by John Willacy
UK Sea kayaking history is littered with adventure and adventurers, not least three young men who set out to make the first crossing by kayak between Dun Laoghaire and Holyhead, back in the summer of 1969...
The following account
comes from a recent conversation with one of those paddlers, Derek Mayes.
In the late 1960’s
fibreglass was still a relatively new material in the canoeing world. Kayaks made
from fibreglass were now the boats of choice on the rivers and, increasingly, along the coastline of the UK. This rigid and robust new material was steadily altering
paddling horizons. White-water and Slalom paddlers could be seen more and more with
their craft out on open water. They would head out for a change of scenery, or
for a white-water fix as the summer river levels dropped.
The Welsh coastline
was now becoming a regular paddling venue for some. Bardsey Island, the
Skerries and the Bishops and Clerks were among the list of new venues being
explored. Different avenues were being explored and new adventures were coming along daily it seemed.
The Irish Sea was an
obvious target.
In early 1969 a
couple of friends, Ken Rudram and Alan Hughes, threatened a first attempt. Perhaps they may made a mistake however, when they paddled a lengthy training trip
around the Llŷn Peninsula in open
canoe. It seems that this left them too exhausted to take up their planned
Irish Sea crossing when the date arrived not too long after.
So on June 28th they were unfortunately gazumped by three ambitious instructors from the
National Mountain Centre, Plas y Brenin - Dave Bland, Nick Gough and Derek
Mayes.
The Build Up
The trio were in
their late twenties, and while they were all keen climbers, Derek suggests he
was the only ‘real’ sea paddler in the team – that is, one who owned his own
paddle. Derek had previously worked his way solo along the West Coast of
Scotland and was amongst the first to paddle a number of, now common, North Wales
trips.
But at this stage, none
of the three had experience of long kayak journeys, nor had they prepared
specifically for paddling such a distance. They knew each other well and had
paddled together through their work at the centre. In September of 1968 Dave,
Nick and Derek were joined by Ian Maxwell, when they travelled to west coast of
Ireland, to paddle a challenging trip along the cliffs of Moher.
While Derek recalls
there was little explicit preparation for the Irish Sea crossing, they did undertake a
team-paddling session, a half-day group paddle on Llynau Mymbr, the two lakes
by the centre at Capel Curig.
And that was about
it.
Boats and Kit
The kayaks for the crossing were fibreglass slalom kayaks, two (Streamlyte?) KW7’s and a (Klepper?) SL5 - rather different beasts from slalom kayaks of today.
The choice of boats was determined for little more reason than the fact that these were the only ones available.
These boats were also
very different from modern sea kayaks. There were no hatches or bulkheads, just
polystyrene blocks for buoyancy. Spraydecks were of leaky nylon and dry-bags
weren't around yet. To keep them dry, important items were wrapped in plastic
bags and sealed with tape.
The trio did
customise their boats a little in preparation. Removable fibreglass skegs were
hand-built, to slide over the stern of the boats, in order to aid tracking on
the long open water crossing. Single deck lines were strung from bow toggle,
via the cockpit, to the stern toggle, for safety...
Again, that was about
it.
Setting Out
The team laid all their kit out, told only their close friends that they were off, and ventured onto the ferry from Holyhead. The adventure had started. There was no publicity – no social media...
The Kit they had packed included:
- Bum Bag
- Flask
- Sun Hats
- Windproof tops
- Chart (taped to the deck of one boat)
- Compass
- Torch
- Dayglow panels (courtesy of RAF Valley)
- SARBE (Search And Rescue BEacon – also courtesy
of RAF Valley )
- No Bouyancy Aids - Life jackets were
taped behind the cockpit
- Food
- Flares
- Repair Kit
- “We
MUST have carried a split spare paddle - surely.”
In Dun Laoghaire, as soon as they had carried everything off the ferry, they packed their boats and started to ready themselves for the long paddle back home.
But as they readied
to leave, it became clear that they weren't exactly welcomed with open arms by
the locals:
“There was a
serious deputation in Dun Laoghaire, lifeboatmen and coastguards, who did their
absolute utmost to stop us, even preventing us from embarking from the inner
harbour (the only power they had).”
45 years later Derek can understand their point of view a little more readily.
