The usual paddling posse assembled at the club for the proposed descent of Wiltshire’s most extreme whitewater river – The Marden (speak its name with reverence for it is mighty indeed). The paddling posse consists of: Hobbit-Martin; Kit-monster-Darren; Queen-pin-Simon; and Goldylocks-Ross. We were joined by another Martin from Wiltshire Youth CC and his young son Craig, and by Michael, a once normal club member who was by now becoming a bit woolly on account of him living quite close to rather a lot of sheep.
Eventually after the obligatory cocking about, the group left the club and drove up to the get in at Calne. On arrival we were greeted by a friendly environmental official who suggested that it might be best not to get on the river as there had been an oil spillage upstream of the section that we were paddling. We are however very dedicated and also completely hard so we got on anyway and seal launched into the water.
The group drifted off into the distance rather like that scene from the lord of the rings where ‘The fellowship of the ring’ are paddling towards two huge statues of kings of men set upon two opposing cliffs. Except that there aren’t any statues in Calne, or for that matter any cliffs, and of course we were in modern plastic kayaks rather than open canadian boats hewn from tree trunks. Okay, okay, so it wasn’t a bit like ‘The lord of the rings’ but we drifted off around the corner all the same. I’m sure you get the general idea. Not far from the get-in the river passes under the road via a rectangular section tunnel with a bend in the middle. Being grown up and sensible paddlers we made stupid whooping noises because it made cool echoey sounds, and also tried to convince Craig, the youngest member of the group, that there were man eating spiders clinging to the ceiling of the tunnel. Craig, who must be about seven or eight rolled his eyes into the back of head and was no doubt wondering why grown ups always act like they are five.
On our way out of the town we passed a small weir which was played in for a few minutes, and then a few bits of grade 1 water until we eventually reached an impassable tree blockage. Getting out on river left seemed like the most sensible approach because there were far less stinging nettles, so of course we got out on river right knowing that Darren wasn’t wearing anything on his feet. The blockage was portaged and some of us got back in our boats and paddled off only to find another blockage just around the bend. Imagine now if you will, a scene from Predator where Arni is hacking his way through the jungle with a machete and has animal poo smeared all over his face. Well this was just like that except we were using paddles instead of machetes, the animal poo bit was exactly the same though. We stubbornly bashed and hacked through the tree rather than suffer the embarrassment of having to get out of our boats again, whilst the few who had remained on the bank simply walked around the blockage. Somehow we managed to get through and emerged the other side covered in leaves and rotting reed remains. The trip continued unabated, although there were many more low trees all along the length of the river which we also had to hack our way through.
In the distance there was a roaring noise. Gradually the roaring became louder. In front of us was a long sloping weir with a stopper/wave at the bottom. We all shot it without any drama. As soon as everyone was through the weir, Ross ploughed on into the stopper with little thought about whether it was dodgy or not. Luckily at this level the stopper was safe and friendly and he was easily able to find an exit. This gung-ho attitude has become a feature of Ross’ paddling. One day I’m sure he’ll get a proper spanking but until that day he continues to be the stopper probe. Most of the group had a play in the excellent stopper and then we moved on after a few minutes.
Just before passing under the A4 road bridge we came to some low branches hanging over fast flowing water. Martin was up front and called out “low trees!” to warn the following paddlers? Simon turned to Michael and asked “Why did Martin just say ‘No cheese!’?” as they both crashed through the overhanging branches. From that moment on the warning call for low trees has become “No cheese!”, so if you ever meet us on the river and you hear the warning shout, we prefer dairy-lea and baby-bell OK?
The relentless excitement of the relentless Marden continued relentlessly with a small drop where the old Wiltshire coal canal intersects it, and then a dodgy fall where a bridge has collapsed into the river leaving artificial rocks consisting of cemented together brickwork. The over hanging brambles didn’t help either. Calls of “No cheese!” continuously echoed through the valley as we steadily made our way through the Wiltshire countryside.
After a portage at a mill we continued on to Stanley Bridge and the small weir that sits directly beneath it. In less time that it takes to say “Er, that’s not a good idea Michael” Michael was into the stopper for a play. To begin with he looked like he was in control, but after a few seconds it was apparent that he couldn’t exit the stopper and the inevitable swim ensued. As the cold water seeped through his clothing and found it’s way to his skin, he grunted manfully in exactly the same way that a four year old little girl does when playing in the cold surf at the beach. We rescued him, dried his tears and carried on down the river.
The rest of the trip passed uneventfully as we shot the zoom-flume, the little waterfall and then eventually spilled out into the Avon. From there it was a short paddle from there back to the club. Realising that Michael’s swim may have caused him some embarrassment, we let it lie and didn’t mention it all the way back…..NOT!
