down and had a breakfast - a big fry. I did my usual - ate as much as possible to beef up for the effort ahead. Mr. and Mrs. Flannery were exceptionally kind to me. I am extremely grateful for their hospitality. After breakfast I changed into my kayaking clothes and brought my equipment, in a few trips, over to the kayak. With everything packed, I was good to go. I looked nervously at the water. The waves were small, but waves in this sheltered harbour meant bad news out in the open.

I had carried the empty kayak down a slipway to the water's edge before packing it. Now I just had to maneuver it into six inches of water, sit into it and then bring my wet feet into the kayak. As I shifted the kayak down the slipway I suddenly slipped badly on the wet concrete and crashed down hard on the surface. The sudden pain in my arm was intense. As I desperately tried to cope with the pain and figure out if I had broken a bone, an equally intense pain in my leg distracted me. I quickly got up and looked at my leg. As I was falling my leg whipped forward and hit hard against the end of the kayak. So hard that it cut my leg, about halfway between my knee and my foot. Being wet, the blood poured quickly out from the cut. I ascertained I hadn't broken any bones in my arm.

I was raging with myself. Every time when using the kayak I was acutely conscious of the treacherously slippery surface when walking on river-wet concrete, which tends to be slimy and slippery. I had been extremely careful. But now, for just an moment while I was distracted by the sea conditions, I hadn't concentrated. I was hurt but not as badly as I could have been. I walked up from the slipway to try and shake off the pain. It shook me. I nearly broke my arm. I walked back to the kayak and sat into it. As I lifted my leg the blood had run down to my sandals and was dripping off my leg. I put my leg into the kayak and quickly put the spraydeck on. That was better - I could now no longer see my leg. Problem sorted.

I paddled out into the lake. The waves were choppy and the wind was reasonably strong. I made for the first bend - Hazel Point and then headed across open waters for the next headland - Ryan's Point. The wind was making it difficult to keep the kayak going straight. This day was going to be a struggle.

After Ryan's Point I had to go 2.5km in exposed waters across Youghal Bay. I could vaguely see Garykennedy Harbour across the bay so I put my head down and paddled on hard and as straight as possible. The wind seemed to pick up and the water conditions deteriorated quickly. The waves were no longer small and choppy but big and awkward, coming at me from all directions. They were probably only a foot high but it was their erratic nature that was particularly troubling. I battled on and made it to Garykennedy. I was delighted with this for two reasons. Mags, a friend of mine, has a holiday house near there so it is a place I have stayed at with friends on a few occasions. The familiar place was now offering more sanctuary for me from the tough water and weather conditions. Also, looking at the map, the section across Youghal Bay was seemingly the only open water that I'd have to cross. The remainder was down along the left-hand-side of the lake. It might be OK.

I sheltered in Garykennedy Harbour for a few minutes, without getting out of the kayak. Then I paddled on and headed for the next bend - Parker Point.

The wind was immediately in my face and blowing hard. The waves were choppy and difficult. I was bouncing around the place and finding the going very difficult. The effort was draining. Things got so bad that about ten minutes after I left Garykennedy I contemplated going back. I knew I could get shelter there. I would be safe. Out of the water. Out of the waves. I could get in out of the wind. I could get out of the kayak and go for a cup of coffee. The wind blew in my face and waves bounced me around, regularly splashing up over my kayak. The shelter of Garykennedy was screaming at me to come back.

No.

I didn't tackle this trip to turn around. I got stubborn. The weather was back being nasty to me again. I got thick. The nice weather of yesterday had, for a while, made me soft. It encouraged me to turn back when things got tricky. I put my head down, took deep breaths, drove the paddle down deep into the water and paddled hard. The waves got bigger. I kept going. The waves got even bigger. I kept going. Within minutes I realised I was in bigger waves than I have ever kayaked in my life. This was crazy.

A full kayak, packed solid. Waves getting bigger and bigger. These could easily throw me over. A big wave hitting me from the side could capsize me and all my equipment could be lost. But the waves weren't hitting me from the side.

The waves were coming at me from the front. Waves three and four foot tall. As I paddled fast and hard the kayak surged up onto the waves and the nose of the kayak lifted off over the top of them, crashing back down onto the water. Spray was splashed up and blowing hard into my face. My mouth was wide open taking in air and blowing water out. More spray was blowing off the top of the waves and belting into my face. The muscles in my arms were pumping and solid as I dragged the paddles through the water, plunging them back in as soon as possible to keep the momentum going. Sometimes the fifteen foot long kayak was lifting high off a four-foot wave and speared headlong into the next wave. The nose of the kayak disappeared underwater and water surged towards me along the top of the kayak crashing my body into the wave and sending water spraying everywhere. Other times, the kayak lifted off the top of a wave and the underside splashed down hard onto the surface. I was keeping my face down to avoid sucking in water as I gasped for air, and looking up briefly to see how big the next wave to hit me was.

