Category: kayaking

Kayaking the River Great Ouse: 85km from Willington to Ely

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.

Underside of a road bridge with colourful graffiti on the structure of the bridge. — 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

Screenshot from my Paddle Logger App showing the route we took from Bedford 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.

Robert and Nick carrying their kayaks along the pavement of Willington. — 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.

A former lifeboat from an ocean going vessel - Fort Victoria now acting as a houseboat on the River Great Ouse. — 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.

The Old Bridge Hotel – Huntingdon

Me in my kayak in the gap between the bridges, the hotel we stayed at visible over my shoulder. — 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.

My room from the hotel - very pleasant indeed, thick carpet, great bedding, en-suite.

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.

Tucking into a Turkish banquet - both of us at our table feeling full.

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.

Nick and I heading home after our night out.

Day 2 – Huntingdon to Cottenham

Screenshot from my paddle logger app showing the route we took from 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.

Both kayaks in the terraced area of the Old Bridge Hotel ready for action. — 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.

Nick in front of the main bridge at St Ives, viewed from behind.

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 viewed from the water. A mass of construction equipment, quarrying infrastructure and no portage point. — 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.

Junction of the River Great Ouse and the Old Bedford River viewed from my kayak. Substantial barriers mean there is no chance of accidentally paddling up it.

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.

Remains of the flat top bridge viewed from the river. Concrete structure with no bridge deck.

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.

Two kayaks laid face down in the reedbeds, kit decanted into an Ikea bag, Nick stood behind the boats.

I sent our hosts a message on the Airbnb app to say we were off the water and headed their way.

The Airbnb

The barn which contained the caravan I stayed in. Shows the outdoor relaxing area in front of the barn with outdoor sink to the right.

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!

The bedroom of the treehouse. Quite a romantic feminine aesthetic with pink pillows.

The treehouse - has an actual living tree through the middle. Bed in the background with love related signs on the wall.

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 caravan that I slept in - inside a barn. The outside area was carpeted.

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 enjoying the outdoor seating area of his treehouse.

Nick was in relative luxury over in the treehouse.

Nick's finger pointing out the barn which I stayed in. Taken from the outside terrace of the treehouse which he was in. — 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.

Me using the bathtub on the roof of Nick's treehouse.

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.

Me with a pint of Kingfisher lager having eaten a very good and large meal. Debris on the tablecloth.

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.

Sign posts at the junction of the River Great Ouse and the River Cam. Ely 4 miles, Cambridge 12 miles.

Ely left a great impression on us. After two days of locks, portages, awkward landings and improvised accommodation, it felt suddenly civilised.

Nick in his kayak on the River Great Ouse in the middle of Ely. Pleasant riverside scene with boats on the sides of the river and willow trees lining the riverbank.

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.

Drinks at the Riverside Bar and Kitchen, Ely. Robert and Nick, glasses in hand, menus on the table, buoyancy aid in the background.

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

Kit List Page

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.

27/08/2026

Before the Tide Took It Back: Kayaking Moricambe Bay

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 1950s

The 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.

Screenshot from Apple Maps ©️

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.

First Geograph captured – see NY1556

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.

First Geograph for NY1657

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.

First Geograph for NY1756

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.

First Geograph for NY1656

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.

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.

Anthorn gate street view – you can’t get into this sensitive site.

Solway Coast National Landscape – the wildlife, geography and history of the bay.

Substack blog about Grune Point – a different and excellent take on this location by Angie Dawn.

Remains of Grune Point bombing range – an explanation of the wooden structures in the middle of the bay by the Silloth Airfield history team.

Geograph.org.uk to learn more about this remarkably satisfying hobby.

06/08/2026
Piel Island

We try to keep two weeks free every summer and see what the weather allows.

Some years the forecast is perfect and we do something ambitious like circumnavigating Raasay and Rona. Other years the Atlantic does what the Atlantic usually does and we cancel the leave and go back to work.

This trip sat somewhere in between.

Scotland was clearly off the table, but there was a narrow 24-hour window of settled weather locally and, crucially, the tides lined up. That was enough to tempt us out. The plan became a quick crossing to Piel Island.

The tides around the Duddon Estuary can be awkward, so I dug out a guidebook, Northern England and IOM: Fifty Great Sea Kayak Voyages by Jim Krawiecki. It recommends launching from the north end of Walney Island.

Unfortunately, that would have required driving to Barrow-in-Furness.

Neither of us could quite summon the enthusiasm for a one-hour 50-minute drive when the sea was already visible from my house, so we decided instead to paddle across from Silecroft in West Cumbria.

High tide was 06:51.

Low tide at the mouth of the Duddon would arrive at 13:30.

We needed to be well clear of the estuary before then.

We left Nick’s car in the parish council car park at Silecroft at about 08:30, packing just enough food and beer for 24 hours.

The car park signage suggested the parish council preferred people not to stay overnight. We had intended to let them know what we were doing, but the contact number I had for them no longer worked.

We decided to risk it.

