Flecknoe to Weedon

We were finally only a few miles away from the junction with the Grand Union Canal and within striking distance of our destination. There was one major canal feature to come though...Braunston Tunnel...of which more later.

We quickly reached Braunston Turn, with its beautiful Horseley Ironwork bridges and swung left. Mick said he wanted to go to Midland Chandlers to make some purchases so we moored up and walked along the canal to the road bridge before trudging back down the other side to the shop. After much browsing and admiring of various items he finally dug into his wallet and bought a small brass plaque for £2.50 - bet they were glad we went to the effort of stopping by!

We had dithered in the chandlers over a Nicolson Guide to the Grand Union, but finally decided it wasn't worth it as we weren't going far, and if the boat did sell, we may not be here again for a while. Instead we made do with OS Pathfinder Series maps which Mick had had the foresight to get out of the library before we set off. But great though they are on land, OS maps are not brilliant for canal navigation.

Ok, we weren't going to get lost, after all the opportunities for taking a wrong turn are limited. But it's difficult to make out any canal features such as locks. I peered at the map.
"I think there are about six locks before the tunnel," I said eventually.

It was very busy below the bottom lock, what with chandlers, hire boats and wot not. I liked it here, it felt like proper canal country. Which of course it is.We hung onto the side of a hire boat which was in the process of being cleaned out before the turn-round and next customer, until the lock was free. We were followed into the lock by a delightful couple from Norfolk who had been cruising the system for a good few months. We shared the flight up with them and got into a good rhythm as we went up. At the top they decided to stop for lunch and so we bade them farewell and headed on to The Tunnel.


I had meanly been teasing Mick, who had confessed to being a little anxious about Braunston Tunnel. It's over 2000 yards long and not very wide. But as we entered the small dark space it was me who had a fit of anxiety.
"The fenders!" I yelled as we motored in. "We should pull up the fenders, we might get stuck!"
"For fuck's sake!" said Mick, angrily. "Why did you wait until we were in the tunnel?"
"Because I've only just thought of it!" I yelled back. Mick obligingly edged down the sides of the boat and pulled up all the fenders.
We both still felt anxious though. What if we met a widebeam? What if we got stuck? What if the boat caught fire?


It is a long tunnel. Very long. There was a boat in front of us and we realised that we were catching it up so slowed down a little. In the middle of the tunnel it was not possible to see either portal which we found slightly un-nerving. The air smelt of our engine so I then began worrying about air quality and so forth before giving myself a good pep-talk.
"Of course it's safe," I said to myself. "No-one suffocates in here, if they had I would have read about it in Waterways World. Pull yourself together."
I felt a bit better after my solo talking-to and we plodded towards the exit. Not far from the western portal we passed the first boat coming the other way. Well, not passed exactly, as they were rubbish at steering and crashed straight into us.
"Sorry about that!" said the helmsman cheerily. The boat, a hireboat, was packed with a family obviously out on a grand outing. It seemed churlish to complain so we smiled and said, "No problem!" then turned and watched them as they weaved their way up the tunnel, shouting and making woo-hoo noises.
"Well, they're not bothered about the tunnel," observed Mick.


Nevertheless we were both relieved when we reached daylight.
"Dunno about you," said Mick, "but I could do with a pint!"

I agreed that some alcohol would be most welcome at this stage and so we resolved to look for a suitable place to stop.

Luckily it wasn't long before we arrived at Buckby Wharf. We moored up and wandered over the lock to the New Inn.
"Hmm," I said with approval. "I think this will set us right."
Two pints and a jacket potato and chilli each and we were feeling very contented. The staff were friendly and the beer was served up to the brim. We approved of the pub very much and it was with some reluctance that we dragged ourselves up to head on.

The New Inn is situated at the top of the Buckby Flight of seven locks. Whilst we were in the pub a boater who was moored below the top lock had come along to let some water down from the upper pound.
"I have to do this every now and again, or I'll be on the bottom," he explained.

We trotted down the flight and then along the short distance to Weedon and Rugby Narrowboats. At last! The journey had taken longe than we thought. But we had enjoyed it, it had been a great experience to get up into the proper canal country and enjoy some continuous cruising.

Northampton skittle game at Weedon

"Cheeses" for Northampton skittles

"Hope you don't sell her," I muttered. "Then we'll have the fun of taking her back."

Cropredy to Flecknoe

"Well a new day," I said brightly as we flung open the back doors.

It was seven am and all was quiet as we set off.  Boating at this time of day is lovely, with the sun low and birds singing.

Without hindrance from other boats we had a fine system going up  the next two flights of locks, clearing all eight in an hour and a half. We were now on the summit pound, Oxford Canal's long pound. Like the top pound of the K&A, this was the canal's quietest, most rural stretch, although all the Oxford is rural really. Indeed, the Oxford Canal Walk is a long distance path that during the 83 miles that it covers, crosses only one road.

