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.