Category Archives: English South Coast

It’s less than two weeks to the autumnal equinox, but at nearly 33°C, today will be the hottest day of 2023 so far. It’s been over 30 for days now so you do wonder what it’s going to be like in 5 or 10 years time. More sea to paddle, that’s for sure.
Today there’s barely a breeze; a fine day for a 10-km paddle around Beachy Head and the chalk cliffs of the Seven Sisters to Cuckmere Haven before walking back. I’ve had this one on the list for years as an IK trip. Today is the day, but with a packraft.

Tottering on Safari, 2004. Does my body look big in this?

It was Christmas Day, 2004 that I took my first ever IK for a tentative spin on the Cuckmere estuary and thought: shite, what have I done! The used Gumotex Safari was tippier than a one-legged stool and meandered more than the Cuckmere river itself. Luckily it was mostly the boat, not me. I soon swapped it for a Gumo Sunny and never looked back.
No worries about stability today. In the intervening decades packrafting got popularised and I’m trying out my new Anfibio TXL+, the length and width of a patio door.

Down in Eastbourne the forecast was a moderate 25, but at 8.30am it felt like that temperature already.

I cheat by putting in at the westernmost end of Eastbourne, a south coast town associated with genteel retirement homes. A neap tide is two hours into its ebb and light easterly winds were following it.

Looking for possible traps, I found a 15-year old kayaking report with pics of offshore breaking waves. I study a marine chart and am none the wiser, but realise that, like the Jurassic Coast, submarine ledges (or wave-cut platforms as I recall from geography) are a fairly normal thing off the South Coast, and breakers will move in and out depending on tide heights and the wind.

As I put in a swimmer bobbed up from the depths and asked:
‘Is that one of them Blowie things?’
I’d not heard this expression outside of the fly-ridden Outback.
”ow much do they cost, then?’
I delivered the fatal, four-figure Euro-sum. He dipped back down and slinked away like a seal. Another paddleboarder is born.

Initially the TXL+ feels dog slow – an unseen back eddy off Beachy Head? I now know it will pass so I keep going.
It’s unbroken cliffs all the way to Cuckmere with one exit halfway at Birling Gap where a staircase climbs up from the shingle to a car park and cafe. I can take out there, and if I’m knackered at Cuckmere, there’s the scenic bus 12 every 15 mins from nearby Exceat. There’s also an option to carry on all the way to Land’s End then ride the back of a whale to the Azores.

Sea kayakers coming in. They don’t have to carefully plot trips around tides and winds and bus routes.

As I round the corner towards Beachy Head the impression of speed picks up as I join the westward stream. Up ahead the lighthouse, but before it some breaking waves on Head Ledge. White breaking surf is easy to see on a day like this, but you still need to keep your eyes left for bigger swells which rise up out of the blue.

The children’s book outline of Beachy Head lighthouse alongside the highest chalk cliffs in Britain (162m; 530′). I gave up trying to find taller chalk sea cliffs anywhere in the world.

Round the corner I pull in for a yellow-label sandwich. Something about the sunshine, warmth and the gleaming white rock makes the way ahead less intimidating. I remember feeling the same in tropical Australia in much less calm conditions.

An overhead paraglider eyes up my seafood and florentine wholemeal bap and prepares to swoop.

Who remembers the 1968 film, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? The magic car’s first airborne sortie is at Beachy Head and its distinctive red lighthouse, though I see they spliced a bit of IoW Needles in there too. Did they really think people would let it slide and not contact their MPs?

And in Quadrophenia released a decade later, depressed Mod Jimmy decides to do a ‘Thelma & Louise’ and end it all on Beachy Head (as many sadly do in real life) while The Who sing ‘I’ve Had Enough’.

I remember reading in the 1970s that with ice axes and crampons, this soft but vertical chalk was good practice for ice climbing. No need for all that sub-freezing clobber.

On the geologically contiguous Isle of Wight, these Red Bull lightweights are top roping.

At the peak of the modest ebb and I hit 6.4kph and get a nosebleed.
I look back and say goodbye to Beachy Head lighthouse…

… before bidding bonjour to Belle Tout lighthouse up on the cliff top. It got decommissioned in 1904 after 80 years as it was too foggy too often up there. Beachy Head lighthouse nearer sea level replaced it. Apparently both mean the same thing: ‘fine headland’ (beau chef became ‘beachy’). You can learn so much from Wikipedia.

Sooner and with less effort than expected, I approach Birling Gap where there is road access. But first I have to paddle out around more deadly offshore breakers.
Beyond stretch the Seven Sisters to Cuckmere. Suddenly it all seems eminently doable.

Paddleboarders. Must be getting close to their lair at Cuckmere.

Heck, I even see one of those FDS IKs! Good to see one in actual use.

Strange buttress and cave formations appear. Would be fun to investigate out of Cuckmere or Birling one time.

At one point the TXL+ starts aquaplaning. I recognise this feeling so tighten the straps and respond in kind, doing the full torso pivot thing. I’m aiming for 7kph, but only hit 6 briefly with the waning ebb. Oh well, that must be the terminal hull speed of a dumpy TXL.

A flotilla of gulls patrol the entrance to Cuckmere Haven, as they have done since the Domesday Book was compiled.

In the warm backwinds my new Kokatat PFD has been much less sweaty than expected. It also has loads of pockets.

Cuckmere beach.

Before I get there I pull over and stagger around on seaweed-clad boulders for a bit.

And take one last sea level glimpse along the Seven Sisters. What an enjoyable paddle that was. Another long standing ‘WLTD’ ticked off, but in a packraft, not a nippy IK. I fail to find the river inlet which must have moved a bit since my GPS map was made.
I’ve got it in me, but it’s going to be a hot old slog back to Eastbourne.

I flip the TXL+ and let it drain. An effortless 2.5 hours that took.

In the bag. Now for the hard bit.

What’s going on up there? Nothing much, just sunshine and enough space to enjoy it. Plus Taylor Swift handing out NFTs.

Seven Sisters means at least 7 brotherly ascents. It’s baking hot and I’ve got 500ml water left and dodgy knees, so for once I pace myself and use the paddle as a stick.
Up top you can see why this is such a popular walk; there’s loads of room to spread out on the vast expanse of magically trimmed grass with lovely sea views alongside.

Up on the cliffs it’s like some sort of diversity sponsored walk. I hear Spanish, Polish Urdu, Japanese, Estuarine, and what seems like a lot of first dates, judging by overheard chatter. I know no one’s carrying a packraft and all, but how do these fragrant young persons manage to not look like they’ve been dragged through a seaweed sauna by a JCB?

