Rolling in the deep

Am I going to snap my neck? Strapped into a kayak, and anchored on a sloping rock slab three metres above the river below, my mind races.

Untethered, my kayak quickly gathers momentum along the smooth slab of rock. Gripping my paddles tightly, my boat loudly scrapes the bank until suddenly, I’m in the air.

Seconds from the inevitable cold slap of the River Dart, my neck is forcefully thrown backwards until – to my disbelief – I land on the moving water without capsizing.

Launching off a rock. Video credit: Isaac Mondon

I shift and readjust my seated position in my kayak that has now, thanks to a spraydeck around my hips, become an awkward extension of my body.

There’s a signal. My river group is ready.

March marks the month ambassador applications open for British Canoeing's #ShePaddles initiative, which aims to encourage more women to join the sport. With only 27% of British Canoeing's members female, I decided to challenge myself with mastering the fundamentals of whitewater kayaking: eddy turns. With its scenic views and playful rapids, the River Dart in Dartmoor, Devon, was the river of choice.

Leafless trees line the bank of the Loop and I see that downstream, the river bends to the right with boulders causing pockets of white water and small rapids.

“Follow my path. It’s nice and easy,” my safety and river leader, Piers Oliphant, says. Keeping to a straight line, I paddle across the water. I focus on the back of Piers as he glides through the water with ease. With his medium-length blonde hair and neon green Waka kayak, he’s hard to miss.

I feel out of my depth. As the February sun breaks through the clouds, I try to match Piers’ speed. That’s when I notice a drop.

“Keep to the right, paddle hard and then eddy in,” Piers shouts at me as the approach of the rapid named Lovers’ Leap comes closer, and the sound of the water crashing in a continuous loop becomes louder. My heart beings to race. I pull the paddle into the water with speed, the once gentle whoosh has turned into a bang as I gather enough momentum to take me down. I’m immediately transported back to my training.

With a vibrant smile, Jem Powell stands directly in front of my kayak in the pool. The 22-year-old coach tells me that the eddy is a pool of slow-moving water formed behind obstructions in a river.

“The eddy line is the separation between the river’s current which is moving downstream and the water moving upstream. Being able to successfully cross an eddy line is a fundamental skill for whitewater kayakers,” she says, demonstrating with her arms where the flow would cross.

On Piers’ tail, I drive my arms forward towards the edge. Scraping the rocks underneath, my balance is knocked and my core tightens as my boat judders unstably and I let out a cry. Jem’s voice enters my head again: lean forward, keep your knees hard pressed to the sides as if you’re going to give birth and just keep paddling.

In a second that feels in slow motion I leap off the rock and fly into the water below. The cold water rolls over my spraydeck and lands on my face. But I’m through. I pump my paddles up in the air feeling such a rush of adrenaline and achievement. My sense of balance is thrown off and I have to correct myself quickly. Once I’m straight again, I lean inwards to my right and look upstream. The force of the water turns me upstream and I paddle straight over the eddy line until the water slows beneath me. Clutching onto the river bank, I wait for the rest of the group.

A woman's leap

The expanse of the river after Lovers’ Leap is almost entirely straight and it has become a garden of boulders because of the low river levels. I think back to my training.

Jem holds up a buoyancy aid. “Negotiating boulders is an essential part of whitewater kayaking," she says, throwing the aid in the pool. “When you see boulders in the middle of the river you need to look at the best path to avoid them. If you look directly at the rock you will dive straight into it. However, if you do hit a rock, lean into it.”

After I paddle around the buoyancy aid to practice dodging rocks, I ask her why she thinks the sport lacks women. “With kayaking, once you start down a river, you’ve committed to that river,” she replies. “You can't go at your own pace because the river dictates that for you. The boats are heavy and even now it still feels like you have to prove yourself as a female kayaker.

“The more women that engage with the sport the less testosterone-fuelled attitude there will be. You want to push yourself mentally, but you don't want to do something that's going to get you injured," she says.

But this time, a smiling Jem is no longer in front of me and the buoyancy aid has morphed into boulders. I paddle the obstacle course and I wince at the sound of the rocks scraping my boat underneath as I try to push forward. Suddenly, I’ve hit a slab of rock and half of my boat is forced out of the water. My response is automatic. With my core engaged I flick my hips several times to try and gather momentum and out of sheer luck, I manage to spin 360° and leap off the slab.

Return of the rapids

Cruising through flat water, I ask 22-year-old Piers how he thinks I’m doing. Turning to me, he says, “Well, you’re squealing less, so you’re doing better.”

Squealing?!

“Ready to go, Emma?” Piers asks. But it’s not really a question. The next rapid awaits.

The river takes a turn to the right and I hear again the loud crashing sound of the water hitting rocks below. The next rapid is called Triple Falls because it’s three consecutive rapids. I’m beginning to feel tired and it’s dropping in daylight.

“Paddle fast and strong here, Emma,” Piers says to me as we approach.

