The Ledlenser H7R Core is a waterproof, rechargeable head torch with a high powered fully adjustable beam. I’ve had mine for almost a year and used it heavily. I can honestly say I look forward to using it and it lets me get on with all the things I need to do in the dark. I only review things that I’ve bought with my own money and tested fully. I recommend this torch to anyone else who is more than just a casual user.
(Affiliate link, I may earn a small commission if you buy via my link but at no extra cost to you)
Video demonstration of the torch features, controls and effectiveness in the dark
Why I chose the H7R Core
I am a very demanding torch user; I get through a lot of them, and I’m quite hard to impress. I live in a rural part of the Lake District, we get frequent power cuts, I do a lot of camping, I walk my dogs twice a day, every day of the year, and I work full time. As you can imagine, this means I’m often dependent on a torch. I find head torches vastly more practical for most situations, though they tend to be less robust than handheld ones.
I used to use a Black Diamond head torch, but I was never that pleased with it. The buttons were not intuitive, the batteries were part of the light unit, making it feel unbalanced, and after I dropped it, it died.
With a clear sense of what I didn’t want, I decided on the Ledlenser H7R Core.
Pros:
Waterproof and dustproof (IP67 rating – dustproof and capable of surviving temporary shallow immersion). It feels rugged.
Rechargeable – no need to carry spare batteries around and it has power remaining LEDs.
Battery pack sits separately to the lens for better comfort and balance.
Simple analogue controls work well with gloves.
Adjustable brightness, tilt and beam angle.
Travel lock stops it turning on in your bag.
Very bright (if you want it to be) – up to 1,000 lumens.
Decent battery life (if you don’t run it on high power for too long).
Seven-year manufacturer’s warranty (if you register it).
Battery is removable and in theory replaceable.
Cons:
Not the cheapest; however, I am happy with what I paid for mine.
Recharge time takes a while (3.5 hours from empty) – fine if charging overnight, less so if you’re on the move.
Charging cable is bespoke – not USB-C, so it’s another cable to carry (or lose).
The claimed maximum power of 1,000 lumens needs caveating – see below.
It weighs 259 g – for comparison, an iPhone 16 Pro Max weighs 227 g. It’s not ultralight, and it takes up a reasonable amount of space.
This is the charging cable / system. The magnet is not very strong and it can get knocked off quite easily but it’s never been an issue for me.
The 1,000-Lumen Boost Explained
The power ranges from 15 lumens (enough to read a book when you’re in your tent) up to 1,000 lumens, which is very bright indeed, with a range of 250 metres. However, the maximum rated normal output is 600 lumens, which still provides a 200-metre range. That is more than enough for everything I’ve ever needed.
If you want to use boost mode, turn it on as normal, then double-tap the power button, and you will get a 10-second power surge. It will then drop back to the previous setting.
It could be useful, I suppose, but in all honesty, I’ve never bothered with it.
Power button surrounded by power dial. Focus ring is on the front of the unit.
Controls
Power button – press once to turn it on, press again for reduced power, and press again to turn it off. For boost mode, see above: press once to turn it on, then double-tap for a brief increase. The button feels solid and is easily located in the dark or with gloves on.
Brightness knob – nicely ribbed and surrounding the power button. It is not mechanical; it will turn infinitely without a stop. It adjusts beam intensity and is very granular, offering fine control. Turn the power down for reading / close work and up only when you need the extra range.
Focus ring – sits around the bulb unit and has ribs and three large lugs. Its range of motion is only about 10 degrees. It offers excellent control, from a wide-angle floodlight to a narrow beam for distance work.
Tilt – the whole lamp unit tilts vertically, so you can position it accurately whether you’re doing DIY or searching for your dog. It will do what you need.
This is the supplied battery next to a normal AAA for comparison.
Verdict
I have used mine for daily dog walks, canal-side runs, DIY and a five-day autumn wild-camping trip to Croatia. It’s been superb, a real workhorse and totally reliable. I enjoy using it, look forward to my walks in the dark, don’t have to keep buying batteries or carrying spares, and don’t have to worry about the weather. I recommended it to my friend Nick, and he ended up buying a second one for his wife.
I tend to use it at almost full power for approximately 1.5 hours a day in winter and recharge it every couple of days. I’ve never actually had it go flat on me because there are LED power indicators. On one occasion, when the battery was almost exhausted, the light flashed and dropped to a much lower brightness.
If you’re in the market for a premium head torch that you will look forward to using, this should be on your shortlist.
Here’s me wearing my torch on a recent wild camping trip to Croatia.
From 60 metres out, I started to think that maybe the group of people on the beach might be naked. Their bodies were a remarkably consistent colour, all of them. Not a hint of fabric.
There was nowhere else for us to land so we paddled closer.
Yep. Definitely naked. Three generations by the look of them.
A hirsute, confident lady in her fifties sat on the pebbles, arms back, palms on the ground, legs bent at the knee. She was pointing it directly at the setting sun.
We ignored them as best we could and aimed for the opposite end. They all stared at us as if we were the weirdos!
The beach was made of rounded-off white cobbles, peaty soil and a little orange sand. With so little tidal movement, there were established plants dotted all over.
We pulled the kayaks to the tree line and put our tents up. After about 45 minutes the nudists departed – swimming back to a chartered yacht anchored in the bay.
We now had the place to ourselves; we celebrated with a swim and many cans of beer.
This was only day two.
Day 1: 15.5 km; Day 2: 35.8 km; Day 3: 28.4 km; Day 4: 25.8 km; Day 5: 18.0 km.
Planning your own kayaking trip to Croatia?
This is the story of five days exploring the islands around Split with my friend Nick.
Forty-eight hours earlier, Nick and I were tucking into a shepherd’s pie at his place in Bedfordshire, poring over weather forecasts and maps. We had booked a five-day self-guided sea kayak expedition with Red Adventures, a company based in Split, Croatia. They would provide us with kayaks, camping kit, maps and local advice. We were already on version two of the route owing to a substantial wildfire on the island of Brač. There was a stream of WhatsApp messages flying back and forth between me and Dejan, our guide.
Our flight was at 0620. As we approached Split airport, I recognised all of the places we planned to paddle to out of the window.
Nick can’t remember much about that.
We were met by Mario from Red Adventures. I had wondered how we would recognise him, half expecting a man with a sign saying Robert and Nick. But actually, it was a Vauxhall Vivaro with two upturned sea kayaks on the roof that led us to him.
He dropped us off at Lidl so we could stock up on essentials. This was mostly beer and water, suncream, crisps, snacks and some tins of fish just in case.
The Red Adventures kit was then explained and handed over: two sleeping bags, two roll mats, two kayaks, three paddles and one tent.
“Wait a minute,” I said.
“We ordered two tents.”
A look of confusion swam across Mario’s face. He’d imagined this was a very different kind of trip. He drove back to Split to fetch us another tent while we put everything into dry bags and set up the kayaks.
They were decent boats. Well used but strong and plenty of life left in them. They had rudders which neither of us had used much before. We managed to fit everything in with space to spare and set off.
Day 1 – Trogir to Drvenik Veli
The recommended route was to paddle out of Trogir Bay, follow the mainland coast for several kilometres and then cross to Drvenik Mali for a beach wild camp.
I made a bit of a mess of that before we even left the bay. Father Ted explains it much better than I ever could – it’s hard to tell if you’re looking at small rocks that are close by or big islands that are far away! Without any real sense of where I was or what I was looking at, I’d changed route anticipating the islands were a lot closer than they actually were. The map didn’t yet mean much to me without the familiar OS grid squares.
One of several motor boats that passed close by on this crossing. At least they waved at us.
We found ourselves about 2km from land just as the wind picked up. I should introduce the Croatian wind at this point. Before we got there, we were told that the winds all have their own names. I had given very little attention to this seeing as I live in the Lake District. Surely wind is wind? Wrong! The wind we experienced on this crossing was Maestral. Our guidebook says:
“Although not dangerous as Jugo and Bura, it can be quite tiring and joy killer.”
It was indeed. We never felt at risk, but the waves were big enough to become the main event, and the headwind made it feel as if we were paddling uphill. We were still getting used to the boats, and on two hours’ sleep the crossing felt gruelling.
