"Around the Sharp End", The South West Peninsular
Sea Kayak Challenge - Part 2/2

DAY 6 Thursday 10th July 1997. (23 miles, 6 hours paddling)

I awoke in time for the shipping forecast. North Easterly 3-4, good visibility. Ideal.

I took a walk up Watch Hill leaving Rob asleep. I had let him kip in my tent because theirs was so tiny and they are both well over six foot. The view was wonderful but I had forgotten to bring my diary so I strolled back down to collect it and walked up the hill on the other side. The peace and solitude of the place I will keep with me for a long time. I sat with the sun on my back on a cushion of heather looking west towards America.

The weather changed at about 10.30am. Without any announcement clouds came scuttling across the sky and an Easterly breeze whipped down the channel. Within ten minutes the day had changed dramatically. Rob had discovered that the forward hatch on the Voyager had not been glassed in and decided that it was better to be safe than sorry especially if the crossing back to the mainland was going to be into a head wind. Whilst he got covered in resin John and I went off to the post office/shop and purchased some milk and other treats.

It was midday by the time we got paddling. Again the effect of Scilly time. We set off round the back of Bryher and found a bit of swell off this most exposed of coasts. The depth plummets to 80 metres close off-shore. The rock sculptures were as beautiful as those on the Penwith Peninsular. The granite a slightly coarser, darker hue. The weather had really closed in and the strong south easterly wind made any open stretches hard work. The forecast had been almost completely wrong and I was getting increasingly worried about our chances of making it back to the mainland the next day. Not only would it be costly going back on the Scillonian but it would also be effectively the end of my Challenge. We passed Samson paddling south to St. Agnes. I was feeling strong but I could see Rob was not enjoying it that much. I wanted to do a circumnavigation of the inhabited islands. I'm not sure Rob understood why. They decided to land on St.Agnes and find a tea shop whilst I paddled round. That suited me and having rapidly scoffed my lunch before I got too cold I set off doing the island in a clockwise direction to gain maximum advantage from the lee shore. Around the north of Gugh it was pretty lumpy and I was grateful to turn south and run with the sea. I blasted down the back of the island scaring a seal as I surfed past. In 50 minutes I was back at the harbour to see John and Rob coming back to their boat. Rob wanted to see another friend who had a boat yard near Hughtown on St. Mary's so again we split up and I headed off towards Peninnis Point on my continued circumnavigation. It was a real battle to get to the Point and as I struggled past the clapotis got scary. Hidden reefs were causing the swell to collapse unexpectedly and a couple of times I found myself bracing onto a wall of foam rushing shorewards. It was by far the most exciting bit of paddling so far and I was very conscious that a mistake would have been disastrous. I was confident of my ability to roll as long as I held onto my paddles. Rounding the northern corner of the island I got a couple of excellent surfs down St.Mary's Road.

I soon met the lads coming the other way and we discussed where we were going to spend the night. We needed the maximum head start we could give ourselves if we were going to make it back against this wind. We opted for the Eastern Isles. As there would be no water on the islands I landed on St. Mary's and ran up the hill to find somewhere to fill my bag. I found a development of smart studio flats overlooking St. Mary's Road. Nice. I knocked on the door of one and a young boy answered. I must have looked like some sort of alien being from a watery planet in another universe. I asked his dad for some water and whilst I was waiting I chatted to the boy and his younger sister as if they got visitors like me all the time.

We crossed the channel to the Eastern Isles passing several seals bottling - sleeping upright with their heads just above the water. We found the perfect stop. A rocky beach we immediately named Seal Bay after the resident pair that came over to greet their new arrivals. We sat and had dinner protected from the wind watching the seals watching us, chatting about trips in the past and future. It was Rob's birthday and that morning a fellow camper had given me the remains of his bottle of vodka because he couldn't fit it in his trunk. We toasted Rob and then stuck a message in the empty bottle addressed to Barry. Rob planned to drop it into the sea a mile off-shore the next day. Rob listened to the shipping forecast which was marginal. We would just have to wait and see what the morning would bring.