All in all an amusing trip, more down to the banter and general cocking about than the impressive river features though. Oh how I wish we lived next to the upper Dart!
Martin Harrall
Eventually after the obligatory cocking about, the group left the club and drove up to the get in at Calne. On arrival we were greeted by a friendly environmental official who suggested that it might be best not to get on the river as there had been an oil spillage upstream of the section that we were paddling. We are however very dedicated and also completely hard so we got on anyway and seal launched into the water.
The group drifted off into the distance rather like that scene from the lord of the rings where ‘The fellowship of the ring’ are paddling towards two huge statues of kings of men set upon two opposing cliffs. Except that there aren’t any statues in Calne, or for that matter any cliffs, and of course we were in modern plastic kayaks rather than open canadian boats hewn from tree trunks. Okay, okay, so it wasn’t a bit like ‘The lord of the rings’ but we drifted off around the corner all the same. I’m sure you get the general idea. Not far from the get-in the river passes under the road via a rectangular section tunnel with a bend in the middle. Being grown up and sensible paddlers we made stupid whooping noises because it made cool echoey sounds, and also tried to convince Craig, the youngest member of the group, that there were man eating spiders clinging to the ceiling of the tunnel. Craig, who must be about seven or eight rolled his eyes into the back of head and was no doubt wondering why grown ups always act like they are five.
On our way out of the town we passed a small weir which was played in for a few minutes, and then a few bits of grade 1 water until we eventually reached an impassable tree blockage. Getting out on river left seemed like the most sensible approach because there were far less stinging nettles, so of course we got out on river right knowing that Darren wasn’t wearing anything on his feet. The blockage was portaged and some of us got back in our boats and paddled off only to find another blockage just around the bend. Imagine now if you will, a scene from Predator where Arni is hacking his way through the jungle with a machete and has animal poo smeared all over his face. Well this was just like that except we were using paddles instead of machetes, the animal poo bit was exactly the same though. We stubbornly bashed and hacked through the tree rather than suffer the embarrassment of having to get out of our boats again, whilst the few who had remained on the bank simply walked around the blockage. Somehow we managed to get through and emerged the other side covered in leaves and rotting reed remains. The trip continued unabated, although there were many more low trees all along the length of the river which we also had to hack our way through.
In the distance there was a roaring noise. Gradually the roaring became louder. In front of us was a long sloping weir with a stopper/wave at the bottom. We all shot it without any drama. As soon as everyone was through the weir, Ross ploughed on into the stopper with little thought about whether it was dodgy or not. Luckily at this level the stopper was safe and friendly and he was easily able to find an exit. This gung-ho attitude has become a feature of Ross’ paddling. One day I’m sure he’ll get a proper spanking but until that day he continues to be the stopper probe. Most of the group had a play in the excellent stopper and then we moved on after a few minutes.
Just before passing under the A4 road bridge we came to some low branches hanging over fast flowing water. Martin was up front and called out “low trees!” to warn the following paddlers? Simon turned to Michael and asked “Why did Martin just say ‘No cheese!’?” as they both crashed through the overhanging branches. From that moment on the warning call for low trees has become “No cheese!”, so if you ever meet us on the river and you hear the warning shout, we prefer dairy-lea and baby-bell OK?
The relentless excitement of the relentless Marden continued relentlessly with a small drop where the old Wiltshire coal canal intersects it, and then a dodgy fall where a bridge has collapsed into the river leaving artificial rocks consisting of cemented together brickwork. The over hanging brambles didn’t help either. Calls of “No cheese!” continuously echoed through the valley as we steadily made our way through the Wiltshire countryside.
After a portage at a mill we continued on to Stanley Bridge and the small weir that sits directly beneath it. In less time that it takes to say “Er, that’s not a good idea Michael” Michael was into the stopper for a play. To begin with he looked like he was in control, but after a few seconds it was apparent that he couldn’t exit the stopper and the inevitable swim ensued. As the cold water seeped through his clothing and found it’s way to his skin, he grunted manfully in exactly the same way that a four year old little girl does when playing in the cold surf at the beach. We rescued him, dried his tears and carried on down the river.
The rest of the trip passed uneventfully as we shot the zoom-flume, the little waterfall and then eventually spilled out into the Avon. From there it was a short paddle from there back to the club. Realising that Michael’s swim may have caused him some embarrassment, we let it lie and didn’t mention it all the way back…..NOT!
All in all an amusing trip, more down to the banter and general cocking about than the impressive river features though. Oh how I wish we lived next to the upper Dart!
Martin Harrall
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