We diverted around a headland into a village called Drvenik Veliki which, confusingly, has almost the same name as the island it is situated on: Drvenik Veli. We were within sight of the island we were supposed to be going to – Drvenik Mali.
There was not a soul to be seen as we pulled the boats up the slipway. Half a dozen fishing boats were moored, a couple of vehicles parked up.
Some links in this article are affiliate links. If you book or buy through them, I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you.
Not fancying the crossing, we spoke to Red Adventures for advice and within minutes, they had us booked into a smart, modern apartment (affiliate link) 100 yards from where we landed. €90 for the night, cash. A bargain under the circumstances.
Front door
Interior view
I got the bed this time. Nick owed me after I took the caravan in a barn on our last trip. He took the sofa.
That evening we ate like kings at Prsuta3 By The Sea, an authentic, busy little pizza restaurant. Neither of us thought to take our torches with us. It was dark by the time we staggered home by the light of our iPhones.
Day 2 – Drvenik Veli to Drvenik Mali
We had breakfast from the bakery and then paddled clockwise around Drvenik Veli (the island). This was a totally different experience, hardly any wind, flat seas and bright sunshine. We started to warm to the boats and I managed to get used to the gridless map we had been given.
The Blue Lagoon was teeming with motorboats and trendy young people so we left them to it and carried on.
Just around the corner we found this little cove and stopped for some cliff jumping and snorkelling.
Taking it in turns to jump off the cliffs
We aimed for the village of Uvala Borak over on Drvenik Mali hoping for lunch, but it was like a ghost town, everything was shut with no sign of re-opening.
Things improved on the south coast where I enjoyed one of the top ten steaks of my entire life at Rina Mare even though the waiter did give us a lot of side eye for our damp clothing. The padded upholstery was snatched off the chairs before we were allowed to sit down.
We had an excellent evening, the family of nudists adding an extra layer of interest.
The campsite was very well used. It’s a shame there has been so much toileting in the woods, Nick and I debated who might be responsible. My theory was yachties; Nick thought they would use the “heads” on board. The issue was to be well and truly settled the following evening.
Day 3 – Drvenik Mali to Šolta
We stopped for lunch at Maslinica, an archetypal Croatian village on the island of Šolta. We landed on the beach, carefully avoiding swimmers and sunbathers, then walked down the narrow road past a bakery, numerous café-bars and tourist shops. The harbour water was pristine and teeming with small fish; the whole place had a great atmosphere.
After another steak and chips, we stocked up on essentials at the supermarket. I noted with some satisfaction the young lad on the till bollocking a group of youths who tried to walk in wearing beachwear. I’d read about this on the internet: apparently, it’s a terrible faux pas here to go into shops uncovered.
The wind really picked up as we headed out again. This time it was coming from the south, meaning the waves not only hit us side-on but also had a good 100km of open sea between us and Italy to gain momentum. The coastline was mostly sheer cliffs, we had to paddle 100m or so out from them to reduce the bounce back effect. Progress was very slow, one wave in 20 was supersized and required us to make a sharp turn to try and take it head on.
The water was warm, it felt less threatening than the same conditions would in Scotland where we normally paddle. I’d say it was 90% exhilarating, and 10% concerning. I ended up paddling on full right rudder with most of my strokes on the left side to work against the driving waves. Nick and I totally lost sight of each other in the troughs, and it was difficult staying a sensible distance apart.
Kayakers use the word “committed” at times like this. We had come a long way from the safety of Maslinica and were now more than halfway to our destination. Turning back would have been riskier than carrying on. Nothing for it but to try and stay upright, have eyes in the back of our heads and keep paddling forwards.
I have quite a relaxed paddling style, which means I can let the boat pitch and roll beneath me without it affecting my centre of mass too much. It also enormously helped that the kayaks were heavily loaded with beer and fresh water after our supermarket stop. This meant they were far less easily bullied by the waves.
We stopped for a rest twice when there were gaps in the cliffs. There was not much signal and it was hard to get a refresh on the weather forecast.
We spent half an hour here trying to guess the purpose of these structures. We agreed that, with no disrespect to the owners, this was not the kind of place a lady would ever visit consensually.
Eventually, we made it to Tatinja Bay. Our guidebook suggested the middle “sleeve” for camping. As soon as we turned 90 degrees to the waves, they picked us up and surfed us forwards. The rudders made this excellent fun! I rammed the beach at cruising speed and partially capsized getting out. We just sat there for 10 minutes, grateful to have made it.
There was a fallen tree on the beach which we used to hang our kit on. The guidebook suggested camping on the stones, but we didn’t fancy that, so we explored the woods behind.
There was a deep, stone lined pit just behind the beach, I initially thought it was a water cistern, but I’ve since researched it and think it was a lime kiln. There are a lot of them near where I live but they look quite different! Sadly this one had been used as a landfill, mostly plastic marine waste but also general rubbish. Things were not a lot better once we stepped into the woods – every clearing of the trees was covered in stained toilet tissue. Someone had even threaded a loo roll over a twig for an extra degree of convenience! The map showed a restaurant in the next bay but neither of us fancied climbing the steep, turd strewn path up through the woods so we decided to stay put.
Whilst we were unpacking, a sailing yacht anchored up 100m or so out into the bay. A small rubber dinghy with an outboard motor separated from it and headed our way. The waves were still substantial even in the shelter of the bay. This made no sense at all, there was nothing for them here!
The penny dropped when they landed awkwardly and waddled into the woods behind us in a rather sheepish fashion. Three minutes later they were off, one of them deciding to swim back. I mentally saluted his commitment to hygiene and consideration for his cabinmates, if not for his visit to our beach.
Five minutes later, a man and a woman swam ashore from the same yacht. They stood up in the shallow water and shuffled backwards onto the beach before taking their flippers off. They spoke English and, after a bit of awkward small talk, flippered away again in search of somewhere a bit more private.
We made the best of our home for the night. Nick found an abandoned camping roll mat which we split in two and used to lie on our backs on the stones drinking beer and spotting shooting stars and satellites. It was a magic moment, especially when the moon came out. We were treated to distant thunder and lightning. By the time the rain started we were ready for sleep.
Day 4 – Šolta to Čiovo
We had a good night’s rest and the weather was perfect when we woke up. We debated our options with our guide over WhatsApp. The forecast was still worrying, with strong southerly winds expected again, so the advice was to head back towards Split and remain in more sheltered waters. We were torn because we had set our hearts on paddling to the Cold War submarine tunnels on Brač. We already knew that wildfire had affected that entire stretch of coast the week before, but we had hoped to see it from the sea. The tunnels were about 21km from where we were, and we would have been badly exposed if the forecast proved correct.
We took the sensible option and followed the advice from Red Adventures. After crossing from Šolta to Drvenik Veli, we faced the 6km open crossing to Čiovo.
It was absolutely flat calm, so much so that we overtook a sailing yacht. We felt a little cheated because we could easily have reached the submarine tunnels in those conditions. That’s kayaking for you.
We decided to spend the night on a commercial campsite, “Camping Labadusa” which was very handy being adjacent to three bars and just behind the beach.
We had a delicious evening meal at Konoba Dida Ivo – mixed grill and chips followed by another round of beers and a game of cards at Konoba Labadusa. A really fun night as we were nearly at the end of our trip, we had made some great memories and the pressure was off. Nick told me about a friend of a friend who had been worried about a substance misuse test. He visited a beautician’s and had every single hair removed from his body, eyebrows the lot.
“Imagine turning up to work like Morph.”
This really tickled me.
As we finally got to bed, a group of young people seemed to be hell-bent on forming a polycule about 6ft from our tents at the top of the beach. None of them were English but it was their common language, so they spoke loudly and slowly. It was quite embarrassing after a while, and I was building myself up to having a word when Nick beat me to it. He very politely pointed out they were next to a campsite and asked them if they would mind perhaps moving down the beach a little. They were good natured.
Day 5 – Čiovo to Split
We both felt a bit sluggish, a combination of not enough sleep, too many beers and four days on the water. If we were not heading home, today would have been a natural point to stay on land for a rest.
Our suggested route included a couple of discretionary diverts but neither of us felt like doing them so we soldiered on heading directly for Split itself. The south coast of Čiovo was unremarkable, we paddled into the bay for a look at the main town – Okrug Gornji.