DAY 7 Friday 11th July 1997. (64 miles, 13 hours paddling)

I didn't sleep well, whether it was the flysheet rattling in the wind, or the uncertainty of tomorrows outcome I don't know. I must have drifted off eventually because I was woken by my watch alarm at 4.15am. Silence. I couldn't even hear the sea which should have been smashing itself to bits on the eastern shore of the island like it had been the previous night. I hurriedly got up. No wind, no waves, no fog, just a spooky calm. Visibility wasn't brilliant but it was good enough. I am not a religious person but I thanked whoever was responsible.

After making porridge - with milk this morning, we were on the water just before 6.00am. We passed a gang of seals on the outer rocks at 6.04am. We did not expect to beat our outward time but it gives you something to go for. There was a slight south easterly breeze and a short undulating swell, just enough to lift the bow of the kayak and give you a false impression of speed. We kept sight of the Eastern Isles for 40 minutes but then we were on our own, no sign of anything. Our course was 100 degrees. It was much easier to hold a good track going into the swell. The sky started to clear and the first helicopter buzzed overhead. This was going to be a long hard slog but I felt strong after two relatively short days so I led the pace, the guys ever consistent, staying with me. Across the shipping lanes, we were passed astern by a yacht heading up the Bristol Channel. I still hadn't had a decent wash to ride. The wash off the the double sea kayak was probably quite good on flat water but at sea it was almost impossible to find. The best position was directly behind but my bow was very close to taking off their rudder if I tried that.

Three hours hard graft and still no sign of land. We passed through the last shipping lane before taking a rest. As we sat rafted up scoffing the last of John's apricots discussing what distance we could see to our horizon I suddenly caught a glimpse of a tiny vertical line no longer than a centimetre on the horizon directly off our bow. Rob confirmed it, Longships bang on the nose! We congratulated Rob on his excellent navigation. He said it wasn't difficult, especially with GPS, but I know without his and John's experience it would have been many more years before I would have had the confidence to do the trip. Now we could see Longships and what was essentially the end for the lads, they turned up the pace and I was forced to sit on their stern. It took forever for Longships to grow in size. Even the Shearwaters and Petrels couldn't take my mind off the fact that the longer we were out here the more the tide was turning against us. I remembered the tide trying to drown that bouy on the way out. Could we paddle against that sort of flow and hope to make any progress? The consequences of getting washed southwards and not being able to make it to the mainland didn't bear thinking about. I guess we would have just kept paddling until the tide turned again and brought us back but that would mean a long, long paddle!

About a mile from Longships a solitary Puffin flew past heading due south to catch up with his buddies. We continued to close on the lighthouse but despite the fact we were paddling pretty much flat out it didn't seem to be getting much closer. We knew our timings were tight and the tide would be getting stronger and stronger, but we had left half an hour early and our speed on the return crossing, although not as fast as on the outward leg, was still in excess of 5 knots. As we eventually got within a few hundred metres of the reef we could see that the tide had indeed turned against us. It was was creating a large eddy behind the main rock so we aimed for it and took a short rest being careful not to get too close - the westerly ground swell that had increased during the crossing was surging up the rock several metres and it would have been easy to get caught out. We couldn't afford to stay too long; things were only going to get worse the longer we rested there. We struck out around the northern end of the reef, Sennen Cove visible now. It was a major ferry glide which would have been hard if we had been fresh, after 4 and a half hours of solid effort it was a bit much. Rob used his GPS to full advantage tracking their progress to ensure they paddled the shortest distance. I got swept down a little and had to really dig in to stay with them. My inexperience showing, not for the first time. We came through the the Tribbens, the gap between Cowloe Reef and the mainland, the tide flowing like a river over the shallows.

And then it was all over. Into the the sanctuary of the tiny harbour at 10.48am. A return crossing of 4 hours 44minutes. In my mind a greater achievement than the faster outward leg. The paddling had been harder and for over three and a half hours we had not been able to see land. I congratulated John and Rob on their excellent navigation and thanked them both numerous times. We were all really tired but very, very pleased with ourselves!

Having radioed the Coastguard I helped the lads up the slope with their boat - I thought mine was heavy! I went off to buy a pasty and a cream cake whilst the lads sorted out their gear. I bumped into one of the crew of the Sennen Lifeboat.

"You made it back then?" As if that was ever in doubt?