I was in incredible conditions, with big waves throwing me up and down, with water spray lashing me, my muscles struggling to keep going, my mind screaming at me to fight with everything I had, and I was loving it.

Thoughts were racing through my mind. I was telling myself that if I had known conditions were going to be this bad I would never have set out. I was suddenly thrust into the terribly dangerous Lough Derg lake conditions that everyone told me about. I had been warned. Again and again. No excuses. You WILL get big dangerous waves. And here I was in the middle of it. Loving it. And I knew I was loving it. Wave after big wave. It wasn't just something I looked back on and appreciated later. The adrenalin was flowing freely. The danger was real, and tough going. The excitement was terrific. More big waves. More lifts up and out over crests. More spray. The kayak plunged headlong up and down. Out of waves, into waves, spearing water, emerging out of waves to take the next one on. It didn't matter what was thrown at my trusty yellow kayak, we rode those waves like beings possessed. It was a highlight of the whole expedition.

In a while, maybe twenty minutes, the conditions calmed and the waves died down as I travelled down the lake. It was still windy and hard going but the water was much flatter. Waves were probably still a foot high but nothing compared to the big waves. I paddled on, delighted with myself. I had, without intending it, shown to myself what I was capable of. The infamous Lough Derg no longer frightened me. I could take on some serious water.

After some time I looked for a place to shelter, just for a rest. The effort I had made in fighting those waves had tired me. I saw a small man-made inlet and went into it. It was a small private jetty with a boathouse attached. Just as I got there, the boathouse door opened and a very surprised man looked at me. He had a couple of little boats with outboard engines on them and was clearly going fishing. I told him I just needed to rest for a few minutes. That was no problem with him and he affably asked me where I had come from. I told him from Garykennedy direction, heading for Killaloe. He said "You mean you're going towards Garykennedy? ". When I corrected him and confirmed I had just come from Garykennedy he was astonished and said "But the waves must have been big out there! " When I agreed they were, he told me that I had just come through the worst part of the lake and in a storm like this, it would be particularly bad. He told me I did well to get through that. I asked him if I could expect bad conditions on the route I was taking and he said it should be relatively sheltered, but with "a few open sections all the same. " We wished each other well and I paddled on. He passed me a few minutes later in his small powered boat and gave me a wave - a friendly wave. Not a four-foot one.

I paddled on down the left-hand side of the lake, facing into a strong wind, that took long hard concentrated efforts to travel any distance. It was tough going. I tried to paddle for about half-an-hour at a time and then I'd pull in to rest. There were a few, privately owned, small sheltered inlets along the way, usually with a boat or two in them.


In some I got out to stretch my legs but in others I just paddled in and rested for a few minutes before heading out once again into the wind and waves. The waves were demanding - about one to two foot high, and the constant battering was draining.

At one privately owned inlet I got out of the kayak and had my lunch on their impressive decking, which was all very salubrious.



I set the camera up to take a photo of me enjoying the break.



I struggled on and got to Derry Castle - a run-down ruins with little to see, but a good excuse to stop, get out, explore and rest. The building is small so it didn't take long. Back in the kayak and I made for Killaloe. The journey seemed to take for ages and around each headland I was expecting to see the town, but I just got more and more lake to travel.

Finally, with my energy and enthusiasm running low, I passed Ballyvally Point and down the relatively narrow section of river that runs to Killaloe. A bit more paddling and I could see the familiar road-bridge across the river between Killaloe and Ballina. I had been in a pub beside that bridge about a year earlier so I was familiar with the area. I was heading for a coffee shop with B&B facilities on the Killaloe side of the river. Mags had got directions from her brother who lives nearby so I had been told to go under the bridge, past the B&B, and look for the entrance to the canal on the right hand side which runs parallel to the river. I did that, and I could see the canal, but couldn't find the entrance. I asked a man in a barge if he could direct me but he was a visitor also and couldn't help. It was raining, and with tiredness I was getting frustrated and miserable very quickly. To be so close to the comfort of a B&B, to be able to see it, to almost smell the coffee, was cruel. I started going back upriver briefly but realising that was a waste of time I turned and surged downriver with my last remaining energy.

The entrance to the canal appeared, much further downstream than I had expected. But with the entrance came new energy and an immediate uplift in my spirits. I paddled into the canal and travelled the short distance back up towards the B&B. I got out of the kayak and tied it to a pole.

It was over - the big dangerous lake was done. It had given me terrific conditions, in clear blue skies. It had lured me into thinking that its reputation was exaggerated. And then it had picked me up and thrown me around in big waves. But I had fought it, and didn't retreat. I didn't beat it. It would be foolish to think that I had beaten it for I know that it could throw a lot more at a complacent traveller. But I had tackled it and got by. That was good enough. I did the lake. I was tired, wet, sore and drained. I was delighted.