There were few signs of life, just a couple of joggers. Some buildings had large, black cylinders on their roofs; we concluded they were solar water heaters. We stopped for a rest at Beach Leo, crisps for breakfast again!
The crossing from Čiovo to Split was 2.1km. From there, we could see almost our entire route: Trogir, where we had started; the islands we had visited; and the one we had not quite reached.
Our guide had dropped a pin on the map at Plaža Prva Voda, just beyond a swimming area on the outskirts of Split. The iconic football stadium and modern tower blocks told us we were returning to civilisation. I surprised myself by going from feeling tired and ready for the end to being incredibly melancholy as we made our final few paddle strokes. It had been a brilliant trip. We were early for our meeting, so we took our time airing some of our wet kit, got changed and then indulged ourselves in one final steak and chips at Restaurant Lučica.
The Verdict – Five Days Kayaking in Croatia
Would I recommend a self-guided sea kayaking trip in Croatia? Absolutely. We had a thoroughly enjoyable five days. However, I would only recommend the self-guided option to experienced, safety-conscious sea kayakers. You need to be comfortable managing physical risk and some legal uncertainty, particularly around wild camping and offshore kayaking in Croatia. If you are in any doubt, choose one of the guided options instead.
How much did our Croatia kayaking trip cost?
Item
Per person
Red Adventures
€450
Food, drink and accommodation
€500
Flights
£200
Total
€950 + £200
The €450 we paid Red Adventures included single sea kayaks, upgraded carbon fibre paddles, tents, sleeping bags, inflatable roll mats, cooking equipment, maps, airport transfers, PDF guidebooks provided in advance, storage of our flight cases and crucially ongoing support and advice based on weather and our progress.
We spent another €500 each on food, drink, campsites and our unexpected night in an apartment. We certainly didn’t go hungry or thirsty. Most evening meals, including drinks, came to around €90 for the two of us.
We paid for everything ourselves. This wasn’t a sponsored trip, and Red Adventures didn’t know I was planning to write about it.
What worked well
The planning and support
We were very honest with Red Adventures about our experience and capabilities. This allowed them to balance adventure with safety, particularly when the weather became challenging.
We did our best to follow the instructions, kept them updated with our location and gave accurate accounts of the conditions we were experiencing. It worked very well.
The tents were functional and the sleeping bags were rated down to a positively tropical +20°C!
Electronics and navigation
We had several electronic devices to keep charged, including phones, cameras and watches. We took ample power banks and rapid mains chargers and finished the trip comfortably.
Mobile phone coverage was mostly excellent, frequently with fast 5G connections.
I’m glad we brought our own VHF radio, PLB, map case, compass and head torches, as these weren’t included in the supplied equipment. We also had a few of our own dry bags, tea bags and cups. Although dry bags were supplied, they were mostly very large and it’s much easier to pack several smaller bags into a kayak.
I have sworn by the free XC-Weather app for years and once again it was essential on this trip. I have my wind forecast set to Beaufort wind scale which is best for kayaking.
Food, water and money
We took plenty of cash and needed almost all of it. Card payments weren’t always an option, particularly on the smaller islands.
We were warned not to rely on the tap water on Drvenik Veli and Drvenik Mali. I was glad I’d brought my Sawyer Mini water filter [affiliate link], which helped us keep stocked up. It is not a desalination filter and can only be used with fresh water, such as tap or stream water. There were no streams or rivers along our route, unlike Scotland, where we usually paddle.
We also carried our passports, which we needed when checking into the campsite.
The Croatian sea
The water was dramatically warmer than we’re used to. That made swimming, snorkelling and generally messing about in the sea much more enjoyable. It also made the rougher conditions feel less intimidating, although warm water doesn’t make big waves any less capable of causing trouble.
What would I do differently?
Have a settling-in day
Going straight from the plane onto the water and into fairly challenging seas after two hours’ sleep wasn’t ideal.
We’d never paddled these particular kayaks before, we weren’t familiar with the geography, and we were carrying five days’ worth of equipment.
A day to get used to the boats, explore Trogir, rest, charge our devices and generally get ourselves organised would have been sensible.
As it turned out, we ended up doing almost exactly that by default when the weather forced us to stop at Drvenik Veli. Next time, I’d plan it deliberately.
Paddle fewer kilometres and explore more
This is probably my biggest regret.
We were so intent on following the routes and making progress that we didn’t stop to investigate enough of the interesting things we passed.
There were villages, little harbours, ruins, war relics and places we could easily have spent several hours exploring.
Things to know before sea kayaking in Croatia
Camping isn’t straightforward
There aren’t that many suitable places to camp, particularly if you’re looking for somewhere accessible directly from the sea.
Wild camping is generally prohibited in Croatia, although our guide explained that it is tolerated in remote locations. That shouldn’t be taken as permission, and it’s worth checking the rules before planning an itinerary around it.
Some stretches of coastline are very exposed
There are long sections of coastline, particularly along the southern sides of the islands, where landing is difficult or impossible.
The cliffs can continue for kilometres without a beach or sheltered inlet. This makes careful route planning and attention to the weather essential.
Offshore kayaking regulations are surprisingly restrictive
The published Croatian maritime regulations generally restrict kayaks to within 300 metres of shore during daylight only, with provision for longer crossings when accompanied by a suitable motor-powered vessel.
In practice, independent sea kayakers continue to make crossings between the islands, but I haven’t established whether any exemptions or other arrangements apply to self-guided expeditions like ours.
If you’re planning a similar trip, I’d strongly recommend checking the current requirements and making sure you are comfortable with any risks. Also think carefully about the requirements of your travel insurance policy.
Language and people
Everyone we met spoke good English and was generally very welcoming, if occasionally a little cautious at first. It helped that we’d practised a few words of Croatian – bok (hello), molim (please) and hvala (thank you). Our pronunciation was dreadful, but people generally smiled at our efforts and seemed to appreciate them.
Would I do it again?
Yes, without hesitation.
If you would like to learn more about some of the kit I used on this trip, here is my list:
Our planned Scottish sea kayaking trip was cancelled due to a low-pressure system. This is my report of our hastily flung together Plan B – “Let’s see how far we can get down the River Great Ouse before we have to go back to work.” We started exploring the river last year (see my blog). This time we had the chance to stop out for a couple of nights and make an adventure out of it.
Most if not all of the bridges looked like this underneath
The headlines:
Day 1 Friday
Day 2 Saturday
Day 3 Sunday
📍Willington to Huntingdon.
📍Huntingdon to Cottenham.
📍Cottenham to Ely
🛶Turkish banquet, a nightclub, a suspicious handshake, a night in a hotel that was far too good for us and a 5* breakfast.
🏡An Airbnb we nearly didn’t find, bleeding feet, a caravan in a barn, an excellent curry and shortbread for breakfast.
🍽️A civilised lunch and the drive home.
📈36.24 km 8:30 paddling time. Avg speed 4.2 km/h
📈32.05 km 7:02 paddling time. Avg speed 4.5 km/h
📈17.0 km 3:30 paddling time. Avg speed 5.3 km/h
Day 1 Willington to Huntingdon
We had decided to travel ultra-light and book accommodation along the route. Short boats, no food, minimal water, just a toothbrush each and some going out clothes.
On Friday morning, we set off from Nick’s house in Willington. We had to carry the kayaks about half a mile to get to the river. Our forearms were thoroughly stretched before we even got wet.
Carrying the kayaks to the riverside
The first day was pleasant and largely uneventful. Lunch at the River Mill, easy paddling, no major dramas with any of the portages, it was pretty much the same as last year. I noticed that the water was extremely clear in places. That was because I’d just paddled past a sheepish looking elderly man treading water, all of his clothes folded neatly on the riverbank. Unfortunately, I saw everything.
One of the many weird and wonderful houseboats along the river
When we reached Godmanchester Lock, there appeared to be an A-Level results celebration in full swing. 10 or so good-natured teenagers were diving in, splashing around and sunbathing. They seemed uneasy by our presence at first, but once they realised we were only passing through, they relaxed and offered to help us to climb out.
(Affiliate link: If you book through this link, I receive a small commission at no extra cost to you).