After a milkshake sat in the sun overlooking the beach it was time for goodbyes, John and Rob had a long drive ahead of them, I had an even longer paddle. I had planned to rest for a few hours at Sennen to allow the tide to turn in my favour but I reckoned that any progress I made would be a bonus so I decided to crack on. I think both of them would have liked to have done the trip all the way round. It reminded me of how fortunate I was. After several more thankyous I left the harbour once again, this time going north.

It had turned into a beautiful day. A south westerly breeze, that had been forecasted, arrived and I could not have asked for more perfect conditions to do the next stretch. The North Coast at last! Without fear of ridicule I believe I can say that the paddle from Sennen Cove to St. Ives is one of the classic sea paddles. Very achievable in most kayaks in a day, it has everything; danger,drama, history, wildlife, solitude, what more do you want? I had expected a bit of tide against me around Cape Cornwall but it was negligible. It was starting to get lumpy past Botallack. The daring and tenacity of the mine engineers apparent as waves crashed up against the engine houses built at the very foot of the granite cliffs.

The tide was much more noticeable around Pendeen. Cape Cornwall had obviously been in a bit of an eddy. Having struggled to paddle up a tongue of fast flowing water I took a rest on a tiny beach below the lighthouse. Stupidly I had neglected to refill my water bottles at Sennen so I walked up to the lighthouse to see if I could scrounge some drinking water. By this time I was starting to look a bit of a mess. I had had a shower and a shave at the campsite on Bryher but this had only increased the rate at which my skin was falling off my face and arms due to sunburn. I wandered into the lighthouse where an old boy was conducting a guided tour of the pristine engine room. I couldn't help laughing at the looks I got from the family of tourists who obviously thought I was an unnattractive version of the 'man from Atlantis'.

I continued on, the south westerly wind negating for the most part the effects of the opposing tide. The lack of suitable places to land even a small kayak make this a very committing stretch of coast, but the scenery with the towering granite cliffs and huge tors behind is so spectacular that I was sorry to reach Clodgy Point and Porthmeor Beach. A pit stop, bum rest and off again. Every mile now was a bonus. I had only planned on getting to St.Ives that day. If I could put a few miles in the bank it could pay off in the days to come.

The familiar sight of Godrevy Island with its friendly lighthouse was so welcome. It's image is imprinted on my soul. When I day dream about Cornwall (which I do regularly) it is that panoramic view of St. Ives Bay with Godrevy and Red River at one end and the Island of St.Ives and Hayle River Mouth at the other that is the image I see. By now the tide had turned in my favour, it was nearly 7.00pm and the miles were flowing steadily by. Past Portreath, home to the best pasties in the world - had the shop been open I would have been forced to stop. I was really tired now, I had been in the boat for twelve hours and if I didn't stop soon then I would be in no fit state to paddle the next day. I had decided on Penhale Sands as my destination. It should be quiet with three miles of beach to choose from. Although I had friends at the Surf Club at Perranporth I did not have the energy or desire to socialise that evening. I just wanted to eat and sleep. Getting to Penhale was not easy, I was getting desperately tired but I had to get around St.Agnes Head. The Beacon dominates the landscape and I had never paddled around it. It was pretty imposing and the sea fairly lumpy. Although I was never going to capsize, stability strokes were really tiring.