The sea was grey and slightly lumpy. It felt much cooler than July ought to, but it was good paddling. Through breaks in the cloud, the southern fells appeared almost unreal – ridges fading in and out of mist.

Within half an hour, we were clear of Haverigg and committed to the crossing. A group of seals seemed to find us quite interesting from a discreet distance. They were bigger than the ones we are used to seeing in Scotland.

I’m not sure why, but you can tell when you’re kayaking over shallow water; the boat just feels different, slower, more resistive to paddling. We were half a mile or more from land, but ran out of water due to a 30-40m wide sand bar with no visible ends.

Mindful of the falling tide, we decided to get out and drag ourselves over it on foot rather than try to go around it and risk being beached.

Once back afloat, we could very clearly now see the top of Walney Island. Our plan was to head down the Western/seaward side of it.

We stopped for lunch at Walney Island Beach, near West Shore Road. It was nearly low tide, so we pulled the kayaks clear and walked 200m or so to a slipway where we heated up some boil-in-the-bag. I went for an all-day breakfast. I have such a love-hate relationship with these things; I definitely thoroughly hate them by the end of a trip. The first one is always surprisingly less disgusting than I remembered, but by the second, I realise I was right all along. This one wasn’t too bad; I appreciated a hot meal under the circumstances.

It didn’t take us too long to reach the bottom of the island; we turned left and were treated to our first glimpse of Piel Castle. It looked incongruous, a ghost from the past. The castle still dominated the island, even as a ruin.

We landed by the ferry slip. Steps led up to the Ship Inn. The landlord of the Inn is also, officially, the King of Piel. So, we found the King, a friendly man in his 30s not long crowned and busy behind the bar. A loud, well-oiled customer was trying to hold court with some story or another, clutching the counter with one hand. There were half a dozen or so other customers, all desperately avoiding any eye contact with him. Everyone looked around as we walked in; dressed as we were in rubber trousers, cagoules, and buoyancy aids, we were definitely a welcome diversion.

I asked the King if we could camp on his island.

“Anywhere you like” was his easy reply. £5 per night, an exceptional bargain.

Everywhere around the pub was already fairly chock-a-block with tents, so we got back into the kayaks and paddled 400m or so around the coast, settling on a flat, grassy strip not far from some of the houses.

Once the tents were up, we found the castle – note the opening hours “Any reasonable time”. The King joined us with his dogs briefly; without saying it, he clearly needed a little bit of time away from the bar.

We dined on dehydrated Chicken Tikka Masala and then adjourned to the bar.

We found a side room full of nautical curiosities and photos and made ourselves at home. Several pints later, long after it had got dark, a private number called Nick’s telephone. It was Cumbria Police – the parish council car park committee at Silecroft had seen us paddle away over the horizon and were worried as our car was still there. This had caused a terribly embarrassing sequence of events – Bedfordshire police going to Nick’s home address, getting contact details from his wife, passing them to Cumbria police. We made our apologies to the police and thanked them for their concern.

We had a very early start the next day; high tide was 08:00, we needed to be well clear of Duddon Estuary on the way back. I needn’t have set an alarm because at 5 a.m. a dredger passed seemingly a few feet from our tents, making a noise like a surprised cow.

We had filled our flasks with boiling water the night before to save time, so breakfast was a perfunctory porridge and tea before we got back on the water.

We reached BAE Systems (where they make nuclear submarines). A massive contrast to be amongst such a futuristic estate only a short paddle from a 14th-century castle with its own reigning King.

Under the road bridge and by the time we hit the estuary, the wind was picking up considerably. The waves were coming in at between 45 and 90 degrees, and they were breaking into surf as they got closer to the land. Surf is a problem for kayakers; there’s not a lot you can do if a wave breaks over the side of your boat. It would mean a certain capsize, potentially loss of kit, injury, and a cold dunking. We deliberately took a path further out to sea, balancing the risk of being unable to swim for shore vs hopefully not needing to.

It was probably just slightly the wrong side of enjoyable at times. Loaded boats tend to be better to handle in these conditions, and thankfully, we had a considerable cargo of un-drunk beer thanks to the pub being open.

We’re pretty good at keeping each other’s spirits up and soldiering on. We only stopped once, for a quick brew from a flask because the conditions were set to deteriorate further.

I was starting to think about landing and carrying the boats to the nearest road, but it didn’t quite come to that as Silecroft grew from a dot on the horizon to the very welcome sight of Nick’s parked car. With an angry-looking lady standing next to it, hands on hips. It was going to be telling-off time.

“I know exactly where you’ve been.”

We must have looked fairly sheepish; her expression softened a little. All the same, she had definitely been looking forward to this moment and was not going to be easily deprived of it. We had a chat for about five minutes, explaining we were just local guys out for some harmless adventures. I made a genuine apology, and with that, and a suitable contribution to the car park honesty box, we were on our way home for fish and chips.

Resources

Trip planning was assisted by the excellent guidebook: Northern England and IOM – Fifty Great Sea Kayak Voyages by Jim Krawiecki. (Amazon affiliate link)

A page of all the gear I use for kayaking, camping and hiking

Kit List Page

06/03/2026