The Old Bridge Hotel viewed from the river
We paddled past the mooring area, it looked a good 3-4ft above the water, not doable from kayaks. Just beyond the bridge itself was a lower walkway which we managed to haul ourselves onto. Nick looked after the boats whilst I did a recce – I’d asked for somewhere to store them overnight.
Reception looked a little surprised by my damp self, clad in boat shoes, a buoyancy aid and a baseball cap. The other clients were better dressed and probably smelled much nicer. The lady could not have been any more helpful. She led me through the dining room, out a side door and showed me a private terraced area near the river. It was not being used that night, it looked like the kind of place you would have a wedding party.
We carried the kayaks across the road, around the outside of the building and emptied the hatches into our Ikea bags. Nick had a bike lock which we used to fix them to a railing.
We really appreciated the hot showers with a range of products – a luxury we’ve never experienced on any of our other overnight kayaking trips!
We ate at the Hill Ephesus Turkish restaurant, a smart, clean looking place just off the main square. There were only a couple of occupied tables, so they were pleased to see us. We noticed a constant stream of couriers carrying massive square boxes, a sign of the times perhaps. Being ravenous, we decided on the medi sharing platter for two. £54 plus beers. We were Christmas Day full at the end of that, but no food was wasted. The owner brought us a couple of sweet tasting shots as we settled up.
We had a couple of pints in the Wetherspoons, what looked like an old post office called Sandford House. We used the excellent beer garden at the back, sat in between what appeared to be a female works’ group and various students back for the summer. It was very good natured; the bouncer was bored and underworked.
It was too early to turn in so we popped into Cromwell’s Bar on our way back. We had the whole place to ourselves but stayed for an hour or so as it filled up. A young lady of about 20 kept trying to get us to dance with her, we sensed an effort to stimulate the competitive nature of a young man sitting to the side. He had certainly noticed us. When Nick used the loo, the young man made a beeline for me and shook hands, his face didn’t register bonhomie. I held his gaze and drew on a bit of paddle-trained grip. Conscious of our age in more ways than one, we left the youngsters to it and turned in.
Day 2 – Huntingdon to Cottenham
Breakfast was exceptional. A full English (or full Anglian) as they styled it with plenty of good coffee, we were most impressed.
Happily, the kayaks were still exactly where we had left them. I’d hidden an AirTag deep within mine just to be on the safe side.
Safe and sound
Launching took a bit more thought, we didn’t fancy retracing our steps, so we used the jetty. To the left (as you look at the river) there’s a bit of a concrete drainage culvert near the surface so we were able to stand on that and step into our kayaks.
Huntingdon was soon left behind. We started to encounter what I will term as the BMWs of the river (some offence). Every other water user went out of their way to smile, say hello, wave, or if their hands were full give an exaggerated nod of the head. We met several rowing boat crews and only one of them so much as glanced in our direction.
Neither of us had been to St Ives before. We did not get out, but from the water, it looked a most pleasing place.
We pushed on a little further to The Old Ferry Boat at Holywell. There was no obvious way to land, but a paddle boarder suggested we go down the overgrown channel of water to the left, assuring us there would be an easier way out at the end of it.
The pub is pleasant, an attractive building set back from the riverside with an area of green or common in front of it. We sat outside where we could keep an eye on the kayaks. The service was less impressive: the QR code didn’t work, the app was a faff, and our meals arrived without drinks or cutlery. Still, the food itself was ok and it was a superb setting.
We pressed on, taking in a raucous Indian wedding on the riverside.
The lock south of Bluntisham was challenging. There was no possible way for us to get out of the water, no portage area, no riverbank that we could identify. To the left may once have been possible but it was now fenced off for building work.
Bluntisham Lock
The lock gate was open from our side and the water was in the “up” position. Even so, the sides of the lock were a good 5 feet above the water level. There was nothing for it but to climb out onto the ladder, attach rescue lines to the kayaks and haul them up behind us.
Getting back in on the other side involved a porpoise entry from the jetty, probably the highest one of the trip. The front of my kayak went deep into the water, so much so that I got soaked up to chest height.
We reached the junction of the River Great Ouse and the Old Bedford River – a man-made drainage channel providing a shortcut towards the coast. I had been worried about paddling down it by accident, but I need not have been.
We portaged around another lock and then found ourselves next to and below the B1050. I didn’t much relish the thought of a vehicle veering off the road and landing on my head. Before long, the road turned off to the right, the river went straight on and I was much happier. With no more locks or major landmarks, it was now just a case of ticking off the kilometres to get to our Airbnb. The river became much narrower and darker; it was not really used by boats due to the more direct alternative route up the Hundred-Foot Drain. The countryside felt unexpectedly wild. Neither of us had any idea that there was such wilderness to be found in the south of England. If you had a safe you needed to break into in privacy, this would be the kind of place to do it. The riverbank itself was less pleasing, with continual metal piling and old signs warning of underwater hazards. I think these were the result of the 1970s project to make the river navigable once more. For more background, the Inland Waterways Association has a useful overview.
We paused to look at the remains of the flat-top bridge; it had a military look to it.
It was pulled down in 2018 leaving the abutments on either bank. It looked incongruous, dystopian even in that empty landscape, although I could find nothing to suggest it had ever had a military purpose.
We reached the point I had marked on the map for our Airbnb. I jumped out and climbed to the top of the earth flood defence. Sure enough, the farm was just 600m or so down the track just as planned. We emptied the boats into our Ikea bags, chained them together and hid them face down in some reeds.
I sent our hosts a message on the Airbnb app to say we were off the water and headed their way.
The Airbnb
I’d been restricted for choice because I needed accommodation close to the river, roughly 30km from where we had set off in Huntingdon. I’d thought about stashing the boats and getting a taxi to a hotel, but none of the hotels within range had vacancies. On Airbnb I found, by amazing happy coincidence, a treehouse and a caravan, both available and close enough to work. They were not very cheap: £120 for the caravan and £200 for the treehouse. But beggars can’t be choosers, and the location was perfect.
The marketing photos clearly targeted young couples intent on carnal activities. Which was not us, being two middle-aged men both married to women!
We approached the farm that corresponded with the map location on the Airbnb app. I could not see a treehouse or a caravan in a barn. The windows were open, I used the ring doorbell. Several small dogs barked at us but after 5 minutes nobody came.
I looked at the Airbnb app again and noticed that the actual location was the crossroads a few yards away. The address of the place was given as Smithy Fen farm and a signpost at the crossroads said the farm was down the lane. We could see a farm about 500m down the lane, so we set off. Feet now sore as we were both in wet kayak shoes, arms feeling a bit stiff. The second farmstead did not remotely resemble the photos, and a sign told us to keep going for Smithy Fen Farm. We could see it, probably another kilometre away. By the time we arrived, we were pissed off. My feet were starting to bleed. A young woman came out to greet us; she knew nothing about any Airbnb and did not recognise the name of our host.
I was now seriously worried we had been ripped off and would have nowhere to stay! We had no phone number for our host so I used the app to message them asking them to ring me ASAP.
I changed into my going out shoes on the lane outside the farm and after a minute or two, the phone rang. We exchanged locations via WhatsApp pins and our host came to get us in his van.
I took one for the team and chose the caravan, Nick got the treehouse.
The caravan had been parked side on in a dark barn. It had (thankfully) been connected to a domestic drainage system which avoided having to store and empty toilet contents. It had not, however, been connected to mains electricity or water so it was still necessary to use the “computer” above the doorway to pump water into the tank and control the lighting.
The area outside the caravan was carpeted and there was even a dining room table and chairs. An extension cable lay on the floor. Outside the barn was a seating area, a fire pit and an outdoor sink. The host advised me not to bother with the caravan shower as we had access to the treehouse one instead.
I used the toilet and then found there was no water to wash my hands. I later learned that the pump button needed to be pressed in order to get that service.
Nick was in relative luxury over in the treehouse.
Nick took this from the outdoor terrace – he’s pointing out the barn I was staying in.
I took my wash kit over and used his rooftop bathtub.
I don’t often use Uber so I’m not very confident with it. I tried my luck asking for a ride to the local town – Cottenham where there was an award-winning curry house.