Finally I came towards the beach choosing my landfall. A ski went past on my left, I was too tired to look to see who it was. I had not predicted the size of the surf. It was a good 4 feet and I was in no mood for it. The break was packed with surfers lined up expectantly. Clearly a bigger set was due. I waited and sure enough a solid 5 feet came through. This was going to be tricky. I had a fully laden kayak, a 10 litre bag of water loose in the bottom, my arms were ready to drop off and somehow I had to get in through this surf. There was no way I could go on, I was too tired, it was too late and in any case there was nowhere better for several miles. I went for it on one of the smaller waves. I suddenly remembered why Penhale was one of my favourite surf spots. The wave is so sucky and tends to bowl up creating excellent opportunities for aerials. I wasn't looking for air on this occasion. I sprinted as if my life depended on it managing to stay ahead of the wave as it broke. The white water exploded on my back deck and suddenly I was upside down. I do not know how or why but I was. I had to roll! I could not even consider getting out. The problem was the water bag was now between my knees and lying on the upturned deck. I had to roll against it but my wings found no purchase on the tumbling froth. Back under I went. It had to be this time. I shifted my hands down the paddle shaft to give myself some extra leverage. It worked! I was upright and gasping for air. My bow was still pointing towards the beach so I just let the next wall of white water carry me shorewards. I suddenly realized that I had lost my hat. Idiot! I couldn't believe I had been so stupid that I had forgotten to take it off before attempting to come in. Oh well! There was no chance of finding it now. The other fact I knew from surfing at Penhale was that the rip suction was tremendous and my hat would be long gone. Annoyed with myself for capsizing and for losing my hat my mood was not improved when I discovered how far I was going to have to drag the boat. The tide was still well out and I had to drag and carry the boat several hundred metres to get it above the High Water mark. By the time I had done all this it was late. I should have rung the Coastguard at 8.00pm it was now gone 8.30. I dug out the mobile from it's dry bag and set off up the huge dune hill that backs onto the beach. Reception was okay and I got through. What was my destination tomorrow?

"Bude", I said. I had paddled 64 miles that day from the Isles of Scilly to past Perranporth. Could I do the same tomorrow? If I did manage it then I would be almost a day ahead of schedule. The prospect of finishing a day early was something I didn't dare to think about before. It would mean I would have a day to recover before going back to work and that alone was sufficient motivation. The prospect of seeing Linda a day early was also something to keep me going!

After scoffing a bucket load of pasta I climbed the dune hill again getting a certain amount of pleasure in using my legs again. I rang Linda and gave her the news. It all depended on the weather and how fit I remained. I would be pushing myself to the very limit and it wasn't going to take much more for my body to break down on me. I bedded down as the last surfer left the water and climbed the dune.

DAY 8 Saturday 12th July 1997. (64 miles, 12and a half hours paddling)

I awoke at 5.00am. I didn't feel too bad considering I had been going a week now and had not slept much more than 6 hours during any night. I listened to the shipping forecast before carrying the boat the three hundred metres or so to the waters edge. Force 3 to 4 southerly was ideal. South westerly would have been better but I really couldn't complain. I had to time it right to get out through the surf, which was still around four feet. As I pushed through the walls of soup the white water threatened to rip off my deck bag. Finally my opportunity came. I pulled hard, my sore hands protesting. After the first day my hands hadn't been too bad. Any blisters that had developed had been kept clean by the salt water and had soon hardened off. Due to the extra mileage the day before my hands were sore that morning and they never really recovered from then on.

My shoulders too were very stiff and my technique was pitifull as I paddled past the few surfers who had made it for a dawn patrol. I saw a couple of Sandwich Terns as I neared the end of Perran Bay. Indeed the sea-bird life around Penhale Point and Holywell Bay was prolific. Guillemots and Razor Bills, Fulmars and Kittiwakes. As I passed the Bowgie Inn above Crantock more childhood memories came flooding back of wild nights as a sixth- former bopping the night away to the lastest surf rock; INXS, U2, Simple Minds - still my favourites. Past Fistral Beach the venue for the 1989 World Waveski Championships where I first surfed for England coming a lowly 31st. But I bought the World Champion Reece Duncan's ski and his Brand X Paddles. From then on at least I couldn't blame my kit.

From Towan Head I took a straight line to Park Head, the southerly wind on my starboard beam. By occasionally bearing away I kept my boat speed up and the miles started to be eaten up. The wind was a good Force 4 and the tops were getting blown off the waves. I was probably making six knots and bearing down rapidly on Trevose Head. I needed a break before I tackled the headland so I tucked into a small cove before Treyarnon. It was much cooler today and for the first time on the trip it actually rained a thin drizzle whilst I stood under the shelter of a rock eating yet another museli bar. I had purchased 40 museli bars for the trip. The girl at the checkout must have thought I was very odd! I can now report that by far the tastiest are Kelloggs Nutri-grain, although I didn't fancy the strawberry. Second to them I favoured Tesco's own brand roast nut chewy bars. I have to say I got sick to death of Jordan's Frusili bars - far too sweet. The High Five Blackberry and Apple hypotonic drink not only lasted the trip but I could also get it down without wretching which is more than I can say for any other brand I have used.