I follow Piers’ line. Suddenly, he turns left to avoid a rock and I can’t control my paddle as smoothly and I hit the rock straight on. The force of the water sways me and throws me off balance and I start to panic because the bow of my boat isn’t straight as I reach the edge, I’m almost horizontal. I try to correct myself but it’s too late. I fall down and over. My head is submerged in bitterly cold water and upside down, I feel the current drift me slowly downstream. I yank my spraydeck off to release myself. My knees come together and I’m up and out of the hold.

Piers is quickly by my side and he instructs me to grab onto his boat. I place my arm over my own boat and another on his and let him drive us into the eddy. When I’m in the clear and I can stand up, I reach for the bank and I feel the moss under my hands. I get my feet out of the cold water.

I take a minute to catch my breath. I’m embarrassed: my hardest rapid is Piers’ warm up.

Piers jumps out of his boat and unplugs the drain plug in the stern of my boat and lifts it vertical to drain. I’m very grateful for his assistance. I’m exhausted.

When I’m ready I get back into my kayak and pull the deck over the cockpit. I eddy out and we get going again.

The calm after the rapid. Images: Isaac Mondon

How to ferry glide with Lewis Downward. This technique allows kayakers to move across the river. Video: Emma Blackmore

Piers Oliphant, Liv Astle and I before we set off. Image: Isaac Mondon

Piers Oliphant, Liv Astle and I before we set off. Image: Isaac Mondon

Jem Powell teaching how to grab onto the end of a rope in case of capsizing. Image: Emma Blackmore

Jem Powell teaching how to grab onto the end of a rope in case of capsizing. Image: Emma Blackmore

With the next two rapids, I lean forward and paddle as much as my now sore arms can take. I drop down and the water splashes everywhere. As I trudge across some rocks, I become unstable – my core tightens with a knot, but I lean into the rock and I’m through.

When we break into flat water, I eddy out and slow down and grab the side of the bank. I can feel my pulse beating rapidly in my neck.

I’m cold, wet and tired. The swim has knocked my confidence. When we approach some boulders and slightly faster water, my attention drops. I try to follow Piers’ left line but instead I’m suddenly going down right and I fixate on a rock in front of me.

I push my paddle and side to lean into the rock but I feel the boat shift. I’m over. The water hits my face like a sharp slap.

I’m not in deep water. I try and rectify my capsizing by pushing off the river floor with my paddle and flicking my hips. As I push, I come up sideways for a short burst of air and I can see the blue sky, before I’m pulled back under. The sound of the river crashing down intensifies.

I lean forward to tug my deck off and I struggle. I’m moving downstream still.

I can’t breathe.

A rock hits my helmet and I yank the deck off again. On the third time, I’m released. I’m on my back with my head out and my body still mainly in my boat.

“Help! Help!” I cry. A weight against my neck is making it difficult to breathe. My legs fall out of the boat.

I’m immediately flanked by two safeties. “Get on your back!” Piers shouts.

I fumble. I’m terrified and my neck still has a painful pressure on it. I’m still on my front and a rock has bashed my knee. I try to turn. The river chucks me downstream as I struggle to get on my back with my feet up. Piers can’t collect me as he did before because I’m in the middle of a rapid.

“Just enjoy riding down the rapid!” he yells.

I think it's safe to say we have different definitions of enjoyment.

With my legs facing downstream, I float down the rapids. I feel the rocks bump into my legs but I’m just grateful it’s not my head anymore.

When I reach the end, I swim on my front straight into the eddy. Piers has followed me down this entire time. I undo my helmet strap and pull my cag away from my neck. There’s still a burning sensation there. I’ll later have a red mark for four days.

I climb the rocks until I’m about a metre further downstream and I see my river group on the other side of the river. They’ve seized my boat and are emptying it. Anna Sellens, another safety, crosses the water using a tow line secured to my boat and pulls it upstream for me. She helps me in.

And we’re off again. It’s a race to the finish line and I push ahead. It’s mainly flat water. The end is a large expanse of slow moving water and I quickly pull forward. There’s a sandy bank that my river group eddies out to. I wedge the front of my boat into the sand bank and I just sit there for a minute and breathe.

Two swims, many eddy turns, a rock spin, a seal launch and a failed roll: after five hours it was all over. And yet, as I pull my spraydeck off and I feel my body shiver from the cold, I can't stop thinking about when I'll do it all over again.

The faster paddlers from the other groups are already taking their boats back.

I hear someone shout, “We’ve got chocolate cake!”

And I’m up and out.

The end of the river. Image: Emma Blackmore

Dartmoor in February. Image: Isaac Mondon

Dartmoor in February. Image: Isaac Mondon

What a kayaker wears on the water:

Swimming costume, rash vest, thermals, water shoes, leggings, wetsuit, kayak cag (over-layer), buoyancy aid, helmet and spraydeck.

River Info:

River: The Loop, River Dart

Location: Dartmoor, Devon

Length: Approx 3 miles

Grade: 2, with three rapids rated at grade 3

How to successfully roll with Nathan Fanner. Video: Emma Blackmore