Lost months, big waves and an initiation

It would seem that I fell asleep for a few months and before I knew it months had passed and I failed to write an update on life in the big bad North.  Despite this the country is still stuck in deep winter akin to that wrought upon Narnia by the White Witch  herself. Much has happened in this time of frozen despair, man parts have temporarily defrosted only to be plunged back into the realms of the subzero, (where to venture outside you have to look down to check your not walking around in your baby suit, as the cold cuts through the ten layers of clothing quicker than it takes to spread juicy gossip in a woman's changing room), many riveting reports and presentations have been written, presented and duly forgotten, and the day when I return to Cardiff fully qualified and primed for some hydrology action creeps dangerously closer.

So the pain in the rear end that are exams is now over, (long over in fact) and I will now move on with no further winging other than to state that whoever writes said examinations is a sadist. In true form the cessation of two weeks of boredom and sitting on the old derriere was a trip up into the bowels of Scotland with the NUCC lads to kayak the gnar. A bottle of whisky in one hand, my GoPro camera in the other, what could possibly go wrong.

As many will know, the UK has recently resembled the North Pole, with snow covering all but the most inefficiently insulated houses. With rain promised for the weekend in question (some few weeks ago now) you didn't need to be a hydrologist to know that runoff in the region was going to be off the chain. If the promised rain materialised that is.

Eager in this anticipation myself and one other, the youngest and soon to be proved most talented of the group, got up at the crack of dawn the next day, ready to battle the raging torrents we had dreamt of. Unfortunately, the first day in the cold north resulted in some of the laziest sleepy students known to man, that made even the faff fest which is Cardiff Uni look like eager beavers, and the scruffy shits were still crawling out of bed at half 9. Admittedly the full cooked breakfast they then knocked up did make up for this slightly. Also, this raging monsoon we (i) had envisaged did not materialise and we were left paddling rivers more resembling the result of a bunch of horses urinating than anything that was made by the Gods. The evening was spent drowning out the memory of this rock scrape with consumption of all the alcoholic supplies that were to hand. Not sure really what happened but sure it was a merry time had by all. I was less keen to get up the following morning.

But get up I did and this time it had actually rained. Not the epic deluge I had envisaged that once was responsible for Noah's Arc of selective favouritism but a small pitter pattering of wetness nonetheless which turned the rivers into an acceptable level. Off we journeyed to the River Etive, which for those that don't know, is a river which snakes it's way across bedrock dropping in gradient in a series of fun ledges, slots and slides. Perhaps the most impressive feature of this river is the aptly named 'Big Man Falls'. Or Right Angle...depending on who you talk to. Not ridiculously large it still gets the heart pumping, and considering the last time I ran a waterfall, albeit unintentionally and a tad larger, I ended up in A & E with my 'rugged good looks' decidedly more rugged. I was a tad nervous. The entry move, although not something to worry about normally, was a tight right angle before dropping off into the fall. Mess this up and you're going over the fall upside down, on your face or if you're really daft...out of your boat. I manned up and stormed this beast, and mess it up I did not.

That said however, safely down looking up at the next person to follow me, I was greeted by a slightly panicked face. And a boat. Together but not together...

Much merriment was had by all over this event, don't worry readers - no injuries were incurred other than that of pride. The day was spent sessioning different drops and basically having an all round good time, and it was a tired and satisfied group that traipsed back to the hut at the end of the day to consume yet more whisky and beer. That night said whisky had the unfortunate effect of causing the NUCC president to lose all his clothes and frolic in the nearby river like a lamb in spring shouting 'it's not even cold' as it hammered down with rain and his under garments floated off down stream.

The next morning heads were even heavier than the night before and mine was significantly heavier than some, and in true feeling sorry for myself form I took some considerable persuading to get out of the warm bed. In my defence the night had been shattered on countless occasion by a certain member on the top bunk opposite me decorating the lower bunk and floor with the contents of his stomach at regular intervals of the night, as well as the club president flashing his children makers at me repeatedly in an attempt 'to cool down'. To say it was a disturbing night is an understatement.

But the good news, the rain had arrived. That night all the rain I had envisaged for the entire weekend fell in one night and I was like a junkie in a drug store as I looked eagerly out of the mini bus window at all the rivers, quite literally raging like a bull in a china shop.

Off to the River Orchy we travelled. Now this is a river I have done before, certain sections multiple times and never have I seen it look so inviting and uninviting at the same time. Nice big volume, an awesome day on the water. Admittedly there was one Grade 5 section that looked so meaty that we all stood and looked at and after a certain degree of macho willy waving the majority decided enough was enough, myself included. Two guys ran it, one the aforementioned 16 year old, and Phil, both making all those on the banks feel like they had very small willy's indeed as they made it look, literally, like child's play.

And so that was that, a long and damp ride back to the land of bovril and pies and a week of intense programming and modelling in Uni that I will not bore anyone with talking about. Unfortunately my way to becoming a true geek is now firmly cemented in place as I lapped up all this new knowledge with eager ears.

In other news, on a recent trip to Pembrokeshire for a weekend away with the family and girlfriend for my mums birthday, I re-introduced her back into the world of kayaking. The girlfriend, not the mother, that scenario is about as likely as a teenage boy reading Playboy without looking at the pictures. Now, she actually started all this malarkey before me and likes to point out that she learnt to roll before me, however promptly stopped and never got back into a boat again until that lovely freezing cold day on the beach at Newgale, with 2 metre waves crashes down onto the shingles, and a wind so cold it put the Newcastle gales to shame. Now I'm not one to boast of my manly gentleman-ness but here I will make an exception. I will let the following images sum up our dressage for the subsequent few hours of playing in the sea....

Her

Me

 She was bloody good. Considering the sea was about as wild as a goat on heat she absolutely nailed it. That was until her new found confidence prompted her to opt for her very own maiden voyage as she set of for Ireland, heading out to sea in what i thought was some vain attempt at finding land on the other side. This new found adventure was then brought to an abrupt end as a particularly large wave picked her up, held her vertically long enough for me to see the look of sheer terror on her face before depositing her face first back into the water. Hilarious. That was until realisation dawned that the tide was going out and her attempts to swim to shore against the power of the tide were about as successful as man in a suit of armour treading water. Not helped by the fact my spare helmet was about as loose as a rope of sand on her head and every wave plunged her into darkness. Now this distraction was actually very thoughtful of her, as it distracted me from the the growing numbness in the entirety of my extremities as the cold forgotten, I set about surfing my additional human cargo and various bits of kit in to shore. No damage, to her or the the kit and she was left only seething, about as frustrated as an Amish electrician, annoyed at the swim but raring to go again. Unfortunately upon safe landing the realisation of the cold returned and I feared my favourite external organs would never recover. I ran and hid in my car with the engine on and prayed for a successful thawing process. But recover they did, and what better way to celebrate an awesome, if not a little epic, return to the world of kayaking  than after a little drive back to the warm house, and with the addition of plenty of beer, watching the Welsh team educate the English in just how real men play rugby. 

So that's it. A few months summed up into a few over-worded, simile-heavy paragraphs. After so long away I have now forced my dwindling fan base to read what can only be described as an essay of epic proportions. But for those who have cried at night unable to sleep due to the lack of literary content this once reliable blog has provided, never fear. I'm back.