Christine Grosart 05/11/2023 Christine Grosart 05/11/2023

Amazing Annecy

“The Marmots were singing, the vultures circling and I froze my a** off!”

Sometime in the early 2000s, en route back from the epic Dent de Crolles cave system in the Chartreuse, France, we swung by a town called Annecy.

It frankly, took my breath away. A clean, cosmopolitan town with tree lined streets casting gentle shade over the many restaurants and bars, over looking a warm, mountain lake with a mountainous back drop. The canopies of parapentistes circled the mountain slopes, dormant ski lifts awaited winter and water skiers zoomed about all over the lake, dodging pedalos with beer swilling tourists.

It was idyllic and I vowed to go back.

It was almost 20 years before I did.

With a triathlon looming, what better excuse than to train for it on the banks of the stunning lake Annecy.

I was delighted to join a new vessel and a new company after the Licanke expedition. The Seven Atlantic is well known as one of the best flagship saturation diving vessels in the north sea. She didn’t disappoint. A friendly crew and lovely working environment, with a great back-to-back – I was able to settle into my training without issue.

I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to come with me to France at short notice. The upside was, it left me free to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

I loaded my van with a sea kayak, bikes, swimming gear, camping gear and pretty much anything I thought I might need. It was weird going to France without any diving kit.

Figuring as a free agent, time was my own, I saw no reason to bomb it straight down to Annecy. Besides, campsites have weird opening and closing hours there so it made sense to arrive in daylight and not be trashed when I got there.

My Orro gravel bike in the champagne region of France.

I was super motivated – captivated even – by the Tour de France Femmes. It had been some 30 something years since it had been allowed to take place. One of the stages passed through the champagne region of France. A quick search on Komoot and a few emails to the Epernay campsite and my plan was forming.

I set up shop at the campsite after an uneventful journey and planned my ride for the next day.

The route was 45 miles or so and took in all the famous vineyards such as Bollinger and Moet & Chandon.

It was warm, sunny and there were a few tell-tale signs of the tour that had passed through a couple of months earlier. I was super grateful for the municipal water fountain which also doubled as a book swap library!

The route was somewhat lacking in cafes, so by the time I got back to the campsite on just an energy bar or two, I was ready for a good feed.

On the advice of the campsite owner I was directed away from the pizza and frites I had been longing for and instead ended up in the best rated restaurant in Epernay. It didn’t disappoint I have to say.

I got on the road the next day down to Annecy and checked in at the campsite. The sky was a little moody and being September, the weather had started to become a little unstable.

Warm, sunny days were met with windy, thundery nights, sometimes with some serious mountain lightening storms.

It was during one of these evenings when the temperature dropped and the wind began to pick up, my fellow campers and I treated ourselves to the local burger van.

As I tucked in beside my awning, a lovely Welsh couple sheepishly wandered over to me. Looking up as they approached, they said "Um, I don't suppose you've heard?" They looked sombre.

"Oh" I said "Has she, ummm....."

They nodded.

The Queen had passed away. The mood on the campsite was strange. It was peaceful, people of all nationalities stopping to chat to each other - and several of us cracked open a bottle of something fizzy that we were keeping aside for some occasion.

We raised a toast.

RIP M'am.

Even less smart was not taking a jacket as it’s really quite cold at the top of mountains! I was glad to get back down to the col and into the warm sunshine again.

My sea kayak gave me lots of fun on the lake and I paddled right into Annecy itself which was a stunning experience.

I found the most perfect little boat stand which made a great bike rack for practising transitions and I had a little circuit set up – swim in the lake, jog along the pontoon – transition to bike, lap of the campsite then transition to running shoes….jog round the campsite….

Unfortunately the worry of leaving the bike unattended prevented me from doing the full distance, but it was great for practising transitions.

Not long after I drove home I had the small matter of the Great Exmoor ride, which was a complete blood bath – ok, I finished it but doing such a hilly route when I was still sore after my escapade up Le Semnoz, was a daft idea.

A week later came my first triathlon.

