We tend to look at camping as a means to an end – a type of accommodation that brings you into contact with the places and activities that you enjoy most.
In turn there are certain activities that complement camping very well, so when I was given the chance to have a go at stand-up paddling, I was more than willing.
Our friends at Red Paddle Co, the UK’s premier paddleboard maker (see our competition with them), were planning an evening meeting near Bedford for a paddle on the River Great Ouse, followed by a wild camp in Bedford River Valley Park – the idea was to be back at work early the next morning. This was all about the 5 to 9, not the 9 to 5. It was going to be right up my street.
Jumping on the paddleboards was an experience initially filled with anxiety. There was unsteadiness in my legs as I began, first kneeling then, a few minutes later, standing. Among the seven journalists on this trip were a mix of beginners and those who had SUP-ed (stand-up paddling’s slightly catchier moniker) before.
Many of them looked comfortable on the boards. Needing to demonstrate a little bit of bravado, I was straight up on my feet as soon as possible. The first few strokes of the paddle were an unsteady affair during which I wobbled, span, almost fell in and uttered more than one profanity. But it was only a few minutes before confidence began to creep back in, and I was bold enough to start paddling properly.
The subtle techniques to SUP (it’s not quite as simple as paddling in a kayak for example) were quick to grasp, but we were helped along by Richard Harpham of Canoe Trail, the wilderness adventure company overseeing our little sojourn.
Richard’s advice on how to angle the paddle and how to adjust my stance on the board got me moving quite quickly, and I was soon ambling along steadily – not especially fast, but not slouching either.
The beauty of SUP began to reveal itself. Here we were, just minutes outside of a major UK town, enjoying the kind of rurality you normally have to drive hours to find. SUP had given us access to a waterway that I would otherwise have not considered ripe for adventure, one that took us seemingly deeper into the countryside without ever really leaving Bedford’s environs. At this point we knew we were sharing the river with otters and kingfishers, although none showed.
Coots, ducks and swans idled by, and only a couple of times were we met by fellow river users – a handful of pacey kayakers and a single pleasure cruise on a river tour. It was in isolated but utterly peaceful time, making conversation with the handful of fellow paddlers, never being overly conscious of time passing, nor worryingly particularly about whether I was keeping pace with the others.
The appeal of this sport (it’s the fastest-growing watersport in the UK) had been lost on me until now, but now I can’t wait to try it again. Fitness fanatics will know it’s very good for your core muscles, but equally it’s just a freeing and quite meditative activity.
The couple of hours spent on the water flew by. In a way I was kind of grateful that the only part of me to get wet was my feet, but another part of me thought a dip in the water might have taken the edge off the humid evening. In the end, I pulled my paddleboard from the water, at the end of a tiny tributary that could have been in the Amazon jungle for all I knew. I’d lost myself in the journey, to the point that where we were heading had become secondary to the experience.
I guess that’s what’s so great about SUP – what a superb chilled out activity it proved to be without ever being hard to access in the first place.
Around the smokey campfire and aroma of grilling meat that evening we learned that the boards, which are inflatable, pack away into portable backpack-style bags that also hold the paddles and plenty of other kit too. They inflate in minutes and Red Paddle Co’s Christian and Robyn were at pains to point out how well-built their boards are in comparison to others (they use a construction that no other paddleboard makers do to add strength and durability).
We all nodded and listened. I think we had reached the point where we’d become the epitome of a captive audience, so relaxed and receptive that we could probably have been persuaded to part with £850 or so for one of the boards right then and there.
I nodded off that night in a hammock suspended between trees, in the middle of a Bedfordshire woodland, and listened to the patter of the rain on the tarp above me as the humidity finally gave way.
The next morning, Bedford station was just ten minutes’ drive away. I was back at my desk in Coventry by 11am, a little tired but with a new outlook on adventure.
