By DARREN CLARKSON KING
Darren’s bio
Darren is an adventurer whose personal philosophy asks what we can learn when we put ourselves in a place of adventure. Over the last 20+ years Darren has explored some of the worlds most challenging rivers. He specialises in running trips across the Himalaya in Nepal, India, Bhutan, Pakistan and Tibet. To join him for expeditions visit www.purelandexpeditions.com
The reluctant pupil
The words on these pages may be hard to read – but they were hard to write, and I am ok with that. I am not going to mince my words. I am going to check in with you all – How is your mental wellness?
Consistent lockdowns, Covid headlines, and so much more have left many lost and fragile. The times have made us question our lives, leisure, and what really matters. Our time on the water – when we escape from the humdrum, life became halted, how we returned to our boats matters. Some are enthusiastic and keen, others more hesitant and cautious.
I’ve seen once confident boaters paddle slow and make simple mistakes. These mistakes sit in rumination and damage confidence and development in the sport. It possibly matters not to someone else, yet it matters to the individual – the pressure building more and more to be the paddler they once were. On the flip side, I’ve seen paddlers come back to the sport with enthusiasm – taking chances they would not have taken before. It’s about personal balance and assessing personal goals – no correct answers.
guilty solo expeditions
Kayaking hard white water was my escape from adulthood duties, my career, my lifestyle. I also know kayaking allowed me to avoid thinking about everyday things and that it allowed me to experience things many never will. Deep dark gorges high in the Himalayas are my guilty solo expeditions. Multi-day kayaking adventures with not quite enough food and a sleeping bag in the back of my boat took me into the madness and chaos of the river.
I had spent over two decades paddling remote rivers, hard rivers, huge rapids, rivers none had paddled before. I paddled solo. I carried my gear in my boat. I paddled with friends when I could. We paddled harder. We slept in the sand or between rocks as the river jostled past. We took small single-prop planes to the source. We walked for days for the chance to paddle the rivers.
I made my life around the rivers. My career and business moved with the seasons, and my friendships were based on the transient pathways of river guides around the globe. All my choices and plans depended on rainfall, the monsoon, and the snowmelt. It was part of me – running through me.
Just as I was about to set off for another Himalayan season, everything halted. Covid and UK lockdown hit. Within an hour, I had refunded all my clients. I sat alone on the sofa, looking at the picture of Poon Hill in the frame opposite. Everything I had known now paused. I waited.
Those days I was waiting brought nothing that I expected. It didn’t bring peace – the solitude was loud and all-encompassing. I would rock on the floor in the foetal position – no amount of experience in deep gorges would matter now. I had to reframe. I had to break this cycle. I took up running – it showed me that we need to have adventure, but it’s not therapy. Like many say, “paddling is my therapy”, NO! This devalues both adventure and therapy. I had to explore, and my local street became as important as the old majestic temples of Kathmandu, each road a new gorge to delve into. Things that had to be faced, stuff that adventure had whitewashed.
Inside the hidden gorges, my mind races time and again.
losing friends
I remember the ghosts now, those friends that eddied out too soon. Those who had passed away on a river – the ones who sat alone at the bar a shadow of their former selves remembering lost friends. Was it when I started paddling class 5 that I remember losing friends to the river? Nope – it had happened way before. The risks we take are covered over with smiles and bad jokes.
why?
I looked back to all the ‘what if’ moments. I looked back to those times when I received that phone call or email from the other side of the world. How do we balance our pleasure with the pain of loss? People say that if you are in this sport long enough, you will be asked to question why? The questions kept coming – too many for now.
As the country opened up and we were allowed back on rivers. I knew I needed to relight the fire. I know I needed to find pleasure again. I retraced my paddle strokes – one river at a time. I went back to the class 2 river sections that scared me in my youth – those industrial weirs in Yorkshire, littered with graffiti and pollution. I paddled older boats, which I had used in my early days, made those same moves as best my memory could remember and built my time again. I ate cake and walked away from rivers that I just didn’t feel happy with. If it’s not a pleasure, it’s pain, and no one needs that for the sake of leisure. I saw that beauty doesn’t need to be in the crystal blue of the torrents in national parks. I experienced magic in these little rivers of heritage. I paddled alone for the peace but in groups for the feeling of inclusion.
have fun
As the rain falls and I see the rivers flow and dance again, I am content in the knowledge that this is fun. It doesn’t matter if others think it was a good day or a bad day; what matters is you understand the journey – what matters is the fun. It is only you and the river. It isn’t about the boat you ride or the river you choose. It is about what the flow can give you. It is about the places that set you on a course of discovery. I am ok with that. Deep gorges or not, I know answers will come. Lessons will be taught, and I will be a pupil whether I want to be or not.
