River Eden

Registered Company No 2612775

NOT KEITHS REPORT ON THE EDEN .........

And where our lyricist has left us the jobbing writer takes up in a pale imitation of the great man’s style . . .

Ah a return to Eden, lush vegetation, people wearing fig leaves, forbidden fruit hanging within tempting reach etc, but hang on we weren’t in biblical times, we were in Cumbria, this is the river Eden that drain and large chunk of the north Pennines and lake district past Carlisle and into the Solway Firth. And what a peach of a river it is, not quite crystal clear water, even better bouncy wave trains, abundant bird life, beautiful arched stone bridges, the smell of village recycling point in the car park, cutting through an impressive red sandstone gorge, and the promise of mystical carvings in the rocks near the end. The Sun hadn’t quite arrived on this slightly less warm January morning in Lazonby, but reinforcements had, and everyone was on time and raring to go. Having issued several reminders to anyone prone to forgetting their helmet, what could go wrong?

Well, for a start someone might forget their spray deck, and cause a significant delay in procedures. Groans all round, but no sympathy today. He was left to contemplate this schoolboy error with a book and direction to the café while we left him at the get off and returned to paddle the river. But never mind, that gave us ample time to catch up, have a coffee, and speak to another group of paddlers about their planned day. A pleasant bunch they were too, although there were no storm troopers in their open canoes, apparently the access agreement doesn’t allow them.

Before too long, the shuttle was run and we were finally on our way. The water level was decent and the going was good, we darted about on waves like a convocation of eagles circling eddies and gliding down flows as if soaring thermals hunting out prey.

What we didn’t know was that this was again going to prove to be ‘Ladies Day’ on the river. Although Christine and Shim, again forewent the lavish millinery they certainly were the stars of the show – but not for the same reasons today. Although the racing analogy worked much better as Orange Supersonic became the first to unseat its rider at an early hurdle.

Again tales of previous trips down the Eden filled the air as we progressed onwards: ‘do you remember last year when we needed wheels to get down’, ‘what about the time Les and Mark did the rapid backwards in the open boat’, ‘he day Johnny swam in an inch of water’, and ‘remember how we laughed when we were waist deep in mud walking out to the car’. On a previous Eden trip the standing wave off the final weir reached epic proportions, sending paddlers airborne off the crest at random angles and varying orientations to waters surface. , So it was to anticipation of this churning grade 3 drop that talk eventually turned. The “big drop” is coming up, however no matter the level of terror invoked by for the impending maelstrom, all seemed resolute that it was an infinitely better prospect than the ‘walk of mud and cow pooh’ from the alternative get out.

Fortunately we were able to distract everyone with antiquities carved in the inaccessible cliff just above them – faces smiled back us and old English verse challenged the tongue.

But the “the terrifying torrent” was still waiting for us. One by one inspection from the middle of the river highlighted the line, and a rousing chorus of ‘I will survive’ cheered paddlers on their way. Naturally lines down rapids are only really for guidance, as fight or flight instincts take over as soon as the froth begins. Sitting at the bottom allowed your author to further develop the prototype theory of ‘line creep’ – that is each successive paddler follows the one before, but just a bit further to the left until some one goes just inch too far and flirts with disaster. This left blue dagger to become the second faller on ladies day, unseating its rider at the final hurdle. Now line creep could become the latest spread betting craze, a more skill based challenge than simply backing the most likely swimmer on a given day; however I fear there is too much potential for match fixing for it to become a global phenomenon.

Meanwhile Lois was preparing to re-launch having met up with ‘the man with no deck’ who had walked up from the in the hope of an encore from the barbershop chorus as the soundtrack to the excitement on the river.

Emboldened we took on the rest the Eden had to throw at us without even raising an eyebrow – to be honest there was barely enough river left in which to elevate said brow. After two days on the water, Dig had moved beyond yawning to nodding off, or was it just the weight of him head-cam taking a toll on his neck? And so we arrived at our destination the pretty wee village of Lazonby.

Keith O’Hara’s ghost writer