I climbed a fence and went across the footbridge to The Derg B&B. On asking if there was any accommodation, I was all too aware of my bedraggled, wet state, so I quickly followed up with an explanation for my situation. The girl seemed very impressed with the trip as she went off to find out if there were any available rooms. After a few anxious moments waiting she returned with a key and brought me up to show me a room. It was fantastic, with modern facilities maintaining old world charm and a great view out over the river.


I made a couple of trips over to the kayak and brought my equipment to the room. After a shower and a couple of phone calls I went to that pub across the river - Molly's, for a big dinner, dessert and coffee. Then on to Brendan Grace's pub for a few pints while watching whatever golf was on the TV. So, so relaxing.

My Dictaphone recording for that day says "Today, Thursday, was a tough day. " It sure was. Muscles sore from a day's straining relaxed and recuperated. I enjoyed a nice evening. I didn't mind being on my own for tomorrow I was to get to Limerick City, to my sister Marie and her family. I longed to meet them, and being this close to them and full sure that I'd make it there, I was in terrific form.

I strolled back to the B&B, taking a quick detour to check the kayak. All looked fine. The B&B / Coffee Shop usually had a big six-foot high wooden comical waiter statue outside its door. When I turned the key and went in the door of the B&B, in semi-darkness, I came face-to-face with the big wooden statue, with its hand out beckoning a potential hungry customer in. It had been taken in for the night. I nearly ended up back out in the canal with the fright I got. I still don't know how I didn't scream and punch the statue between its large wooden eyes. My heart was still noticeably pumping as I got to the safety of my room.

I studied my maps. I had travelled 23.5km that day. Tomorrow - the last day in the kayak, should be 23km in relatively sheltered river, with no exposed lake sections. There were some logistics to be sorted. I had to ring ahead to the ESB's Ardnacrusha Power Station dam, to arrange for the operation of the lock. I was looking forward to seeing that. The huge 100' drop through the locks was the stuff of legend. The excitement of it appealed to me, and the engineering of the infrastructure was also of interest. The adventure was changing but continuing. I got into bed and must have slept quickly, for I don't recall anything else.

8th. August 2007. Day twelve.

I awoke to bright sunlight on my tent - the intense kind of light that makes camping a pleasure. It immediately lifted my spirits and helped me contemplate the coming day's adventure - the dreaded Lough Derg! All down the Shannon River I had been warned about the dangers of the lake. By this stage I visions of it being dark and foreboding, with waves eight foot high and whirlpools catching unsuspecting travelers and sucking them down. The sun never shone on this lake.

I unzipped my tent and put my head out. From between the glorious boats in my private Terryglass harbour I could see the lake's water - still, shinning sky blue and very inviting. I was planning to travel just 20km that day, to get to Dromineer, and in these conditions it was going to be an easy pleasurable paddle.

I had considered going to the pub for a big fry but it was a bit early for the pub to be open so I made myself breakfast of tea, Heinz Sandwich Spread sandwiches and a heated tin of Ambrosia Creamed Rice. After breakfast I folded up my sleeping bag and tent, and packed everything into the kayak. I was careful to not leave anything behind. I had been fortunate to find this idyllic setting for camping, so I wasn't going to leave anything behind that might spoil it for the next fortunate soul.

I sat in my kayak on the grassy rocky small slipway and slid down into the water. Quietly and gracefully I paddled out of my little private harbour and out into the lake. To whoever owns that small private harbour, thanks for your hospitality - albeit acquired without consent!


The lake was fabulous. Thankfully I had my hat, sunglasses and sun cream on, because the sun was beating down. The water was like a millpond and I was the only thing making waves. I paddled on out past the headland of Gortmore Point and then headed straight across open water for the next headland of Drominagh Point. Looking straight ahead, south down the lake, I was amazed at just how big it was. Although I could see the lake edges each side of me, I could not see land in front of me on the horizon. It struck me that the world curved before I could see land. Now that's a big lake to be in a small kayak. Although there were slight waves now in the open part of the lake, I was thankful that conditions were so calm. I had reached my Nemesis - what I had decided was my greatest danger on the trip, and it had become one of the calmest stretches of water I have ever traveled, in blue sunny skies. The weather had challenged me at various times along the trip. It had thrown strong winds and lashing rain at me but I had persevered. It felt like the weather was rewarding me. I savored the time, and paddled slowly.


It's strange in some ways, but not strange at all in other ways, how we can make company with anything when we are in solitude. I found the trip very lonely at times - when bursting with information I wanted to tell somebody but nobody was there. Nobody to share some special moments. And so the weather became my company. Sometimes nice, sometimes wicked and nasty, but always there. And today, Mother Nature, Mother Weather was gentle and kind. Providing a still blue lake. I made a mental note to avoid doing these trips on my own in future. It could drive a person stir crazy.

