After 3.5 years of kayaking, the inevitable happened. On Sunday I found myself a little bit stuck: I was in a weir.
The day had not being going very well for me; we had headed to the Kent in the Lake District with one car. We were 4 quite experienced paddlers, and although none of us had done the Kent at the high-medium it was rising to, there was little cause for concern. After taking my first swim of 2016 on S-Bend (embarrassing, but meatier than I recall), I wasn’t the happiest of paddlers but reluctantly got back in my boat.
I haven’t been totally happy paddling for some time, and that was rearing it’s ugly head once more. In our circle of kayaking friends we call it The Fear. It’s paralysing, frustrating, illogical and embarrassing. It has sucked the joy out of so many rivers since I had my first bite of it in Scotland last Easter, and it’s iron grip is incredibly hard to shake.