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.