Dave Cornthwaite | The Creative Explorer

ures go to extremes, heavy rain pitter-patters with exaggeration on the roof (it’s like living in a cosy tent) and when the toilet is full then there’s no choice, rain or shine a cruise to the disposal point awaits.

A call from my lady the other day informed me that my paddle board had blown off the roof in strong winds, and the lady herself was stood upon the thing by the time I reached the canal. Unfortunately another gust blew her plum off the board, resulting in a bedraggled mistress with a sore coccyx to boot. Yes, there are downsides, but hey, the only real change is that there’s a plank of wood between the front door and dry land. Oh, and the fact that I commute on a standup paddle board.

48 hours of tube strikes last week didn’t endear London-life to many of its inhabitants - even the drivers felt the burn, and they had a couple of days off - and it certainly didn’t make me miss The Smoke to any degree, but it did spark an idea. To get to work on an average day I jump on my board and paddle three miles up the Kennet & Avon, surely a bloke in a suit paddling a big surfboard along a canal might perk the media’s interest? The Great Big Paddle is starting to bubble, the first journey is just four months away and this time next year I’ll be preparing to go far on a standup board, so it’s time to launch the project into the media. Bang. The proposals are sent out, received well, photographer arrives this afternoon, suit, board, paddle. Done. Papers next week, we hope, but for now here’s an introduction to Phil and family. Phil is from Houston, we meet on the weekend when I coaxed him off his hireboat and onto the SUP board. Today, as you can see, he didn’t seem averse to turning on the charm for the sake of a picture or two. And what’s more, before he left he took off that shirt of his and gave it to me. On the journeys it will come.

Not sure either of these attires are acceptable in Wiltshire...

Today over one hundred skaters joined forces at Bath Spa station and pushed 16 miles to Bristol in aid of the National Autistic Society, raising over £2500 in the process (find out more, here). The annual Lush Longboards Charity Skate has raised almost £10,000 since Lush and BoardFree kicked off the event in 2007.

Laura and Matt leave Aslan for dust

After the skate, which left me more than considerably weary (it’s been a little while since I pushed that far in one go, strangely!) Laura Hatwell and Matt Elver joined me for a night on Aslan, which naturally included a spot of stand-up paddling and canoeing. The next morning I was pouring Sugar Puffs (diet of champions) and Laura revealed she had issues consuming too much milk. She was dealt a nibbles bowl, to make up for it.

Laura is lactose intolerant. Spot her cereal bowl...

Laura’s the lively lass who raised £500 skating from Glasgow to Loch Lomond in late 2006 before joining my BoardFree Australia team for the second half of the skate across Oz. She now runs the karmic skate site Happy Skater and is pushing around Scotland later this summer. At some point she’ll be joined by Matty, who shows all the signs (and ability) to push off on his own distance journey at some point. Days like this prove that distance skating has a bright future, bring it on.

Canadian Canoeing was a foreign concept to me just a couple of months ago, but now, with one permanently attached to Aslan the Narrowboat, it has become a nightly limousine. The other day Em and I decided it was time to forget the rigorous dieting of a couple needing to keep in top shape (yeah right), so off to get a curry we went. In the canoe. Brilliant!

Since her visit to the curry house, Em had been in a state of shock...

I’ve spent the week a few metres higher than I’m used to. Paddle HQ now has a brand new home, a mezzanine floor overlooking a sea of kayaks and canoes courtesy of The Family Adventure Store in Trowbridge.

The Family Adventure Store in Wiltshire, The Great Big Paddle’s new home

The effect of having a permanent office has been instantaneous. The local press have started to bite and the project has featured in both the Bath Chronicle and the Wiltshire Times this last fortnight. A potential spot on a BBC3 programme is also likely to be filmed in the near future.

