Following some scurrilous remarks about the Almighty in the last post HE has had the last laugh indeed his timeless laughter will always ring in my ears..
On Tuesday morning I arrived at the lovely town of Beaulieu-sur-Dordogne in a canoe. As I stepped ashore on a patch of mud left by the receded river waters, I recognised where I was but I was wondering how I had got there? What was I doing there? Was there anyone else with me or was I alone? A soul blanking amnesia had overcome me.
Gradually over the next two hours the memories returned. The plan had been to make three loaves from malted flour, collect four tins of sardines and some dried figs, drive the Canoe to Argentat and then canoe for two or three days down to Le Port and after a brief rest cycle back the 100kms to Argentat. The first part of the day went smoothly enough with an easy fast drive and coffee and croissant in Beaulieu and then on the water by five minutes to ten from the Argentat sports centre. As the canoe only had one canoeist who against best advice insisted on sitting on the back seat instead of in the middle where there would have been more control, a little unpredictabiity in the direction of the canoe was noted and work put in hand to correct this at needful times.
Lunch spot, with canoe and favoured hat. (click to enlarge)
The day was perfect, cool, windless and with a cloudless blue sky reflected from the river. Large numbers of moth like creatures flew over the silver rippling water, sometimes falling to drown so that for every fifty bodies flying above one lay prone in the water. Wave trains were enjoyed and speed was made on the last of the winter rain water coming out ice cold from beneath the barrages upstream. A lunch of loaves and fishes was had near the water guage just after the rapids at Brievsac in a flower strewn meadow. After lunch a return had to be made against the current to fetch a favored straw hat which had been left behind at lunch, at which point it became clear how much support was been given by wind and current as it took about a quarter of an hour to paddle back 400 metres upstream.
The three loaves amidst the flowers.(click to enlarge)
Just before Beaulieu there is an old weir where in summer the Gendarmes mount guard to rescue canoeists who come to grief there. Confident in my knowledge of the weir I headed for a calm piece of water between two breaking waves. First I realised that I was further to the left than I had intended to be and then that I could not control the boat sufficiently to ensure I passed between the two waves. Instead I was clearly going over the right hand one but was relaxed and determined to enjoy the experience. As I reached the wave there was a huge change in the nature of the world. My boat suddenly seemed the size of a walnut and the wave huge; it was if the boat and I had entered a disruption to the normal rules of world governance and were instead in a land predicted only by Chaos Theory. I attempted a support stroke but there was no water below to support me as we were raised up by the wave and then dumped leftward, the canoe turning over quickly and I being shot out of the boat, compelled, the pair of us, by the wave. I do not remember the coldness of the water but instead struggling to avoid boulders as they sped beneath me. I then found the canoe upside down nuzzling up next to me, like some quiet horse it kept company as both of us sped along. As the current started to slow I grabbed its bow line and swam for the steep tree lined shore. After learning that if you take hold of the part of the rope near the canoe the free end wraps itself around you, I finally got to the free end of the rope and tugged the canoe shore ward some 300 to 400 m down stream of the weir.
Strange how expert one is in these situations, all the training and experience kicks in and and that odd form of focus and concentration on the task in hand takes over in such physical emergencies - aboriginies in Australia call it ticking.. There I pushed the boat ashore on a narrow ledge standing thigh deep in the river and in two turns emptied it out and was back in it again within two minutes. I was surprised to find the only thing lost was a bottle of water. The dry bags were intact, I had a paddle in one hand and my straw hat crushed in the other as I gained my footing and the rare cranked wooden paddle, a present from Crocodile Raf purchased in Canada was still in the boat and most miraculous of all I was still wearing my expensive vari-focal glasses.. Only the loaves in an open carrier bag secured by a rope, were hopelessly sodden. A man, probably a fisherman had called out from near the weir as I was carried downstream and I was able to shout that I was OK and the shouting stopped.
Gradually as I stood on the shore at Beualieu the memories of the wave and the swim came back and later memories of the journey to Argentat and that I was alone.
Heavenly Beaulieu (See also the Day of Judgment tympanum of the Abbey here on blog for August 2008 the last photograph on :
http://leport.blogspot.com/2008_08_01_archive.html) (click to enlarge)
Later, at home using the internet I discovered Global Temporary Amnesia associated with, amongst other things, bearing down as in load lifting with the glottis closed, cold water and most common at an average age of 62. How indeed could I have avoided it!? There are no known after effects. Hooray! I did discontinue this particular trip, but I intend to be back -
Deus Volens of course.
