Morning broke in the shadow of the Swiss Alps and slowly but surely the magnificent 7 arose one by one. After a wonderful Hollywood shower lasting 15 minutes Big Jock began his community service and got cracking with assisting Chef Benger in the galley. Marco Pierre-White has fuck all on Tim Benger and that’s the truth. Last night’s shellacking had obviously sunk home. Chef served up a wonderful breakfast and all conversation stopped as the boys fed their hunger.
After a major wash and tidy up the boys piled into T2 and headed for the White Water rafting experience at Oberweld. The journey through the little Swiss villages was picturesque but this didn’t alleviate the fear building in Big Jock’s eyes. This fear was further fuelled by stories of Bomber’s previous rafting experience in the Dominican Republic. It was commented by George and Benger that as we got closer to our rendezvous Bomber had also taken on a quiet demeanor all of a sudden.
The satnav got us to Oberweld but Mouldy was convinced we were in the wrong place. If only he’d looked out his drivers window he would have noticed the 30 ft sign promoting the river rafting company logo, ha, ha. Various comments were heard bringing his eyesight into disrepute. “Should have gone to spec savers” was the cry!
Their instructor Daniel met the magnificent 7 and it was decided to firstly have a beer and try to calm the nerves of those amongst the group who were apprehensive about the impending river ride. (It didn’t work – Big Jock was still bricking it)
The three German guests turned up on time; always efficient are the Germans, and we now had enough to crew the raft. Things began to happen in earnest and everyone was kitted out with a wet suit. Bomber and Big Jock looked like a pair of fenders and should have been hanging from the side of the Titanic and not rafting down the River Rhone. Perhaps that way Titanic might still be afloat today.
Things began to get worse for Big Jock when his life jacket wouldn’t do up. Fear was slowly turning to panic. Once fully kitted the rafters boarded the minibus and were taken to the start point. A training session took place, which saw James dragged into the boat by his life jacket. Big Jock thought “Christ, if that happens to me I’ll slip out of my life jacket and drown.”
The raft set off and immediately hit rapids. The look on Big Jock’s face was a picture. James and Jan P took great pleasure in soaking each other before the German kids and their dad joined in and world war 3 was in full swing. Everyone was getting a drenching but more so Benger, Bomber, Mouldy and Big Jock who were piggy in the middle and got soaked from both directions. Everyone was wet and loving it, well, maybe not Big Jock, ha, ha.
Daniel the instructor then decided to give Big Jock the opportunity he was waiting for since starting the tour, total Command over the rest of the magnificent 7. Big Jock became Captain of the raft and had to steer the crew through the rapids without causing any injuries. A big responsibility but someone had to do it, ha, ha. At first the lads were running into the bank, trees, rocks, even bridges! After a while though Big Jock got the hang of it and was becoming quite skilled at steering. Daniel said to the crew that Big Jock was doing really well, at which point Big Jock crashed the raft and crew into a large rock and nearly capsized the raft sending everyone in for an early bath. I suppose it was tempting fate on Daniel’s behalf.
Daniel then told Big Jock to keep the raft steady and told everyone else to throw their oar in the middle of the raft and stand up on the outside of the raft. With everybody convinced this was a balancing act, Daniel ran up the middle of the raft and pushed everyone overboard. (Very funny to watch, ha, ha.) James climbed into the raft and attempted to pull Big Jock into the river but somehow Big Jock had welded his feet to the deck and, although fit and strong, James couldn’t shift 19 stone of petrified elephant!
When Bomber was thrown in we didn’t realized until afterwards that he had landed on his oar and it was now shaped like a boomerang – ideal for scooping water up and soaking crew members.
Everyone eventually got into the raft and carried on down the river. Big Jock was then demoted to paddles class II and Daniel took overall charge of the raft; this was where the real rafting began much to Big Jock’s dismay. At one point Bomber couldn’t paddle because he was in hysterics laughing at the look on Big Jock’s face and the terror in his eyes. It was extremely funny and great fun – well worth the £40 per head. It will probably be Big Jock’s last attempt at rafting though.
After the rafting experience the company laid on bread, cheese and orange tea. The food and beverage was most welcome and once the socializing was complete it was time to settle the bill. This was done in good old magnificent 7 fashion with a flurry of different currencies being exchanged between crew members and the final total reached in two currencies but no one knew how.
With mathematical equations still running around everyone’s head, Mouldy got the hot dog sarnies and soup on the go – good old Mouldy.
Suitably fed and watered the lads traveled to the Rhone glacier. The road was very narrow with sharp bends and sheer drops; if we had decided to topple over the side it would have been certain death and the end of the blog. To ensure this didn’t happen the crew ensured that Bomber, Benger and Big Jock were sitting on the opposite side of the murtahurm away from the steep drop, and even though it meant Mouldy was on two wheels all the way to the top, it meant the boys were safe and the blog continued.
When we got to the glacier it was ice creams all round courtesy of Bomber – cheers Bomber. We climbed down and went inside the Rhone glacier, source of the River Rhone and what a fantastic experience that was. Well worth the drive, the 5 Franc entrance fee and the freezing temperatures. Perhaps next time it might be a good idea not to go inside a glacier in a T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. Mouldy has taken a video and hopefully it will get posted soon.
On the way back to the murtahurm, and much to the horror of Benger, James insisted on doing an impression of a Billy goat. Climbing up on a rock with a couple of thousand feet of sheer drop is not good for your dad’s heart.
The drive back was uneventful except for two small incidents. Whilst descending from 5800 ft, a mountain biker overtook Mouldy and T2! He was a bit mad and definitely had a death wish, eh Mouldy?
The last incident happened about 3 miles from base camp when 3 gorgeous beauties tried to thumb a lift in Thunderbird 2. Mouldy drove past saying, “no room, sorry”. They could have sat on our laps Nick, you spoil sport! Probably our only opportunity to speak to the fairer sex this trip, after sending back the MILFS and Mouldy kyboshed it – bastard.
Back at base camp Benger rustled up a terrific spaghetti Bolognese and then the final hours were spent drinking at Donald’s bar before heading to Bar Tropic for a night out with Charles Manson and the boys from “The Hills have Eyes!”
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