I was delighted to complete it and not finish last. My swim was quick, but I’d over done it and was out of breath for quite a while once I’d jumped on the bike….then, given I had done no running training at all, the 3km time was very, very poor.

I knew what I had to do to improve and vowed to take myself away on another training camp before the next one.

It was fantastic to have three amazing friends turn up – complete with cream tea and prosecco and their cameras – I was so grateful to Lisa, Jo and Paul for coming along and offering support and encouragement. They are the best.

Christine Grosart 22/10/2023 Christine Grosart 22/10/2023

Can't ride, won't ride.

I think the last time I rode a bike, honestly, was probably age 9. I had a boys black BMX that was indestructible and I would fly up and down the hill beside my Dad's house with no fear at all.

Then he left the country and that was the last time I saw him – and the last time I ever rode a bike.

They say you never forget. I’d like to offer definitive and conclusive evidence to the contrary!

Most people give me a funny look when I tell them I used to be a jockey. Definitive and conclusive evidence below in case you still need convincing.

It was my dream career and whilst I didn’t win the Grand National (but am super delighted that Rachael Blackmore has!) I was, for a short time, a professional sportswoman.

Roll on 20 years and the ability to spend the same on a bottle of wine as I did once on my weekly food shop, has piled on not just pounds, but stones.

I was heading for a car crash. Without burning thousands of calories every single day, riding up to 5 racehorses a morning and all the hard physical graft looking after them entailed, I couldn’t maintain my weight nor my figure.

My second ride over fences, on board Clashbridane

Buying a house, a long term relationship and everything that comes with being ‘comfortable’ led to the point where I would avoid certain caving trips I once loved and dreaded black tie events as I no longer owned any nice clothes that fitted me.

I spiralled into further self-destruction – the more I hated myself the more I harmed myself by eating and drinking.

I continued to run, sometimes doing 5ks every other week. I continued to cave, sometimes carrying my KISS rebreather through boulder hopping caves. My back hurt, my knees hurt, my stiff necks and migraines became the norm.

But I was getting away with it all on experience and I knew soon, it would catch up with me.

The diving support vessel Boka Atlantis is my second home these days. The gym is not the best and most of the gym bunnies on board struggle with it.

I’ve used the treadmill and done circuits but exercising on a moving boat is always awkward. The food is amazing so the excuses just kept on coming.

I did eat carefully on one trip and managed to lose a stone. But I was still dangerously overweight and as soon as I got home, it went straight back on.

In the early spring I was contacted by a tv company to be filmed exploring a cave abroad. I wasn’t overly keen as it looked a bit gimmicky, but after some research I decided I could probably move some things around and make it work. It seemed the only thing I needed to do was get an HSE diving medical.

Panic set in. My BMI was ridiculous. Even as a jockey it hovered around 27 owing to the muscle I was carrying. You need to be strong to ride racehorses and I had never been a waif.

I was talking to one of our saturation divers one day and, feeling beaten, moaned that I had to choose which leg to cut off in order to pass my HSE medical as there was no way I could meet the BMI standard in just under 7 weeks.

He said; “I’ll help you”.

I had already decided I was beyond help. I had given up and everyone had also given up on me. Besides nobody was brave enough – nor stupid enough – to tell me I needed to sort myself out.

“You need to trust me”.

I figured anyone brainless enough to tell me to look in the mirror and tell myself that ‘that’ was no longer acceptable was on some sort of suicide mission anyway and I let him talk me into the most ridiculous eating and exercise regime ever. I more than halved my calorie intake and hit the watt bike every damn day.

I lost 7 lbs in the first week.

I kept going and the weight just kept falling off. I was getting stronger, I had a spring in my step and a smile on my face and everyone on board were confused and perplexed.

What was happening to the medic? And where had the rest of her gone?

I had bought a cheap, crappy second hand mountain bike to get me going at home. I spent the grey, mizzly winter lockdown days re-learning to ride it.

I couldn’t get up the short hill at the back of our village without stopping at least three times. Then it was two.

