An Ardèche Adventure

Swim it. Hmm… as well as disliking heights, I’m a terrible swimmer. A fear of water deeper than I can stand in goes back to when I almost drowned aged six. Since then, water and I have had a strained relationship. So after the obligatory instruction and safety talk, it’s with some trepidation that I clamber onto the two-man kayak, replete with safety helmet, buoyancy vest and two-bladed paddle, and set off on a two-day trip down the Ardèche River. I’ve been paired with fellow traveller Rhys who, being more experienced in aquatic adventuring than me, initially provides the paddling power at the front of the kayak. I am assigned the less physically demanding task of steering. After a few false turns, I am doing so with gusto, if not in the right direction.

Chaperoned the whole way by Phil, Mike and their good-humoured team of instructors, any fear of a watery grave is washed away as we glide down the river at a leisurely pace, allowing us time to admire and revel in the majesty of the river and the surrounding limestone rock formations.

Another adventurer, Australian John Ellway, 26, who is paddling furiously in a kayak parallel to Rhys and I, can’t get enough of the experience. “Because the river has so much flow to it, it’s not that difficult – anybody can do it,” he says later. “There are options and you can choose your course between calm water or the rapids. I think you could get away with not paddling and just steering.”

Only once or twice do I really begin to regret leaving the safety of dry land, as the kayak rocks up and down, filled almost to the brim with water, jostled by the energetic movement of the river rapids. We paddle hard to break free from the river’s embrace. Various expletives escape my mouth as the prospect of drowning increases. But then, suddenly, the water drains from the kayak through one-way valves and we are in calm currents once again, admiring the scenery.

That night we sleep in a bivouac under the stars. Arriving at the Gournier campsite we strip off our sodden clothes, while Mike gets a barbecue going. Some of us go down to the riverbank, skipping stones at sunset, and it feels good – like being a kid again. Mike’s barbecued fish, chicken and pork brochettes – all of which came with us on the river, wrapped up tight in waterproof bags – taste perfect helped down by generous amounts of red wine, coffee and late-night stories.

“Once we had a 21-year-old girl from Hove in the UK, who told us she had never been on a walk,” Phil says to guffaws all round. “But now even she’s coming back next year.