Then just like that, almost by accident, the three
of us were off on our way. Charlie and I had done
a lot of flat water paddling together (and LOTS
more SUP surfing) but Ian, a die-hard surfer, was
a new convert to the wonders of paddling,
although strictly on flat water – for now. I
thought we were going for an hour jaunt along
the cliffs at Freshwater Bay to take photos in the
caves but Charlie had been thinking of the bigger
picture. He had craftily got two photographers all
kitted up and heading west, as well as taking
along three water bottles and three protein
flapjacks to keep us going because neither me
nor Ian had the common sense to pack lunch!
This was soon to be followed by a pleasure boat
full of tourists clicking away with their cameras
and then a big yellow powerboat bouncing
around. A couple of yachts, another pleasure boat,
a few light aircraft and the rather large oil-spill
response plane doing low-altitude practice runs
directly overhead add to the cacophony. Our
journey to what for a brief moment seemed like
the end of the known world had actually become
a trip to the busiest place on the Isle of Wight.
We paddle around in circles for a bit, enjoying
the sights and being as touristy as everyone else
- snapping every angle of the famous rocks –
before tummy rumblings remind us that we’d
better be getting back to dry land. Charlie’s idea
had been to return to Freshwater Bay on the now
flooding ti de but the going is tougher than we
hoped. A relatively light SE wind had kicked up,
but heading straight into it with breeze against
tide had created chop and progress was slow.
Armed with way more gear than we had
provisions, we paddle off. Charlie and Ian both had
GoPros, I had my Canon 6D in a dicapac (cheap
waterproof plastic ziplock thingy) and Ian also had
his Canon 60d in a proper waterproof housing.
It’s a gentle start; the ebbing tide moves us quickly
and easily along the coast. Paddling is almost
optional as it draws us away from the bay heading
west across smooth and crystal clear waters. Before
long we get to the caves below Tennyson
Monument. This is a place we had visited once
before, and the furthest west we had SUPed, The
caves provide a welcome shelter from the midday
sun on the hottest June day for 40 years.
After five minutes, and only getting half way
across Scratchells Bay, Charlie and I decide that it
would be a long and tiring few hours like this, and
perhaps we better go for plan B. We head into the
shelter of the Solent on to Totland Bay, where we
can hope to cadge a lift, or at least phone one of
our better halves to come and rescue us.
Head for home
Inside the coolness of the largest cave we take
on some water and I happily scoff the surprise
oat flapjack that Charlie produces like a
magician from his backpack. Just an hour and a
bit into the journey, a lot of paddling (most of it)
still ahead of me, and I’ve already eaten all my
rations! Charlie and Ian go for a refreshing dip to
cool off.
We about turn and thread the Needles once
again to head for home, this time in a new
direction. The earlier hubbub is soon forgotten as
in complete contrast to the choppy and bumpy
surface of Scratchells Bay we glide gently back
along the leeward coast and the glassy waters of
Alum Bay, marveling at the glorious sights and
colours. Huge boulders and equally impressive
seaweeds at the base of the towering white cliffs,
the biggest bass I’ve seen on the Island
swimming directly below us, as well as a couple
of fancy looking jellyfish.
Heading from the respite of the cave back into
the beating sun we push on towards the end of
the chalk cliffs in the distance. We paddle for
almost another hour before coming upon an
eerily quiet and empty place. The cliffs towering
above us, out of sight of Freshwater Bay, but still
not far enough to glimpse The Needles, it felt like
a no-man’s land – a Jurassic Lost World.
Mysterious windows in the cliff face, looking like
they belonged in an abandoned mining town of
the Wild West (Charlie told me they are part of a
secret tunnel network connected to the Needles
Old Battery, used as lookout posts in the war).
This little piece of heaven lifts everyone’s spirits
and after hugging the base of the cliffs we strike
out across the Alum, passing crowds of tourists
on the beach. Before long we escape again,
arriving at the complete remoteness of another
stretch between Alum and Totland Bay. It’s
maybe the most beautiful part of the whole trip
with sparkly turquoise water gently lapping into
sheltered little sandy beaches protected by long
fronds of elaborate seaweeds. Ian and Charlie
decide it’s the perfect spot for another swim.
The waters are now deep and dark but still
beautifully clear. The only sounds were those of
the ‘guls and cormorants going about their
business (mostly fishing I’m guessing). Although
we did see a dead cormorant I wondered if we’d
accidentally just paddled our way through a
solemn ceremony of remembrance.
Busy place
Keeping up a steady paddling rhythm as we
approach the final corner and see those elusive
Needles coming into view; our visions as intrepid
explorers became slightly deflated by the sight
of another paddle boarder gliding across the
horizon (he took the easier, shorter trip from
Alum Bay and was there in 20 minutes).
s
t
Welcome sight
The temptation is to stay all afternoon, but the
heat and lack of lunch force us onwards. Soon
Totland Bay and the welcome sight of the old
a
n
d
u
p
p
a
d
d
l e
m
a
g
u
k
14