From Prague to Louny-Town

I've seen a few of these historic water level markers. This one dates back to the 1700's. The highest one, so high you can't quite see it because it's shaded by the roof, is from the great flood of 2002 on the Vlatava.

A motorcycle convention that I raided (successfully) in search of drinking water.

Through the locks.

The Charles Bridge: about 700 years old and the most famous tourist attraction in Prague.

Me portaging through Prague.

I have to laugh when i remember Pavel saying to me that he couldn't guarantee that my new canoe wouldn't get a few scratches in shipping. I assured him that the Sarka is guaranteed to get a lot more beat up than the courier could possibly manage, as this photo attests to.

My 5km portage through the countryside.

A field of poppies.

The cursed Cepel, at one of its wider spots.

Portaging through Roudnice.

You don't have adventure, it has you. This was my realization this week as I paddled from Prague, down the Vlatava and the Labe, then up the Ohre to Louny.

The Vlatava and Labe are big rivers with motor boats and cruise ships from Germany and huge barges piled high with commodities and pushed along by tugs. Long stretches of flat water, broken up by a few dams. About the most exciting thing to happen to me on these waters was going through a couple of locks. The first time, the lockmaster descended from his tower when he saw me paddle into the vast lock, meant for cargo ships, and said one word: "Little."

Then he said, "No problem" and told me to hold onto the ladder.

And it was no problem, and saved me a portage - made extra nice by the fact that i had foolishly early inadvertedly let all the air out of one of my little canoe wheelies. It was a perfect example of what i was talking about earlier: trying to make things perfect and in the process wrecking what was working pretty good. My tires were a little on the soft side. But i thought, "wouldn't this be even easier if they were nice and firm?" And then i started fiddling with the presta valves, just to see how they worked, because i'm not familiar with presta valves. and before i knew it, there was a hiss of air escaping, and i had a flat tire.

no worries, i thought: i'll just find a cyclist with a little air pump and pump it back up. there were lots of cyclists riding on trails along the river.

i found one quickly enough, but just as quickly found that my wheels were too small to fit one of those little compact bike pump in between the spokes.

it took a couple of days, but i eventually found a resourceful moped mechanic who solved the problem by attaching a small length of plastic tubing to the end of his air gun, and with me holding it tight over my wheel's value, got them nicely inflated. I like people like this, 'get 'er done' people, who don't give up on something just because they don't have the right tools.

I found this guy in Roudnice, which is where my adventure began. I had been paddling for a couple of days down these big waterways, covering lots of kilometres (48 one day!) but getting increasingly bored. then i noticed this little river than ran from the other side of Roudnice into the Ohre. I had been planning to follow the Labe in a big loop to the north then back down again to pick up the Ohre, but this little shortcut would knock 20km off my paddling - 10 of them upriver. All i had to do was portage about 2km through Roudnice. and now that i had my wheelies back, that shouldn't be a problem.

The first bit was hard slogging - pushing my canoe with all my gear inside it up a long, steep hill. but once i reached the top of that, it was a long, slow decent to the little river, called the Cepel. Pushing the canoe along was as easy as pushing a bike.

I was surprised by how few looks or comments i got from passersby; there is a certain Czech stoacism, it seems, that keeps people from too much demonstration. but there was one little toddler on his trike who couldn't stop staring. he was like a deer caught in headlights as i came down the sidewalk towards him, he deaf to his mother's calls to follow her.

When i first got to the Cepel, i was amazed by how big it was. But then that turned out to be just a little man-made reserviour, letting out a trickle into the Cepel below it. The Cepel must have earned its name in higher water times, because when i went through it it barely qualified as a ditch. when i went through a village it smelled more like a sewer.

One thing i am laerning on this trip is how slowly most things happen. Gestation, growing up, red tape, and paddling are but a few examples of things that happen very slowly. i've had to learn to be more patient. the Cepel was a prime test of my new patience. For five hours i pushed and dragged my way down the 7km of the Cepel. it was alternatively deep enough to float without too much bottom scraping, but so narrow as to be totally overgrown with grass and nettles on either side, just barely a canoe's width, or it was wide enough to avoid the overgrowth, but not to float very far before i had to get out and push again. every time i got back into the canoe, i'd track more brackish water into the boat, until my gear was swimming in it. i soon developed a kind of gondoleer style of standing up (which got my head above the weeds) and polling myself along with my paddle (which allowed me to push with greater force).

I ran into a few people along the way, and this time they were amazed to see someone crazy enough to be canoeing down this trickle. on a couple of occassions kids in riverside homemade forts followed me for awhile down the stream. i had a close call as i passed a farmer couple. i was just waving to the wife, when i heard a loud thump in the back of the canoe, and turned to find a baseball sized rock there. the husband had been digging his garden, throwing stones he dug up into the stream, and nearly got me with one by accident. He should have looked for passing canoeists first, obviously.

by the end i felt half-crazed to get out of there, with my sweaty, dirty, nettle-stung skin itching and my muscles weary. but i didn't want to stop - i just wanted out of there. when i finally made it i pulled over at the first adequate campsite i could find and had a swim, then took the next morning to let all my stuff dry out.

all told, i don't think i got there any faster then if i'd gone the long, easy way, but an adventure was had. or had me. and now, no matter how bad things get, i can always say, "At least I'm not on the Cepel," and feel a little better about my predicament.

After that i spent 3 days fighting my way up the Ohre. It isn't easy, in stretches, but at least I'm making headway. progressing 20km is a good day. I've come to love the little dams now, because every time i portage up over one, i'm sure to find at least a few kilometres of slack current. then, as i get closer to the next dam, the current tends to pick up more and more.

i reached one point where paddling into the current was just getting stupid. i was expending all this energy, and just inching my way forward. so i had a look at my map and noticed a "bike path" i could take to a point further up the river, avoiding a big loop in the river. it was between about 10km of paddling upstream, and 5km of portaging with my wheelies, to get to the same point. the choice was easy. i wheeled my canoe down a quiet country road (the "bike path"), through three villages, and back to the Ohre. This was one shortcut well worth it. I have a feeling that, from Kadan to Karlovy Vary, where the river looks like it's half rapids, I'll be using this technique a lot. Hell, i might even walk the whole way.

After three days I reached my planned rest stop, Louny - right on schedule, too. Amazing, when that happens. I locked my canoe to a tree by the river, in what looked like an unused and hidden bit of bush, and found a hotel in town to rest for a couple of nights. I figure that since i'm not spending anything on camping along the way (in fact, i spent ridiculously little money on this leg of the journey, because there were no restaurants geared towards canoeists and easily accessible from the river. i went 5 days without a beer - which must be a new record for the Czech Republic), i can afford to splurge on a hotel occasionally. and even that doesn't cost much: about $37/night. It's an modest place, but it feels like the Hilton to me. The first thing i did was take a long, hot shower until i was practically drooling with pleasure. A couple of beers, a couple of big meals, and some English Aljazeera on the satilite TV, and it was off to bed for me.

Predictably, I had the worst sleep in ages, because i'm so unused to sleeping in a bed. I should just spread my thermarest out on the floor, and i'd probably sleep better.

Good news from Vikki: her and her boyfriend Sergio are flying into Prague on the 15th, and then coming to find me. Human contact! Conversation! Help paddling! Yes!