My low expectations were far exceeded when the app told me to expect pickup in 10 minutes.
Cottenham
They were queuing out onto the street at The Curry Palace. The clientele were a little fractious. We joined the end and were soon inside. The manager advised us to come back in half an hour, so we knocked back a couple of pints at The Hop Bind, a classic village pub.
As we headed back over the road, a middle-aged couple were engaged in a full on flounce out of the Curry Palace, slamming the door as they left. We sat on their warm seats in the waiting area, and within 5 minutes had been led to our table. Poppadoms, Kingfishers, chicken balti, pilau rice and a naan for me, prawn curry and rice for Nick. An excellent meal and I can see why the place was so busy.
We were pretty done in by the time we finished so we decided to order an Uber back.
It was pitch dark when we arrived and we had no torch between us. Our iPhone lights got us to our respective beds. I locked myself in but didn’t feel overly at ease with all the unfamiliar sounds of a caravan in a barn. I had an irrational fear of waking up with the caravan hitched to a vehicle on the way to the Netherlands for my organs to be harvested. Thankfully, that did not happen.
We were up early, they had laid on tea, coffee and fresh milk for us and some packets of shortbread. It wasn’t quite as good as the breakfast the day before, but we’d definitely had a lot worse.
The boats were still there, and we hit the water about 0830.
Day 3 Cottenham to Ely
We were a lot faster on the Sunday, there were no locks to slow us down and we were feeling much fitter. It was an uneventful but pleasant paddle, the scenery started to feel much more Norfolk-like. Ely Cathedral was visible on the horizon. There were numerous moored canal barges and cabin cruisers with people living in them.
We hit the junction with the River Cam mid-morning and I dropped a pin on the map for Nick’s wife to come and meet us with the car in an hour or so.
Ely left a great impression on us. After two days of locks, portages, awkward landings and improvised accommodation, it felt suddenly civilised.
The river was clean and busy with all kinds of boats, and the bars, pubs and cafes along the riverside gave the place a relaxed holiday feel. We went all the way through the city and out the other side before turning back and making use of a slipway near to the Riverside Bar and Kitchen. By the time we’d changed and ordered some drinks, Kathy had found us. Lunch for three, kayaks loaded onto the car, and home.
On reflection, this was an excellent trip. What began as a weather-driven compromise turned into one of the most enjoyable paddles we’ve done. We covered about 85km, travelled pleasingly light and found stretches of countryside neither of us expected to exist in this part of England. Each lock became a small escape-room challenge. We saw shanty-style riverbank homes fused into houseboats, a riverside Indian wedding, foreboding reaches of empty landscape and, at Ely, a properly satisfying finish. The contrast between the hotel and the Airbnb was excellent too. With no disrespect to the Airbnb, it made us value the hotel all the more.
Resources
If you would like to learn more about some of the kit I used on this trip, here is my list
If you are thinking of paddling this route, do make sure you have the appropriate waterways licence and insurance – we got ours from https://paddleuk.org.uk.
Disclaimer – the events described in this post have the potential to be extremely dangerous. This trip was undertaken with local knowledge, relevant experience, safety equipment and an informed risk assessment. I recommend that you do not attempt it.
Sea kayaking into the unmapped corners of Moricambe Bay in search of two first Geographs before the tide closed the window.
I wrote about Geographing back in November, in Taking the “Y” off Geography – a Morning on the Solway. I’m part of a wholesome community gradually photographing every one-kilometre grid square in Britain and Ireland: a sort of manually assembled Street View for the places Google’s cars cannot reach.
After twenty years, most of the straightforward squares have been captured. I happen to live near roughly two hundred that have not, and chip away at them when time permits.
My last effort involved monitoring the tides and jogging 1.6 miles over the seabed in the general direction of Scotland. I came away with four first Geographs. For my second go, after several months of studying maps and tide tables, I settled on Moricambe Bay.
The Bay
I can see the bay from my house. It is a long way off, but I can tell whether the tide is in or out. I often walk my dog to Grune Point, the tip of the spit of land at the top. From there, across the water, you can see Anthorn Radio Station, a Cold War-era defence establishment that literally glows red in the dark.
Anthorn Radio Station
To the right of the transmitters, about 1km out, several vertical timbers stick out of the water, like the remains of a bridge or a pier.
Remains of WW2 bombing target, Moricambe Bay. Viewed from Grune Point.
There is a WW2 pillbox just back from the shore. You can see across to the Dumfries coast. It is a liminal place. It looks different every time I see it. I enjoy the exotic flotsam. There is a blurred transition from farmland to seabed. Every time I visit, I study the tide tables and watch the flow and direction of the currents. They are fierce: the tidal range here is up to 10.6 metres, funnelled into a narrow bay. There are no Admiralty charts this far up. It is not supposed to be navigable.
WW2 pillbox – the conical structure on the roof is a memorial to four firefighters who drowned in a rescue attempt in the 1950sThe flotsam and jetsam here never disappoint- has this travelled all the way from Amsterdam? Probably not but it may have come from Scotland.
The bay itself is fed by two main rivers: the Wampool from the east and the Waver from the south, as well as smaller streams such as Skinburness Creek from the west. It is at least arguable, and I have convinced myself, that the source of a tributary to the Waver is next to our house.
You can find the bay instantly on any map of the British Isles. Look for the bulge of St Bees Head, follow the coast up towards Scotland, and just before the Solway Firth narrows you will see it on the right, shaped like an asymmetrical droopy moustache.
When the tide is out, the river channels and mud make it all but impossible to explore on foot. The bay contains twelve 1km grid squares, five of which had yet to receive a first Geograph.
The salt marshes are used by grazing cattle, the resulting beef is the stuff of local legend.
I hatched plans to get into them with my sea kayak. My main objective was NY1755, a plot of marshland to the east of Newton Arlosh, right at the bottom of the bay. I marked up a paper OS map with a few other targets and then it was just a case of waiting for the right combination of weather, tide and free time.
Execution
On Sunday afternoon, my ducks were finally lined up. My friend and longtime kayaking buddy Nick was staying and we needed a quick local adventure.
We set off from Silloth at about 1pm. High tide was due at 2:55pm, and the forecast was Beaufort F2, a gentle breeze from the west. It felt much calmer than that.
The sea looked thoroughly pleasant, you can see Criffel on the horizon. Getting ready to go
We had to skirt wide around the sand bar that runs north from the start of Grune Point, not quite having to use our knuckles on the sand. Kayaks feel fairly sluggish in shallow water, so we were relieved to enter Moricambe Bay.
The author
Nick
I should have headed straight for NY1755, but the vertical wooden structures in the middle of the bay caught my eye. I’d been curious about them for a very long time, so I temporarily abandoned plan A and made a beeline for them. As we got closer, we realised there were Great Cormorants nesting on the posts. I counted about sixteen vertical timbers, most with a nest on top. The wood was stained white with guano.
We changed course a little so as not to disturb them. Although we had not been too aware of the tidal flow until then, the static timber gave us a reference point as we were pulled sideways into the bay at walking pace. There was turbulence in the water around the foot of the posts. I timed it so we would reach them close to high tide, when the flow should have been easing. Definitely not a place to be at peak movement.
I grabbed a couple of GPS-tagged stills with my tough camera and we headed north.
As we approached Anthorn, I realised the foreshore to the south was still out of the water. Someone else had already bagged that square, so we pressed on to another sand bar just south of Cardurnock.
The sand was the colour of Earl Grey, mostly gritty but with a hint of estuary mud. It felt solid underfoot.
I checked my mapping app. I’d already marked all the unclaimed geographs, we were right inside one so I snapped away happily whilst Nick dug some chocolate out for us both.
In the 5 minutes it took me to take the photos, the sea reached and floated my empty kayak.
We decided to paddle due south, still hoping to reach our original target. About 1.5km short of it, we ran out of water. From a kayak, sat almost on the surface, wet sand and shallow sea can look much the same. This was not a shallow patch but a substantial sand island. Going round it would have meant another 1.5km or so of paddling, with no guarantee of finding a channel or getting out of the bay afterwards. As it happened, the island itself had never been photographed, so I decided to make the most of it and got out for a walk. It was solid enough, though softer than the previous sandbar.
I pulled my kayak out of the water, by the time I got back to it it was well afloat.
