It all started in Spain. We'd had a week of quite frankly rubbish weather and I was feeling pretty miserable. A friend had messaged me to gently point out that my posts were all a bit negative and maybe I should start trying to enjoy myself. It was a fair point. So we decided in our wisdom that the solution to our holiday woes was a 12km kayak trip down the Herault Gorge. Yes, I know.
That idea started before we even got to Spain. Trying to find a campsite nearish Montpelier, and experiencing deja vu from a previous holiday nightmare, when everywhere we tried was full-up, we found ourselves a bit further out than planned, in a village called Gignac. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as it was just a few minutes from the Herault Gorge, with its beautiful Pont du Diable (Devil's Bridge), Grotte de Clamouse caves and the extremely picturesque town of St Guilhem le Desert. While exploring the area, we saw lots of people canoeing and kayaking on the river, and thought it looked like fun. There were several kayak hire centres in the town, and we briefly wondered whether it might be a nice idea to have a go. The thing is, we're not really adventure-holiday sorts of people. Pre-children, I'd had a go at horse-riding, scuba-diving and quad-biking, but post-children, going down the slide at the soft play was about as adventurous as it got. Other than a twenty-minute try-out session on the beach in Jamaica, I'd never been in a kayak in my life. Still, while sitting in our tent in Spain listening to the rain (again), it started to seem more and more like a good idea. We needed something fun, something different, something to look forward to. Something we could talk about afterwards (ha!).
We started doing a bit of research. We could choose the 4km cliff trail with no rapids, suitable for four-year-olds and older, or the 12km classic trail with a few 'straightforward and safe' rapids, suitable for six-year-olds and over. Well, if you're going to do something, do it properly, right? Dylan was six, we wanted to make a day of it and a few rapids sounded like fun. I looked through the FAQs on the website. 'Do I need to be able to swim?' 'Yes, you need to be able to swim 25m and put your head under water.' Hmmm. Dylan could swim a little bit, yes, but 25m? Er, no. But stick him in a lifejacket and he'd be fine! He was confident in water, would have no worries sticking his head under, and it wasn't like we were actually going to fall in, was it? If you haven't spotted the plot by now, I should remind you that whenever our friends have a holiday disaster, they liken it to a 'Sennett holiday', as ours are so renowned for going wrong...
We booked the classic trail. After leaving Spain, we headed back to the same campsite in Gignac and got ready for the next day. The forecast was dry and hot for the first time in a week. We bought a packed lunch for our picnic stop the next day. We re-read the list of things to bring with us. Swimwear or shorts, depending on the weather - definitely swimsuits. Waterproof jacket - er, no, I don't think so. Change of clothes - okay, they could stay in the car. Towels - hmmm, maybe bring them with us in case we're brave enough to take a dip at our picnic stop. Shoes that won't slip off - my flip-flops would be fine, surely? They were waterproof and they stayed on fairly well - I didn't really fancy wet Converse shoes...
As we sat on the bus transfer to our starting point, Lee uttered the immortal words, 'You know, this is either going to be the day that starts off our future annual kayak adventures or the one we look back at to explain why we're never going in a kayak ever again.' Yup.
Once at our starting point, we got kitted out. We were given a waterproof drum to store our belongings in - I assumed this was just to keep everything dry in case of splashes. We were given string to tie our sunglasses on - I thought this was overkill, but did it anyway. Finally, in cossie, kaftan, straw hat and lifejacket (a good look), with our lunch, towels, phone and keys in the drum, we got into our kayak. The drum was strapped in, we waded into the water to get ourselves started (thank goodness for the flip-flops!) and we were off.
It was lovely. The sun was shining down, the views were spectacular and, despite the effort needed to paddle (mostly exerted by Lee, to be fair), it was pretty relaxing. After a couple of kilometres, we came to our first rapids. We'd been warned that these ones were the worst, so I was feeling a little apprehensive. But we breezed through with barely a splash. I was glad we'd chosen the rapids trail, was glad there were more coming to liven things up, and almost wished they'd been a bit more exciting. Ha (again)!
After about 5km, we found a lovely spot to stop for lunch. Pate, brioche, beignets (okay, doughnuts) - delicious. The boys went for a little swim and I, being a wuss when it comes to cold water, managed a paddle. We soaked up the sun and reflected on how the holiday was finally looking up again. I took a couple of photos and reflected on how beautiful it was. Then we packed our stuff back into the drum and continued on our journey.
As we paddled along, the scenery becoming even more breathtaking, I commented on what a shame it was that I couldn't take any photos while we were moving. Limiting myself to our infrequent stops meant that I couldn't snap many pictures to help us reminisce about our lovely day. Eventually, we pulled over (is that the right phrase for a kayak?!) on a little beach so we could unscrew the drum and I could get my phone out. Then we got back in the kayak and I took a couple of photos from the middle of the river to get a different perspective. 'Shall we stop again so you can put your phone back in the drum?' said Lee. 'No,' I said, in my wisdom. 'Let's wait until we next stop for a break. I'll put it inside my lifejacket so it won't get splashed.' Because that's all I was worried about, of course - a couple of splashes. But inside its case, tucked underneath my waterproof lifejacket, it wasn't going to get even one drop of water on it. Oh no.
