Tag: boat

Whale of a time

One thing you need to know about me before this short tale is: I’m petrified of ice. Not ice cubes in my drink or the feeling of being cold. But ice on the ground. Ice I have to cross. Ice under my feet. If Disney ever re-made Bambi and before his first experience on the icy pond he drank a bottle of rum I’d be perfect for the casting call. I’m not sure if clumsy is the word. It’s the fact I don’t trust it and therefore my ability to walk well fails. I’ve had two nasty falls on icy pavements, one ending up in hospital, and I’ve never regained my confidence. 

Here starts my story.

In late 2015, Mr W and I were closing in on buying our first home. We had a New York trip coming up and yet felt the absolute need to book a trip for Spring 2016. Why not? It’s not like we needed the money. Or at that precise time we would be signing paperwork for said new home. I think, ultimately, it was our last trip before sh*t got real! 

As ever, I hunted down the best possible deal and booked half the trip including one excursion, hotel and flights with Icelandair and then other excursions via Viator including airport transfers. I seem to remember the pre-booking costs came to roughly £800 per person. 

March came around weekly and we hopped on the flight. We had so much leg room on the flight that it felt like the lap of luxury. We were seated in the seats just inside the airplane door, which meant other than the stewardess sitting in front of us, we had room to stretch our legs straight out. Just amazing. Especially for Mr W,he is 6ft+ and really struggles on planes. Above us the cabin lights were soft pinks, blues and greens. It was an amazing mimic of the northern lights. 

The flight from London to Reykjavik was short and sweet and it made for the smoothest flight I’d known. That is,until we landed. As we were taxiing along the runway, the plane turned so we could pull in at the terminal. There came an almighty juddering sensation and if the look on the seated stewardess’s face was anything to go by, this was not normal. Voices from the rear seats told us that our plane’s wing had hit another plane’s tail-end. With a quick nervous smile, the stewardess was called into action and the plane started reversing. It was over within minutes, but it’s definitely a birthday story I enjoy repeating to this day. Yep, it was my birthday!

The journey from the airport to our hotel was met with grey skies and a very soft falling of snow. I’m going to admit now, my heart sunk, this girl didn’t think about the land of fire and ice and the implications of the weather! Silly me. The snow was very light and it soon went unnoticed as the Icelandic landscape came into view. The fields of volcanic rock with their odd mossy patches amongst the ragged terrain was like nothing else we both had ever seen. I felt as if we had landed on another planet. How is this place 3 hours from London?

It continued to snow as we arrived at our hotel. With the grey skies it was hard to make out the snow. With our bodies enveloped in so many layers it was hard to feel the icy weather that the snow was promoting. The odd snowflake landed on the tip of my nose as my eyes darted around the Old Harbour. I could see the boats that we would travel on while here and the navy blue waters they sat in. Wow. This place! 

Night crept in as we relaxed in our hotel and our 10pm sail approached quickly. 3 pairs of socks, leggings, trousers, a couple of jumpers, a fluffy gilet, scarf and thick winter coat and this michelin man was ready for the Icelandic night-time. 

That is, until I stepped outside. The pavements were slick with ice from the earlier snow and sleet. It was clearly going to be a night filled with fear. Clinging with an iron grip to Mr W’s arm we waddled to the moored up boat. Leading to the boat was a long, heavily iced (think an extremely thickly iced cupcake) ramp to slip and slide down. It took MR W and another two sailor types to coax me down to the floating jetty. The fear was very real. Once aboard, and I say once aboard with the memory in mind that it took me at least 20 minutes to navigate the 100 metres from door to boat, I fixed my arse in place on the top deck of the boat. How did I fix my arse I hear you ask? Well the sleet and snow from earlier had settled on the chairs and was now firmly freezing between the chair and my trousers. It was cold but it was static. I like static when it comes to icy conditions! 

The boat heads out into the dark night, bouncing over the navy waves to escape the light pollution of the city. It’s cold enough to have our breath exposed in front of our faces but the lack of light needed for our adventures means we cannot see the icy vapour. We are moving for over 30 minutes until the boat stops. There are some clouds but other than that the night is clear. All we need to do now is wait. The night is still. Everything and everyone is quiet. Cameras are ready and waiting in frozen hands. The stage is set. 

As if blown from a cigarette a wisp of smoke like movement streaks across the sky. It is faint but most definitely green. It bends and twists in the night sky. Rippling like oil on water. It dances in the inky sky and all frozen fingers move rapidly to catch it forever with a click. The colours aren’t as strong as I imagine they would be and when I look later my camera has picked up the colour much clearer. It seems the human eye is not to be relied on in these circumstances. The pale green I see above me is almost neon on my camera. It is both strange and amazing. Mr W and I swear to come back to Iceland again just to spend more time with the Northern Lights. We treat this as a taster session in which we have had a nibble. The next bite will be much bigger. We’ll make sure of it. 