I make a mess of the toilets at Birling by indulging in a basin shower, but by Belle Tout lighthouse tout is not belle. I’m as parched as Pharaoh’s frog. Luckily there’s a smidgen of shade and a cafe selling reasonably overpriced ice lollies.

Local entrepreneurs have trained gulls to ride the thermals in search of dropped iPhones. Talking of them, this is the first time I’ve used a cheap cracked iPhone or any phone as a camera. The pics are pretty good, but you need two hands to hold and shoot, the lens is 28mm and any zooming soon gets ropey. As I walk into Eastbourne the battery is spent after only 130 shots and some mistaken video, but as a light day-camera I might get used to it.

Leaving Belle Tout with ice-chilled innards, it suddenly feels like it’s 5°C cooler. And the sight of stripey Beachy lighthouse suggests it’s not so far to go.

That was me down there not so long ago. The ice’s cooling effect doesn’t last, so after the long climb up to the 500-foot Beachy Head summit, I pull over for a cliffside rest which turns into a snooze.

I wake up and the cliff edge is cracking. Guard ropes are intermittent, broken and much ignored. Much refreshed after my nap, a head breeze has kicked up and I’m now less of a dripping mess. Someone needs to write a new self help book ‘The Power of Resting’. Oh, they already did. This groundbreaking book takes a fresh look at the role that rest plays in the quality of your life, offering a proven program to enhance your health, help you look younger, and feel restored. The Power of Rest provides a low-cost, low-risk answer to … Give it a rest!

Eastbourne by George! But a steep, knee exploding descent lies just ahead.

Weary, lovelorn pilgrims make their way towards the finish line to collect their certificates.
‘Fancy getting a pizza later?’

Paddling Seven Sisters, highly recommended, whatever you got.

In case you ever doubted it, Float, Don’t Walk.

TXL; More Jurassic Coast Packrafting

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Anfibio TXL main page
Kimmeridge ledges
Swanage stacks
Dancing Ledge
Packraft sailing to Lulworth

‘Calm… caaaaalm’. It’s what you say to a hyperactive child. But it’s also what you observe as you scan a weather forecast: 3-4mph onshore southerly, backing southeast later. With sunshine too, it could be the Last Good Day of the Summer.
I left my moto just as they’re opening the gate down to Tyneham ghost village. From there the Mrs drives me on up the coast to lovely Lulworth Cove for a sneaky 9am bacon buttie. I do worry about my B12 sometimes.

“Oh wow!” squealed a little girl as she also arrived with her family at Lulworth beach. And you can see why; it’s an amazing natural feature which, long with others help make Dorset’s Jurassic Coast a UNESCO site. Within an hour the renowned amphitheatre would be standing room only but hey, it’s August on the South Coast; if you want a lone beach, pack a mac and go to the Outer Hebrides.

Red shaded area is army firing range which – land or sea – is usually closed.

Today’s plan was head east 9km to Kimmeridge Bay as I gradually joined the dots packrafting Dorset’s Jurassic Coast.
This time last year Barrington and I sailed here from Ringstead Bay near Weymouth, before getting sent into Lulworth Cove by a patrol boat. The following eastward section of coast is an army firing range that’s only open to the public on weekends or throughout the August holiday season. And even then, some landing spots are closed and inland you have to stick to the paths in case you step on or pick up an unexploded bomb. Tragically that happened in 1967, though thankfully only once and as a result, today warning signs along the footpaths are everywhere.

Once out of the cosy Cove, the first section should be easy enough, but if not I could hop out at Warbarrow Tout, walk a mile to the bike at Tyneham and ride home. Continuing all the way to Kimmeridge depended on confidence and energy levels, and how the sea actually looked once out of the sheltered Cove.

Today I’ve remembered everything, including my repaired Multimat floor pad. All you need is to get into a routine. And as I set off towards the Cove’s mouth the TXL definitely has its glide on. I have two hours before the tide turned and the wind with it, but right now the boat felt great. I even remembered to pull up my knees straps, and felt nicely connected between the TXL and my paddle blades

Towards Mupe Rocks I had the odd sensation of offshore waves bouncing off the cliffs – it made getting close tricky. I see on an online marine chart (below) the seabed drops off quickly here so the swell just rolls in and boings back out.
They say there’s a petrified tree here somewhere – or ‘Fossil Forest’ in over-heated tourist-speak. But I learn later it’s by a path on the cliff top where there are also periodic radars (left) and other sinsiter MoD installations.

Mupe Rocks turn out to be rather ordinary remnants of fallen cliff, not like the gleaming white chalk stacks I paddled last week near Old Harry. With no interesting arches or caves, I thread about but they’re a bit disappointing.

Seaweed streams reassuringly eastwards with the rising tide, and as I round the corner Mupe Bay opens up, revealing half a dozen moored sailing boats. Behind them rise the steep chalk cliffs which you can see for miles down the coast.

Mupe Bay and Warbarrow, a day or two later.

I wonder about putting ashore at a gap in the cliffs called Arish Mell because I can. But perhaps I can’t, even in August, if I have interpreted the map warnings correctly.
Behind the beach I spot some huts, shipping containers, pickups and activity. As it is, my equilibrium is disturbed by some strangely large waves rolling in across the middle of otherwise calm Warbarrow Bay. A submarine shelf? They’re not crashing ashore as far as I can see, but I decide to stay out in the Bay.

Turns out Arish Mell is off limits 24/7/365, using the proven UXO gambit which didn’t seem to be bothering the chappies ashore today.
Another possible reason may be that from around 1959-1990 give or take, ‘slightly radioactive effluent’ was piped out here from the former Winfrith nuclear research facility a few miles away near Wool. They’ve been decommissioning Winfrith ever since and we should be grateful that with much effort they saw fit to extend the outfall pipeline two miles out to sea. You can see the pipe on that marine chart above. Coincidentally, this week Japan started doing the same thing at the damaged Fukushima reactor, raising the ire of Chinese seafood enthusiasts. Meanwhile, this well-produced 1959 Atomic Energy Authority promotional film describing the pipeline project seems very proud of itself.

So I set course for the conical headland of Warbarrow Tout at the far end of the Bay. The sinister waves subside and something else changes: the TXL glides across the smooth surface effortlessly as I am able to draw a long, slow, kayak-like paddle cadence, not the usual thankless spinning.
Later the GPS data revealed the combination of windless conditions and the Multimat helped the raft skim along at up to 6.2kph or 3.8mph. I’m not sure it’s ever sailed that fast so, even aided by the final hour of a modest, metre-high tide, that’s quite impressive.

