River Tarn, Ardeche, Easter 2002The Last River (Around in Low Water); The magic face of Ooh-la-la. |
 
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Unofficial trip This was not an official canoe club trip. It was not registered, organised, or funded through the college union. Please click here before reading this trip report, and bare in mind that it is covered by the www content disclaimer. |
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Poem.
My girlfriend is like a sub-6, Very small, but surprisingly high-volume, Curvy and elegant, in a high-performance, cubist kind-of-way. She's faster than she looks, i'm sure on Hawaii-Sur-Rhone we'd have lift-off. By Raph Munton. |
The Last River (Around in Low Water); The magic face of Ooh-la-la.
By Raph Munton
(Appologies to Todd Balf (2000) The Last River; The Tragic Race for Shangri-La.)
The day dawned bright and as the haze lifted from the Ardèche vineyards one by
one the team stumbled out of bed and into their swinging sofas for a cup of tea and
breakfast. As the sun glinted on his halo of blond curls and burnt off the slightly
alcoholic haze before his eyes James thought; 'this is it..when it all comes
together..the HAUT TARN.'
The Haut Tarn had a long history of suitors who had come to ask for the hand of what
was reputed to be 'the hardest river in France'. It could be as playfull and petulant
as a spoilt princess or as merciless and brutal as a twisted step-mother. You didn't
take coming as a suitor to this zahrina lightly and many worthy men had been turned
away at the palace gates. The river had first been paddled in the 1960's by local
pioneers who had given the rapids there characteristic names such as le Gouffre de
Meules (Cave of the mill-stones.) La Trompette, la Seringue (The Syringe) These rapids
are all within the first 3km. They are followed by La Planche a Laver (The Washboard),
L'Escalier de Racoules (The Staircase of …) L'elephant (The Pachyderm) At this time
the river had taken around 8 hours to complete the raging 10kms of grade 4,5and 6 and
despite improvements in boat materials and paddling standard it wasn't a river for the
day-tripper attitude; in a word it was Hard Core and it would rip you out of your
comfort zone as forcefully as the U-bend in a Formule1 hotel toilet.
But then again the team weren't your average day-trippers. Trip instigator,
logistics manager, local, and top bio-chemist John had taken time out of his work at a
top secret research centre to make this trip work. John paddled C1, and not just
any kind of C1 either; paddling since childhood when he had caused waves by descending
rivers in his red glitter-job Cherokee kayak he had distilled paddlesport to its
purest essences. Using half a paddle and a boat with no forward speed, tracking
ability or stability he believed he was approaching the zone where the perfection of
an art began.
James wasn't your average angelic surf-bum either. His fresh-faced looks belied
a total fanaticism and determination to paddle which few could match. This trip had
been on his mind ever since he had visited the web-site www.eaux-vives.org. He had
managed to combine work with religion; and a high-profile corporate client had asked
him to investigate a duty-free loo-roll import scam shortly before leaving. Unable to
jeopardise his future and never one to waste time, he was making investigations during
the time spent boarding the ferry on the outward and return journey.
Then there was Glyn; world traveller, spiritual leader and civil-engineering
whiz he was in pursuit of the truly rad, his main hobby was the kayaking equivalent of
avalanche surfing. That is to say he likes to sabotage dams using his civil-
engineering expertise so that a massive flood-event release occurs. He then rides the
roaring, rearing, reaper of a storm surge down the devastated river valleys to the
logical conclusion. That's not to say there was anything irresponsible about Glyn he
wasn't at one of the top science unis in Britain for nothing, this was a cool,
calculated risk-taking individual. Unfortunately early on in the trip he had
dislocated his shoulder paddling a dry grade 3 riverbed. Sh*t happens.
Fortunately the team were carrying a spare….. Raph was dragged from his folding
bed where he was undertaking top-secret astronaut research into the effects of
weightlessness by spending his life asleep.
The morning ritual of boat-loading and kit checks meant that by 10.30am they were on their way in Johns life-guard-red Peugeot, the 2hr drive to the Haut Tarn making a contribution to the car's mileage of almost 250,000miles. At this stage, after an initial surge of excitement to be on the move the team sank into the upholstery soothed by the soulful sounds of J.J Cale.
The put-in was at the picturesque green stone bridge of Montvert where an azul pool seeped alluringly into a boulder-field punctuated by horizon-lines. The water level was low but it looked far more promising than the dry ditches they had been scouting for most of the week. The sponsors were getting skittish, they wanted a story and photos; sometimes a paddla's gotta do what a paddla's gotta do... Boats were de-bussed and the team tooled-up fluently and with the professionalism of a crack squad of SBS troopers. Glyn was a handsome chap and despite being smitten by his girly Paula while paddling the spate-creeks of Mid-Wales, had inadvertently caught the eye of a sultry provincial in the café. With his strapped-up arm he was looking forward to at least a few free café-au-lait.
"If were not back by 7.30 call the rescue ahhaha" John called casually over his shoulder to Glyn as James and Raph skipped down to the waters edge.
It felt good to be moving, nerves were high and John did a pre-emptive eddy-line roll to banish those cob-webs. The first horizon line beckoned, was scouted from the boats and passed in a glorious acceleration through sparkling foam. Big grins breaking forth from each paddler as they whisked into the eddy at the bottom.
Another azur pool, rock-garden and horizon-line. This time there was a slight vibration of the soil. Scouting from the bank revealed a 1.5m drop leading straight into a wall with a small cushion wave. The team lined up and took a diagonal line to land braced onto the cushion. One after the other they boofed down ..perfect.