As fast as they appeared they fled the night sky and all passengers on board headed to the covered seating area inside. Here the seats were not fixed in place, in fact they were the white plastic garden chairs popular at BBQs around the world, and every wave the boat hit sent all of us flailing around. As we continued on our way the waves became more violent and we were quite literally thrown from window to wall. It was easier to sit on the floor and clamp my arms around the handrails. By 1am we were back at our hotel and ready for sleep. 

The next morning the biggest reason we came to this mysterious country would begin. 

Waking early to blue skies was a relief for the day’s activities. But first. Breakfast! It wasn’t included in our booking so we had to pay for the buffet style offering. Now, I’m not a big breakfast person, but with the long day ahead I know I need to eat. We charge the £16 per person breakfast charge to our room and head on in. The breakfast room arches around the buffet in a semicircle with lovely high windows that look out over the old harbour. 

Mr W cannot believe his eyes. The food here is unlike any other buffet we’ve encountered. There are boiled eggs, granola, bread, skyr yogurts, cheeses, meats and… boiled potatoes, salads and tuna mayonnaise. Hand down one of the most impressive and eclectic breakfast spreads I’ve ever seen. We fill our boots and head to the harbour. 

It is a simple 5 minute walk which is glorious in the morning light. Today’s boat is different from last night’s, although in the daytime light I can’t be sure. It floats, that’s all that concerns me. 

Something I’ve noticed in our brief time here is how very, very friendly the local people are. They say hello and ask how you are and then wait for you to respond. Friendly, polite and as we are about to find out, exceptionally passionate about their country and it’s finned visitors. 

We set off on the rolling waves again, this time chasing the sun. We want the best views for today and the top deck calls us once again. Last night’s sleet and snow has frozen solid and appears like its own rocky landscape. My fear returns. These boots are wonderful for ankle support but not so much on Bambi’s feet on an icy pond. One hand gripping Mr W’s and the other on the handrail, I make it upstairs. 

The sea is the deepest of blues and the sun is taking the bite out of the wind. All the same I am glad for my many layers. Today is a big event. A lifelong dream. We move away from the harbour and leave Reykjavik behind for the second time in 12 hours. There is a morning haze that sits on the horizon but otherwise last night’s clouds have moved on. 

Underfoot is icy but my heart doesn’t notice as the first call is heard. ‘Whale ahead.’ We rush across the deck in anticipation and there they are. Not just one. Not just two. A whole pod of Orca. I cannot believe it. As the tears stream out of my eyes I swear they freeze on my smiling cheeks. Their appearance as they glide up and out of the water makes my breath catch in my throat. After years of waiting I’m actually witnessing this. Right here. I can see the water undulate down their bodies as they arc their bodies to enter the waves again and again. They are moving fast and yet all so slowly all at the same time. I have forgotten to breathe.

When I booked this tour, it came with a disclaimer. Should we not see any whales, we would be invited back another day to try again. With time so sparse on this trip, it was now or never. It was also advised that there were no guarantees to which wildlife we would see. 

Puffins, seabirds. Possible. 

Minke whales. Likely. 

Humpbacks. Maybe. 

Orca. Once in a while. 

Here was that while. Before us. 5 or 6, at least, swimming as though in a murmuration. So graceful and powerful in the water. I urge the captain to stay on their trail as my eyes are transfixed. From here their black and white bodies seem grey and blue in the sun’s reflective light. It cascades down their bodies, no competitor for their strength. They sliced through the water like a blade through warm butter. I know this is a moment I will never forget in my entire life. My cheeks hurt with their salty dew and everlasting smile. Before we know it the pod has moved on. I stand in awe of being a witness to them and this place. 

‘We have a Humpback whale!’, everybody gasps as a large body breaks the surface of the navy waters. In comparison to the Orca this is a big beast and yet its fin is tiny. Its body blends in with the colours of the waters it rises out of until its large fluke with patches of white breaks the surface. We hope it is not diving deep as we are already addicted to its sight. We are gifted again with its presence and tears, once again, spring from my eyes. This cannot be real. This whale does not stay long and I know I want to do this again. Be here, living out a dream of over 25 years and chasing the next.

Beside us in the distance are snow capped mountains and I am once again reminded that this place is oh so foreign to me. Throughout my extensive travelling I have not witnessed a place like this. I am exceptionally lucky to be here. There is more to come on this adventure and I am here for it. 

The ice under my feet has not yet melted and I smile as I look down. My fear was blasted away once the call came across the tannoy. I ran back and forth across the deck without a second thought. No slips. No trips. And no hesitation. This Bambi just needed her whale friend to break the surface. 

The tears dry on my face as I hear ‘Oh my GOD! We have a Fin Whale straight ahead.’

Sit with me a while

There is a river my family is fond of. We know it well. The River Thurne ebbs and flows much like our return to it. So far three generations of our family have continued their summer visits here and it is a tradition that is beautiful.

The River Thurne runs through Potter Heigham beneath an old medieval bridge. When the water level of the river rises with the tide, the space below the bridge is so tight that nervous boats turn around to find other passages. It makes for an interesting spectacle from the banks with an ice cream or cone of chips.