Actually, I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Although I seemed reluctant to admit it at the time, the first time I tested the TXL with the Multimat in the Summer Isles, the evidence was right there (left), even if it wasn’t night and day.

As I neared the Tout I was anticipating some sort of disturbance from an eddy being pushed out by the eastern hook of the Bay. Sure enough, the TXL passed over a patch of incongruous clapotis without breaking it’s stride, but as I moved on past Pondfield Cove (a mini Lulworth) something changed again – the boat seemed to slow to a crawl. The coastline was creeping along but a check the GPS only registered a slightly slower speed.

As usual with winds, other anomalous currents and flotillas of irate pirates, I wondered if this would set in or get worse all the way to Kimmeridge, with get-offs but no take-outs along the way. I decided to carry on below the Gad Cliffs to the prominent Wagon Rock and if nothing changed, I’d turn back and walk out to Tyneham.

Gad Cliffs. Dorset’s cubist Mount Rushmore

But by Wagon Rock the countercurrent had subsided and the GPS later showed I resumed the steady 6kph pace. Sea paddling alone an inappropriate boat makes you more alert to minute changes in conditions which a sea kayak would carve through with barely a shrug. I later wondered if it was possible the eddy from the hook formed by Warbarrow Tout could draw back or suck in a current ‘beyond’ itself, as shown below. Who can fathom the mysteries of fluid dynamics.

Beyond Wagon Rock the grey sweep of Brandy Bay‘s oily shale cliffs plunged down to the sea. Up ahead I was reassured by the sight of Clavell Tower, just 3km away, marking the far side of Kimmeridge Bay. Less comforting was the breaking water between me and it: the ledges of Broad Bench spotted when I paddled the Igla here a few weeks ago. It would be alarming to have one of these rise up on you out of the blue (below).

As always, the solution to such unpredictable seaside disturbances was to paddle further out, even if the instinct (and interest) was to hug the shore. I aimed for the distant St Adhelm’s Head and safely rounded the churning maelstrom of Broad Bench, with the bedrock visible a few feet below. That done, the crossing was in the bag and I worked my way towards the beach where crowds were streaming down to the shore with their dogs. Nine clicks covered in less than two hours from Lulworth. Not bad.

A few weeks ago we walked the coast from Tyneham on a very windy day. At low tide the ledges at Brandy were a froth of white foam (above). Today, walking back 4km to Tyneham, the Long Ebb shelf delineating Hobarrow Bay was already emerging from the retreating tide. Looking back I was reminded the nearby big shelf (left) behind Broad Bench was worth a nose about for fossils or dubloons, even if MoD poles discourage this and you can only access it by boat. It’s one for next time.

Midday and Tyneham car park is already packed. Another section of the Jurassic ticked off or recce’d for another pass. Hopefully there’ll be a chance to do the 6km from Kimmeridge to Chapmans Pool before we roll up for the winter. That will leave the two points of St Adhelms and Durlstone for the next caaalm day.

TXL; Packrafting Old Harry (Swanage)

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On Google Maps an ebbing tide spins out an eddy of sand out into Swanage Bay.

Swanage to Studland past the Pinnacles is one local paddle I don’t mind repeating. In normal conditions it’s the most dramatic, easy paddle I know on the Jurassic Coast, sheltered as it is from the Channel swells. Today I’m going to make a loop of it: packraft round to Studland and walk back to Swanage over the downs (map left). All up about 11km which should be doable in the 4 hours I’ve put in the meter.

It’s always further than it looks to the north corner of Swanage Bay at Ballard Point, so I sit back and let the wind do the work. But apart from the odd gust, it doesn’t feel like 12mph – like sailors say, it’s either never enough or too much. GPS recordings later reveal no records were broken.

Around here I was expecting to top up or ‘temper’ the TXL’s sagging hull with the handpump once the air inside had cooled down and softened following 20 minutes immersion (as explained on the previous outing).
But remembering the Multimat floor mat this time, there was no tell-tale crease in the TXL’s sidetubes, even with a slow leak I noticed at the beach from one of the mat’s seams (left). So the mat must do the job in supporting the hull, even if, sat higher, I felt a bit wobbly on setting off. The mat’s not been left out in the sun, let alone sat on since I filled it in advance, but I’m not surprised a leak has sprung, with probably more to come; I-beams are weak under pressure but it’s a necessarily lightweight design that still weighs nearly a kilo. You pump the mat up as firm as you dare, otherwise what’s the point; I must have gone a bit far. I’ve picked up similar, wide, I-beam seats from Anfibio with the same damage; all easily repaired with quick wipe of Aquasure sealant.
I know it would need a stronger pump (like my K-Pump Mini), but, despite added cost and probably weight, a 2-3 inch thick dropstitch floor mat – either TPU or nylon – would be a more durable floor mat. The AE Packlite+ packrafts use them.

Round the corner the wind eddies out and drops a bit, and up ahead the big spiked pinnacle is still such a surprise I initially mistake it for a big moored yacht. You’d think I know by now. A couple of sea kayakers are heading the other way, into the tide and breeze. They’re curious about the sail and raft.

I admire their sleek, water slicing craft. I’ve just finished reading Moderate Becoming Good Later, Toby Carr’s attempt to kayak in the 31 Shipping Forecast zones (right) before he succumbed to cancer in early 2022, aged just 40.
He pushes himself hard, starting with Iceland, a lap of some Faroes, out to Utsire island 40km off Norway and the full coast of Galicia [Biscay, Fitzroy], as well Bishops Rock lighthouse beyond the Scillies [Plymouth, Sole, Fastnet, Lundy] before his health collapses.

He reached some amazing places and it reminded me what a uniquely effective boat the modern sea kayak is in experienced hands. Combine today’s lightweight composite materials with inexpensive GPS tracking, satellite comms and ever more accurate forecasts, and radical paddles like the ones listed above become possible if you have the nerve, the strength and the wits to know when to wait it out.

But I’m bobbing along in a packraft, also a great tool for more amphibious adventuring. More kayaks come through, including some SoTs and all clearly unpatriotic types disinterested in how England’s women might be doing in today’s World Cup Final. Luckily we can look forward to days of analysis and debate when we get back ashore.
As I near Old Harry I tuck the sail under the deckbag and wait for some paddle boarders to squeeze through on their knees before threading all the arches I can; there must be over half a dozen here, not all full or wide enough for the TXL at the current tide level.