Of course, the end game of the Great Big Paddle is the Amazon journey, but the bones of this project are to be strengthened by other paddle challenges throughout 2009 and 2010. For these to add sufficient worth to our overall aims it’s imperative that The Great Big Paddle can attract partners and sponsors, and with a settled base this becomes far easier. I’ve recently chatted to a group of surfers from Sennen Cove near Lands End in Cornwall, about a midsummers paddle to and from Lands End to the Scilly Isles, a distance near 60 miles. More pressing, though, is a potential introduction to Stand Up Paddle Boarding (SUP). It’s exactly what it says on the tin, with the rider standing upon a very large and bouyant surfboard, using a canoe-like paddle to propel along. In early July what is arguably Europe’s largest SUP race takes place off the South Coast as part of Brighton’s annual Paddle Round the Pier. Hopefully this week I’ll be able to be more concrete about an SUP addition to the project.

For now, though, it’s back to the office…

The view from the new office, could this be more perfect?

‘Would you like a cup of tea?!’ they shouted, ‘A FREE cup of tea?’

This doesn’t seem like something that should happen in the United Kingdom, and my suspicion flares up in the form of a frown. Luckily, for me and them, I was probably too far away for my wrinkled brow to have any damaging effect. Plus, ten miles of paddling had dashed enough canal water/reeds/surface gunge over my head to form a kind of mask, I was quite fortunate that they’d offered me anything at all.

These two young girls, sat there all neatly on the grass, clearly making the most of their school holidays and masquerading as communal picnic’ers, didn’t seem to require funds in exchange for their brew. Besides, I was soaking wet and in a big red kayak, I wasn’t the type to approach for money. They asked again, for by now all I’d managed to do was remove my headphones and stare at them quizzically while my kayak spun out of control, ‘Would you like a FREE cup of tea?’
Well, I suppose it would be rude if I didn’t.

They had their blanket, a jug of milk, a sugar shaker, goodness knows how many cups – both ceramic and plastic – and, of course, a kettle of tea. These girls had come with a plan, and they recounted it to myself and a cyclist who had been wheeling along the towpath only to find a steaming mug of tea thrust at him. Apparently they’d been bored of internet chatting and decided to offer the campers in an adjacent field some tea, but by the time they’d brewed up the campers had already got the kettle on, so Plan B had swiftly turned to a bit of Towpath Free Tea. N & H (goodness knows what the rules are when it comes to writing about young girls who don’t belong to you, so sorry girls, initials it will be unless I receive parental permission to use full names!) are step-sisters with an entrepreneurial streak. It comes to light that they’re not always this philanthropic, last summer they made fifteen pounds by selling squash for 10p a pop to passers-by. ‘We sometimes sell ice-creams for pocket money, too,’ said N, ‘but it feels quite nice to give away tea now and then.’

I made up my mind, right there and then, to finish my paddle as quickly as possible and jog back along the towpath with some money for the pair.

The cyclist disappeared only to be replaced by two walking men. One of them asked where I’d come from and I told him I was training for an endurance journey or two, and then I glugged down my mug, thanked the girls, and paddled off.

Ten minutes and a mile down the canal later, the cyclist was waiting besides Aslan, my boat. ‘Did you see the girls?’ he asked, ‘they were running after you breathlessly shouting “Famous!” and “On TV!” What were they talking about?’
‘Search me,’ I said, ‘where are they?’

Seconds later, they appeared, endlessly panting. ‘Are you famous?’ they asked, ‘those men said you were on TV, and that you were the son of Lord Bath.’
‘Who the smeg is Lord Bath?’
‘We don’t know, are you his son?’
‘No!’
‘Are you going to be on TV, then?’
‘Well, that’s the plan. Where’s all your tea stuff?’
‘Oh, we left it there, it’ll be fine, we just had to come and say hello after we found out that you were famous.’
‘You two are hilarious, I’m not famous at all.’
‘Oh my god, you’re so lucky, I’d love to be famous.’
I just laughed, and lectured them on our silly celebrity-obsessed society and how it’s ok to be recognised for what you’re good at, but not so cool to be famous for just being famous.
‘Yes, but you’re lucky to have a talent that makes you famous,’ they said.
I looked around for my talent, and my fame. Couldn’t see it.
‘You make your own luck, girls.’ They groaned.
‘Why did you decide to kayak a long way?’
‘Take a look at my website, that’ll answer your questions.’
‘You have a website! That’s so cool! You’re famous!’