On past Kilgarvan on my left and then past Bellevue Point. I aimed for a small island called Goat's Road, planning to have a short break there. However, when I got to the island, which was just a collection of rocks, it was covered in bird droppings and millions of flies. I quickly abandoned it and headed to the edge of the lake. I stopped at a grassy area, which appeared to be the end of somebody's back garden. I ate a can of sardines, keeping an eye out for the owner or an angry dog!


Back in the kayak, I paddled towards the large island of Illaunmore. I was now more than halfway to Dromineer. The going was good and easy.


With the calmness of the lake, it gave me time to think about the trip. In the weeks before starting this trip, I sent out the following e-mail:

"As some of you may be aware, starting 28/7/07 I'm planning to do an "expedition" from Malin Head to Mizen Head by cycling through Donegal and Fermanagh to Lough Navar, where I will walk part of the Ulster Way through Lough Navar and Big Dog forests, followed by the Cavan Way to Dowra. I will kayak down the Shannon river to Limerick, and then cycle on to Mizen Head. In about three weeks. That's the plan anyway! This is in aid of adventure, nothing else! I may or may not make the full trip, as I'll have to contend with traffic, potholes, the mechanics of a bike, insect bites, sore muscles, uphill sections, cramp, water, the weather, eating disturbances, sleeping in a tent, cold nights, warm nights, blisters, getting lost, waves, sunburn, headwinds, long roads, long rivers, high hills .... and the unexpected! But I'll give it a go! I intend to have my progress notified to the interested by e-mail or text, about every two / three days. If you want to be kept informed, let me know! And tell me if you'd prefer e-mail or text! "

And just some of the replies …….

"Is Josh on the handle bar or cross bar? " - Paul

"Good luck with your trip. Sounds exhausting! " - Bernie

"Keep me informed young man. And best of luck. " - JP.

"Sounds like fun! " - Niamh

"Go on keep us informed. Me I'm going to Spain for a fortnight with a pile of books and no mobile phone. I have to contend with a blue sky, vodka, sleep, swimming on the beach, fine dining, reading, walking short distances. I should be back soon after you embark on your voyage. I'd be interested to hear how you are getting on. Then I can tell you how I got on. They do say that the weather is to get better in September. That's too late isn't it. But if you get lost you'll probably still be out there in Cavan somewhere in September. Would you not just do a week in Sunshine instead, at least you'd be fed. " - Brian.

"Hope the saddle doesn't get too sore! " - Mary

"I did a very similar trip recently. I left my house and walked all the way to The Yellow House along the Whitechurch Way. I too had to contend with traffic, potholes, a big dog, insects, uphill sections, cramp and blisters and to make things worse there was a bit of drizzle at one point. So , we are very much similar in our adventurous spirit. " - Wob.

"Great, it sounds like fun????????!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's great to be young. Good luck! " -Michael.

"Ya boy ya Shay. That sounds like a great challenge. By the way, there are no potholes in Cavan. The council recently invested in a new batch of shovels, and have them all fixed. " - Brendan F.

"Well fair play to you! Never thought it would happen. " - Brendan D.

"Yo shambo Great adventure planned, fair play. Your trip sounds so exciting. Can't wait to here all. Best of luck. " - Pamela

"I'll wish for a tail wind all the way. " - Andrew

"I travel the country a bit so if you need a lift from say.... Leitrim to Cork do not hesitate to ask. Its ok to skip a bit. No really it is. No one will think any less of you, Really. " - Declan.

"May God be with you ! " - Izzy.

"You're a madman! I'm all for an easy life myself. Definitely keep me posted by email, you might even motivate me to get off my lazy ***! " - Celine.

"Fair play to you - I thought u were joking. " - Donal.

"You lunatic. " Brian

The thoughts of those wishing me well kept me going and it wasn't long before I paddled between the Corrikeen Islands and Urra Point into Dromineer Bay, and then on into Dromineer Harbour. Two days earlier, I had arranged with a friend of mine - John Flannery, to stay at his parents B&B in Dromineer. A quick call to John and he directed me to the B&B. It was perfect - just 500m from the slipway. I locked the kayak to a nearby bench and went to the B&B with some of my equipment. John's parents were very accommodating and showed me to a room with a terrific view out over the lake. I then brought the rest of my equipment over to the B&B in a couple of trips.

After a shower, I studied my maps for a while. I had paddled 20km that day, exactly as planned, arriving to Dromineer at 3pm. I had two thirds of the lake done. Tomorrow's plan was to go 21km to Killaloe, to the end of the lake. I was confident that I'd make the lake journey without incident. My fear of the lake was almost gone. Just one relatively short stretch to go.