As this news report from a few weeks ago shows, it doesn’t always end well for paddle boarders taking the 1.2-mile run from Studland beach to Old Harry’s. But at least the guy rescued after 7 hours was wearing a PFD which I rarely see among paddle boarders. It’s just never become a custom, same as with Thames rowers. I don’t get it myself but maybe the lack of required clobber is part of iSUPing’s appeal. It is of course easy to crawl back aboard so out at sea – always a sketchy idea – an ankle leash is probably more important.

That done, all that remains is a paddle along the northern lee of Ballard Downs to a busy beach all of 6 feet wide, pack up and a walk back over the Downs to Swanage.

Looking back north from Ballard Downs to Studland Bay and the entrance to Poole harbour.

Turn round and Swanage Bay lies up ahead.

Anfibio TXL • Dancing Ledge & Sea Caves

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Anfibio TXL Index Page

A winter storm sweeps the cliffs of Dancing Ledge

You wait weeks for a calm, sunny day to come along – and then one does. So in my back pocket I had a modest sea excursion planned for the TXL: the cliffs and caves west of Dancing Ledge.
It’s a mile’s walk from Langton Matravers village across the fields to the coast where the downs drop steeply to the former Portland stone quarry. From Swanage, about three miles to the east, Dancing Ledge is the first of the few sea access points along this cliff-bound Jurassic Coast.

At low tide the lower, natural ledge is revealed, making getting in and out relatively easy. But to reach it you still have to scramble down a small cliff (below). It was easier to chuck the packraft backpack down before descending after it. Alone, rolled up or inflated, getting this far with an IK would be a struggle. This is why we like packrafts – and sea-going packrafts, so much the better.

The point where you scramble down overlooks the Bathing Pool (below). It was blasted out of the rock in the late 1800s by the strict headmaster of the local Durnford school in Langton. Pupils then trotted off to the pool each morning for the character-building ritual of ‘strip and swim’, but with a now reduced risk of being swept out to sea.
Decades later, James Bond author Ian Fleming attended the Durnford prep school and endured various torments before moving on to the more benign, towel-flicking environs of Eton. Unsurprisingly his Dorset years left a deep impression and later he named his 007 hero after a prominent Purbeck family, the Bonds of nearby Creech Grange. By 1999, when Bond 007 filmmakers had run out of Fleming’s dozen book titles, they chose ‘Non Sufficit Orbis’ or The World Is Not Enough, starring Pierce Brosnan. It was claimed as 007’s family coat of arms in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, published in 1963, but was also the real Purbeck Bonds’ 16th-century motto.

Back by the sea, even with wind speeds forecast at a lowly ‘4mph’ there was no balmy flat calm today, but that’s just the way it probably is with the wide open Atlantic to the west. Portland Bill or even nearby St Adhelm’s Head don’t do much to reduce the oceanic fetch driven by weeks of wind and squalls.

While setting the boat up I find today’s #ForgottenItem was the floor pad (left), which I was wanting to try again, despite being not entirely convinced. Two up, as we did near Skye last year, meant reduced legroom, but solo with my centrally positioned weight, I still like to think it will limit hull droop and floor sag to improve paddling response.

Alone, these exposed sea cliff paddles make me quite nervous, and a regular-sized packraft like my old Alpackas or Rebel would feel unnerving. The TXL’s 2.8-metre length reduces that impression with less pitching, but I never fully relaxed today, so was happy it was only a mile to Seacombe inlet at which point I could get out and walk back if I wanted.
Away from Dancing Ledge things calmed down a bit or I just get used to them, but elsewhere I needed to keep an eye seaward as bigger waves rose up.

With my old MRS Nomad S1, I learned that with longer, high-volume packrafts like a TXL, no matter how hard you pump them up with warm, ambient air, after 10 minutes out on cooler water, a crease develops midway along the side tubes as the air in the hull cools and contracts and the boat effectively loses a few fractions of psi. Though beginners might worry they have a slow leak, this is normal with inflatables.
Ashore, I made use of Bond’s Pool of Torment (said to be the next film title) to pre-cool the TXL but knew it wouldn’t really work. Flooding the inflated boat for a few minutes is probably the answer. A little hand pump can only pack in, say, 2 psi at 18°C. Any more air forced in may burst the pump or stress the boat’s seams if done too often. But once part submerged by my weight on 12°C sea water, the hull cools and drops to, say, 1.8psi. It won’t get any lower, but it’s enough to lose its edge and means the boat paddles less efficiently. We can’t be having that!

In my heightened state of anxiety at paddling a new, exposed locale, I was pleased to see a lobster boat passing my way (above). Later on I catch up and and meet the Chatty Fisherman. For a while I was worried the tide might turn before I got to drag myself away, but, Purbeck born and bred, he was a local quarryman who used his summer hols to snag a few lobsters and had lots to say about everything, including reduced catches of late.
“We used to get hundreds [of lobsters] here before the seas got warmer. Now I barely get a handful.”

There was no place to hop off and top up the boat, though I could always flip round in the seat and do it on the water. That said, I wonder if longer packrafts like TXLs could benefit from repositioning the inflation valve closer to the central seat, like my old Incept K40 solo IK. The MRS Nomad had the valve on the bow, which was handy. I suppose this might make expelling the air on rolling up more difficult, but we now have mini pumps with reverse suction settings, making valve position immaterial. With a passenger or another paddler alongside, on-water topping up is less of an issue, but had I thought it through before adding the second skeg patch, I could have glued it at the other end, as the TXL is symmetrical but then is the bow bag tabs would be at the back. So halfway down one side would be better, Anfibio.

I paddle onward. Most of the caves have too much intermittent swell rolling in to get close, but one twin-mouthed cavern (above) looks like it could be safely threaded in the nippy TXL without me getting lifted by a sneaky swell and knocking myself out on the cave’s roof.

Further west I see a few people wandering about on the foreshore ledges, announcing the inlet at Seacombe, another old quarry. As I get near, I line myself up to get lifted by a wave and dropped onto a ledge. It ought to be easy but ends up a bit of a bundle. Before I can climb out I get sucked backwards into another wave, which drops onto the boat. But though it looks ungainly, timing isn’t that crucial in a stable packraft that’s easy to hop out of quickly. Lord knows how a sea kayak would manage. Up on the ledge I drain the TXL before flipping it back over and giving it a few jabs of the handpump so it’s pinging firm again.

Putting back in, I’m alarmed to see my skeg lying on the rocks. My to-and-fro landing must have dislodged it. It is for moments like these (or, more commonly, distractions while packing up) that I wrapped it in hi-viz yellow and black tape. Had I lost it, the downwind paddle back would have been a bit squirrely, giving me something new to worry about until I realised the cause. Passing the twin-mouth cave I threaded earlier, the tide is already too high to repeat the stunt.