I came back from my six week trip on Atlantis and bossed my HSE medical – right at the point the tv company pulled the plug, blaming covid, quarantine, you name it…

But I didn’t care. I’d done it. But I still had a long way to go and still do.

I went straight up the hill at the back of our village without stopping and just couldn’t believe it!

Buying bikes, even new ones, is fraught after the lockdown boom. Added to the fact that factories were struggling anyway, never mind with the increased demand and I was having difficulty getting anything suitable in my size.

£2000 later and one Orro gravel bike had joined the family. It was lightweight, small and twitchy but I fell in love with it and even braved Burrington Combe – twice!

It’s funny how you only know what you know. I can ride a racehorse but could barely ride a bike. I can build and service a rebreather but couldn’t change a bike tyre.

I had been riding on my own pretty much to save myself from inevitable humiliation. I still make a hash of junctions and I cannot do roundabouts. Traffic scares me and quarry lorries are just assholes. Despite all that, I lost another stone.

So, it is with this lack of knowledge and no benefit of experience at all, that I did something really stupid.

I entered the Great Weston ride on 18th July. 57 miles.

The furthest I have cycled is 30 miles and I ached for days afterwards.

I’m going to raise money for the official charity of the event, Prostate Cancer UK and use my skills as a trustee for another UK charity to raise some funds.

Those of you who know me know that I am a determined little madam – but this is a big stretch for me. I’ve only been riding a bike for 6 months and have no clue what I am doing.

Christine Grosart 22/10/2023 Christine Grosart 22/10/2023

The Great Weston

We did it!!

Trust me to do my first ever Sportive on the hottest day of the year!

What an incredible, amazing event and SO well organised. A big hats off must go to Darren who seems to monitor social media and his emails in his sleep. Seriously great service!

Between you, you all raised £681 for Prostate Cancer UK.

I chose this charity over my own because it was the official charity of the event, plus I spend all of my working life offshore surrounded by men. And they are rubbish at talking about this sort of thing.

I was so grateful to my friend Jayme, a serious cyclist who was more than happy to join me all the way. I love riding with Jayme. There is no competition, no macho, no ego...she rides with me for fun and we chit chat the whole way. She encourages me and is kind to me even when I'm not doing so well. I'm so glad she was there.

Our first stop was at the bottom of Burrington but...the queue for water was huge and actually, we had plenty so we kept going. I was devastated that there was no ice cream van at the top of Burrington Combe so we stopped a little further on for a diet coke break.

I was gutted not to have finished in under 4 hours, but given it was the furthest I had ever ridden by about 17 miles...and the first time I had ever ridden in any heat, I was just pleased to have finished at all. Thank you once again to everyone who sponsored me!

Christine Grosart 21/10/2023 Christine Grosart 21/10/2023

Largs to Gran Canaria

Dock yard in Las Palmas. DS7, very similar to the DS4.

Whilst I've been pretty comfortable mooching around the North Sea as a medic, with the occasional excursion to Denmark, the Netherlands or the occasional hazy night in Lerwick, I haven't really been anywhere 'nice' in my offshore travels.

By nice, I mean warm - and safe.

So, I couldn't really turn down my next little job which was to travel with a drilling vessel as she made her way to the dock yard in Las Palmas, Gran Canaria.

The DS4 was infamous for going AWOL from her cold stack in Largs, in the firth of Clyde when she broke her moorings in huge gales.

The weather when I arrived was almost as vile and I was drenched before I even made it up the gangway. I was looking forward to some better weather in the canaries!

A 10 day very pleasant transit saw us arriving at a very busy port, with a handful of sister ships tied up all awaiting work.

My company had arranged a flight home for me, which they put back at my request so I could see a bit of Gran Canaria.

I wondered if there was any decent cycling here...

It turned out that the canary islands are nothing short of a cycling 'mecca'. Lacking confidence and still terrified of cycling with other people who were all absolutely guaranteed to be better than me in every single way possible, I opted to go on a 'cappuccino' tour with Freemotion Bike centre. This sounded gentle and surely must involve lots of coffee stops and photo opportunities.