And it went on, these bright and intelligent young entrepreneur/canal runners, interrogating me about my kayak and skateboard and the Guinness Book of Records, all the while sat on the bank shivering as I tied up my boat in the failing light. At least a couple of times a day I take a look around and ask myself how it came to pass that I be living on a boat in deepest Wiltshire, and then I meet people like these, people who talk to strangers and offer them free tea and are unaffected by the forced solitude of a commuter city, and then I know why I’m here. Because it’s just nicer. The girls make me promise to write about them in my next blog and then skip off down the towpath singing ‘Oh My God we’ve just met someone famous.’

Aslan (right) and his white coat

The snow had fallen six inches overnight, and the boat next door was doing a fine impression of an albino. A thin layer of ice on the canal’s surface was a worry, but a young swan made short work of ploughing through it, leaving a rough trail of ice cubes in its wake. A bacon sarnie and a thermos of coffee later, and Aslan the ice-breaker was carrying Em and I towards Trowbridge.

The Family Adventure Store lay at the far end of a farm complex-cum-minor industrial estate. Snowmen lined the way, betraying an hour out of the office for some naughty workspeople, and a trolley-full of kayaks up ahead got my heart-a-thumping. Seconds later Em and I had a mug of hot tea placed into our shivering paws and Jenny and Terry were giving us the once-over. We all knew I had priors in terms of this adventure malarky, but quite rightly they’d been careful not to commit to supporting the project until we’d met. You don’t get to run your own successful business without owning a fair bit of nouse, but I’d had a feeling about these guys from the start. I want a family of sponsors to support The Great Big Paddle, and this business had ‘Family’ in their name, literally. They were based a firm stone’s throw from the canal in which my training base floated, and their son was a keen skateboarder who had been in no doubt that his parents should give me a kayak, for free! ‘He seems like a very wise lad,’ I’d emailed to Jenny on the news, but it’s always best to approach a situation like this with zero expectations, to avoid disappointment.
We nattered a little and I explained my plans, near and far. First up is the 125-mile Devizes to Westminster race on Easter weekend, just two months away. I was a novice with an ambition to make my arms ache, I needed professional advice, there’s no use training in a kayak not fit for the job. They’d been thinking about this, and the longer journeys, too. ‘Would you consider travelling in a Canadian Canoe?’ asked Jenny, pointing at a wall of the things, ‘they’re not as fast as kayaks, but can carry half a ton of kit.’
‘Without bringing down the tone,’ Em piped up, ’should wildlife effect the choice of boat?’ We all looked at her, and the conversation turned to snakes falling into canoes and a kayak’s ability to withstand a crocodile’s dental structure. ‘To be fair,’ I said, roping in the madness, ‘we’ve got a while to decide on the right boat for the Amazon, and I’m not too worried about the wildlife on the Kennet & Avon.’
‘Well,’ said Terry, ‘you mustn’t forget the swans, there’s an insane one up near Devizes, it capsizes boats and everything.’
Em and I looked at each other, eyebrows raised. She doesn’t like flapping and I don’t like cold water, but this wasn’t the time to back out. I had a feeling that even a mad swan would be the least of our worries. ‘So,’ I said, ‘where do we go from here?’
‘When do you want to start?’ asked Jenny.
‘Right now, if that’s ok?’

Half an hour later I was trudging back across the field, pulling a big red kayak through the snow. They’d completely kitted me out, offered a touring kayak on long loan, paddle, dry kag, spraydeck. I was ready to go, and The Great Big Paddle had it’s first Partner, The Family Adventure Store.

