WORDS: IAN JONES
Ian Jones
PHOTOS:
Tommy Fasoli,
Davide Longoni,
Elena Luciotti,
Brian Clough,
Riversoul,
Robinhood Watersports,
Giorgio Schiavon &
Tim Moors
Thanks to:
Davide Longoni and Tommy Fasoli of Riversoul – the kayak and rafting centre in Valsesia https://www.riversoul.it/?lang=en
Robin Hood Watersports Specialist Watersports Equipment www.roho.co.uk
Read Ian’s previous expedition from Ecuador at: https://paddlerezine.com/the-piatua-ecuador/
Old dogs, new tricks
I’m sat in the eddy below Mollia, watching as Brian floats over to me, both of us feeling pretty overwhelmed – it seems – smiles of relief or happiness? Mollia, on the Sesia River, Valsesia, a rapid of significance, so significant it was never on my radar.
Until this year, video clips started appearing on various social media feeds at low levels. Um, I can see the line from a thousand miles away, sitting on my sofa, in a different country!
We’ve been on the Sesia for four days and have spent the last two with Tommy from Riversoul. Tommy has been showing us the river and coaching us to make better lines, to make use of the water and its features. The ‘we’ is Brian and I; we’re sponsored paddlers these days, not cos of our ability, cos of our age – pensioners.
Mollia?
Mollia has been mentioned in conversations over the past weeks. Today, not a word, not a murmur or any reference – it doesn’t exist, until… We have just finished our second lap on the sprint, shouldered our boats, walked up the bank to the car park, dumped them, and debriefed the run. We’ve been making lines, and the sun is shining in our world, when the mood shifts as Tommy asks, Mollia? Gulp! I answer first, after a couple of moments of thought, “yeah.” Brian, moments later, nods in agreement.
It’s been a good bit of kidology on Tommy’s part, carrying our boats away from the river, alleviating any pressure that could have been created by leaving them riverside, assuming we were going to run it. Tommy reaches for his phone. He needs to speak to Davide. We passed him and his group on the river earlier. The groups need to merge to ensure safety and line of sight.
A long 20 minutes later, Davide’s group come into sight. There’s a bit of the usual river faff; we’re not the only ones to be running the rapid for the first time. I am asked a couple of times by people carrying their boats away from the river if I am running ‘it’; I mumble a response. I have already told Tommy that if I go quiet, there’s nothing wrong; I’m just processing. There’s a lot of processing to do.
Back on the water, we float downstream to inspect from rocks on the river’s left, immediately above the rapid. We are told it’s difficult to see the line we have seen from the road at river level. I exit my boat, walk down the rocks, note my marker on the water, a ripple on the surface as it approaches the first drop. I don’t speak to anyone; I have nothing to say. It’s yes or no, and I have already made my decision. I just walk back to the Zet, climb in, adjust the ratchets and snap my deck in place.
A signal from Tommy, now perched atop a rock, has line of sight to Davide at the bottom of the rapid, river right, with a throwline for the last stopper move, just in case, although at this level it’s not much of a keeper as it is when the river is higher.
Drop into the first feature
I break our into the slow-moving water, I see my marker and drop into the first feature, landing, I draw myself to the right and set my line for the crucial second drop, I need to land that one ok so I can be ready for the main event, a ramp of white water.
Now I’m not known for smiling much, but I am happy on the inside; I just don’t always show it. Davide tells me later he saw me smiling as I emerged from the maw of white water the ramp creates. I knew I had the line; I wasn’t going to make the flare, but I was stable and knew I could hit the stopper straight and punch it. I hear shouts and whoops of approval from the river bank as I float through a melee of boats. Turning round, I look back upstream and watch as Brian pilots the DRS down a similar route to my own.
Young pup
Later in the week, a friend’s son, Jacob Laing, runs the rapids at higher levels; he’s 14, one of the young pups and is charging into his boating career. Brian and I, older by a considerable number of years, are more strolling, meandering through ours. Jacob tells me he wants to run it higher. I have no doubt that he will. I want to run it higher; I might. Jacob’s skills are surpassing mine and his dad Mike’s, but we can still grow better beards than he can, for now! There’s life in the old dogs yet!