If it was too easy (after all, I had been doing Alpe de Huez on the watt bike every week offshore) I could pick a harder tour on a later day.

I know nothing about bikes. They have two wheels and that is pretty much it. I'd heard that Specialized were a good brand and for 30 euros a day rental, I picked one.

I didn't have my cycling helmet with me, but one came with the rental. I had already warned FreeMotion that I would need 'normal' pedals as I couldn't yet ride cleats. No problem, they said.

After a very pleasant evening at my all inclusive hotel apartment, complete with pool and kiddies evening disco, I got a taxi to the bike centre only 20 minutes away and got in the queue to collect my helmet and bike. I hadn't brought any suitable cycling shades and figured I could just grab a cheap pair at the bike shop.

One 140 euro pair of Oakleys later and I was set to go.

It was my first time on a proper road bike and my first time on road tyres. What could possibly go wrong?

Betty, our guide, advised me to have a quick ride up and down the car park to get used to the bike. After watching me give it a spin she advised me to do it again.....

We weren't far away from setting off when I noticed lots of people looking in my direction.

Did I have a hole in my shorts? Were they admiring my trainers? Feeling self conscious and fighting off every desire to just give the bike back, get in a cab and go straight back to my hotel, I realised what they were looking at.

I googled it later and discovered to buy one new would cost about £5000.

I took out some extra insurance and sympathised with Betty, our guide, who gently pointed out that even she 'didn't get to ride that one'.

Betty spends her winters in Gran Canaria, guiding tourists around the island on two wheels. Fair enough.

She also spends her summers cycling up mountains in Switzerland.

Oh shit.

How on earth she tolerated hapless tourists like me, day in day out, I don't know. She was truly inspirational and I wanted to be like her - immediately.

There was only one other guy with our 'cappuccino' tour. A banker, quite tall and pleasant was allowed out occasionally to go cycling.

They both set off at a brisk pace. I could keep up - just - but as usual, got a bit bedevilled at roundabouts (going the wrong way round now as well) but the traffic was forgiving. Confusingly so, in fact, as the traffic here gives way to cyclists on roundabouts.

To a Brit, where the traffic basically tries to kill you at every opportunity, this was most perplexing. I wobbled and almost fell off in the middle of a 4 lane backwards roundabout when the traffic slowed and politely waved me through.

I just about managed to keep up, wondering how I'd do 35 something miles in the heat, when they both instantly left me for dead each time we came to a hill.

I dropped Expensive Specialized into his lowest gear and span comfortably up each hill - getting there in the end - and enjoying the super fast, super smooth downhills on the other side with the sea breeze cooling me down and the view of the bright, sparkling azure ocean in my view the whole time.

Speed both thrills and terrifies me. I'm acutely aware of what will happen to my body if I come off at 30mph - I've done it enough times on racehorses - but it's the skin removal and traffic that makes me twitchy. But hey, I'd have been having fun until that point.

We stopped briefly on occasion to let us regroup. After setting off a few times up hill I noticed a weird buzzing sound coming from banker's bike.

He was on a bloody e-bike!!

For the love of God!

At about half way (home!) we stopped for coffee. This seems to be a thing with cyclists. Coffee and cake.

We didn't stay long enough for cake and we were off again. Once back at the bike shop I had another coffee then cycled the 8 miles back to the hotel for a dip in the (very cold) pool.

After a day off, I cycled back to Freemotion to repeat the exercise, though this time with a larger group. We set off on the Cercados Espino tour, taking in a stunning old river valley.

The rock formations were stunning and the blue sky exhilarating. It was a gentle 1% incline for several miles and the road surface was like velvet. We stopped for lunch and coffee and cold cola at a cafe just before the valley begins to get stupidly steep. I had lunch with a german cyclist - which is not something I ever thought I'd say - and we sped back down the valley in half the time, enjoying the gentle downwards incline.

Delighted that I just about managed to keep up with the group on a hot and busy hill back into town, plus managed to navigate a huge roundabout by myself when all Betty's ducklings got across together and left me stranded, I handed Expensive Specialized back in.

