POST 1 — Sweet Sleep
Updated: Oct 10
April 7, 2013
I'm hunched in my tent, wrestling with my back, which feels like it's locked in a permanent cramp. Can't find a single position that doesn't hurt. But hey — I knew what I was signing up for. The first two weeks were never going to be a picnic. If anything, this trip's shaping up to be a beautiful kind of hell. A long, grinding holiday through fire.
But let's rewind to the beginning.
When I decided to set out on this journey and document it, I made myself a promise: to write honestly. No Instagram-filtered nonsense. Not just the cool sunsets and heroic paddling shots. I wanted to show what it's really like — the sore joints, the broken gear, the mental dips, and yeah, the moments when everything sucks. That's what I'll be sharing here. The full truth, no edits.
So, why did I paddle out all ceremonial-like and then immediately turn around and go back to my starting point?
Simple. I hadn't slept in 36 hours, and my brain was oatmeal. I'd been clearing out the workshop I'd been using, hauling moulds to a new location, and frantically finishing my packing. I started around 3 a.m., and by the time I finally stuffed the last drybag into the kayak, it was almost 9.
And guess what? There was no room left — not even for a poppy seed, let alone food. But I know myself. I'm good at solving that kind of problem on the fly. I'm still figuring out the new boat and gear, which take up space differently. A few days in, I'm already repacking faster and finding more room.
Initially, I hadn't planned to crash at the launch site. Just a quick pack-up and go. But — as usual — plans changed.
Some friends showed up to see me off, driving in from hours away just to wave. I couldn't bring myself to disappear without a proper goodbye. And besides… it hit me: this was my first real day off after five straight weeks of nonstop prep. Work, logistics, boat building, gear tuning, sponsor-chasing… I was running on fumes. Finally launching felt like coming up for air.
Still, I knew I'd need to ease into paddling. Over the past couple of years, I'd mostly been on the water during kayaking events, nothing long-distance. And I felt it. My wrists and elbows were already barking before I even reached the first bridge.
So I did a short symbolic run — from the workshop to Charles Bridge and back. Just a few kilometres. It felt huge. I had the paddle collapsed down to its shortest length and basically fumbled my way there and back like a tired sea slug. But that was it: the journey had officially begun.
Totally wiped out, I crawled under my tarp and slept like the dead until mid-morning the next day. Beautiful.