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.