Beale Park to Abingdon

Interesting mooring

Beale Park

We had intended to set off at six but due to the beery evening we had last night, it was nearer nine when we unhitched and set off up river, towards Goring.

We chugged past huge mansions and immaculate gardens. Even the boat houses were des res. So this was where all the money was! Some of the money was out on the river, in fancy cruisers and yachts. I noticed they kept well away from our steel box in the locks. At Cleeve Lock we were about to go into the lock when a huge yacht appeared behind us. They wanted to wait but the lock keeper waved them in. I was fairly sure I caught a glint in his eye as he smiled at us. They were a family of three, a man and woman in their forties and a plump young child of about twelve. They were all dressed in matching red jumpers, blue trousers and deck shoes. He had a sailors cap on. As the lock started to fill he began barking orders to the other two.
"Hold her tight there!" he yelled to his wife.
"DONT LET HER TOUCH THE NARROWBOAT," he yelled to his daughter, stood on the side.
His daughter stood there looking miserable. "I bet she can't wait to get back to boarding school," I said to Mick.
"There you go," said the lock keeper as he opened the gates. "Now mind you don't dirty their paintwork on the way out!"
"Oh, we won't!" I laughed.
We were enjoying ourselves though, and it was nice to be able to open the engine up a bit, a change from the usual three miles an hour or so on the canal. The engine sounded like it appreciated it too. We now had a long pull upstream without any locks. We thought we would pull in at Wallingord for lunch but decided against it when we saw the yacht family pulling in as well.

We went through Days lock and looked for again.
"It's ok for him," I said, pointing to a cruiser moored on the bank. "He can moor anywhere!"
The chap obviously heard me as he popped his head out of the cabin and said "You can moor just by the next bush. It's deep enough there!"
We thanked him and moored up. It was a smashing spot, just next to Dyke Hills, a distinctive Iron Age earthworks which ran at right angles to the river. We decided we could do with stretching our legs and so walked the half-mile or so into Dorchester-on-Thames, a pretty village of thatched cottages. Unusually for  us we resisted the pub and headed straight to the co-op. Stocked up, we wandered back to the boat, regretful that we did not have more time. It would have been nice to stop for the night here.

After Dorchester, the Thames goes a bit loop-the-loop, with a massive sweep around Clifton Hampden before finally heading into Abingdon from the south. We had originally planned to try and make Oxford but we had both had enough for the day and decided to stop at Abingdon and set off early instead. We passed some moorings on the right which were marked 'private'. A chap was out on deck, touching up his paintwork so we steered a course near enough to call out and asked him where the town moorings were.
"Oh you can moor here," he said, "These haven't been private moorings for over ten years. I keep telling the council to take the signs down but they don't do it."
So we conducted a hasty reverse manoeuvre and tied up behind him.
"You'll be fine here," he said. "It's pretty quiet. It was, and only a short walk from the centre.

We called in the lounge of the Punchbowl, which, with its dark oak panelling and cosy feel we quite liked. The beer was fine and the landlord friendly, so it did us well enough until closing time and so back to the boat and a good nights sleep.