Refuelled I made good progress past Trevose and across the mouth of the Camel Estuary to Pentire Point. The short stretch of coast between Pentire Point and Rumps Point is well worth a visit and is a pleasant walk, run or paddle from Polzeath. There are sheer walls of rock 200 feet high which must make excellent climbing. I stopped for lunch at Port Isaac finding an excellent bun shop. Why do they always put iced buns in paper bags? Do they not realize the icing sticks? I had my photo taken sat on an anchor on the slipway. I got into conversation with a middle-aged German guy who said he used to paddle racing kayaks when he was younger. I told him I raced too but I'm not sure he understood. I rang Linda because I knew she was going out that evening. I was feeling exhausted and emotional. I was missing her much more than I had expected and to be honest I was getting to a point when I was going to be glad when the journey was over. With the deterioration in the weather I had to start considering whether I would get out to Lundy. I discussed this with her and I think we both knew that I could be pushing my luck if I chanced it. I told her I would base my decision on the shipping forecast that evening and that I would ring her parents to let them know what I was going to do.

I pushed on. I had stopped far longer in Port Isaac than I had anticipated and now I needed to make some time up. I could not have asked for a more favourable wind for the next stretch. I got blasted up to Tintagel Head. Old King Arthur knew a thing or two about property development. They say the most important things to consider when buying a property are position, position, position. Well he got that bit right. He might have benefitted from a better survey but maybe he didn't want the neighbours to come across his landbridge visiting all the time! The huge buttress of rock the castle is built on will withstand many more gales yet I think. I couldn't really see Boscastle' it is so tucked away, which is a shame because I understand it is lovely. The next peice of coastline is rarely visited which is understandable because it is so inaccessible but is a shame because I think, in it's own way it is spectacular. The cliffs are huge and reminded me of the naked geology of Morocco. The anti-clines and sinclines are exposed for all to see. The bedding planes, some around 4 foot thick have been stripped by the ocean leaving them smooth and exposed like gigantic frozen waves. A monument to the power of plate tectonics. The reefs march out to see in orderly lines to do battle with the ocean swell. At a famous secret spot the result is a perfect left-hander that is the jealously guarded possession of a few locals.

I had considered Bude as my final destination for the day. I got there at 6.00pm. The surf was big and I really didn't fancy another capsize. I had no choice. I was very tired, the weather was deteriorating all the time but I had to go on. It was very nearly the wrong decision.

I put on my personal stereo to try to take away the tiredness by allowing me to think about something else. For the next hour I had the bizarre experience of listening to a phone-in on Radio 5 Live all about cricket with Geoffrey Boycott, whilst I surfed the increasingly bigger swells up towards Hartland Point. It did the trick. I focussed on the often inane conversation and forgot about the fact that unless I could get in at Hartland Quay then I would have to paddle around Hartland Point in near darkness. There was literally nowhere else to get out. The swell had increased to well over six foot and if I had managed to get ashore without smashing up on the thousands of reefs along this formidable shore then the chances of me getting off again the next morning were very slim indeed. I pinned all my hopes on Hartland Quay. I had been there once and seemed to recall it was fairly sheltered. But that had been a long time ago. A rain squall that had been following me for ages finally looked as if it was going to envelop me in it's greyness. It was now approaching 8.30pm and the light was failing fast.

Suddenly I was able to see the gap between the reefs that was the entrance to the Quay. I surfed my final swell just as the squall hit. But I was out of danger and "Yes!", I could get out without breaking my boat. I was very pleased with myself but I knew it had been a close call. As quickly as I could I got the boat above the High Water mark on the flagstone slipway and then ran up the hill past the hotel to look for a phone. There wasn't one so I used the VHF to call the Coastguard. I had missed the weather forecast but even so I knew that unless there was a dramatic improvement in the weather I was too tired to risk a crossing to Lundy the next day. I rang Linda's parents to let them know the score. Clive, as usual, was reassuring and enthusiastic.