Later that afternoon I went to a pub called The Whisky Still, whose food was recommended by the Flannerys. The recommendation was on the button, and I enjoyed a big lasagna, dessert and coffee. I went for a walk around the harbour and on back to the B&B. It was still early so after sorting my equipment for the morning I went back to The Whisky Still and had a couple of pints sitting at the bar. I chatted briefly with a couple of people at different times but didn't get into any long conversations. After the couple of drinks I went back to the B&B and went to bed.

I was relaxed and comfortable. I had two thirds of the lake done and reckoned the last section couldn't be too hard …. if the good weather held out. But would the weather hold? I had experienced the vastness of the lake and knew that even a small wind would be able to raise a big swell. I had been fortunate today, but would my luck continue? Would my new friend - the weather, be kind? I don't think I had the chance to contemplate that for too long before I fell fast asleep.

7th. August 2007. Day eleven.

Another day and another big fry. I ate as much as possible in the Banagher B&B, and then headed downtown to get some provisions. Back at the B&B I packed up my bags and made a few trips to the kayak which was safe and secure at the water's edge. It was a nice sunny morning, with just a few clouds in the sky. I paddled off out of Banagher and down the river, passing Inishee island on my right. As before, there was very little to see other than river water, reeds and a few trees along the bank.


I came to Meelick and went down through Victoria (Meelick) Lock. I passed Friar's Island, Big Island, and further down, Ballymacegan Island.


Just before Long Island, I stopped at the side of the river and got out on the bank at a rocky location for a break. Although it was sunny, I quickly got cold so had to put my jacket on. Looking at the Shannon Navigation Chart, I could see that the marked navigational way for boats was to the right hand side of Long Island and the following Portland Island, but the map was showing that the river section to the left seemed to be reasonably wide. Out of sheer boredom I decided to try that route.

Back in the kayak, I paddled off and went left at Long Island. The red and black navigational marker signs were screaming at me to go the conventional route! However, my inner voice was saying "Do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." Such excitement, such carefree reckless endangerment ….. yes I had been getting extremely bored. But what would this new trail bring? Adventure? Danger? Peril? No. Reeds. Lots and lots of reeds. Plenty of water, no danger, no problem, a wide river, and eventually back rejoining the main river again. And on and on I went.


A close up for an appreciation of reeds .....



After some time I got to Portumna Bridge and this was a welcome break from the boredom of the river. I have no doubt the river is a much more interesting place if you can go at the speed of a powered boat, but at my speed and with my limited vantage point dealing with the boredom became quite a significant challenge. I had to remind myself over and over that taking on an expedition had to involve dealing with challenges and, although I hadn't expected it, boredom was certainly up there.



Portumna Bridge was another bridge where I had spent some time, in years past, jumping into the river. It's not as high as other jumping bridges but a good starting off point! I recalled a time when we were jumping and a photographer, who happened to be in the area, got a nice picture of me doing a back-flip! It was good to see the bridge again.


There was nowhere to stop and exit from the kayak at Portumna Bridge so I paddled on, heading for the treacherous Lough Derg. Now, just minutes from the Lough, fond memories of fooling about jumping off bridge with good friends faded. My greatest fear was looming.


A demon, which had been developed within me by those who knew the lake, was awakening. All down the Shannon I was met with surprise from boaters on hearing I was to go down Lough Derg. They warned me of its dangers. I had tried to simply ignore the warnings for I had no other option but to travel down the lake. I couldn't divert by other rivers, I couldn't walk or cycle around it. It was too late to change the plans. I had no option. But of course I did have an option. I could abandon the trip. It was potentially too dangerous. I knew nothing of this lake and those who did gave grave warnings. People do foolish things, people drown and we ask why people do foolish things. I could call a halt to the trip.

"The more improbable the situation and the greater the demands made, the more sweetly the blood flows later in release from all that tension. The possibility of danger serves merely to sharpen his awareness and control. And perhaps this is the rational of all risky sports: You deliberately raise the ante of effort and concentration in order, as it were, to clear your mind of trivialities. It's a small scale model for living, but with a difference: Unlike your routine life, where mistakes can usually be recouped and some kind of compromise patched up, your actions, for however brief a period, are deadly serious. " - A.Alvarez.

I had to decide. The demon was awake. Thoughts of letting the demon win over were unpleasant.

I paddled on. Smoothly and quietly I approached the lake.


I was exiting the mouth of the river, into the wide open lake. It was huge.

To let the demon win would have been more crushing and detrimental to me than all the benefits from taking on this expedition's challenge. I don't like to give in. There was no option. I paddled on, into the belly of the beast. Adrenalin flowed and I was as strong now as I have possibly ever been in my life. My arms pulled the paddle through the water with confidence and determination. My decision to take on the lake, in spite of all its misgivings drove me forward. The lake got wider and wider and each paddling stroke brought me out from the river-mouth's confines. The lake was enormous. I surged out into it.