By the time I returned, Dancing Ledge was packed with day-trippers including groups of coasteering wetsuit-clad kids. They inched along the ledges, swam across cave mouths, and then clambered up to a narrow ledge to jump in. The next group was already lined up to follow so it all looked a bit sketchy and congested with just two guides for over a dozen kids (turns out it c a n be), but I bet they all loved it.

‘Beyonsaaaay! (or whatever kids shout these days).

As had happened so many times, a spell on the water without incident calmed the nerves. So I continue past the Dancing take-out and cast a wistful glance eastwards. It was only 2.5 miles, or an hour or so with the tide and wind and cliffs to the Isle of Purbeck’s southeast corner at Durlston Head, before a more sheltered turn northward to Swanage, another mile away. One for the next ‘calm’ day perhaps.

Anfibio Plus(+) fabric
Checking out Anfibio’s TXL page later, I see they’re offering the option of the TXL and similar long/double models in chunkier Plus (+’) fabric. It’s only 17% heavier but 80% more tear-resistant, depending on how you measure that, but costs only €70 extra. It looks like it might be similar to floor fabric or comparable with Alpacka’s much more expensive Vectran option.

Anfibio don’t fully explain why they’re now offering thicker Plus(+) fabric; has the standard proved a bit less durable? I admit Anfibio do focus a bit too much on the ultra lightweight side of things which, alone in a single-skinned inflatable, is not wholly where my priorities float.
From my experience with stiffer PVC IKs versus more flexible rubber kayaks, I do wonder if a Plus(+) TXL or similar might be more rigid on the water without the need to pack it full of air. It may even exclude the need for the 900-g floor pad. Along with what I estimate to be a <500g weight penalty, I imagine a Plus(+) TXL will roll up less compactly, but other than that it’s something worth looking into.

Quick-deflate seat
While I was never a fan of the mushy, twist-lok stem valves on the early Alpackas, I’m not a huge fan of the sprung, one-way inflation valves Anfibio use on their seats and backrests. Great for easy inflation and holding high pressures, but a pain to deflate when packing up; you have to jam a fingernail in the valve and scrunch the seat while it ever so slowly deflates. At least with an old twist-loks you could suck the air out. And anyway, you don’t need full pressure in a seat. Far from it.
There was talk of Anfibio modifying the seat valves for easy deflation but it’s not happened yet. Now the TXL is my sole packboat, I’m minded to set it up well. I failed to find anything other than Boston valves online. They’d work of course and will dump air really fast, but are a bit OTT and would need gluing in properly.

I had a spare dry bag with a neat twist lock valve a bit like Thermarest sleeping pad valves. But marrying it to the chopped off sprung one-way valve in the seat was tricky to do neatly. So I managed to do it not neatly (above left) with a bit of clear tube and lashings of Aquasure. Unfortunately the tube is narrow which slows things down or increases effort; win-lose. For the moment it works; I can unscrew the valve and roll up the huge seat, purging the air as I go. Looking back on this dramatic episode, next time I’ll just cut a hole and glue in a Boston valve (left) which are easily found online for under a tenner.

Igla 410: The Kimmeridge Ledges

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Eastwards from near Tyneham Cap: Kimmeridge Bay and the Ledges beyond on a very windy day

We took a lovely evening walk along the Purbeck coast east of Kimmeridge Bay, where for millennia the bands of bituminous shale have been burned or squeezed for their oil, like Kalamata olives. Good page here on Kimmeridge and its geology over the eons.

There’s even a lone oil well nearby (right), nodding away incongruously since 1959 in a pastoral Purbeck idyll that inspired Enid Blyton’s Famous Five adventures which I devoured like Opal Mints in the Sixties. Blyton holiday’d for two decades in nearby Swanage and elements of some distinctive Dorset icons, like Corfe Castle, find themselves transposed onto her book covers (left). There’s even an Enid Blyton Trail, which lists Kimmeridge.

East of the bay are the notorious Kimmeridge Ledges, submarine clay or dolomite beds which reach out to sea a few hundred metres. With the right sort of swell or wind (top of the page and below, a week or so later) they can catch out unwary paddlers with waves suddenly rising up and breaking far from the shore.

Windy day looking east across Kimmeridge Bay to the jetty below the Clavell Tower

Our evening walk coincided with low tide and calm conditions exposing parts of the ledges. They’re said to be rich in fossils and over the decades a local has collected enough to fill a museum in nearby Kimmeridge village.
We walked as far as the outlook over Egmont Point where the path turns inland on its way to Chapman’s Pool, just before St Alban’s Head (below).

Chapman’s Pool, just before St Alban’s Head

To reach Kimmeridge Bay you continue past the village onto a private toll road to a huge car park with a daytime cafe. On both visits no one was at the toll booth which saved a few quid.
The east end of the bay has a handy slipway. What a luxury it is to drive down to the sea’s edge and pop the kayak straight into the water to let it cool down and soften up. The high tide was just on the turn, but out here away from the headlands, the effect of any tidal current is probably minimal compared to the wind.

I’ve got into the habit of opening the two side PRVs and airing down the floor a bit at the end of a paddle for the drive home. Providing it’s not baking hot, I paddle with the PRVs closed which keeps the boat as rigid as a stick. Today I realised you can’t top up with a push-pull barrel pump stood in the boat on the water; you need to drag it all back ashore to stand on the ‘stirrups’. It takes just a few strokes to fully inflate the Igla back to 0.25 / 0.5 bar.

Round the corner the south easterly feels a bit more than the predicted 8mph. Perhaps the tall cliffs channel and accelerate the wind along their face. At least it should make for a good sail back.

Heading southeast, I can’t help but feel a bit exposed out here; open sea to the right, rocky beach below a steep, crumbling cliff to the left, and lethal ledges lurking ahead. But away from the corner the seas settle down a bit. The Igla cuts through the headwind at around 3mph.

Nearer the cliffs the water turns green over the clay ledges not far below. But bigger waves rise up occasionally so I prefer to stay out which means I see less. As there are no sea caves to paddle into on this stretch and no skerries to paddled around, in a packboat I decide this unusual area might be more interesting to explore at low tide. You can easily hop in and out of an IK or packraft and wander across the ledges which few people ever access, looking for ammonites and other curiosities. Next time I’ll know.