Very soon after that fateful decision, we heard the sound of rapids. We could see them ahead. They didn't look that bad - no worse than any of the others we'd been through. Hell, we knew they weren't as bad as the first ones apparently were, and they were nothing. But somehow, as we got closer, we approached from the wrong angle and managed to get swept around so that we went down backwards. Still, I wasn't worried - I'd been on rides at waterparks where my rubber ring had turned round and I'd landed backwards, and these were safe, family-sized rapids after all. We paddled furiously but hadn't quite managed to right ourselves when we came to the next bit - a narrow gap between two rocks. We tried - and failed - to fit down sideways, and eventually managed to turn ourselves round enough so that we could fit down facing forwards. But our angle was wrong. I'm still not entirely sure what happened, but we hit a rock and the next thing I knew, we were capsizing. There was that awful moment where I could feel the boat tipping up and tried to fight against it, and the next thing I knew, I was underwater.
I was at the front of the boat and couldn't see what was going on behind me. Bad mum alert: it took a minute for me to find my feet, work out I was still alive and then remember the kids - by which time, mother-tiger instinct kicked in. Luckily, father-tiger instinct had already kicked in, and Lee was trying to hold Dylan in one hand while keeping hold of the kayak with the other. Dylan was understandably terrified and shaking. I managed to take him from Lee and lift him onto the rocks, while Lee tried to stop the kayak from smashing us against said rocks. Finn, meanwhile, was completely unperturbed, and headed off down the river after our lost paddle (I'd managed to hold on to the other) and both my flip-flops - yes, yes, now I understand why they tell you to wear shoes that won't come off. It took me a while to work out that maybe it wasn't a good idea to let my nine-year-old disappear off down the river by himself, at which point I called him back. Luckily, he returned with the other paddle and my flip-flops - my hero!
Finally, we were in a position to assess our situation. Firstly, we were all alive. Secondly, none of us were too badly hurt. That was actually pretty lucky considering the weight of the kayak - the fact that neither boy got trapped underneath and none of us got our heads bashed against the rocks was pretty miraculous. My right leg wasn't quite so lucky, and had taken a bit of a battering against the rocks - now I knew we were all safe, the pain had started to kick in. Lee had also bruised his leg but the boys were remarkably unscathed, thank goodness. We concentrated on turning the kayak the right way round - easier said than done, as it was pretty heavy. Of course, it was also full of water. We attempted to ladle it out with our paddles but eventually gave up, figuring that we were pretty wet anyway, and sitting in a boat full of water wasn't going to make much difference. Thank goodness the drum had been strapped in - there it was, still attached to the kayak, all our stuff safe and dry inside. Except... my phone!!!
But what to do with my phone? I wracked my brain trying to think about what I'd read in the past about dunked phones. I thought about red wine stains and putting salt on them to soak up the moisture, and that seemed a good idea, so we went to the supermarket and bought a packet of sea salt. Back at the campsite, I took my phone out of its case and dumped it in a bowl of salt. I then, somewhat belatedly, borrowed Lee's phone to go on Facebook and ask everybody what to do with a wet phone. When I mentioned the salt, everyone was horrified - 'It's corrosive,' they said! 'Use rice' they said! Whoops. I eventually found a website with instructions. First, it said, make sure the phone is taken out of its case straightaway. Fail number one. Then remove the SIM card. Fail number two, but I did this now. It was rather wet. Not a good sign. Then remove the battery...huh? It's an iPhone! You can't remove the battery! Especially not with the limited tools we had available in our tent - removing the SIM card without that key thingy was hard enough (an earring works pretty well, though, for future reference). Eventually, I put my phone in a plastic bag full of what little rice we had left (no chilli for us that night). I left it for a few days, planning to leave it until we got home, where I could get the battery removed and see if it had dried out, before plugging it in and ruining it forever. Of course, curiosity eventually got the better of me and, figuring it was dead anyway, I plugged it in. This was no easy feat as I first had to remove a piece of rice from the socket hole. Then, like some kind of mirage, the apple sign appeared on my screen - it wasn't completely dead after all! In fact, apart from the fact that it now has a piece of rice inside it (the bit in the SIM card slot just wouldn't come out), it was just the same as it had been before, kayak photos and all.
A few pieces of advice to come from this. Never give up on your phone. Remember that something described as 'gentle' and 'suitable for six year olds' in France may not be described the same way in England. Put all your belongings in the drum when kayaking and do not remove unless on dry land. Do not wear flip-flops when travelling in a kayak. Tie your sunglasses on with string, however much it feels like overkill (I didn't lose them! Nor did I lose my hat, actually, although I'm not sure how I managed that). As for Lee's prophetic statement, we are a family divided. He thought it was a great adrenaline rush and would like to go kayaking every year. Dylan would be very happy if he never had to go near a kayak again. Me? I'm undecided. Maybe next time we'll just stick to the 4km cliff trail for four-year-olds.
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