{"id":2037,"date":"2026-07-09T15:00:00","date_gmt":"2026-07-09T14:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/?p=2037"},"modified":"2026-07-06T10:37:50","modified_gmt":"2026-07-06T09:37:50","slug":"at-76-he%ca%bcs-kayaking-the-length-of-the-shannon-and-blogging-every-stop-the-river%ca%bcs-busiest-in-july-so-he-goes-at-dawn","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/at-76-he%ca%bcs-kayaking-the-length-of-the-shannon-and-blogging-every-stop-the-river%ca%bcs-busiest-in-july-so-he-goes-at-dawn\/","title":{"rendered":"At 76 he\u02bcs kayaking the length of the Shannon and blogging every stop \u2014 the river\u02bcs busiest in July so he goes at dawn"},"content":{"rendered":"

The river is quiet<\/strong> at dawn<\/strong>, a pale ribbon of light that runs beneath his paddle. A heron lifts, blue-gray<\/strong> and unbothered<\/strong>, leaving only a ripple and a whisper. At seventy-six, he moves with tidy<\/strong> efficiency, the kayak a pencil<\/strong> sketching across Ireland\u2019s longest waterway.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

He prefers the hushed<\/strong> hours before the marina<\/strong> wakes. \u201cThe river\u2019s busiest<\/strong> when the sun is greedy<\/strong>,\u201d he says, dipping his blade with the care of a calligrapher<\/strong>. \u201cAt dawn, the river gives you permission<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Keeping to the hush<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

By July, the Shannon is festival<\/strong> bright, alive with cruisers<\/strong> and laughter. To avoid the churn, he pushes off<\/strong> while the pub lights are out<\/strong> and the dew still clings to the banks. The water feels low<\/strong> and honest<\/strong>, before engines unspool their long silver threads<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

He doesn\u2019t race the boats<\/strong>, he sidesteps their wake<\/strong>. \u201cI\u2019ve learned that quiet<\/strong> is a kind of current<\/strong>,\u201d he says. \u201cIf I follow it, I don\u2019t have to fight<\/strong> anything.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Logging the river, one town at a time<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

Every stop becomes a post<\/strong>, clipped and warm<\/strong> on his website. He writes beside lock-gates<\/strong>, at caf\u00e9 corners<\/strong>, on picnic benches parked under sycamores<\/strong>. The entries are short, salted<\/strong> with names: Carrick-on-Shannon<\/strong>, Athlone<\/strong>, Banagher<\/strong>, Portumna<\/strong>, Killaloe<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

He shoots with a phone<\/strong>, scrubs the glare with a cap<\/strong>, and uploads through a pocket hotspot<\/strong>. \u201cI blog so my grandkids<\/strong> can follow the map<\/strong>,\u201d he says. \u201cAnd so I can pinch a memory<\/strong> later and know where the light<\/strong> came from.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

The geography of patience<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

The river sprawls through lakes<\/strong> that feel like seas<\/strong>: Lough Allen, Lough Ree<\/strong>, Lough Derg<\/strong>. On the broad water, the kayak feels tiny<\/strong> but right<\/strong>, like a comma in a generous sentence<\/strong>. He skims the reeds<\/strong>, finds the lee<\/strong>, watches the wind\u2019s gray handwriting<\/strong> on the surface.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Locks are their own ritual<\/strong>, slow and courteous<\/strong>. \u201cYou wait, and you wave<\/strong>, and someone trades a story for a rope<\/strong>,\u201d he says. \u201cIt\u2019s not a delay, it\u2019s a custom<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

A body with miles on it<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

At seventy-six, the body has opinions<\/strong>, and he listens closely<\/strong>. The shoulders ask for warmth<\/strong>, the hips want room<\/strong>, the fingers seek dryness<\/strong>. He stops before the pinch<\/strong> becomes a scream<\/strong>, eats when the thought becomes sharp<\/strong>, drinks before the mouth turns paper<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m slower than I was<\/strong>, which means I see more<\/strong>,\u201d he says, shrugging a rain jacket<\/strong> across the back of his neck<\/strong>. \u201cAge is a coach who whispers<\/strong>, not a ref who whistles<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Morning rituals, minor luxuries<\/h2>\n

