My family is not from the PlayStation set. We don’t watch Big Brother. We
don’t eat turkey twizzlers. We’re active and healthy — in fact, our weekly
sports itinerary reads like a Commonwealth Games programme. The problem is
that we do all our sport separately, rather than enfamille. When was
the last time I dived between goalpost jumpers or gave the kids a leg-up a
tree? Got my wellies stuck in a swamp with them? When had we last climbed a
mountain together? Cantered through muddy fields on four semi-retired
ponies? Shamefully, I can’t remember. The Spilsbury family appears to have
gone its separate sporty ways.
It was in order to repair this neglect that we arrived at Llangorse Lake, in
the Brecon Beacons, for a family adventure break: five days of boats, slopes
and ropes, a dose of good old-fashioned, mud-splattered adrenaline . . . all
together as one family unit.
First impressions weren’t particularly uplifting. A crescent of 20 garage-size
plastic tents awaited 10 families, and cupped the wind blowing off the lake.
But we weren’t here to sunbathe — we were here for action.
On the first morning, squeezing our heads between the two jagged sides of a
thick tent zip, we inhaled an invigorating Welsh dawn. A briefing over
breakfast in the mess tent and it was tallyho to the first challenge.
I’m not sure what our girls — Kiah, 10, and Imogen, 8 — were thinking when our
group was told we’d be starting with “zipwire”. I was thinking “baptism of
fire”. If they could deal with this one, I reckoned, the rest of the week
would be a breeze.
For those of you who prefer to know what you’re in for, zipwire isn’t a
medieval torture, but a remarkably quick way to get from the top of a large
oak tree to the bottom — assuming you have the nerve to get up the tree in
the first place.
The girls whooped with excitement as they put on full-body harnesses.
Sportingly, we parents let the children go first and, as they received their
instructions, each of us craned our necks in anticipation, hoping our babies
wouldn’t bottle out at the last minute. Not in a competitive way, of course;
just hoping they wouldn’t be scarred for life.
Our expressions fused parental hope with the impending doom of being up next.
What if we bottled, showed visible signs of sweating, got “disco leg”
halfway up? Show fear this early in the proceedings and our offspring would
smell it like a dog.
Our attention suddenly turned to seven-year-old Alex, who was dangling 10ft
from the ground, trapped in the safety rope. He’d been desperate to go
first, but was now probably regretting it. The instructor’s stepladder
proved practical, if a little Frank Spencer, and Alex was lowered to safety.
A minor blip, and it didn’t put the kids off: Kiah was harnessed, roped up
and ready to rock. She had a little wobble before getting airborne, but fear
was shrugged off in favour of fun the minute she was moving.
The adults acquitted themselves without humiliation. Zipwire safely
negotiated, our second nerve-jangling activity involved an oversized
children’s climbing frame and more baboonery. My breakfast had barely
settled when I found myself kneeling on top of a 20ft pole, under orders to
stand, jump and catch the trapeze that dangled 10ft in front of me.
We humans have no wings, no prehensile tail, no rubbery skeleton, so why would
we want to jump? I certainly didn’t. Compromised but determined, I could
hear muffled laughter from my wife below, and the kids shouting the
playground chant: “Go daddy, go daddy, go daddy ... ” I was being held by a
rope that could support a rhino, but I was body-locked with fear — a
shocking state for a 43-year-old father of two. Eventually, I leapt. “Ooh,
you’ve gone yellow,” said Wendy, as I was lowered down. Yeah, thanks. WHAT
IS IT about kayaks? When you first get into one, you feel as if you’re
ice-skating in a huge shoe, grappling with an oversized cotton bud for any
sense of stability. Then, suddenly, everything is fine. It was the same for
the girls. For 10 minutes on that second morning, they were convinced a
watery grave awaited them; half an hour later we couldn’t get them out.
It was Dave and Will, our instructors, who made kayaking such a favourite. As
a warm-up, we’d gathered in a circle to perform a haka, followed by an
action song that went: “Riding on my big fat badger ... ” Not the height of
sophistication, but it had 25 kids — and Andy, a senior hospital
administrator — dancing and singing all week.
In the swirl of activities, it was easy to forget that the scenery was worth
more than a cursory glance. Nestled in the Usk Valley, embraced by the
Brecon Beacons, Llangorse is the largest natural lake in South Wales, its
400 acres and five miles of reedy shores playing host to 38 species of rare
fauna and flora (though when you’d find the time to study them, I’m not
sure). Parents in need of peace can grab a dose of serenity at about 7.30am
— as long as the fighter pilots are still having breakfast — when the
children are comatose from the previous day’s workout. I got used to taking
coffee, legs dangling over the end of the jetty, watching herons deftly
spear their breakfast. Getting back to nature was short-lived, though. There
was still adventure to be had. On day three, after a short minibus ride and
the badger song, we were fighting over the least cheesy safety helmet in
preparation for the climbing wall. There was a lot of banter about
“wedgies”, but harness trauma didn’t deter the girls from summitting. Wendy
topped out first, with an admirable display of agility, and Kiah followed
like a vertical gazelle.
You find out lots about your children’s hidden abilities when you do a trip
like this. Kiah had never climbed before, but she had climbers’ skills,
deftly switching feet to accommodate the lack of holds and cleverly using
three points of contact — climbing jargon that roughly translates as “don’t
let go with more than one limb”. In contrast, by the time I was lowered to
base camp, my forearms were screaming and my hands were set in the shape of
dead birds’ claws.