The change in conditions was immediately noticeable. A small wind was lifting waves a foot high. The kayak bobbed and bounced over them. I had to travel two and a half kilometers across open water to get to Terryglass. The water, as far as I could see in front of me, was manageable. I hoped it didn't get any worse and I pressed on. As I passed the one-kilometer wide entrance to Carrigahorig Bay I was almost a kilometer from land in any direction. The waves were threatening but capsizing here just wasn't an option - it was too dangerous. I focused on Terryglass harbour in front of me and paddled hard. The minutes passed and the land got closer. The waves became smaller. I was almost there. More paddling and with constant rhythmic effort I entered Terryglass Harbour. I was safe.

I was relieved. I had started what might be a significant battle with the infamous Lough Derg, and I had reached, unscathed, to Terryglass. My relief wasn't as much that I was safe - I think the survival instinct expects that as a minimum, but relieved that I had taken on the lake. I was glad to be in the fight.

I got out of the kayak and looked for a suitable place to camp. There was loads of people around, which was good in ways, but the only place I could find for the tent was a very public area of grass beside the harbour. It would suffice but I wanted better. I went for a short stroll. I could see a quieter area a little way off. I had to go through a builder's compound and then over a fence. Here was a lovely quiet harbour, with nobody in it but just a collection of some very smart boats. There was an area of well-kept mown grass - perfect for the tent. So why was this so quiet? Further exploration explained all. Just at the entrance to the harbour was a clear sign "Private Harbour ". I gave it five seconds thought and concluded this would definitely be nice and private for me!

I went back and got into the kayak. As I paddled out of the public harbour back into the lake I saw a swan moving off with her young. The following photo gives an idea of the dramatic difference in water conditions from the river to the lake - allowing for the fact that the photo was taken near the relatively sheltered Terryglass harbour:


I paddled around to the Private Harbour and found a small slip-way. I dragged the kayak up onto the mown grass and started sorting out my equipment. A man walked around the corner and we acknowledged each other. He walked down to the boats and looked at a few of them. On his way back I was looking at him, hoping he wasn't going to throw me out of this perfect setting. In a friendly way he asked me "if I was going far? ". I didn't need much encouragement and told him all about my trip. He was fascinated, chatted about it for a while and then headed off wishing me well. By the end of our conversation I suspected he was as much a trespasser here as I was!

I changed into dry respectable clothes and headed off up to Terryglass village, about half a kilometer away. I didn't put my tent up as I didn't want to draw attention to my presence in the private harbour. Leaving all my belongings in the open kayak, I just hoped everything would be safe.

In Terryglass village I had a fantastic meal of Thai chicken curry followed by sticky toffee pudding, a Cappuccino and all washed down by a couple of slow, absorbing, relaxing pints of Heineken. A truly glorious meal. Just a pity I didn't have any company to enjoy it with.

I went back to the kayak and all was in order. I went for a stroll around the public harbour and had a look at the various boats and people stopping there. I was glad I hadn't pitched my tent on the grass there as there were loads of children running around and playing football on the grass. And no doubt there'd be more noise later as people drifted back from the pub.

Back in my private harbour, it was now about 8pm. After a look at the upmarket boats, I pitched my tent on the well-kept mown grass.


I relaxed and checked my map for the coming day. I had crossed two and a half kilometers of lake in choppy waters, which had at times been a struggle. Tomorrow I had about twenty kilometers of wide open lake to travel to get to Dromineer. On the map the lake looked huge. The advice I had been given was that the lake was dangerous. The wind today was only slight, yet it still brought up tricky waves. If there was wind tomorrow of any note, things might get very awkward. I could try and hug the shoreline but at various points I would, no doubt, make a bee-line across open waters from headland to headland. Would I take on too much?


Looking at the setting sun, my present setting was fabulous. It might all get quite different tomorrow, but for now I was in a terrific place. 25km travelled that day to an extremely quiet, private harbour, with the water gently lapping at the marvelous boats. It was now time to just enjoy where I was. I climbed into my sleeping bag, enveloped by my tent. In some ways I was a world away from the luxury of the previous night's Hodson Bay Hotel experience, but in may ways I wasn't. I wondered about what the lake might bring tomorrow. I closed my eyes. I drifted into deep sleep.

6th. August 2007. Day ten.

I could stretch. Stretch right out in the bed. An arm over here and a leg way over there. So different to a sleeping bag in a tent. This was The Hodson Bay Hotel and this was immense comfort. I lay awake for a few minutes thinking about it. I am well used to a double bed and have stayed in many comfortable hotels, but awaiting me in the immediate coming days were more nights in my sleeping bag, in my tent. Camping can be adventurous, and definitely serves a purpose. But this was a big double bed, in a fancy hotel, with the prospect of a big, even massive, breakfast served up to me. I lay there enjoying my comfort.

