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.

5th. August 2007. Day nine.

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

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

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

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





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

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

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

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



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

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



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


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


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





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

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

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

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

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

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



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


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

4th. August 2007. Day eight.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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


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


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


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

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


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




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



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



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


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


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



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



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

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

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

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


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