A pool, a rock garden a huge horizon, the tips of confers growing on the gorge sides were visible dropping out of sight. "What a gradient!" exclaimed Raph, finding he felt quite awake for once.
Scouting revealed The Cave of the Mill-stones. As one rapid of about 70m in length this rapid drops about 25m vertical distance. A grade 5 (if there was water) rock garden is followed by a river right drop of 1.5m onto a shallow rock slab which carreens into the rock wall of the valley side. It ricochets off to the left in a foaming morass of a reaction wave and directs you into the 10m long flume which ends in a 3m drop into yet another turquoise pool. This was graded 6.
The team stared long and hard at this tempting titan of a run. For a good ten minutes each imagined themselves running the individual sections and the entirety. With each visualisation new nuances to the run revealed themselves; 'would you have enough speed for the drop onto the shallow slab to avoid too-much spine compression?' 'Was the cushion wave rideable, to pivot you into the final flume, or was it undercut and hungry?' 'And the final flume itself..? Run left and try to stay high to avoid rooster-tales near the bottom? Run right and hope the majority of the flow would cushion the slide and shoot you through?'
There is no such thing as the right line on grade 6…only lines which are less wrong than others…
In many religions wild and savage places such as waterfalls are sources of spiritual energy, inhabited by spirits who protect such places from the tyranny of impure men. Some of these spirits may be honoured by your pilgrimage in a plastic boat, some may be amused and want to tease you. Others may not be in the mood for your puny, delusional self-sacrifice and give you a swift spanking.
Stare at a waterfall for too long and you will hear these guardians sing to you, the rumble of the water rattles your brain and the water entices you 'come..come and pay your respects oh mortal maggot'..
But not today, if the water had been higher it might have seduced someone from the team. They turned to their boats and began the first of many portages.
The gradient did not appear to let up very much, as the team became less unnerved by the sight of the gorge dropping away to the front more and more scouting was done from the boat. There was an intense feeling of solitude, a road infact runs high above much of the gorge but you can't hear or see it and the steepness of the gorge sides makes it almost irrelevant.
La Trompette revealed itself to be a beautiful flume containing the entirety of the rivers flow in a 60cm-2m wide flume (higher water will widen this) preceeded by 2 beautifull small drops. The team portaged and later regretted it coz it was realy nice..but this was only the beginning.
Drop after drop was scouted and run, it would have been easy to get fed-up with and blasé about scouting given that things were going so well, but these were disciplined paddle-men.
b It paid off…Something cautioned us above a small drop which was tempting to run from the river since the placid pool below was visible from above. James leapt from his kayak to scout..and started laughing…confused John and Raph also got out. Below the drop was a flat, upstream-facing, undercut slab of rock which the water from the drop poured into. John's pedigree of paddling long boats caused him to suggest that, if he had been in a dancer a free-wheel into and out of the slit in a sort of pole-vaulting maneuver would have been possible.The team once again shouldered their boats.
The hours passed in a daze of stunning river, it realy was too good for wordz. Boulder fields, small drops, big drops, scouting, linking moves. This was what they had made John drive 4 hours in a day for.
The guide-book said 3-4 hours, tiredness began to set in but darkness would fall and they couldn't stop. A conscious effort had to be made to maintain discipline and concentration, which of course they did. The only injury so far was when John cut his nose on a branch which whiplashed during a portage producing two perfect puncture marks on the end of his nose.
It began to get dark and there was no sign of the end. The team estimated that in 7 hours they had covered around 6-7kms of gorge. That meant at least 3 more kms which needed at least 3 more hours. This was time they didn't have..they were running on empty (breakfast was a bowl of cereal or chocolatine and since then they had not eaten..but then adrenaline dulls your hunger and no-one felt realy hungry.)..and the joke to Glyn about calling the rescue services by 7.30 no longer sounded amusing when the financial ramifications were considered.
They paddled across the river and dragged the boats a significant way above the water line. John struck off valiantly to what we assumed was the road.
'Does it look like I'm at the road?' He called down to James and Raph.
'erm yes!'
'bollocks'
The Ardeche was full of ancient agricultural terraces which had been left to be reforested. These now littered the gloomy hillsides giving the impression of a multitude of small roads and tracks.
John once-again displaying the cross-country prowess he was famous for lit-off up the hillside to find the road. It was a race against time, it was rapidly getting dark, it was only a matter of time before Glyn got fed-up of waiting and caffeine induced paranoia caused him to send out a search and destroy (financially) party.
In the gloaming Johns voice echoed across the valley. 'I've found the road.' A wave of relief and slight disappointment at not being able to build a fat bonfire washed over James and Raph.
John now had now to hitch back to prevent Glyn making that call. He was as lucky and good at hitching as he was at cards, and was picked up almost immediately. As the cars headlights lifted Montvert from the darkness, a phone-booth was illuminated and inside….John rolled from the moving vehicle and flung himself head- long into the phone booth rugby-tackling Glyn to the floor.
'Its O.K we're back!' He panted.
THE END.
Authors note: This account is not entirely truthful, but the Haut Tarn is a really superb river. At normal water levels it would definitely be overall solid grade 5 with some 6 because of the commitment and isolation caused by the steepness of the Gorge. We were lucky to see it for the first time in super-low water because in normal or high water it might be a bit overwhelming all in one go. It will take you at least 8hrs or more because unless you are with a guide you must scout and safety cover things.