Otherwise, with linear cliff paddles, in a kayak this Jurassic Coast can be all or nothing. You either commit yourself to a full run to the next normal take-out, or go somewhere and come back.
It’s only 3.6 miles to Chapman’s Pool, but I wasn’t ready for that today. As it is, once there, with a 4-metre boat on your head it’s an unrealistic take-out up a 400-foot climb over a mile to the nearest parking.
It’s the same at the next possible take-out at Dancing Ledge. We checked that out on midsummer’s eve. In calm conditions it’s an easy enough landing providing the lower ledge is exposed, but you’d then need ropes to haul an IK, either inflated or rolled up, up a 15-foot scramble (left) before another steep walk up to Langton village via Spyways Barn. One for a packraft noseabout on the next calm day.

As it is, Dancing Ledge is on the far side of St Alban’s Head where the tide can kick up a bit (left). Good timing and some nerve are required, even if a kayak can tuck in close to the shore just outside the race. This is why Mark R says in his South West Sea Kayaking book. [Kimmeridge to Swanage is 19km and …] “… a commiting trip with big tides races and few opportunities to land. This also happens to be the author’s local (and favourite) paddle.”

Back to the present. Lured by a curious triangle jutting up from the stones, I park up on a narrow beach and hop out for a bit on a look around.
At ordinarily inaccessible spots like this you’re bound to find something interesting.

Like a beached red plastic ‘fake clinker’ dinghy.

Anywhere near seaweed there are masses of aggressive ‘sea-horse’ flies. The other week nearby Weymouth beach was blanketed in this kelp which soon started rotting during the hottest month ever. ‘Clear it away! cried the holidaymakers. ‘Stop your whining; it’s a natural phenomenon!’ responded the local council. ‘Get a grip‘ suggested Springwatcher General Chris Packham. Buckets and spades were flying and Trip Advisor turned molten with rage.

“This decision [to ignore the seaweed] supports our commitment to preserving the ecosystem’s integrity and avoiding any potential harm that may arise from interfering with its natural course.” chirped the council unconvincingly. A week or two later later they caved in and cleared the beach. Honestly, it’s just one scandal after another these days.

Compared to northwest Scotland, I’m surprised how little fishing detritus there is here. Are southern fisher-folk more tidy? I help that effort by snagging a superb, self-draining crayfish crate-bench to add to my collection.

I approach the mysterious shark’s fin.

It looked like the upper half of a retractable drop skeg (fixed rudder) with its mounting plate, similar to kits you can buy for hardshell sea kayaks, except it weighed several tons, not a few ounces. Presumably it was off some old wreck. I don’t know if early steel ships had these or how they were used, but if that’s what this is, it’s the right way up with the lower half of the skeg buried in the stones.

You can see the pivot pin up front. A cable might have winched it up and down. But then any ship that size would obviously have a rudder. Who knows.

I wondered if the fin might be part of the SS Treveal which broke in two on the ledges about 1.5 miles southeast of here in January 1920. The Belfast-built steamer was on the return leg of its maiden voyage from Calcutta to Dundee, and had left Portland earlier that day where someone observed that the too northerly heading was inauspicious.
Most of the 46 crew drowned when their lifeboats capsized near the shore. It’s said the tug which came to salvage the cargo also sank alongside. There’s no trace of the Treveal now, even on marine charts and wreck maps. But how do you dispose of a 5000-ton steamer snapped in two? Bit by bit I suppose.

It’s hard to think subsequent storms could have washed that huge hunk of angular steel a mile and a half to the base of this cliff. More probably it was placed there. There’s more on the SS Treveal on Jim West’s geological pages here (scroll to the bottom of the long page).

I wander into a nearby cave, perhaps excavated during the ‘Blackstone’ mining era.

Inside I see just how friable this oily shale is. I can easily peel bits off.

Underneath Silurian millipedes inhabit the tiny cracks, feeding off microbes that feed off the oil. Probably.

Time to head back. I’m all fired up for a good sail with the tide.

Benign, weed-covered ledges lurk not far below. On the far horizon the chalk cliffs of Mupe Bay, just next to Lulworth Cove. Might try there next, but the army firing ranges restrict weekday access. Living about six miles away, we’ve been hearing machine gun fire all week; Ukrainian soldiers getting trained for the front line.

I throw up the sail but it’s not happening. I creep along at barely 2mph. Maybe I’m to far out (left) and the wind got intensified near the cliffs.

I paddle back to the corner of Kimmeridge Bay…

And carry on to the other side where waves are breaking off Broad Bench ledge. On the left horizon is Portland Bill dangling below kelp-clad Weymouth.

I turn back to the jetty, de-air the Igla a bit and strap it to the car roof.

And though I haven’t really earned it today, I treat reward myself to a seaside seafood basket by the seashore.

Igla 410 • Sailing Poole Harbour

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Zelgear Igla 410 Index Page

For the last fortnight the Wessex skies have been clear, and warm winds have blown from the east. After six months in the garage I finally get round to taking the Igla for a day out. Hard to believe I’ve only been out in the Zelgear IK once in mid-winter.
A closer look at the south side of Poole Harbour is the plan, and a 25-minute drive drops me off just before the Sandbanks ferry inlet which we crossed last year in packrafts.

The tide was inbound and the forecast 13mph from the east, rising later and with gusts predicted at twice that according to some sources. Ideal for some downwind sailing action! The plan was to explore as much of the Harbour’s southern shore as wind, curiosity, energy and draught would allow.

The 0.25 bar hull has been inflated for six months and lost a little pressure. I’d fully deflated the removable 0.5 bar DS floor and refitting it, decided a quick squirt of **303** anti-UV lube underneath and on the ‘horns’ would help it slide snugly into the correct position.

I sawed off a bit of **12cm drainpipe** to make a bigger footrest tube for my bigger feet. (Original Zelgear footrest tube on the right).

I also found a way to fit my packraft ‘transverse bowsprit’ using ever handy Rovaflex straps.

It’s only a two-minute carry through the trees from road to beach, but requires passing through the ‘TPZ’ or toilet paper zone.

I drop my lunch into the boat. It’s going to be a hot paddle. At the back, Brownsea Island.

Oo-er, the Igla (‘Needle’) feels a tad wobbly, but then it’s an IK not a packraft. I deflate the seat with the handy twist-valve tube until I’m just resting on the DS floor. That’s better and once hooked into the cushy knee straps I feel secure and snug. The Igla’s seat is by far the most comfortable IK seat I’ve tried. It doesn’t have to be complicated or heavy.

Like a migrating gannet, I venture forth in search of the wind.

I glide past the southern cliffs of Green Island. Signs discourage landing. Nearby chaps are doing tight circles in small dinghies, dredging or fishing for something. Not knowing the landmarks yet, I keep having to refer to my Garmin’s OS map to go the right way.