It occurred to me that I might just be able to set foot in NY1755 if I ran to the far side, but I would have to be quick with the tide on its way in. Nick stayed in his kayak, with mine clipped to his by a short tow rope. If I misjudged the rising water, he would be able to paddle over to me.
Jogging and taking photos as I went, I reached the far end of the island. I was still 300m short of my target. We were separated by a deep channel. I was disappointed, but after a very quick spot of mapwork I realised I could still get the unclaimed square to the west, the gridline appeared to be slicing the end off the island I was stood on.
At this scale, on such featureless ground it’s almost impossible to determine a grid boundary other than by GPS. As I reached the invisible line, I realised the sea was just outside of it but coming in fast. You can’t claim a geograph unless some dry land is visible within the square. I waded out 10m or so into the shallow water and took a photo looking back. It wasn’t very good, but it would have to do for now.
I was now about 300m or so from Nick and the boats. I could see they were afloat. I jogged back over, very excited to have collected two first geographs. These felt like a bigger prize than the one I’d originally set out for – transient offshore sand features that might not exist for the next geographer to try.
Very excited to have captured two first Geographs
I got back into my kayak and we made haste to get out of the bay whilst there was still enough water.
The sea had picked up quite a bit whilst we were in the sheltered bay. It made for quite an enjoyable paddle back to the car. One hour after high tide we were driving home, mission safely accomplished.
I didn’t quite manage to get NY1755 this time, but I’ve proved to myself that it can be done. Next time I’ll bring a bit more discipline and head straight to it.
I must take pains to urge you not to try to explore this bay unless you either really know what you’re doing or are being guided by someone who does. We had the benefit of a good practical grounding in sea kayaking, copious safety gear, a degree in geography, local knowledge and a fair bit of experience managing risk. A lot can and does go wrong on this stretch of coast.
Resources and further reading
If you are curious about the equipment used on this trip, take a look at my kit list.
Anthorn Radio Station – a Cold War era radio transmitter system on a former Royal Navy airstrip. Still in use now for communicating with our submarines.
If, like me, you have hobbies that might result in being winched onto a helicopter, read on!
In a nutshell, if you find yourself in grave danger anywhere in the world, this device can send a distress signal to a satellite. It needs no subscription, phone signal or recharging. Provided you’re conscious, can reach your PLB1 and can use at least one hand, you have hope of rescue. The Survivor’s Club stories on the Ocean Signal website include many accounts of lives saved.
I bought mine back in 2019, when I first got seriously into sea kayaking. It came before the VHF radio or LED flares, on the basis that it was the most versatile way to get help when you really need it. I’ve carried it tethered to my buoyancy aid while kayaking and in the lid of my rucksack for hill walking ever since. I’ve never had to use it. Yet.
PLB1 in the pocket of my Palm Peyto buoyancy aid. There’s a small eyelet inside the pocket which I thread the lanyard through to avoid losing it.
The PLB1 is a UK made, small, purpose-built device. As the name suggests, it’s ‘personal’ – not for attaching to a vessel or aircraft, you need it on you. It is also not for two-way communication, sending locations to your family, getting advice or checking the weather forecast. It has one job only – getting help in an emergency. No screen, just two buttons – TEST and ON. It fits easily in the palm of my hand (77 x 51 x 32.5mm weight 116g).
My PLB1 – Test and On buttons shown, LED indicator and white rescue strobe at the top.
You do need to register your device (for free) via this government website. I’ve just been prompted to re-do and update mine, it took 10-15 minutes. You will need the beacon’s Hex ID or Unique Identifying Number, the manufacturer serial number and model (all stamped on the device), your contact details, and a trusted person or persons who can explain what you’re probably up to. And who are probably not with you and in the same trouble! This step is essential for the rescuers: they need to know whether to look for a kayak, gyrocopter or hiker, and to check whether an alert is genuine.
A short demo of my PLB1 including extending and rewinding the aerial.
Should you press the ON button, it waits 50 seconds and then sends a 406 MHz radio signal into space. A satellite receives the signal and alerts a ground station. A professional assessment is then made as to what kind of help is required based on where the signal is coming from i.e. land, water, mountains etc and the registration details you gave. The most appropriate emergency services are informed i.e. coastguard / mountain rescue / police.
If it can lock onto GPS, it will send your location (accurate to within 100m). Even if it cannot get a GPS fix, the satellites can locate you to within 5 nautical miles by radio alone. Once active, it sends out a 121.5 MHz homing transmission which rescuers can lock onto. It also has a small, white LED strobe to attract attention. It will keep transmitting for over 24 hours if the battery is in good order, potentially less if it has been used. The 50 second delay is to give you time to cancel if you have made an accidental activation.
How to use it:
Pull out the antenna until it will go no further
Point the antenna vertically
Open the safety flap
Press the on button for approximately one second until the Green LED flashes.
The LEDs will then flash periodically to confirm transmission and GPS status.
There is a radio test feature which you are encouraged to do monthly and a more power intensive GPS test to perform annually. They ask that you only do this in the first 5 minutes of every hour as courtesy to aircraft (it transmits a short burst on 121.5 MHz, see instructions for details).
False alarms, deactivation:
It’s quite hard to set it off by accident because there is a hinged plastic flap covering the buttons. If you need to turn it off either because you’ve been rescued or because you’ve set it off in error, just press the ON button for one second until the red light flashes twice. Release, wind the aerial back in and call the UK Coast Guard.
It’s not designed to work in or under water (it’s waterproof to 15m, it just won’t reliably transmit). You will need to hold it up out of the water if you are floating.
You don’t receive any confirmation that help is on the way or even that your message was received, it’s purely one way.
There is no way to specify the kind of emergency – could be an important factor if you’re at risk of danger from other humans vs medical / sporting accidents.
The built in battery has to be professionally replaced every 7 years, the expiry date is printed on the case and there are various service centres around the UK.
Satellite enabled smart phones and watches
Since I got this device, mobile phones and even smart watches have developed satellite connectivity. I’ve given some serious thought to whether I still need to carry my PLB1. For me personally, I definitely still do, though I think for a lot of people, the watch / phone uplink would be sufficient for peace of mind. Provided you can get an unobstructed view of the sky, it’s not wet and you have sufficient battery remaining, a consumer device could solve the problem. If you’re on the fence about that then definitely read this page on Ocean Signal’s website PLB1 vs iPhone Emergency SOS: Which Device Should You Really Trust When There’s No Cell Coverage
As they say, phones are more likely to be lost or damaged in whatever catastrophe led to the problem, their batteries are fickle, they don’t work all over the world, they don’t like wet hands, they don’t have a homing transmission for the helicopter, they won’t keep transmitting for 24 hours and you usually need to tap or type to make your request. On the plus side, there is two-way communication and you’ve probably already got it for free (though Apple did hint at a service fee after the first 2 years).
I daresay consumer satellite tech will save a far greater number of lives due to sheer numbers of devices out there. They are undoubtedly a great idea. In many situations I would try my watch or phone first because they provide two-way communication. Nevertheless, I am certain they are not a complete replacement for the PLB1 in my use case.
My flotation device and essential safety kit
Have things moved on in 7 years?
Having had my PLB1 a while, I looked online to see what alternatives there are now. Garmin make a small device that has some amazing two-way features but it does require a monthly subscription to use. There are one or two other similar small PLBs for example, the ACR ResQLink 400 and McMurdo FastFind 220. These appear to offer similar capabilities to the PLB1.
Conclusion
This device is a permanent fixture in my risk assessments for my trips and adventures. I have had some amazing experiences and made memories that will last a lifetime because of the confidence it has given me. If I ever find myself separated from my kayak floating in the sea or taking a tumble off Striding Edge, it will be the very best money I ever spent. If mine was lost or broken it would be replaced immediately without question.
I’m on the last leg of a 900-mile railway journey. I’ll soon forget most of it, but not the man I sat next to under the Channel Tunnel. He was in his seventies, twinkling with fun. We chatted for two hours. He had been a professional musician all his life. Somewhere near the Kent coast, he told me he’d had a hard time finding his way through the station to where he was sitting, as he could not see very much. He explained he’d lost most of his vision a few years back. He wasn’t ready for a white stick; he didn’t want to be perceived in that way. He had asked a lady which platform the London train was from, and she’d pointed to a sign that he could not see, he’d sensed a bit of unkindness in her.