I was a few hundred quid lighter, but had really enjoyed cycling in the heat on superb roads, considerate traffic (I don't think I even noticed a car, other than the one who waved me across the roundabout, despite it being his right of way) and I have now found my favourite winter haunt.

Christine Grosart 20/10/2023 Christine Grosart 20/10/2023

Moody Mull.

“Is anyone here a geologist?” our rather chilled out kayak leader asked.

“Me, me, meeeeeee!” I said, rather excited …and putting my hand up….seriously….

Well, not really. I did study geosciences for several years with the Open University and loved it…but never finished the degree because I had another medic degree going on….I digress.

We were on the Isle of Mull. Looking to cheer myself up after a rather stressful, fraught and astonishingly horrible start to the year, I clicked ‘going’ on a Facebook kayaking trip run by Ali Othen Mountains and paddles.

It was 7 days kayaking, circumnavigating Mull with 6 nights wild camping. We would be completely self-sufficient, taking all our camping and cooking gear with us and I was really looking forward to seeing places only accessible by kayak and wildlife spotting.

I flew home from work, threw the kayak up onto the roof and packed the car, before the long drive up to Oban. From there I jumped on the Craignure ferry and set up camp at the pricey but very smart Craignure campsite. I had a pint and a chippy tea with Ali and my diving buddy Darren who has lived on Mull for quite some time now.

Darren’s wife is part of the Otter fancying society on Mull and they build the otter crossings around the island. They also occasionally end up with run-over otters in their freezer for autopsies...nestled in between the oven chips and on top the peas, apparently...

After a cosy night in my van we met up with the other two random paddlers who were on the trip. I think it is safe to say neither of them were my type of person, but there was nothing I could do about it. My plan was to learn how much stuff I could get into my kayak, how it would ride fully laden, what worked and what didn’t work, so I could plan my own adventures going forward.

We set off in glassy, stunning conditions from Craignure and paddled along the south coast, wild camping along the way. We stopped off at gorgeous, white sandy beaches but as ever, they were blighted with piles of rubbish and I spied one large green fishing net.

Mostly buried and too big to even think about taking with me, I had no choice but to leave it.

I did spy a smaller piece which looked in good enough condition to do something with. I took pictures and logged the location on my phone. We found a comfy-ish spot for the night having paddled 16 miles.

On the second day, we arrived at Fidden Farm after a 25 mile paddle, familiar to me from last year’s adventure in Scotland.

After a night here, we crossed to Iona which was my first decent open water crossing. It was lumpy but prepared me well for what was to come.

From the northern tip of Iona we headed straight for Staffa, a 13 mile open crossing, to the famous Fingal’s cave.

The crossing had a reasonable swell but was perfectly manageable – until the tourist boats came thundering past and created huge wakes. Initially terrified, I settled down and began enjoying surfing them as we made the last strides towards the cave entrance which was fortunately in good enough condition to enter.

Balancing my phone on my lap, I shot some images and video and managed to choreograph Ali into position for that classic ‘kayak in a cave’ shot. The cathedral like cave entrance, made up of volcanic basalt columns was seriously impressive.

Not keen on getting tangled up with tourists, we had a quick bite to eat then headed on another open crossing to Treshnish and stopped on Lunga.

Puffin takeover on Lunga, Treshnich, Scotland. Images: Christine Grosart

The weather started to come in and rain and wind meant I got very good at putting my tent up quickly.

In the morning the waves were still a bit necky for crossing over to Calgary bay, so I took the opportunity in the sunshine to enjoy the colony of puffins who were busy building nests in the cliff edge.

They weren’t shy at all and I was pleased that I’d taken my DSLR and 300mm lens to capture their antics. I could have spent more than a few hours in the sunshine among the primroses and bluebells watching them.

Once the weather settled a bit we made a very bum-clenching 8 mile trip around to Calgary Bay. Normally beautiful, yet again on my second ever visit, it was overcast, windy and raining.

We hunkered down in our tents and despite Ali dutifully checking the waves every few hours, they wouldn’t calm so we had to spend another night in the rain, stuck fast.