Right now I’m reading We, the Navigators; The Ancient Art of Landfinding in the Pacific by David Lewis (1972, open source pdf). In it he explains how Oceania (or Micronesia, Melanesia and Polynesia) were populated by intrepid Asian seafarers – contrary to what the famous Kon Tiki expedition sought to prove. Some had mastered the art of navigating hundreds of miles of open Pacific without any kind of instruments, memorising instead a combination of stars (rising and setting points were like compass bearings) as well as prevailing winds and waves, refracted swells from unseen islands and unseen currents (flying fish always jump down-current; fyi). Travelling with the incredulous author, after days at sea aged South Sea navigators regularly found a tiny pin-prick of an island bang on time.
It’s a fascinating topic but the book focuses purely on the techniques, rather than the adventures they all clearly shared for months. David Lewis’s earlier book, Daughters of the Wind (catamaran from UK to NZ via Cape Horn with young family) may be a more engaging read, and was a voyage on which Lewis practised the instrument and chart-free techniques he later documented in the Navigators.

It’s blowing nowhere near 13mph and when the wind drops or I turn off it, one twist of the sail and it tucks easily under a foot, ready for redeployment in seconds. The system works very well.

We cycled a trail along the southern shore the other day, branching up to the harbour at a cottage on Ower Bay. From there I couldn’t work out what the wooded island was to the NW. Turns out it’s the south end of Round Island. Sgurr nan Cruinn, that might be in Gaelic.

I rounded the southern end of Round Island, passing more dinghymen doing full-lock burn-outs. There’s the long jetty as shown on maps. On the left the mainland shore of Arne.

I ride up past Shipstal Point, one of the few points where footpaths reach the sea. A couple of SoT’s are beached up ahead, including a Sandbanks Style Optimal which I tested here a couple of years back. They’re going to have a rum old haul eastwards back to Sandbanks against the rising wind.

I’m not wearing my glasses so don’t see the low spit of Patchams Point until I’m right on it.
I have to turn east into the wind to get round it, scattering Oyster Catchers as I go. The taut Igla responds well.

I pull over to inspect that state of regeneration and other incisive environmental initiatives. Soon I’ll pass Russel Quay where we put in the packraft the other day. I’m hoping for a good run with the wind towards the Frome river mouth.

I get it but it’s not the high speed thrill I was hoping for. Plus it’s blowing me west, when I need to be going southwest. One flaw with my bowsprit idea is the lack of slack reduces the angle you can pull the WindPaddle to steer off the wind, especially when it’s not very strong.

The wind picks up, or get its fetch on at the downwind end of the Harbour. I’ve squeezed all the west i could from the wind and must now turn south. So I stow the sail and paddle a crosswind pushing me towards ancient stakes and into the reeds.

I follow a boat into the hidden river mouth and, with the wind now up to 20mph, I can sail a lot of the river’s meanders the two miles west to Wareham Quay.

With the wind whistling through the rigging, I hear a ‘Bloody hell, wow…’. It’s a moored boater expressing surprise as my kayak sails by as close to the 4-knot limit. I learned a new sailing trick: to micro steer the boat drag a left hand in the water to bring the bow round to the left. It worked well zig-zaging up the Frome.

Like a Polynesian master navigator, after my ten-mile traverse of the Harbour, I sail right up to the Quay…

.. casually hop out, and look around for my taxi.

IK or packraft, I wonder to myself. Environment or geography (as well as intended use) help define the best suited packboat. My TXL would have managed this outing fine, if a tad slower, but it sure is nice when the Igla slices through the water, either under sail or into the wind. The problem in this corner of Dorset is, once one tires of noisy, busy, drab but safe Poole Harbour, apart from Swanage (below), getting the inflated 17kg IK down to the exposed Jurassic Coast in suitable conditions is a bit of a faff, even with wheels, let alone getting back out and closing the loop with cars in place. You may as well use hardshells. That’s why I chose the long but still light TXL packraft.
Down here I’m not straying out to islands where speed and efficiency are important. For plain old calm-weather mainland coast hugging, a large packraft does the job and enables public transport, an easy scramble ashore followed by a walk back. But for an effortless coastal tour with plenty of room for two, the Igla has its benefits. It’ll easily paddle at 8kph on a breeze too light to hold up a sail and that’s an extra 30% more speed or so less sustained effort over a few hours.

TXL • Packraft Sailing Poole Harbour

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Anfibio TXL Index Page
See also: Sailing Across Poole Harbour (IK)

Holy moly, end of May and first paddle of the year? It’s been a busy winter and the arm’s been playing up so time to break in with an easy packraft across a back corner of Poole Harbour, our locale for the summer.
Sailing Russel Quay back to Wareham with the tide and the wind sounded like a good one – a mile’s walk + 5 on the water. Although it clashes with our hitherto pristine eco credentials, we have two cars down here, so we leave one in town and the other at Arne.

Teetering on the edge of Open Access land.

This whole area south of the Harbour is a largely undeveloped heathland with rare wildlife and part of an RSPB ‘super reserve’. On the day the famous BBC Springwatch crew were installed for a fortnight or more, motion sensing cameras probing various nests and burrows. Thick power cables lined our track leading up north to the put in near long gone Russel Quay. I’m not fully sure it was a right of way. Dodging irate English Nimbies is going to take some practice after the freedom of the Scottish northwest coast we became accustomed to.
But ironically this area also has the biggest knot of land-based oil wells in western Europe. They’re the small, nodding donkey type, not towering rigs but a couple of months ago one of the pipelines sprung a leak in Ower Bay near the processing plant on the less accessible south shore. Luckily it wasn’t an Exxon Valdez event and at higher tides there could be some good packboat exploring in this inlet-rich area. It’s all we’ll have here bar the more exposed Jurassic Coast.

Not exactly the Summer isles, but it’ll have to do. You don’t get a May week of 20°C+ and full sun up there.

I try to remember what to do and in what order.

Note the water skier. With my typical ‘let’s-wing-it’ lack of due diligence, we’d stumbled on one of the few ‘PWC’ zones on Poole Harbour. (The link’s map is missing but may be what’s at the top of the page.)

Well, stood at the shore it looked like a good north-easterly for a while.

OMG, more menacing water-hoons! It’s a bank holiday Sunday and turns out we were right on their sole permitted skiing corridor. RTFM!

Once on the water there’s barely enough wind to blow out a scented candle from Purbeck Handicrafts.

But according to the GPS, paddling most of the time we did momentarily zip along with the tide.

As it is, tides in the Harbour have quite a prolonged high water period which will be useful. This is a spring tide in a few days.