I remember my first visits here, I was maybe 4 or 5 and my parents would bring us for a week’s summer holiday. There would be a boat hired for the week to go exploring the broads. Its first job was to take a week’s worth of luggage and food down the river to our rented bungalow. The car would be pulled up next to the staithe, our suitcases, boxes of food and teddy bears would be unloaded onto the gravel path and we with it. One parent would hoist the boxes from the ground to the other parent in the boat. All the while we sat, good little children, watching the ducks. Like the game tetris our belongings would be loaded methodically into the boat and we would then fit into the gaps for the short journey down river. The green and white bungalow had a huge green lawn dotted with daisies and a beaten up old tree that welcomed you to your week long stay. I look out for it, even now. It has one double room and a twin room that my brothers and I shared. The boxes that the food was brought in would be flattened and placed up against the window to try and bar the room from the morning sunlight. It would stream through the windows at 5am and wake us kids for the day. The flattened box meant my parents got an extra 2-3 hours sleep. However there was the odd duck call from the water outside that would have me bending back the cardboard to peek at the river, flooding the room with daylight and beginning the day. It is a sound now that returns my mind to that time and place no matter where I am in the world.

I learned to fish here. I learned to drive a boat. And just today I learned not to be the one holding a big ice cream on a sunny day whilst someone runs to the toilet. As I stood there waiting, cream running down my forearm, I heard my grandad laughing in my head. It would have amused him to no end.

He loved it here. He would get up before the sun and set up his fishing rod. Sitting with the river before anyone else was awake, watching the rod for its slightest movement indicating a bite from a passing fish. Nodding off in his chair with the river lapping against the bank. His return meant that breakfast was ready and after breakfast the day’s plans were decided. Usually it was a boat trip along the river to a pub for lunch. There are no white water rafting experiences or rapids on this river, it slowly moves on and gives you peace away from the hustle and bustle that life generally throws at you. You’ll find a leisurely paced trip on a spluttering old boat making you question, why? But the truth is, spending three hours on the peaceful waters, watching the wind in the reeds and the birds in the sky, is just the break you didn’t know you needed. As kids, we would sit in the boat awaiting the call of ‘ducks ahead’ and spring into action with our pre-bought duck food. If you ever saw an enormously overweight duck in the late 90’s waddling around the Norfolk Broads it is highly likely my family were the cause. A pub lunch was a quick pit stop with lunch favourites of sausage and mash or fish and chips. Cries of ‘Mum, can we have some 2p’s, Dad got any change?’ so us kids could play the old arcade game in the corner. Then back to the boat to beat the sun returning to the horizon. It seems so simple now. A whole day spent on a journey and a meal but it was what my childhood was made of. The sounds of the river. The smells in the wind.

Even today, as I sit on the wooden riverside porch, I am beckoned to the water to see the ‘omg, look at the ducklings! 13!’ It’s taken me 15 minutes to come back to my spot and continue on. Yes they are tiny. Yes she is clever for having 13 (!). And yes, despite my grumbles I will race around with a camera for the hundredth time in my 34 years to take photos, coo over them and share the disbelief. This is what this place does. It repeats the experience but it never grows old.

There is a photo somewhere of my dad taken here. He stretches up towards the sky with a piece of bread between his finger and thumb. A swan next to him, reaches up at full height, stretching its neck long, wings spread for balance. I remember it every time a swan passes.

Photos of cousins crammed into a boat.

My brother catching a pike, a first for the family.

Maggot races on paving slabs while the adults fished.

Being slimed by an eel, wriggling on a hook.

Mid-day chip shop runs to the best chippy known to man.

This place is steeped into my history. Ingrained in our story.

A rainstorm that made a boat journey across a deep broad unforgettable. Barn owls flying over the field as you prepared dinner. Countless tips of the hat as families passed you on their day cruisers. Silent cups of tea at 7am taken outside, in the chill of the morning, just to say hello and good morning to the river. The ducks quacking. The seagulls screeching. The far flung fields of cows throwing up the odd moo. The ever present lap of water against an aged wooden bank. The ‘eeeee’ of a fishing line as it is cast across the water and the plonk as it lands, disappearing into the depths.The sounds that anywhere else are just background noise but here are moments of history popping up to say ‘remember me.’

Three generations that return like the flowing river to carry on the tradition started by a man who chose this as his place to escape and remember what was important. I like to think that even though we move from the same path at times, we come back together in important times and share laughter once more. Our journeys are changing everyday, branching out like tributaries finding their way and yet always remembering where we came from and how to go back.

The River Thurne has a new neighbour. An oiled, cared for bench bearing a tribute to a man who once sat at the head of this family. His name is engraved on the metal plaque that sums up his life and this place. When it comes to describing this place and why we return it is hard to put into words. We come. We sit. We drink and eat. Simple pleasures, with wordless actions and to ‘Sit with me a while’.


Photo by Dave Watson

Please check out his work on https://www.instagram.com/davewatson_uk/ or at https://davewatson1980.picfair.com