Words:
Emily Legge

Photos:
Emily Legge &
Craig Legge

Emily Legge

National Autistic Society
If you would like to make a donation to the National Autistic Society, please go to my JustGiving page at: www.justgiving.com/page/riverspey-paddleforpurpose?utm_medium=FR&utm_source=CL. Your support is very much appreciated.

Paddling the River Spey in springtime by Cory Jones: 
https://paddlerezine.com/river-spey-in-springtime/

Pensioners canoeing on the River Spey by John R. Dean: https://paddlerezine.com/river-spey-2/low-down on a highland paddle

Canoeing the River Spey by Sarah Webster: https://paddlerezine.com/low-down-on-a-highland-paddle-the-river-spey/

Paddling the River Spey – a jewel in the crown of Scottish rivers by Richard Harpham: https://paddlerezine.com/paddling-the-spey-river/

The spey: from source to sea: paddling for purpose

There was snow in the mountains when I first dipped my paddle into the river that had filled my dreams for months. I was finally here, and I drank in the late October beauty along the river. The swirling amber water merged into hues of green, gold, copper and yellow, as the trees stroked orange leaves along the bankside. Behind us lay the Cairngorm Mountains, rose-painted as Dawn crested above them.

The previous day, nerves had taken hold of me. I couldn’t concentrate on the beautiful lakes we drove past or the rolling hills. Instead, I was panicking: what if I’d forgotten something? What if our guide didn’t like me? What if I made a mistake whilst paddling? These intense worries, so common in autistic people, drove all the excitement out of me until I was an anxious, jittery mess. Before this trip, fear of the unknown had created a barrier to new experiences, and I was terrified that my usual panic would keep me from taking advantage of such an enormous opportunity.

I spent the night sleepless, worried about what would happen and whether I had enough experience to complete this trip – the hours ticked by on my phone until finally, it was time.

I met our guide, Stephen McCall, on a freezing morning on the 26th of October. Given my lack of paddling experience and age, I realised I needed to hire a guide for the trip. But my family could not afford a guide or the cost of expensive paddling equipment. But where there is a will, there is a way, and I encountered incredible acts of kindness and generosity from the broader paddling community, without which this trip could not have happened.

Scottish Rock and Water
I researched and wrote to a few guiding organisations – a big ask considering that I was writing to them in their peak season. I got many unanswered letters and calls, but just as my determination was beginning to wane, I got a call from a man who I can honestly say has become a bit of a role model for me. Stephen McCall, owner of Scottish Rock and Water, said he could guide me down the river for five days at cost after peak season had ended, provided we obtained drysuits for our safety (it would be freezing!).

Peak Paddlesports
I was now left with a problem – at about £700 each for drysuits (we needed three), this was unaffordable. So, I wrote to various outfitters, and Pete Astles’ team at Peak Paddlesports replied promptly and kindly loaned us three brand-new Peak Adventure Drysuits and lifejackets. Considering they are such a well-established brand and I have no paddling experience or significant social media presence to advertise their gear, their generosity was astounding, given that I could offer them very little coverage in return.

I had brought all the food, which was labelled and portioned for each day, and then my friend and I sorted it into two barrels: one we’d take out to the campsite, the other to the river. This meant that I meticulously put each labelled bag in the barrel which it corresponded with. Stephen said he had never seen such an organisation!

Although autism is difficult to manage on a day-to-day basis, paddling showed me that it can have many advantages. In this case, my very obsessive need for order and practicality worked out in a way that benefited everyone. Autistic people thrive in environments where their traits can be helpful: our weird, quirky selves can often be a solution to a problem, and I think paddling complemented me well!

Neurodiverse adventurers belong in the outdoor world just as much as anyone else does.

The first day was difficult – this was such a new skill for both my friend, Laura, and me – but Stephen was patient and began teaching us the first of many new skills we would acquire. It was also raining and extremely cold, which were not exactly ideal conditions. For me, the sound of the paddle on the hull was very distracting, but soon we came to another piece of stunning scenery, and the noise gradually faded into the background.

Nests of birds sat atop autumn trees, and the low light of the sun tipped the leaves to gold. We passed through Loch Insh and along relatively flat sections of the river.

For beginners, this was the perfect time to begin learning how to read the river and different strokes, and for the more experienced, it was a time to enjoy the scenery. It quieted much of the worry I had been carrying for the weeks leading up to the trip.

Evening fell, and we stopped to camp on a beautiful bank of the river. Laura and I put up our tent for the first time, competing against my dad (who had put up many tents in his life). We lost the first night, but we won the rest.

Insomnia – a common diagnosis in autistic people – had plagued me since I was 11. Camping is notoriously uncomfortable, and I would be sharing a tent. From the second night onward, around 02:00 in the morning, I would sneak out of the tent (with about a 100 layers on) and sit under the tarp we had set up.

A loud mind
Without time alone on an expedition, my mind would become very loud at night, so I always needed time to decompress. I would sit and watch the night, and once I even saw a deer!