BY DAY FOUR, we had to make a break for Brecon: with all the exercise, three
square meals a day just wasn’t enough. A carrier bag of crisps, crackers and
chocolate HobNobs did the trick and, brimming with sugar-fuelled energy, we
tackled the challenge course against the clock. Leaping over and under logs
and tyres, avoiding the leg-hole tangle of the cargo net and sloshing
through mud-filled trenches had us all gasping. This was as close to
hard-core as it got, with real cuts and bruises, along with a crisp shell of
sunbaked mud and blood, removed by high-pressure hose to the sound of
delighted squealing.
Since trying to float down a brook on a pallet aged 12, I’d never had reason
to think about building anything water-worthy until our final day.
Raft-building was probably the most unexpected fun of the holiday. Our task
was to create a craft to transport 12 passengers around the end of the jetty
and back to shore, using six logs, six barrels and a pile of old climbing
ropes. The design was down to us.
As we split into two teams, it became ridiculously competitive. The kids
rolled barrels into place and untangled mangy wet ropes while the adults
wrestled with logic and got blisters lashing logs to barrels. This was our
last chance to achieve and, as we launched our rafts, critical eyes were
cast over the opposition’s construction.
Under starter’s orders, teams exchanged piratical gestures; seconds later, 24
people who hadn’t met until a few days before were working like army gun
teams ...
Until we collided. The initial calm deteriorated into a frenzied, flapping
free-for-all. Rafts rolled and tipped, children were catapulted overboard,
ducks left at speed. This was unbeatable family fun and a great finale.
There was a winner, but I can say nothing for fear of recriminations.
With the comprehensive-injuries insurance still in its envelope, we assessed
the wisdom of our decision to expose the kids to so much action in such a
short time. Will they become yachtswomen, climbers or acrobats? Probably
not, but the week gave them a platform to launch themselves at anything that
might come their way, with complete conviction. Oh yes, mum and dad learnt a
skill or two as well.
Travel details: Acorn Adventure (0800 074 9791,
www.acornadventure.co.uk) has six-night family activity breaks for £339pp in
a tent (£349pp for chalets), full-board, based on three or four sharing; add
£149pp for five or six. The Brecon centre is open from July 29 to September
1; minimum age to take part in all the activities is seven.
More family adventure breaks
PGL (0870 050 7507, www.pgl.co.uk) is celebrating 50 years of getting
schoolkids and summer-campers muddy, and now welcomes families too. Eight
centres in the UK — from Little Canada, on the Isle of Wight, to Loch Ranza,
on Arran — and four in France offer programmed holidays packed with
karabiners, quad bikes and zipwires. Three nights in a family room at Barton
Hall, in Devon — an especially good centre for younger children — costs £177
per adult and £128 per child aged 6-18.
The Venture Centre (01624 814240, www.adventure-centre.co.uk), at Maughold, on
the Isle of Man, has an exhilarating menu of activities for all the family,
including gorge-walking, powerboating and rifle-shooting. It’s set on a
cracking bit of the Manx coast, too, so your summer sea-kayaking excursion
may well be spectated upon by seals. Families get a dedicated instructor,
and each day’s programme includes three activities. A bunkhouse stay costs
£50pp per day, including all meals (minimum age 8).
Moorland Hall (01822 810466, www.moorlandhall.co.uk) also makes the most of
its location — this Victorian country house is set in five acres of gardens,
with a swimming pool, on the brink of Dartmoor. As well as archery and
abseiling, you could spend a full day surfing at Polzeath, visit Tintagel
Castle or go letterboxing (a sort of moor-based mystery tour) on nearby Pew
Tor. Six-night family breaks, staying in an ensuite room in the main house,
are available at Easter and in August for £350pp, full-board (£295 for
children aged 8-16).
River Deep Mountain High (015395 31116, www.riverdeepmountainhigh.co.uk) is
great if you want the freedom of a cottage holiday with adrenaline sports on
tap. Its family self-catering weeks are based on cottage rentals in Langdale
and Coniston, in the heart of Lakeland, with a choice of up to eight
half-day activity sessions: gorge-walk among the fells, abseil into old mine
caverns or canoe like the Swallows and Amazons on Coniston Water. A week
starts at £310pp, including six activity sessions.
...or pack the kids off on their own
Many operators (including the first three featured above) offer summer
camp-style, kids-only breaks in the school hols. Wickedly Wonderful (07941
231168, www.wickedlywonderful.com), on the Sussex coast, is more
sophisticated than some, with golf, tennis, sailing and riding alongside the
usual treasure hunts and canoeing. Kids stay in tents, which means campfire
songs and marshmallow-roasting. A five-day break costs £425pp for children
aged 6-15; there are also dedicated sailing and pony camps.
Camp Beaumont (0870 499 8787, www.campbeaumont.com) has centres in Norfolk,
Staffordshire and the Isle of Wight, all offering multiactivity breaks with
climbing walls and laser zones, karting and caving. Children can upgrade to
a “specialist” holiday, dedicating half their week to motorsports,
movie-making, tennis or a range of other pursuits. A week starts at £429,
full-board.
Or try ATE Superweeks (0845 456 1205, www.ate.org.uk), NST (0845 688 8988,
www.nstgroup.co.uk ), Mill on the Brue (01749 812307,
www.millonthebrue.co.uk) or EAC (0845 113 0022, www.eacworld.com).
