Wye & Usk, Jan/Feb 2000

Following directions and signs in Wales can be confusing to the English and Scots. While most of us were content to just follow up the hillside track and continue through two fields to our farmhouse digs, others were trying their hand at rally cross in the dark, supposedly searching for a pint and a pie on the way up! Eventually the remaining souls found the front door of Hafod-y-Gareg, a delightful 15^th.Century farm owned by Annie and John who were to be our hosts for the weekend.

Armed with an assortment of imported liquor for every occasion, eight open boaters had gathered for what could have been mistaken as the” Inter-county Wino’s weekend” had it not been for our boats, and the fact that we meant to do business with the white water of two local rivers, the Wye and the Usk come the morning. So true to form, ‘Full Monty’ breakfasts consumed, we performed the ritual early morning shuttle and left Builth wells on a very respectable flow of River Wye water to our get out at Boughrood, taking in twelve miles of grade 2-3 water.

Last time I was up here you would have had trouble sailing a paper boat down this stretch, today we should get some entertainment. With the sunshine looking threatening we bounced through big waves at Llanfaredd rapids, a half mile section of grade 2 water flowing over rocky reefs. Lunchtime on a stoney bank saw us playing with our throwlines, Debbie giving a magnificent demonstration of how to hold on to a lunatic ‘swimmer’ on the end of a throwline by burrowing into the pebbly beach! Games over, the river was noticeably wide and took us down at a fair old rate to the second major rapid at Erwood, which provided more playtime in the form of surf waves and holes. Terry and I sniffed at a particularly attractive hole but decided against taking a ride in it when we judged one side was fed by a strong crossflow, and the other side was definitely closed. Looking for another hole to play in we spotted one of the naughty pups investigating and sniffing the ‘trap’ tentatively, before committing himself to the inevitable trashing. One down! There would be another, but not today.

The paddle now took on a more serious nature and every bend was checked for Llanstephan bridge, which eventually appeared in the distance, barely discernable in the misty tree lined gorge. I’m sure a couple of hearts stopped, the river choked with boats, the whisper “This must be it, Hell Hole!” was discernable. Nervous back-paddling gave away inner apprehension as the ominous noise of rushing water grew, and plumes of spray ascended from beyond a horizon. This one needed some inspection. Ever up to a challenge, routes and tactics were sorted out and eagerness took the place of apprehension as safety cover was organised, each to their station to wait their turn. First down came Terry using the chute river left, nipping into an eddy half way down to roll a ciggy, ready to play lifeboats. Nick and Deb now masters of the art made it look easy. Each paddler waited with their line,…. and waited,…. until their turn came to make the run down. But the assumed inevitable was not to come as expected, as Derek this time provided the entertainment, manoeuvring down the drop to whooping and shouts of “Eehaa”, only to miss the vital eddy in his excitement and paddle off down the river and the remaining grade 2 water, like an adrenalin junkie, with the handbrake off, chased by the Open Canoe Association. When we got to him he was upright, with a grin from ear to ear, and not a throwline hurled, as yours truly went into the ‘Hole’ and emerged ‘taking some air’, and it was all over bar the shouting. Great ride Hell Hole!

That evening, back at the farm, we dined like Lords and Lady of the Manor, and partook of much wine and merriment as we watched a video of Canada with our hosts.

Sunday dawned, rainy and grey to the call of a cockerel. Outside, some colour was provided by snowdrops and an array of chicken type creatures of varying sizes, and the upturned hulls of our canoes, glistening with wet. Water levels on the Usk today would be well up. After overdosing on wheaties and cholesterol, we loaded the cars and said our goodbyes to our hosts, and arranged to leave Paul’s pickup at Tal-y-bont to facilitate plan ‘B’. At Brecon, our starting point, we were to be met by two wise men in the form of Buckshot Bob and his sidekick Mick, on the promenade. Yes, the Promenade!

The Usk had definitely turned to chocolate, you could float a boat in the car park puddle, and when we got to the other side of the river to portage the weir, (they don’t like you shooting it!), we saw that the Welsh were playing at golf in a field, in the rain! Leaving them to club one another to death, our intrepid band of two doubles boats and the rest of us solo, we paddled off in search of high drama. Plan ‘A’ was abandoned for plan ‘B’, and after avoiding some Canadian type ‘blowdowns’ (possibly fallen down trees) it was time to have lunch. Back on the water we continued through small rapids to Millbrook Mill weir. Caution is advised in low water but at today’s level it was prudent to inspect. Viewing the falls and the 100 yds of good grade 2 rapid from the mill path on river left, (this is the front garden of the folks in the mill), we agreed on two routes. Mark first down on river right, showed this was no pushover, as the bank acted like a magnet, and the overhanging branches were ready to tickle your ears. Colin showed how its done, and it became the popular choice including that of the doubles paddlers. However Terry favoured the big central chute, and ferrying out into the middle he turned around and punched through it and moved right, unwittingly toward impending doom! In the midst of a bunch of little nasties, bravely trying to do handbrake turns while travelling backwards, something went wrong and he ended up in the drink! Ferrying out into midstream I turned and hit the chute and eddied out left, turning to finish down a nice little drop on the left, to ‘Boos’ and ‘Hisses’ from the assembled crowds! On down towards the final rapid before the takeout at Tal-y-bont, which claimed no victims, time was the enemy, and discretion the better part of valour, as plan ‘B’ was put into action, leaving plan ’A’ the next leg including Mill Falls for another day.

As part of the plan, Paul offered to run three drivers back to their cars on the Prom, and as a special treat, two could ride in the back of his pickup under the tarpaulin cover, to fool the Police into thinking there was only one passenger! Yes you guessed, Buckshot and myself crawled inside, up went the tailgate and we were off. We felt like kids again as we peeped out from the back under the tarp, pretending to be illegal immigrants. Turning into the car park at Brecon, the tailgate was dropped down and we crawled out still in our paddling gear and helmets, whereupon a somewhat bemused onlooker with his wife approached and after looking us up and down, faced me, and enquired “Excuse me! Er, what are you going to do now?” I looked at Buckshot, grinned, and replied “Well after all that,…..I’m going to have a pee!” .

DAVE EVANS