Finding ways like this to enjoy the expedition without falling into social burnout made me much more susceptible to the genuine joy of a paddling trip. In the morning, I would wash my face in the freezing water, and sometimes the eddy or lake was so still the sky reflected itself like a mirror. Autism allows me to experience the outdoor world uniquely: where others see five colours, I see 50.

This made me appreciate the beauty so much more; I could smell whiskey in the air from where we passed large hills that stored the alcohol, and I could hear so many different birds. Somehow, being outdoors, where the world stretches endlessly, reduced the overwhelm of everyday life. Simple worries, like exams or the next work project, get swept away. It becomes the wind on your face, the water breaking around your paddle, the sun at your back.

As we progressed, the river ran faster and higher.

Day three was perhaps my favourite day. Laura and I were in the same boat, and I was steering. We had been learning to read the river but had got distracted by a conversation. Suddenly, our boat began to run over rocks. Stephen, helpfully, called out that it was ‘a wee bit shallow’, which would have been useful five minutes before!

Day three was also the famous washing machine. This was understandably nerve-wracking, and although – arguably – we’d already navigated bigger rapids, the Washing Machine is a talked-about rapid for a reason.

The anticipation was enormous, but new adventures on the river were starting to excite me. The worst thing that could happen was that we would fall in, and the dry suits so far had kept us completely dry in the rain. Only my hair would get wet (which, to a teenage girl with curly hair, is admittedly not ideal).

My hyper-focus came in handy, however, and I picked what Stephen deemed ‘a great line’, and we barely needed to bail afterwards. I didn’t realise we’d finished until my dad shouted to pull into an eddy. That all-consuming concentration is what makes neurodiverse athletes great, and I believe more neurodiverse people should use it to their advantage. It’s not weird; it can be what makes you successful.

Empowering
Stephen was a brilliant teacher and read me well; he recognised that whilst I lacked experience, I was keen to learn to be more independent, but at the same time was anxious about making mistakes. Instead of throwing me in the deep end straight away or just taking me down the river without doing much myself, he gradually empowered me, giving me more and more responsibility when he felt it was safe and appropriate. By the time the third day came about, I was confident enough to go down it without Stephen or my dad in the backseat.

My guide Stephen, my friend Laura and my dad made an unlikely but close-knit team, but we got along splendidly. Even when it was cold and wet and getting dark, we all pitched in to do our jobs, and the laughter around the fire at night quickly made us forget any hardships of the day.

On the fifth day, the river had dropped to 0.8 but was still running fast. Tree strainers also lined the route, and there were more rapids and bridges to avoid. Eventually, Laura and I tipped, having rounded a corner too wide, attempting to see around it. We went over a massive wave, narrowly missed a fallen log, and then had to swim across the fast-flowing river to avoid more tree strainers.

And we managed all of this whilst holding on to our paddles. Afterwards, Steven said we had taken a ‘wee swim’. I can attest to the fact that the Scottish people don’t know what ‘small’ means! Thanks to Peak, we remained completely dry and warm, which I was very grateful for, because it was about 2 degrees.

Hypervigilant
As an autistic person, my nervous system is already in a much more heightened mode than that of neurotypical people. This meant I was hypervigilant for the rest of the day, and I was very grateful we made it to the end without falling again. Despite this, the feeling of accomplishment was amazing. My challenges don’t mean I can’t complete expeditions; they just mean I must put in a bit more work.

If you are doing something truly worthwhile, it is unlikely you can accomplish it on your own. The English poet John Donne once suggested that ‘no man is an island’.

In this trip, I have found this to be abundantly true. A support system was vital to me continuing when it felt hard. Expeditions are about the company, and friendships come from shared experiences. My advice: no matter how old you are (I was 15), what your gender is (because yes, women can paddle too!) or whether you’re neurodiverse, the outdoors has something for everyone.

If you struggle with the enormity of a long expedition, make contingencies! My dad was aware that I might not be able to complete the five-day trip down the River Spey. There was a possibility that I would feel totally overwhelmed after a day or so, or that the river conditions would require us to end the trip prematurely.

My Dad helped me to define what success meant under different scenarios, and this helped me to manage my anxiety and fear of failure.

Another step in my journey
Doing one trip has not taken away the challenges I face as an autistic girl. But it is another step in my journey to understanding myself better and learning not only to cope but to thrive in a world that can often be bewildering for me.

A community with people
I realise that not all expeditions start and end so well, but I am grateful that the first big trip that I organised and planned, mostly independently, has gone so well.

It has made me realise that, as much as my autism sometimes pushed me to be on my own, I need to be in a community with people to achieve my dreams and to help others achieve theirs.

Kindness, it seems to me, is alive and well in the paddling community, and I encourage anyone to rely on it. The people I have come across have offered nothing but helpful advice.

I am simply left with this question, “What’s next, and with whom?”