Having watched the rowing and canoeing at the Olympics, four men, all of whom reached the ripe old age of 65 this year, felt inspired enough to seek their own adventure by canoeing a 50 mile stretch of the River Wye from Hereford to Monmouth. This epic adventure was to be completed in three days. We had even paid close attention to the cycling in the velodrome and taken note of slipstreaming in order to save energy and to gain advantage over each other.

It was a beautiful sunny morning as we left Worcester for our mid morning rendezvous with the Ross-on-Wye Canoe Hire Company who were going to take us and our canoes to Hereford. There we received our standard safety instruction before we were allowed to prepare ourselves for the river.

Four of us and two canoes. Who was going to go with whom? Ian and Rob had met before but neither of them had met Steve. Could I risk them being exposed to Steve so early in the trip? I know Steve well but did I really want to be trapped on a canoe with him? Of course I did. if nothing else Steve is always good company and a source of great amusement.

Canoes loaded we managed to clamber aboard without anybody going through the embarrassment of one foot on the land, one foot in the boat and a backside slowly descending towards the water (that was to come later). We paddled gently through Hereford with the cathedral on our left, dodging bridge pillars and fishermen wearing waders and up to their waist in water. Soon the city centre was behind us and we passed some exceptionally large and beautiful houses with gardens sweeping down to the river, all very Grand Designs.

Throughout this section, and much of this first day, we were amazed just how many swans were on the river, not just confined to urban areas where children throw bread for them, but anywhere where the water was shallow enough for them to feed. And in many places it was shallow with strands of beautiful green weed swaying gently with the flow.

There was always something to fascinate us as we paddled, flashes of vivid blue as a kingfisher darted for cover, heron gracefully lifting off and flying laconically as they relied on their huge wingspan to make them airborne with the minimum of effort, cormorants standing on the uppermost branches of dead trees affording them the best aerial view of fish below, fish leaping with flashes of silver, cattle cooling their feet, standing in the shallows at the side of the river, sheep gathering in the shade of a river bank tree as they avoid the glorious sunshine, and of course, the fishermen lurking in their camouflage outfits semi-hidden  on the river bank. Often we would just catch the sun glinting on their tight line, forcing us to give them a wide birth, in an effort to share this glorious space.

Pulling into the bank for a lunch break, Rob provided me with the best egg sandwiches I have ever had in my 65 years. I had to have them as the bacon butty I bought in Ross en route was, predictably, long gone.

The river was quite busy with a number of other canoes paddling downstream, enjoying the peace and tranquility. The only time that peace was shattered was when we passed a noisy engine pumping water from the river on to parched farmland, satisfying the thirst of needy crops.

This was our toughest day on the river, only because we did not actually get on the water until midday and we had 18 miles to cover. There was a little pressure to get on with it, so we tended not to stop for long when we chose to have a break. As a result, at 5.30, we pulled into the river bank at Tresseck Farm, Hoarwithy, where a number of other canoe groups were already encamped. It is a lovely flat site but the facilities are rather limited with just a few portaloos and a tap. It’s saving grace is a good pub, the New Harp Inn, at the end of the track, into the village. The food we had that evening was superb and the few pints we had to help wash it down.

The following morning we were up early. I was carrying a thick head (I wonder why?). It did allow us to get away in good time, meaning that we had the river to ourselves. I was now partnering Ian, while Rob was joined by Steve. It was glorious as the river meandered through the delightfully pleasant Herefordshire countryside. Life does not get much better than this.