Eventually I made it down to the dining room and ate a huge breakfast. I wanted to bulk up for the day ahead. It was a regular situation on this expedition that I didn't know when I'd eat next, so when food was plentiful, I didn't hold back. After the cereal, grapefruit and fry I "Deirdred" the breakfast fare. I took two Danish pastries, bananas, two very fancy looking Yogurts and as my bought bread was stale by this stage, I asked a waitress for a few slices of bread! She dutifully brought me out bread, but unfortunately she had thoughtfully cut it in triangle-shaped halves. A lot of people would have cut their losses at this stage, and gone off with the bread, but I was thinking ahead. My plan was to use this bread for sandwiches covered in Heinz Sandwich Spread. Triangle-shaped halves would have yielded ridiculously small sandwiches so I asked the nice girl if there was any chance of a few whole slices. "Certainly Sir ", was the response and away she disappeared off to the kitchen, only to reappear moments later with a handful of whole slices! A result!

But even then, I wasn't finished. I had arrived down to this breakfast, prepared with military precision. I took out my empty plastic water bottle and filled it up from the milk tap over by the cereals. At this stage, even the manager-looking concierge type was somewhat bewildered. I gave him a big smile. Then I took out my 15 cent squashed-up wrinkled plastic bag and loaded all my provisions into it. On the way out of the room, the manager-type was at the door. In case there were any issues with raiding the breakfast spread, I went on the offensive and before he had a chance to say anything I loudly and confidently announced to him - "That was a terrific breakfast. Well done! ". Taken aback, he smiled and nodded his head as I marched out the door. Definitely a breakfast to remember. A certain Deirdre would have been proud of me.

Back in my room I changed into my kayaking clothes and packed all my belongings into the only bags I had - a range of plastic refuse sacks. In fairness they were different colours, so that gave me some sense of style and panache. I had a bag for clothes, one for my sleeping bag, one for my ground mat, one for my tent, one for my provisions, and another as my day-bag. Travelling by water, the refuse sacks were good for keeping my belongings reasonably dry. Along with my paddle, there was far too much for me to carry and I didn't want to waste energy making a number of trips. I rang the reception and asked for a Porter. The porter arrived minutes later, complete with his tall gold-coloured trolley. He was a little surprised when he saw my luggage, but we packed it up onto the trolley and headed for the lift.

The receptionist was dealing with a customer so I waited behind them, holding my 7-foot paddle. The paddle attracted some attention, with my attire of shorts and life-jacket, in this plush hotel, getting some more. More people arrived to check out so a bit of a queue developed. When it came my turn to check-out the receptionist was extremely professional and didn't show any surprise at my rig-out. With the business complete and bill paid, she could hold out no longer. She politely asked if I had "far to go". When I told her I was hoping to go to Limerick she expressed considerable admiration, but when I told her I had just come from the top of the Shannon she was enthralled and said back to me "You've come all the way from the top of the Shannon and are going all the way to Limerick? That's a fantastic trip! ", all said in a loud enough voice for everybody behind me to hear. It was like she felt duty-bound to tell all the nearby guests of the trip, in a very friendly way. I could hear the surprise from the people behind me. I'm sure I beamed with pride. When I turned around they were all smiling and nodding at me. Some wished me good-luck. I was delighted as I left the building, followed by my porter and my collection of different coloured refuse sacks.

The porter asked and chatted about the trip as I packed the kayak. Then he helped me carry it down to the water. It was a sunny day and calm on the lake - ideal for kayaking. I left the Hodson Bay Hotel - the haven for weary travellers, in all its luxury, with its polite and friendly staff, and vast breakfast fare. When planning the logistics of the trip, I had been extremely disappointed when I rang the hotel and was told that they would not store any bags for me. I explained about the expedition, hoping to leave clean clothes with them, but rules were rules - no bags. On hanging up from that telephone conversation I had decided that I wouldn't stay at the hotel - I'd bring my business elsewhere, even if that meant to a tent! I was glad that I hadn't been stubborn about that decision. Flexibility, forgiveness, and probably near exhaustion had brought me around. I was so glad I had chosen to ignore that bureaucratic adherence to policy over the bags. On this glorious, crisp and sunny morning, the Hodson Bay Hotel had been forgiven. A plastic bag full of goodies was testament to that. Good on ya' Hodson!

I headed off and passed down through Athlone town, going under the various bridges, including the big white railway bridge. I had driven past this large landmark many times so it was interesting to see it from this river perspective. I got to the lock in Athlone and whatever way I happened upon it, or whatever I had been looking at before it, I just noticed the lock gates open so I upped my pace and belted into the lock before the gates closed. I had visions of the lock gates closing to bring boats upriver from the other side, and I didn't want a long and cold wait.