I found the ideal bed, a little breeze block shelter that had probably housed a winch or something once. It was just big enough for me to stretch out in. I spread my kit out to dry, wherever I made my camp ended up looking like a Chinese laundry. The rain squall had passed and a glorious sunset was developing. I had no idea that Hartland Quay was such a busy place. I guess with the hotel just up the hill the tourists were coming down for a last romantic look at the setting sun. Instead they got to see me and my paraphenalia strewn about the place. But no one seemed to mind, indeed a few were curious enough to ask how far I had come and where I was heading. Some were disbelieving, others had already made up their minds that I was clearly mad and best left alone. It was soon dark and despite the hard concrete bed I was soon asleep.

DAY 9 Sunday 13th July 1997. (50 miles, 9 hours of paddling)

Westerly 4 to 5, gusting 6 in Lundy, showers, moderate visibilty, poor in the showers. Even if I had been fresh there is no way I would have gone out to Lundy on a forecast like that by myself. The decision was taken for me.

I radioed the Coastguard, I would be completing my challenge today, destination Porlock Weir, ETA 1600hrs.

I was underway by 6.30am. the swell was still large but the wind had yet to increase. I rounded Hartland Quay mindfull of the off-lying reefs which caused the swell to collapse without warning. It would have been seriously dodgy to have attempted it the previous night and I thanked my Guardian Angel for looking after me once again. At first I had in mind to hug the coast in as far as Clovelly before heading across Bideford Bay. However my impatience got the better of me and I decided to head direct to Baggy Point some thirteen miles away. In any case I didn't want to get anywhere near Bideford Bar. There was certainly no danger of that now as I was soon several miles from any land. The Fulmars and Manx Shearwaters that had become my only friends accompanied me on my crossing. Again I had put on my personal stereo and listened to the mornings debates to take my mind off the pain. I was hurting now. My hands were raw, I had several large blisters that refused to harden off. My shoulders, especially my deltoids were very tender. My back, where it had inevitably rubbed against the back strap, had large sores across it. At least the sunburn on my face and arms had had a chance to cool down the day before. But perhaps the biggest casualty was my will-power. I'd had enough now and I wanted to stop.

I refused to feel sorry for myself. I had been so impressed by the video diary of Richard Goss when he sailed around the world single-handed around the world. He too had refused to feel sorry for himself despite the weeks of total solitude, the sensory depravation that weeks at sea out of sight of land must cause, despite having to perform surgery on his own arm. Now that was courage and I found strength from those thoughts. Passing Saunton Sands and Croyde Bay where I now do most of my surfing in my 'Whip-it' play boat I was soon bouncing about off Baggy Point. If it was this big here how big would it have been off Surf Point on Lundy? Satisfied I had made the right decision I surfed across Morte Bay past Woolacombe to Morte Point. Now the swell was really big, by far the biggest of the trip so far and I managed to surf a wave for 50 metres or more. The sea fisherman must have thought I was raving mad as I careered past Bull Point, almost totally out of control. But I knew then that as far as swell went, that was it. There would be no more. It was now all up to me. What's more I had no tide left either.

I grunted into Ilfracombe. I had been paddling for 5 and a half hours without a break. But I knew now I would finish. Even the notorious tide of the Bristol Channel which I would have to paddle against all the way to Porlock would not stop me finishing today. In bullish mood I rang Linda to advise her of my ETA for the finish. I told her 3.00pm. I would learn to regret that. Ilfracombe is the worst of the worst. The shrieking music of a fairground ride assaulted my ears. I queued with the brummies and scousers for a coke and a King Size Snickers. I couldn't leave soon enough. By Combe Martin the tide had clearly turned and from then on I hugged the rocky shore, sneaking between the rocks, sliding unnoticed under the cliffs like the SBS (yeah right!). The lads and I had done the paddle from Combe Martin to Lynmouth before but even though I knew what to expect the grandeur of the cliffs took my breath away. They rise sheer for over 1000 metres. Tiny gullies allow luxuriant growth in the most unlikeliest of places. The cliffs are only broken at Heddon's Mouth. A special place. A huge pebble from the shore gives the frogs in my pond at home something to sit on. Woody Bay is exclusive, the hotel perched way, way up is the only building that can be seen from sea level. The trees somehow defy gravity clinging to the near vertical slopes and the mist that seems a permanent feature of the upper slopes gives it the feel of a tropical rainforest. Only the masses of Guillemots and Razor Bills nesting on the cliffs reminded me that I was at sea.