We should have just cruised close to the shore where motorboats fear to tread. Next time we’ll know.
Near Gigger’s Island we pass a motionless hardsheller, like a heron deep in thought.

Without my GPS, first time finding the Frome river entrance would have been tricky.
Soon impenetrable reeds line the banks, our speed drops and pot-bellied boaters cruise by at 4 knots.
I can see this 2.5-mile river stretch might soon become a chore at the end of a long paddle and an ill tide.

Never get out of the boat? We couldn’t if we tried, but near the river mouth there’s a small jetty and a track back to town. Good to know but with an IK, I’ll need some wheels.

That night we catch a bit of Springwatch on the iPlayer but, as expected, I can stomach the hyper-saturated, happy-clappy ‘Phil & Holly of Wildlife’ for only so long. It’s the final finale of Succession – what are we waiting for!?
A probing bike recce of the south shore is needed. More Poole Harbouring to come.

Packraft Sailing with MRS Barracuda

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It took just one outing with old mate/new packchum Phil to recognise the appeal of packraft sailing. My old WindPaddle Adv 2 was able to haul us both out to the Teign estuary with little effort.

A few clicks online and a 99-euro Anfibio PackSail (same as the defunct WP) got jammed in his letterbox. With a chilly offshore wind blowing off the south Cornish coast, Phil launched his 12-foot long R2 Barracuda Pro from a handy RIB and set off for Brittany.

The combination of the Barracuda’s kayak-long waterline, light weight and the 1.3-m diameter sail soon got the MRS skimming along at nearly 10kph.
That switched to -0kph as he turned round into the 30kn gusts and tried to paddle back to shore. Time to hail down the water uber.

After the Gale: Packrafting with the Teignmouth Beast

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An old mate got in touch to tell me he’d bought himself a top-of-the-range MRS R2 Barracuda Pro and heck, even my packrafting book. He’s in Devon and I was in Dorset so I suggested we meet up for a Yuletide splash-about. Back in the day we were desert bikers; now we’re packrafting pensioneers.

Like some do with a new activity, Phil had got stuck right into his MRS and had already paddled to Dartmouth with his Brompton bike (left), something over in Norfolk, then scared himself further up the rain-swollen Dart from Buckfastleigh to Totnes, noting ‘it’s amazing how dangerous the big branches [and fallen trees] are…’

Tell me about it. If it’s not weirs or camo-&-beard anglers spitting poison darts, it’s deadly sweepers blown down by winter storms. I never quite got round to doing the Dart in my fearless prime, such as it was, but I hear in winter it’s one of the Southwest’s whitewater classics – a bit serious for me now. We settled on the Teign out of Newton Abbot with our respective bangers parked at either end.

If nothing else, we ought to have a good backwind. The previous night had peaked at around 50mph, but by dawn it was tailing off to half that, with the usual gusts at +50%, single-digit temps and showers. A good day for a drysuit and a stable packraft.

Some quick stats on Phil’s noire ‘cuda: 3.6m x 99 wide with 217cm inside and up to 7.6kg with the removable deck, two seats and internal storage, all for a hefty £1750. Compared to my TXL, it’s 80cm longer or nearly 12 feet in old money; our Micra’s shorter than that! It’s also 10% wider than the TXL, about 35cm longer inside so loads of room for 2 adults. Solo/no deck it gets down to 5.6kg alongside the TXL’s 3kg.

We drove around Newton looking for parking and a put-in. Opposite the racecourse and over a broken roadside fence we found a spacious river bank just at the Teign’s tidal reach. By the time we set off we were in the middle of a 3.5-m ebb, midway between springs and neaps.
Either way, like the Frome the other day, the Teign was ripping along at a light jog and before I’d got myself untangled from my gear I was 75m downstream. I thought I’d finally got to grips with keeping it all in one bag, but Today’s Forgotten Item was my seat base [forehead slapping emoji]:
‘Gear drifts apart; the centre cannot hold. Mere forgetfulness is loosed upon the world‘. By chance I had a spare Anfibio Bouy Boy which did the job as a seat cushion.

The Barracuda has the same distinctive prow design as my old MRS Nomad which was a fast solo packraft, what MRS call StreamLine^SL. These prows take up nearly 1.5m in the R2 which explains the massive length while still having a lot of room inside the boat. There’s probably enough buoyancy for four people and a caribou calf, with room for all their gear inside the ISS hull storage.

Before we knew it we’d passed under the A380 bridge and were out in the wide tidal estuary. The predicted 20mph winds came barrelling down the channel so I couldn’t resist flipping out my WindPaddle. With the Barracuda’s mooring line clenched in my teeth I managed the sail while Phil’s phone recorded 8 knots, obviously helped by the falling tide.

There were a few forceful gusts and the fetch kicked up towards the end, but the TXL and Barracuda shrugged it all off and my transverse bow sprit (left) did a great job of steadying the straining sail. I think the MRS has wider attachment points on the bow so may not need it, but I’m sure Phil will be buying a PackSail if Anfibio can do him one in black. He did.

Things got a bit chilly out in the deeper water and I noticed my TXL was creasing a bit at the sides. It’s been so many months since I last used it I’d forgotten high-volume packrafts need a second top-up a few minutes in to get good and taut. It didn’t seem to affect speed, but like properly laced shoes, taut feels better. That’s one good thing with Phil’s black boat; it auto pressurises in the pale winter sun. While we sailed, he tucked into his lunch.

The Teign estuary is actually not too industrialised. Under the last bridge The Salty sandbank was starting to emerge from the chop and as we curved round to the river mouth the sidewind pushed us into moored craft caked in algae. At the narrow outlet a rip of bouncing clapotis was jiggling out to sea and on the beach someone was striking poses for their Insta feed.

A little over an hour for 5 and a bit miles, just about all of it sailing both boats. It was interesting to learn that the WP could sail two big boats without much loss of speed. Staggering ashore, it felt odd not to be arm knackered, but once I got over that we headed into the deserted seaside town in search of the legendary Teignmouth Beast. That’s a local XXL pasty, not the jet-black MRS Barracuda.

Inflatable Kayaks & Packrafts

Adventures with packboats

Category Archives: English South Coast

TXL+ Packrafting Beachy Head and Seven Sisters

TXL; More Jurassic Coast Packrafting

TXL; Packrafting Old Harry (Swanage)

Anfibio TXL • Dancing Ledge & Sea Caves

Igla 410: The Kimmeridge Ledges

Igla 410 • Sailing Poole Harbour

TXL • Packraft Sailing Poole Harbour

Packraft Sailing with MRS Barracuda

After the Gale: Packrafting with the Teignmouth Beast