We talked about his music. I had a look on YouTube; he was surprised to know that his songs were on there. I told him if he uploaded them himself, he might be able to get some income from them.
He was proud of the cousin who was going to meet him. With difficulty, he found a photo of him stood in front of his house. I had an hour between trains, so I asked him if he’d like to follow me through the station when we arrived. He said “no thanks, I’ll be fine.” He was a proud man.
We waited for the carriage to empty. I made to carry his bag, but he wanted to do it. I walked ahead; he paused at the door. I told him how many steps there were and that there was a big gap to the platform. He passed me his bag, and I held my arm out to him as he stepped down.
The platform was teeming with people, all going in the same direction. I didn’t really know what to expect myself, as it had been ten years since I used this station. I offered my arm, but he said “you walk in front, I’ll follow your feet.” Despite that, I felt a hand on my shoulder a few times.
On the escalator, I told him it was the kind that has steps, not a slope. At the bottom, I told him when it was time to start walking. He told me he had nothing to declare customs-wise.
As we reached the arrivals area, I recognised his cousin from the photo. A nice-looking man a little younger than me, he beamed at us, recognising what was afoot. We shook hands, all of us, and I left them to it.
The wagtails chose our logshed. It’s right outside our kitchen door and we’re in and out non-stop. They must have priced that in and decided it was worth it. Perhaps they were more confident than their peers, or at least more able to balance the risk versus reward.
There was a cold snap in the middle of May. The heating was off for the summer, so I went to get some wood for the stove. I saw the nest, set in the air gap between two stacks of logs, full of tiny eggs. We decided we could manage without the logs after all.
As I say, we are in and out all the time, so I popped my head into the shed every day or so to see how they were doing. I missed them hatching, but soon enough there were five balls of black fluff with enormous yellow beaks and beady eyes looking back at me.
The mum and dad visited their babies about once a minute on average. I could see them through the window. They seemed to work as a team: one sat on the ridge of next door’s house keeping watch, the other flew into the nest with a beakful of long-legged insects. They were cautious, constantly scanning for danger. I guess there’s a lot of that: cats, foxes, bigger birds, humans. I felt like we were the least of their worries. I hope so.
One of them took a liking to the roof bars of my car, so I parked it alongside the shed for them. That went down very well. It had a white stalactite of approval running down the window within a day.
The logshed is built with two compartments separated by wide-gapped slats. On around day 6 of their lives, I popped my GoPro through from the other side and left it running.
The mum and dad were back feeding within 10 minutes. When I reviewed the footage, I could tell when they were about to arrive because the audiogram showed a spike in volume. The chicks could hear or sense the imminent arrival of a parent and ramped up their noise. They also seemed to be electrified at that point, their beaks thrust into the air, gaping open, demanding. The adults fed one or two chicks on each visit. They seemed to remember whose turn it was.
I noticed an adult flying away with what looked like a white egg in its beak and thought nothing of it. As I watched more footage, it happened again and I saw that I was wrong. One of the babies was fed, then turned around 180 degrees and presented its bottom to the adult before excreting a white sack straight into the waiting beak of the grown-up. The adult took it and flew off. I had to watch and rewatch that, and then do some research, but evidently faecal sacks are a thing. It makes total sense. The nest would soon get infested with parasites and attract predators if the waste were allowed to accumulate. Apparently, the parents also regularly eat it themselves.
On the 16th day, I noticed them as I came back from walking my dogs and took a quick photo on my phone. They looked different, expectant in some way. Later on, my neighbour asked if they had fledged, as he had seen several baby wagtails in his garden. He took these photos. When I checked, they had all gone. I was surprised how much I missed them, I kept checking the empty nest when I walked past.
I thought that was our bird drama for the year. Then the blackbirds moved into the polytunnel.
There were five eggs this time, much bigger than the wagtails’.
I grabbed a quick film of them whilst the mum and dad were away, you can see there were 3 eggs still to hatch. I left the GoPro pointing down at them from the planting shelf above and captured one of the eggs hatching. The babies looked like little aliens or dinosaurs. Huge bulging eyes that stayed shut. Wrinkly, see through skin. No wings yet, just stumps. They were unable even to raise their heads
I caught another noteworthy bowel movement, again it was taken away immediately by a parent. It was pure egg yolk, which actually makes sense considering where the baby bird had just been.
You can see their diet is also very different to the wagtails. The mum and dad are feeding them chunks of worm flesh in this clip. They are more aggressive, you can see the adult pecking the baby to prompt it to open its beak before ramming the food in.
After 6 days, they were unrecognisable – clearly now young birds with long yellow beaks, feathers and wings. Eyes open now, looking for the next meal delivery.
I noticed one of the babies wasn’t raising it’s head up for feeding. It was smaller than the others. It disappeared overnight. By the end of the 7th day, I could only see 3 babies.
By the evening of the 8th day, only one remained. There were no feathers or signs of anything happening. The parents were still feeding the baby. We set up a trail cam to monitor overnight and caught this rather overweight ginger intruder. We think he must have been responsible.
We kept the polytunnel shut overnight after that, the adult birds could still slip in and out under the door.
As far as I know, the little one made it. I had to go away for the weekend but my neighbour kept an eye on him. He had flown onto the tomato plants overnight and was gone within an hour. We haven’t seen him since.
I won’t forget these two families. They were tiny, frantic, filthy, vulnerable and completely committed to the job of being alive. With so many dangers, predators and points of failure, I found myself deeply respecting them. Without doubt, they put 100% effort into their lives. I’m not sure I can always say the same.
If you expect people to listen to you when you speak, the very least you can do is give them the courtesy of good quality audio. There is nothing worse than being distracted by someone who sounds as if they are talking into a yoghurt pot. It’s hard enough as it is to hold people’s attention on a video call, and you definitely don’t want to be less interesting than their inbox.
With that in mind, I decided to upgrade my setup.
I looked at various options, including Bluetooth headsets and dedicated Microsoft Teams products, but after a fair bit of research, mostly on YouTube, the RØDE NT-USB Mini kept standing out. RØDE are a well-respected brand, and this particular mic is keenly priced for what it can do. I’ve embedded a short demo video below so you can judge for yourself, but to my ear it makes my voice sound a lot warmer, more natural and less thin than the alternatives I tried, especially my old Plantronics headset.
I’ve had my RØDE since June 2025, so this review is based on about a year of daily Teams use at the time of writing. I’ve also found that it works very nicely with Final Cut Pro, allowing me to record voiceovers directly onto the timeline of my project. I use it with a dedicated RØDE spring-mounted arm, which was totally worth getting. It elevates the whole experience. I’d say it’s now frictionless when it comes to answering a call, swinging it into position and folding it away tidily when not in use.
I genuinely enjoy using this mic. If you position it fairly close to your mouth, it makes you sound at your best. I definitely now find myself speaking more slowly and with far greater confidence.
The mic itself sits in a metal U-shaped mount. It comes with a detachable magnetic desk stand. The stand is well made and stable enough, but I didn’t really get on with it because it left the mic a bit too low for my setup. That is why I switched to the arm, which suits me much better.
On the front there is a rotary volume control that also lets you switch monitoring on, so you can hear your own voice through headphones without distracting delay. Once you’ve used that properly, it is hard to go back. It makes speaking on calls or recording voiceovers feel much more natural.
Round the back, you get a USB-C connection and a 3.5mm headphone socket. I paired mine with an old set of wired Sony noise-cancelling headphones and that has worked brilliantly. They feed my voice back into my ears for monitoring and also provide the audio for Teams and Zoom calls.
Setup is refreshingly straightforward. It is class-compliant, so on Mac and Windows it is basically plug and play, with no drivers needed. RØDE also says it works with computers or tablets, and can be used with mobile devices using the right adaptor or cable. I installed the software mainly to check for firmware updates, but for everyday use I have hardly needed it at all.
One practical point: this is not the most discreet option. I can usually keep it just out of shot on a video call, but people do sometimes notice it and comment on it. That does not bother me in the slightest, and it can actually be a useful ice-breaker, but if you want something almost invisible, a headset may still suit you better.