The team ventured to
a new launch point and got on the water, setting out at 11 pm.
Derek recalls having
read that they could expect to sweat a lot, and of the problems this could
cause. And so, to counter the effects of this he took a couple of salt tablets.
He doesn't know if they dealt with the sweating problem, but he remembers that
they did make him vomit. For the first hour or two his memories are mainly
about the nausea.
Unsurprisingly, 45
years on, he can’t recall all of the details from the featureless crossing.
Derek does talk of their navigation drills though; they seem a little rudimentary
in the modern world of GPS:
“We spent a
long time trying to work out our speed, putting a sweet wrapper on the water
and counting until it passed the back of the boat - ever tried that? It keeps
your mind busy!”
The position of the sun
factored into the navigation plans too.
They paddled well
early on, with few breaks. The list of food carried has also faded with the
passage of time, but Derek recalls that chicken legs were on the menu, as were
Mars Bars - priced, he recalls, at around 4d (not 4p!), back in 1969.
As they progressed
and reached the half way mark the air was clear and they could make out clouds
in the far distance, hanging over the coast of Wales (possibly Scotland!) -
they presumed. Derek admits that they had no idea where they were:
“...anywhere from
the Isle of Man to Pembroke, depends on the stream, we thought!”
But things progressed
all the same. The weather was kind, there was a constant stiff breeze from the
north, and while it was warm, there was not too much heat from the sun.
As they paddled they
came across a few ships, but they all remained in the distance and there were
no problems with close encounters.
Eventually the group
closed on the western tip of Anglesey, dusk was drawing in now and they were
feeling the fatigue. They had been on the water for an hour or two short of
twenty hours.
As they neared
Holyhead, the group picked up the fast stream of the flood tide:
“We tried to stay
together in this giant river, always looking towards each other. Nick stopped
but Dave didn't. I went to Nick, he was asleep with his arms inside the spray
deck, so I woke him up.”
As Nick and Derek
finally reached the sanctuary of Holyhead Breakwater, a SAR helicopter from 22
Sqn thundered overhead, apparently called out by the Coastguard.
Complete
Nick and Derek came
ashore and fired up a self-heating can of Horlicks for immediate and welcome
sustenance. Derek recalls using a red flare to, rather precariously, light the
wick of the self-heating can by “firing
it into a thick poly bag”.
Then it was off in
search of a telephone, to call the coastguard and stand-down the ‘rescue’.
Dave arrived now, he
had landed separately and the trio were reunited at Soldier’s Point, tired but
excited. The Irish Sea had been crossed by kayak – for the first time.
Derek recalls how
worn-out they all were, after over 20 hours on the water. As they drove back
over Stanley Embankment (it was long before the A55!), he recalls having to
take a second opportunity to awake a paddling buddy. But this time it was Dave
who needed a prod, and he wasn't paddling, he was driving the car!
They took the
following day off work.
Recollections
Derek looks back now,
with obviously fond memories of the trip, of the adventure and the
accomplishment. There were to be many more paddling trips, but this one stands
out.
He sums it all up:
“It never seemed
like a big thing but I am really glad we did it. It helped me face quite
a few situations in the following years - just drawing on that commitment
alone. It was committing, we knew that, but we were entirely ready.”
Derek still firmly
clings to his old slalom boat. He has owned and paddled various sea boats over
the years, but he prefers the company of his faithful Olymp 5 for salty paddling days:
“What else
can you lift from a car on your own, or turn 'round briskly in a tight cave,
perhaps carry over a headland in appalling wind and darkness? At 75 there
is NO way I could lift a sea boat on and off my car, though I like to think I'm
as strong as ever!”
Nick’s father later
presented them all with an engraved pewter mug to commemorate the historic
crossing – Derek still cherishes his.
Dave Bland was killed
in climbing accident in 1975.
Nick Gough still
dreams, and possesses a nice sea kayak apparently.
Derek now lives in Orkney and continues to
paddle his slalom boat on the sea:
“...round headlands, and out to islands.”
“...round headlands, and out to islands.”
 |
| Parliament Cave - circa early 1970's |
 |
| Ten Feet Bank Buoy, Puffin Island - circa 1975 |
Thanks to Derek Mayes for his help, and patience.
John Willacy - Jan 2016