The lock-keeper wasn't one bit impressed and let me have it! There had been a queue of boats near the lock, which I had been oblivious to. Memories of a previous dressing-down from a lock-keeper came back. I tried to keep a straight face for my scolding. I know that from my position, low down in the water, you don't always see what's going on with the big boats. Nor did I really care. Everything moves slowly enough so I wasn't in any danger from them and I knew that I was small enough to manoeuvre to facilitate the big boats - which is what ultimately happened anyway. I let her give out, without giving any explanation or arguing the point. With that off her chest she went about her business much happier. Welcome to Athlone!

I grabbed a chain by the lock wall and waited for the other boats to come in. There were so many of them that I was asked to move between two boats. That was no problem with me and I dutifully obliged.



With four days of kayaking on the river, I was now extremely comfortable with my mode of transport. It was the people on the boats who were doing all the worrying about me! As they held their ropes to keep them secure in the lock, they repeatedly asked me if I was OK. I was delighted and impressed by their concern.

Once we were all in and secure, the lock-keeper's attitude changed and she chatted affably about the trip. She even advised me to get going as quickly as possible when the gates opened and to take care for the rest of the journey. I shot out the gates, to the relief of the boaters, and paddled out into open water and down the wide river. The rest of the town, with it's riverside apartments and moored boats provided some interest but then I was quickly back to ordinary river and miles upon miles of reeds. And more reeds. With the odd cow.


Slowly but surely I made my way to Clonmacnois, down past the right-hand sides of both Long Island and Inchinalee. By the time I got to Clonmacnois it was raining. It was lunchtime so I pulled my kayak up onto the grass and went to the visitor centre. Walking up to it I was tired and wet. I had no intention of doing a tour of the place, dressed like this, wet and hungry. However, a girl at the desk said access to the restaurant and toilets was for paying visitors only, and not "normally open to the general public ". I was tempted to say that I don't "normally kayak down the Shannon ". Instead I looked her straight in the eyes and told her I was "particularly stuck", in a desperate kind of a way, and she let me through without a ticket! I changed into dry clothes in the toilets and made my way to the restaurant where I had a bowl of soup and fabulous lasagne for lunch. Looking at the maps over lunch, I reckoned that I'd be able to make it to Banagher that evening so I rang the B&B and booked myself in.



Back in the kayak the rain had stopped so I carried on down the river. I passed a multitude of reeds and Devenish Island.


I was surprised how quickly I came to Shannonbridge. This location held some fond memories for me. In years past, friends and I regularly jumped off the bridge into the river. It's thirty feet from bridge to water so quite a drop. I stopped at the bridge and had one of the fancy yogurts from the hotel, spending some time recollecting the various incidents when jumping that bridge. The memories of us laughing when people got it wrong came flooding back.


I pushed on under the bridge, into a large left-hand turn, and then on a long, boring section of river, with nothing to see but reeds and water. I met where the river Blackwater enters the Shannon, followed by Lehinch Island and on past the Grand Canal junction with the Shannon. Another long boring stretch of river and the distinctive Banagher Bridge came into view.


This was welcome relief, not from tiredness, but from the boredom. There's very little changes on the river when you travel at my speed, at my level on the water.

John had been to Banager the day before and had suggested places to park up. This was extremely helpful and his description of the place was positively accurate. I quickly found the small bank of grass and easily got of the kayak.


I was even able to lock the kayak to the wire mesh holding the grass bank in place.

John had taken this photo the day before to show me exactly what it was like!

It was 6:25pm. I walked the short distance (600m) to the B&B and was shown to a comfortable room. Once I had my bearings I made a couple of trips to and from the kayak and got my belongings to the B&B. That evening I took a short walk up the town, but as I wasn't in the humour for a pint there wasn't much to see other than a couple of boy-racers roaring up and down the town in their noisy cars. Seeing the same people drive by over and over again was all a bit odd. I made a few phone calls and then went back to the B&B. There was nobody in the B&B so I watched television for a couple of hours before going to bed.

The 43km I had travelled that day had taken a bit out of me so I studied my maps carefully and developed a plan. I was nervously nearing the great and dangerous infamous Lough Derg. Tomorrow I would be out into its vast waters, which having been warned so much of, troubled me somewhat. Looking at the days and the distance involved, and also being aware that it would suit Marie if I got to Limerick on Friday, I calculated that I could break up the journey into four very manageable sections. Banager to Terryglass 26km, to Dromineer 20km, to Killaloe 21km and to Limerick 23km. Good plan. I was relieved at this, knowing that it was all very achievable, would break up the looming dangerous lake, and would give me time and space to take it easy and concentrate on enjoying the trip.

I love a plan. I love my sleep. The plan was prepared. The sleep came easy.