I had suggested to Linda that she could bring her parents to Lynmouth for a walk and they would be able to see me paddle past at about 2.00pm. Well I wasn't far wrong as I came around the corner twenty minutes late. I could see plenty of people on the sea front, but none were waving enthusiastically. No sign of Linda at all. Feeling a bit disappointed at the anti-climax I carried on towards Foreland Point. This huge promontory had dominated the view east for some time. For some reason I had got it into my head that Porlock Weir was just around the corner. Sure the Devon - Somerset border and the technical finish of the Challenge wasn't far but my actual destination was still some 8 miles away. Those 8 miles were along perhaps the most unusual piece of coast of the whole trip. The massive hill that is Exmoor's sea wall is covered in thick forest that tumbles in a tangled mess right down to the waters edge. It looked just like some tropical Treasure Island. At any moment I expected a spear throwing cannibal to emerge from the undergrowth to try to take me alive. Well I had lost several pounds during this journey and I think I would have been a bit of a disappoint-ment to them.

The tide was still flowing hard against me and I was having to keep within a few feet of the shore. I nearly said bank because this area of the Bristol Channel does start to feel more and more like a river. Curtains of rain were sweeping down the hillside although none had reached me. I kept thinking I could see the end only to round another bend and find the coast stretch away without a break as far as I could see. Forever is a long word but it did seem like an interminable time before I made out a familiar figure high up on a rocky beach. I would recognise those legs anywhere! When the man she was stood by started waving his brolly - the rain had finally caught me up - then I knew it was them. I could not help but grin from ear to ear as Linda skipped down the beach towards me. She wore her little blue and white shorts - a sight for sore eyes I can tell you! I had done a recce to Porlock Weir and there was a tiny cutting through the high rock beach into a harbour of sorts but I was unsure whether there would be enough water to allow me to float in.

There wasn't. I passed the sticks marking the entrance to the harbour at 4.11pm. Apart from a clench of the fist I made no other attempt at celebration. I was more concerned about how and where I was going to get out. The falling tide had exposed something I had not encountered before. Mud. Glorious Bristol Channel mud. So instead of a band playing and bottles of Champagne I had the pleasure of dragging and carrying my kayak up and across the mud and rock in the pouring rain. Poor Linda was soaked but nothing seems to dampen her spirits when she has set her mind on being happy. It was good to see her parents too and I was grateful of their support. I got changed as quickly as I could in the public lavatory and had just a few moments to reflect on what I had achieved. It was an inauspicious end to what had been by far the hardest thing I have ever done in my life (and I've done a few crazy things). But it didn't matter a bit. I had done it. I had paddled around the South West Peninsular and I knew that anyone who tried to repeat the Challenge would have a hard job matching the speed with which I got around. Not because I am some sort of superhuman - far from it. I had just been so incredibly lucky with the weather, I had the background in marathon racing and I had the best boat. The Inuk had done everything I had asked of it. So if you fancy the Challenge then go for it. In approximately 84 hours of paddling over 9 days I had completed 413 miles, an average speed of nearly 5 miles an hour. I saw 24 lighthouses and ate 36 museli bars!

If you think my Challenge has been worthy of support then it is not too late; you can send a donation to either Charity, direct to the addresses below. I must thank the following people without whose assistance the trip would not have been possible; Robin Feloy, designer extraordinaire, for the loan of the kayak and his guidance and support, John Tipping for his advice and enthusiasm, A & S Watersports for the loan of a pair of split paddles and their continued help and support, Kirton Kayaks, builders of the finest racing kayaks in the world for their support over many years and finally, Linda whose love, patience and sense of humour I cherish and could not live without.

Royal National Lifeboat Institution. Devon and Cornwall Constabulary Widows',
c/o Mrs Mary Jenner, Orphan's and Compassionate Fund.

Area Organiser (Devon), Police Headquarters,
1 Gorfin Close, Middlemoor,
Exmouth, Exeter,
Devon. EX8 4SB. Devon. EX2 7HQ.

Sean Morley

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