Final thoughts
I didn’t really know what to expect when I bought this mic. I must admit, I was in two minds about whether it might be overkill or just too eccentric. One year on, it’s one of my favourite tools and it cuts across both my work and my hobbies. If you’re on the fence, just visualise your next Zoom call and ask yourself: yoghurt pot or BBC Radio 4?
How do you spell it?
RØDE is an Australian company whose roots go back to Freedman Electronics, founded in Sydney in 1967 by husband-and-wife Henry and Astrid Freedman after they moved from Sweden. The RØDE brand came later, and the Ø is a nod to the family’s Scandinavian connection rather than a standard O. It is pronounced Road, although you may also see it written online as Rode or even R0de. If you are using a Mac and want to be a stickler for accuracy, try Option + O for ø, or Shift + Option + O for Ø.
Amazon UK Links
If you would like to learn more, here is the link to my exact microphone on Amazon UK and here is the link to the professional spring-mounted arm.
Amazon affiliate disclosure: if you buy through links on this page, I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only recommend things I have used myself and bought with my own money
The route from Patterdale up Striding Edge and down Swirral Edge is one of the Lake District’s great circular walks, although parts of it feel less like walking and more like negotiating a geological argument.
My walking buddies were an old school friend and some of his pals. Like many Lake District days, we met up in a pay and display car park. We chose the one opposite the Patterdale Hotel, a very reasonable £5 for the day (cash only).
We set off down the road, picked up part of the Coast to Coast path and then worked our way cross-country towards Bleaberry Crag.
The first couple of miles were deceptively steady going. One of our group had a catastrophic walking boot failure within the first hour. Both of his heels completely delaminated; thankfully, I had some gaffa tape and a bit of paracord in my first aid kit. I was able to patch him up enough for him to return to his car. The rest of us continued.
A few moments from our trip captured on body worn GoPro
Miles 3, 4 and 5 were an intensive cardio and quad workout. My average heart rate for mile 4 was 166 bpm as we hauled our way up towards the start of Striding Edge.
Evidence of my lack of fitness for all to see! Mile 4 was the killer.
The conditions were perfect, no low clouds, not too hot, nice and dry and no wind. It wasn’t overly busy although there was by now a steady flow of other walkers. We caught our breath before Striding Edge proper; I took on some chocolate and coffee just in case.
You have no choice but to take Striding Edge seriously; there are severe drops on either side – approximately 300m to the left and 150m to the right. Even on a good day, a moment of inattention could be fatal. You could also observe that this is one of the most mindful ways to spend a Saturday morning. When you’re busy thinking about exactly where your hands and feet need to be; it’s impossible to worry about anything else!
This route is superb because you can see and anticipate the full semi-circle of Striding Edge, the summit, and Swirral Edge at all times. Rather like the rides at Alton Towers where you observe the most exciting bits as you queue up. Red Tarn is a beautiful, inky, black feature below you and to the right as you approach the summit.
Towards the end of Striding Edge, there is a 4-5m descent where you need to turn around and downclimb. It felt safe to me as there were plenty of good, solid hand and footholds, but it could be quite daunting. Just after that is a slightly longer scramble up leading to the Charles Gough memorial.
The Charles Gough memorial. Click on it to learn more about it and a transcript of what it says.
I’d forgotten all about him, but the memorial sent me down a Wikipedia rabbit hole. Gough was an artist born in 1784. Originally from Manchester, he set off to do the same walk as us on 17 April 1805. He fell from roughly where his memorial stands and died of a suspected head injury. His body was discovered by a shepherd on 27 July. His dog, Foxie, had stayed with him for all of that time, surviving by drinking from the tarn and scavenging.
The striking flat plateau at the top of Helvellyn
We took a few photos and then headed down by Swirral Edge, an enjoyable route but not as difficult as Striding Edge. We chose a different way, crossing the top of Red Tarn and down into Glenridding. By the time we reached the Traveller’s Rest, we’d covered just over nine miles, climbed one of England’s best-known ridges and frightened my cardiovascular system sufficiently for one day. We took our time nursing our pints with our boots off before making the last mile through the village and back to the car at Patterdale.
Dog walkers are always making grim discoveries. I was 18 when it happened to me.
I was with my terrier. I saw a small car in the distance. It was out of place, far from the nearest road.
I wandered over, curious. The windows were all misted up, the engine was ticking over. I could hear loud music playing. I circled around it, not getting too close in case it was a couple.
There was a garden hosepipe coming out of the exhaust. Someone had tried to seal it in place with red insulating tape. I took a step closer. There was a man in the driver’s seat, his forehead almost touching the steering wheel.
This was 1998. I had no mobile phone. I shouted “Help” and paused, holding my breath waiting for a reaction. There was none, nothing from the man in the car and not a sound from anyone else. I could not see another soul in any direction. I felt I had to do something. I pulled the hosepipe out of the exhaust. At least things could not get any worse now.
I tried the door handles. All three doors were locked. The passenger window was cracked open to let the hosepipe in.
I kicked the glass as hard as I could, connecting with the flat of my foot. Nothing happened.
I found a hefty stick. The window smashed to pieces the first time I hit it.
I reached in and unlocked the door. The air was hot. It caught my throat even though I tried not to breathe. I leaned across the man’s shoulders and unlocked the driver’s door. I walked around to his side and opened the door. He was cherry red, unconscious, floppy. He had been sick on his lap. He had no seatbelt on. I took his arm and pulled. I’d never been around an unconscious person before. The way he fell to the ground was disturbing – he behaved like an object rather than a person. He landed on his side. I rolled him onto his back.
I slapped his face gently. His eyes were fixed, unfocused. I gave him a few chest compressions whilst I thought about what to do. I’d never done that to a real person before. It felt horrible, violent. There was froth coming from his mouth, so I decided against any mouth-to-mouth.
The CPR wasn’t doing anything, and there was nobody else around. It felt wrong to leave him by himself. I knew if I went to get help, it would take too long by the time I took them to him. I decided to try and move us both closer to the main road.
I tilted the driver’s seat forwards and dragged his upper body back towards the car. Somehow, I bundled his torso into the space behind it. He was a bit bigger than me, so I couldn’t get his legs in. He ended up on his front with his face resting on some of the broken glass. As I put the seat back down, I felt resistance; I think that was his arm. The windscreen was still steamed up on the inside, and the wipers didn’t help. I didn’t want my dog cutting himself, so I kept him outside on the end of his extendible lead. The gearbox and pedals were different to what I was used to. I found first gear and let the clutch out, slowly, with lots of revs. I had to go about a third of a mile around a ditch to get towards the road. I was hooting the horn because I couldn’t really see where I was going. I noticed a flattened cardboard box on the passenger seat. It had once contained a car foot pump. I would read it later; it said “to whoever finds me.” The handwriting started off very neat but by the end it had faded to a scrawl.
I stopped just near where my own car was parked. A couple were just about to start their afternoon walk; they looked frightened. They soon realised I needed help and ran over. She was a nurse or a midwife; she was much better at the CPR than I had been. A small crowd started to form; someone must have had a phone, and a 999 call was made.
Within a few minutes, the ambulance arrived; they took over. The defibrillator didn’t make any difference, and after a while, they stopped; they put a red blanket over the man.
The police came. There was a sergeant in his 30s, plain clothes. He asked me to show a young PC the place where I’d found the man. The PC told me not to blame myself. Until he said that, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.
I gave my details, and they said I could go.
A few weeks later, a retired policeman from the Coroner’s office came to see me at my mum and dad’s house. He took a statement.
I had to go to the inquest. I went on my own. I found myself sat next to the man’s wife as we waited for it to start. As a sixth former, I didn’t really know what to say to a lady whose husband had died like that.
I didn’t read my statement as such. An official had a copy of it in his hand; he read it out as a series of questions that I could agree with. That was it; they said I could go; I never heard any more.
I’m 46 now. Every day, I still think about the car in the distance and the man inside it. It didn’t do me any harm, but my life was different after. I’ve carried on doing my best to do the right thing and not to look the other way. I’ve had some good adventures doing that.
If you feel you are affected by the issues raised in this post then please speak to the Samaritans, click here to visit their website or call 116 123.
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