Everything was going really well when we reached Ross-on-Wye after three and a half hours. Pulling up at the landing platform by the Hope and Anchor we prepared to go ashore for lunch. There were a number of mothers and children on the jetty, feeding ducks. Suddenly, a horror show opened up in front of them. Rob managed to get one foot in the water and was preparing to swing his other out of the canoe when his foot in the water slipped. Grabbing the nearest thing to him in the hope that he could save himself, he grabbed the canoe, unbalancing Steve to the point where he thought he was going to fall in. The canoe drifted away under Rob’s weight, splitting his legs further apart to the point where his bottom became his centre of gravity, whereupon nothing could save him. There was muted laughter from the mothers, not sure if they should express their mirth, until they heard Steve, Ian and myself falling about with laughter. I was laughing so much I forgot to get the camera out to record Rob’s embarrassment for posterity. The mothers melted away to give counselling to their traumatised children.

After lunch, with Rob’s shorts draped over the barrel to dry, we continued our journey in perfect conditions. There was not a breath of wind and the sun shone. We punctuated our journey with periods of sustained paddling and rafting up to drift gently with the flow. At one point, Ian tied our canoe to the rope at the stern of Rob and Steve’s, allowing them, unknowingly, to pull us along for a while.

The scenery, as we neared Symonds Yat, became more dramatic as wooded hills rose steeply from either bank of the river.

Throughout our journey so far we had been impressed by some of the houses along the river bank. Many of them were very “Grand Designs”. Now that we were coming into forested gorge there were fewer in evidence. However, high on the hill the was a large stone building rising above the trees. Rob pointed it out to us, saying, “Look at that monstrosity up there. How can they be allowed to build something like that?” It was only Goodrich Castle.

It was on a bend of faster flowing water that we came to the landing point for our camp at Wye Valley YHA at Welsh Bicknor. As we did so, Rob’s, now dry, shorts fell off the barrel into the river!

Youth hostels are so much better than they used to be with facilities to suit all tastes and needs. We were camping but we had full use of the hostel, choosing to eat their set meals. It was a short walk from the camp to the impressive building, once a large country house. Adjacent was an old church going through a full renovation paid for by the new owner of the large country estate further up the hill. As we relaxed on the grass outside our tents in the evening sunshine, three deer dropped out of the trees and started grazing on the camping field, not bothered that we were there. It is these unexpected little joys that make trips like this such a pleasure.

During the night it started to rain; the good weather had come to an end. Fortunately we had the shortest of our days with only ten miles to paddle to Monmouth. After a full English breakfast we loaded our canoes and set off with the only disturbance on the water, the rings created by raindrops and our bow waves. Despite the rain it did not detract from the pleasure of what we were doing.

We made excellent progress as we rounded Yat Rock with its spectacular view point high above us. Bypassing Symonds Yat West with its caravan park we headed to the more traditional Symonds Yat East with its hotels and bars. The wet weather meant that day canoeists were deterred from venturing out on the water and the pleasure craft were still securely moored. However, as we approached, we were met by bands of low flying Canada Geese, passing just above our heads, creating a wonderful spectacle.

Just before the famous Symonds Yat Rapids we moored up outside the Royal Lodge, a wedding and conference venue, and took our wet selves into the bar for a coffee. I have to say that I felt rather conspicuous as wet as I was but nobody seemed to mind.

Attaching all our kit to the canoes we prepared to shoot the rapids. Rob and I went first. Aiming for the V of smooth water before it tumbled over the rocks below, we got the line right and were soon through the main section. Pulling the canoe round we positioned ourselves in a smooth patch of water behind some rocks to watch Ian and Steve successfully navigate themselves through.

From then on it was plain sailing through the gorge with sporadic rain. After a beachside lunch stop by Biblins Bridge we continued the last three miles to Monmouth in increasingly heavy rain. Despite the rain we were happy to spend some of our last moments on the water simply drifting along. It would have been nice to have sunshine on our last day but it did not matter and in no way diminished our enjoyment of the trip. In fact, all of us have agreed to do it again, or something similar next year, and others have already said they want to join us. Maybe the full 80 miles of navigable water on the Wye, or perhaps we will find something better. Difficult to imagine when we have arguably canoed the best canoe-able river in England. Watch this space.

I cannot end without saying how much I enjoyed the company of Ian, Rob and Steve. Thank you, guys.