Exe Descent
The Yak Exe Descent
Pete James / 19.12.2002
My companion for this feast of watery fun was London resident Ian Edmond - in his spare time one of New Zealand’s top adventure racers with several wins in the Southern Traverse and Coast to Coast races under his belt. Ian also has a lot more wild-water racing experience than me, so I was flattered when he insisted I go in the front of the boat (with control of the rudder). Until I realised that I was the one who was going to get submerged at the bottom of each weir.
The start of the race is an experience in itself, with the first weir at Salomon Ponds only 100 metres downstream. The 40 kayaks in our class were all jostling for space on the start line - while simultaneously paddling backwards to avoid being swept downstream before the gun. A bad choice of line down the weir or a clash with another boat, and we would be on our way home with a handful of glass-fibre fragments instead of a kayak.
The problem with weirs is that while you can see all you want from downstream, from upstream it’s a bit like sailing off the edge of the world and you have to commit yourself totally before you can see what lies ahead. Ian had it nailed, and with blood curdling cries we shot straight down our intended path and in between the largest waves at the bottom. The river shot round a bend through lines of standing waves, water washing over the thin nylon spray decks covering our knees and we were on our way.
We were also fast approaching our biggest nightmare: Tiverton Town Weir. Powerful sheets of water churned and criss-crossed each other leaving little room for error. There were boats ahead of us going in all sorts of directions, but we stuck to our own plan. Power down the left-hand edge of the weir in a fast chute, a tight turn below to avoid hitting the high concrete wall, and with a lot of muffled curses we paddled safely through the mayhem below.
There was plenty more entertainment to be had on our journey to the sea: a railway bridge so low that we had to stick our heads between our knees as we passed underneath; shortcuts through submerged trees where we zip-zagged frantically to avoid getting stuck - Ian in the back helping the boat around with his Nomad paddle. At one point the waves filled the kayak so full of water we had to stop to empty it. Big swirls and eddies of water turned us where they wanted to. We paddled over the debris of Thorverton weir - completely washed away since the last race two years ago. At Bickleigh weir where we’d sat eating a nice carvery lunch the day before, I got the boat sideways and nearly put us in.
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