The new day came with the feeling of a new season, the air fresher, the ground littered with leaves decaying in to mud. A strong breeze rustled through the willows on the river bank, sending showers of heavy raindrops to the ground. That wind whispered the threat of winter, that cold times are coming, and I heard it, and the trees heard it, and the ducks, and the sheep, and every living thing, and we all felt vulnerable together. 

The boss turned up at 11 by which time the rain had stopped and I was ready to go with dry clothes, charged batteries and full water bottles. I said goodbye and thank you and that perhaps we’d meet again on my return journey. 

Instead of buying bottled water I’ve been using purification tablets that have been stowed away in my boat since day one. I did have a bit of a sore stomach a couple of days ago, hopefully I don’t have Giardia.

Despite the rain, the river hadn’t risen noticeably, but in places the current raced and I struggled against it. At one narrow section I crawled along slower than walking pace, and thought about giving up, knowing there were still many kilometres to the lake, but the river widened and the current eased. It’s nice knowing I’ll have a free ride on the way back to the sea. 

Hugging the bank, I followed the eddy line up the river, sheltering from the flow on the inside of every meander and behind every island, paddling as hard as I could in-between. Kingfishers flitted along from branch to branch and I realised I’ve missed trees, the kind you don’t find on the coast.

Occasionally I passed villages where rubbish was spilling in to the river from heaps on the bank, a horrible sight that explains the state of the beaches.

The mountains grew closer and I reached the town where the river splits, the Buna coming from Shkodra lake and the Drin from up in to the mountains where a series of hydroelectric dams break its course. Albania gets 90% of its electricity from HEP, the highest percentage out of any country in the world.

Elevated above the confluence of the rivers on a steep rocky hill is the Rozafa castle, a great network of crenellated fortifications, beyond which is the city of Shkodër.

I paddled up towards the lake, and came to a weir where fish are funnelled in to nets. A bunch of guys were stood fishing off a rocky section, and they helped me lift my boat up and over the weir, which wasn’t easy. People were stood on a bridge fishing too, everyone catching loads of small silver fish, so I chucked down my feathers and caught half a dozen for my supper.

A kilometre further on I slid in to a channel branching off in to marshland and decided to camp there. Across a couple of soggy fields was the outskirts of Shkodër, Albanias 4th largest city and cultural capital of the north. There I stocked up on provisions and visited multiple buke furre to satisfy my pastry addiction with some byrek, including a novel yogurt byrek.

On my way back across the flood plain I crossed a stream at the wrong point and got soaked up to my waist. Damn it, all that drying undone!

Luckily it was a warm night, so I cooked up some fish, which was rather tasteless, and lay in my tent listening to the sounds of the lively city – Arabic music, cars roaring, dogs barking.