<\/p>\n

He carries what he needs<\/strong>, and little else<\/strong>. The dry bag is rhythmic and spare<\/strong>, packed the same way after each landing<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n
  • Map<\/strong>, but also memory<\/strong>; thermos<\/strong> for tea; muesli<\/strong> in a tin; spare<\/strong> socks; plasters<\/strong>; solar<\/strong> charger; notebook<\/strong> wrapped in a tea towel<\/strong>; whistle<\/strong>; tiny<\/strong> towel; a photocopy<\/strong> of a poem<\/li>\n

    \n<\/ul>\n

    <\/p>\n

    He laughs at the poem<\/strong>, says it keeps him polite<\/strong>. \u201cIf I\u2019m about to complain<\/strong>, I read the page<\/strong> and decide I\u2019m fine<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Companions along the banks<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    He meets people who are generous<\/strong> with directions and biscuits<\/strong>. A lock-keeper points to a shortcut<\/strong> behind a moored barge<\/strong>. A group of teenagers ask for a selfie<\/strong>, then carry his kayak like a calf<\/strong> over the short portage<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    \u201cStrangers are the bridge<\/strong> between sections,\u201d he says, slipping back into the seat<\/strong>. \u201cThey turn the route from a line<\/strong> into a story<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Weather, the true editor<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Rain writes its own agenda<\/strong>, soft but stubborn<\/strong>. Wind changes the verbs<\/strong>, swapping glide for grit<\/strong>. He refuses to argue with forecast<\/strong> or sky; he sets the alarm earlier<\/strong>, watches for a window<\/strong>, turns when the taste gets metallic<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    Some mornings stay milk-pale<\/strong> and merciful<\/strong>. Others come at him with teeth<\/strong>, all slap and swerve<\/strong>. He carries both in the blog, without drama<\/strong>, just the texture<\/strong> of the day.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    What the river keeps<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    He\u2019s not chasing a record<\/strong>, only a relationship<\/strong>. The river is less an obstacle<\/strong> than a conversation<\/strong>, and the kayak is a way to keep the talk simple<\/strong>. \u201cYou give the river time<\/strong>, and it gives you scale<\/strong>,\u201d he says. \u201cIt\u2019s a fair trade<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    At each town he notes a sound<\/strong>, a smell, a color<\/strong> on a wall. The posts are breadcrumbs<\/strong> across a long green tablecloth<\/strong>, leading back to places he never knew he\u2019d miss<\/strong>. He tags them lightly, with date<\/strong>, reach, and a few honest<\/strong> lines.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    The nearing tide<\/h2>\n

    <\/p>\n

    As he slides south, the water grows brackish<\/strong>, and the gulls start to heckle<\/strong>. Through the last lough<\/strong>, he keeps the paddle clean<\/strong>, head turned to a deeper rhythm<\/strong>. He pauses where a bridge<\/strong> lifts the sky and takes a long slow breath<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    \u201cMost days, I feel small<\/strong>, which is useful<\/strong>,\u201d he says, grinning into the glare<\/strong>. \u201cSmall means the river can teach<\/strong>, and I can still learn<\/strong>.\u201d<\/p>\n

    <\/p>\n

    He will finish when the tide<\/strong> agrees and the wind goes soft<\/strong>. There will be tea in a mug<\/strong>, a quiet note<\/strong> on the blog, maybe a photo of the kayak sleeping<\/strong> on the grass. Then he\u2019ll rest, not because the journey<\/strong> is over, but because its echo<\/strong> will take a while to fade.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2058,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2037","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-news","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-50"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2037","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2037"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2037\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2047,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2037\/revisions\/2047"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2058"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2037"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2037"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.farmersforum.ie\/trends\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2037"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}