Arriving at Dover just 15 mins before the departure time of the ferry on Saturday afternoon, we, in the advance party, were waved straight aboard and into pole position for leaving the car deck. The executive lounge on the Stena Sealink ferry was almost deserted apart from the four of us and, with the arrival of the complementary Champagne, the trip had really begun.
Thunderstorms punctuated our journey through northern France and a diesel stop at the medieval town of Laon (you would not believe how difficult it is to buy diesel in France on Saturday night) turned into a dinner stop too as the rain poured off the canopy of the restaurant. After a few hours to sleep it off in the small hours, we reached our initial goal, the artificial whitewater course at St Pierre de Boeuf which is 30Km south of Lyon, around 10 on Sunday morning.

A quick pitching of tents and we were ready to test our skills on the excellent course, laid out at the side of one of the barrages on the Rhone. We reported to reception and paid a remarkably small sum for the camping and the use of the water for the day, and carried the boats up to the pool at the top where the water was coming in from an underwater sluice from the river.
There were four or five bridges over the course at strategic intervals and they often seemed to coincide with a major feature of the course, which tended to consist of falls of a couple of feet (which you could play under but not paddle up) followed by several smaller drops or eddies which could be paddled up without having to portage.
To start off with, we didn't get too adventurous and having passed the various stoppers on the course, stayed out of them. But after an hour or so Simon was showing us the ways back into the waves from below and seemed to be enjoying getting pretty much stuck in the big one at the second bridge! There was not much other traffic, surprisingly, for a Sunday, and with the water being so nice and warm -- there was a power station a few miles upstream.
At the bottom of the course you had the choice of getting out of your boat and carrying it back up along the gravel path at the side of the course, or else you could paddle around into a lake which was on the other side of the campsite, and thus get almost back to the start, albeit with a rather steeper climb once you got out. We did this a few times and by the time we had had enough, we three paddlers had got quite a head start on reactivating our old skills, including the ability to roll when required and drink beer. Rose, in the meantime, had been busy with camera, novel and sketchpad but had not yet got bored enough to begin chipping bits off the rocks along the course.

We proved our beer-drinking ability at the restaurant which was 200 yards or so away from the main gates, where we found an excellent meal at a reasonable price. While we were there, Chris, Michael and Eric in the second car arrived, having had their dinner up in the mountains a little earlier in the evening.

By the way - I almost forgot to mention it - Nigel fell out, which was a first for the holiday.

Forward to Monday.. More fun on the slalom course, by boat and by Menhir. A trip to the mountaintop.

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