I’d been looking for a kayak for months, waiting for the right one to pop up on eBay, reading the revision card adverts in Sainsburys, hoping a boat might fall off the back of a truck and slide right up to my front door. Didn’t happen. Although I was boatless the thought was there, stronger and stronger each week, the plan slowly forming. Loosely, yes, but taking shape nevertheless. And then, finally, it just had to begin. There were still no decent kayaks on eBay so it was time to bite the oar, I’d have to get a new one.

The first company I called was, I realised as I pulled up the website, based in Trowbridge, just three miles down the Kennet & Avon Canal from where my narrowboat (Aslan) was moored. Jigsaw, piece. The Family Adventure Store is run by a couple named Jenny and Terry, and it was Jenny who answered my call. For five minutes she patiently tried to help me decide what type of craft I should be looking for, but my kayak knowledge was less than limited and I didn’t have a clue. Then I told her what was up my sleeve.

I hadn’t done anything like this for a while. You know the type of thing; wake up, decide to set aside a few months (maybe a couple of years) to do something that most people will automatically decide is at best foolish, at worst, impossible. I’ve been tired since the last big one, that skateboard journey across Australia, but it’s been more than tired. I’ve  been empty. Once Jenny from the Family Adventure Store had heard me out she said, very matter-of-factly, ‘we might be interested in helping you’. That was all I needed to hear. It’s nice when people want to help. Especially when they’re strangers. And most especially when they’re strangers with a warehouse full of kayaks. ‘I’ll be in the area next Tuesday,’ I said, ‘I’ll pop in and see you then.’

I was just a voice in a telephone with an interesting combination of words, but I wanted to be a little bit more. This project of mine that I’d just told Jenny about, I knew it was going to happen. And so did my girlfriend. And perhaps a couple of my friends, too. But I hadn’t yet done anything about it, I hadn’t had reason to, until now. Little did she know it, but Jenny was the catalyst for a project that is likely to send me a very long way. Geographically, for sure. Metaphorically, maybe. I just wished one thing, that I’d been able to tell her more about the project. I didn’t even have a website, for God’s sake, and I make websites. That’s what I do, when I’m not doing foolish and impossible things.

So I made a website. I already knew what I was going to call the project, so registered the domain, sat down at noon on Thursday 29th January and didn’t move from my chair until 1am the next morning. And there it was, www.thegreatbigpaddle.com
I sent it to the Family Adventure Store and the knots in my stomach slowly began to unravel. I made a Facebook group, too, and set up an account on Twitter. First time, for that one. This feeling is familiar, the blood rushes around faster than usual, people start to show an interest and ideas begin to flow. Endless ideas, and they all come from the website. What happens if I have a page for commercial partners, how can I make it worth their while? Ah, let’s have some advertising banners….but that leaves some space over there, ok, we fill it with a mailing list sign-up. And so on and so on. The Great Big Paddle was underway.

I was due to travel to Wiltshire on the Monday, but snow had fallen and when that happens in the United Kingdom the entire place capitulates and the transport system turns to jelly. Trains were cancelled, and the only upside to having an extra two day wait before finding out whether I had a kayak sponsor was becoming the first person to ever throw a snowball at my girlfriend. You see, she’s Australian. And by lunchtime she had a lot of snow on her head.

By the time we finally got the train there were over 100 people on the Facebook group and a stack of emails from folk and companies offering their support. I hadn’t paddled a stroke, yet. Two months earlier I’d bought a narrowboat with the primary aim of using it as a training base. Aslan is blue and red and fourty six feet long, sleeps four and chugs along at a maximum speed of four miles per hour. He’s moored up not too many miles from Bath, near a small place called Avoncliff where they have a station at which trains halt only when they’re hailed. It’s like stepping back eighty years, and when the place is covered in snow it looks uncannily like Narnia. I was about to step into my wardrobe.