It wasn’t looking hopeful to get around the corner to Tobermory.

As another night passed, this time with no sleep and some weird antics going on outside my tent, I decided to call it a day. We had to head back by bus to Craignure to pick up the cars to drive the kayaks around the corner in any case. I decided that this was a good time to bail. The Sound of Mull would keep.

I was grateful to get back to my cosy van and my own company and decided to make the most of my free time and head back to the beach where I had seen the lost fishing net.

This was easier said than done.

We had arrived on the beach by kayak and with a bit of advice, google maps and a helpful dog walker, I strode off confidently in completely the wrong direction to the wrong sandy beach!

It too had plenty of lost fishing gear washed up along the shoreline, but it was the wrong rubbish and the wrong beach.

Off I set on what should have been a half an hour walk…turning into a 2 hour epic!

Scaling cliffs, dodging sheep and landing thigh deep in a bog…I finally made my way to the correct beach..which I could have easily walked to down a perfectly good track from the car had I not set off in the wrong direction…

Hey ho. The sun was out, it was absolutely stunning on that southern side of Mull and I bagged up the net while another group of paddlers took a break nearby and the sea sparkled continuously.

It was possibly one of the most beautiful views I’d ever witnessed in the UK and I enjoyed it before heading back to the campsite and then Oban for the next crazy couple of days.

Ali keeps the lost art of writing post cards alive.

Christine Grosart 19/10/2023 Christine Grosart 19/10/2023

Amazing Annecy

“The Marmots were singing, the vultures circling and I froze my a** off!”

Sometime in the early 2000s, en route back from the epic Dent de Crolles cave system in the Chartreuse, France, we swung by a town called Annecy.

It was idyllic and I vowed to go back.

It was almost 20 years before I did.

With a triathlon looming, what better excuse than to train for it on the banks of the stunning lake Annecy.

I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to come with me to France at short notice. The upside was, it left me free to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

I loaded my van with a sea kayak, bikes, swimming gear, camping gear and pretty much anything I thought I might need. It was weird going to France without any diving kit.

Figuring as a free agent, time was my own, I saw no reason to bomb it straight down to Annecy. Besides, camp sites have weird opening and closing hours there so it made sense to arrive in daylight and not be trashed when I got there.

I set up shop at the campsite after an uneventful journey and planned my ride for the next day.

The route was 45 miles or so and took in all the famous vineyards such as Bollinger and Moet & Chandon.

The route was somewhat lacking in cafes, so by the time I got back to the campsite on just an energy bar or two, I was ready for a good feed.

I got on the road the next day down to Annecy and checked in at the campsite. The sky was a little moody and being September, the weather had started to become a little unstable.

Warm, sunny days were met with windy, thundery nights, sometimes with some serious mountain lightening storms.

It was during one of these evenings when the temperature dropped and the wind began to pick up, my fellow campers and I treated ourselves to the local burger van.

As I tucked in beside my awning, a lovely Welsh couple sheepishly wandered over to me. Looking up as they approached, they said "Um, I don't suppose you've heard?" They looked sombre.

"Oh" I said "Has she, ummm....."

They nodded.

We raised a toast.

RIP M'am.

Each day I got out to have a mini adventure. First I managed to ascend my first mountain on a road bike – the mini Col de Leschaux. Biting off more than I could chew, I went for Le Semnoz at the end of the trip which wasn’t the smartest idea. The Marmots were singing, the vultures circling and I froze my a** off! Even less smart was not taking a jacket as it’s really quite cold at the top of mountains! I was glad to get back down to the col and into the warm sunshine again.

My sea kayak gave me lots of fun on the lake and I paddled right into Annecy itself which was a stunning experience.

Unfortunately the worry of leaving the bike unattended prevented me from doing the full distance, but it was great for practising transitions.

A week later came my first triathlon.

I knew what I had to do to improve and vowed to take myself away on another training camp before the next one.

Amazing Annecy

Can't ride, won't ride.

The Great Weston

Largs to Gran Canaria

Moody Mull.

Amazing Annecy

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