I was studying the map whilst Mick steered. Suddenly I jabbed my finger at the page and exclaimed "We have to go through a tunnel!" Fenny Compton Tunnel, there it was on the map. We're not that keen on tunnels. We knew we had a long one to go through at Braunston but this one was a surprise.  I didn't remember reading anything about a tunnel on the Oxford Canal.

When we got there we realised our mistake. There had been a tunnel, once. But now it was simply a very narrow cutting. So narrow we scraped the side of the boat all down the wall. I was glad it was Mick's turn to steer, at least I wouldn't get the blame. "Oh no, my paintwork," he groaned.

Fenny Compton Tunnel, 1138 yards long and just 9 feet wide, proved to be something of a bottleneck when canal traffic on the Oxford began to increase. In the 1840,s the tunnel was effectively turned into two shorted tunnels, allowing boats to pass more easily, but this failed to solve the problem, and in the 1860's the tunnel was dismantled completely.

After the tunnel the canal begins to really twist and turn in earnest. This is a "contour canal" par excellence! Contour canals were favoured by the early canal engineers (and their financial backers) as, by following the contours of the land, they minimised the need for costly locks, embankments and tunnels. Raising the finance for the canal had been tight to say the least, and James Brindley, the engineer, was aware of the importance of keeping costs down wherever possible. Brindley died in 1772 and responsibility passed to his assistant, Sanuel Simcock. As it was, funds ran out partway through and the final Banbury to Oxford section had several cost cutting measures: wooden bridges rather than stone ones, single lock gates rather than double ones and using the River Cherwell rather than dig a new one.

At Wormleighton the canal performs a long four mile wind around Wormleighton Hill before meandering northwards again towards Napton Flight, the series of locks which would take us off the summit pound. At the bottom of the flight we stopped for essential sewerage duties. Opposite the sanitary station was a tempting looking pub but it was only five o'clock and we decided we should get a couple more hours under our belt before stopping for the night. As we rounded the corner we spotted the rushing hire boaters moored up for the night. For all their rushing, they still hadn't gpt any further then!

On the hill the Napton Windmill was clearly visible as we wond round the village. There was a mill on this site as far back as 1543 although this one was built in the late nineteenth century. It has been restored and is now a private house.

Not long after Napton the first junction with the Grand Union joined from the left hand side at Napton Junction. This marked an immediate change in the dimensions of the canal. Wide and deep it marked a distinct change with the narrow winding course of the Oxford up until now. Just after the junction a group of lads on a hire boat asked us where the nearest pub was.
"Five miles on and then a mile walk from the canal!" I shouted. I knew this as I had already checked it out on the map and this was where we were headed. "Follow us if you like!"


An hour later we reached Flecnoe and, leaving a large space for our companions, we squeezed in between two boats. Waving jovially the other boat went past us - and then carried on!
"It's up there!" I called out, pointing to the lane that wound up the hill to the village.
Mick laughed. It's a mile away up that track," he said. I bet they decided to carry on and find a canalside pub.
We'd had enough boating though so we moored up and trudged into the village. The pub The Old Olive Bush turned out to be a reasonable pub with a proper bar area, separarate from the food bit, rather than a restaurant by another name.  We enjoyed a couple of pints before wandering back down the lane to the boat.

Aynho to Cropredy

At last we had a few days to get some uninterrupted boating under our belts. We drove to Aynho and parked the car on the verge by the wharf. We didn't get there until the evening and decided to treat ourselves to a meal in the pub rather than start cooking.

The Great Western Arms served a good meal of steak pie which we enjoyed. Sadly the Hook Norton Ales was not quite up to scratch, it was a bit cloudy and tasted flat. Not off exactly, just not tip-top. Neither of us could be bothered to make a fuss about it although when we got the bill and realised they had not charged us for a round we didn't say anything. It meant the beer worked out at about £1.50 per pint rather than three quid: we reckoned that was all it was worth.

When we got to the boat we realised someone had kindly re-tied our ropes for us, putting the mooring pins down the side of the piling rather than into the ground, a much more secure arrangement. Maybe the boat had come loose. Anyway we thanked the mystery person for their consideration.
The weather was not too bad in the morning and we got off to a fairly (for us) prompt start. We had an enjoyable morning pottering up to Banbury where the canal goes right through the centre of the town. We decided to stop and have a nose around the town. We liked the centre of Banbury very much, it has some interesting buildings and a wonderful Victorian postbox dating from 1856. We had some lunch in a cheap and cheerful pub and then headed off to Morrison's to get some provisions.

As we were crossing the road to the supermarket we narrowly missed being run over by a large 4x4, if we had not jumped out of the way he would undoubtedly have hit us. We watched him turn into Morrison's car park.
"He's not going to get away with that," said Mick.
He strode over to the car just as the driver was getting out.
"You fool!" he shouted. "What do you think you are doing?"
"You shouldn't have been jay walking!" the driver, who looked like a retired colonel or something, retorted.
"There's no law of jay walking in this country!" said Mick. "And even if there were, do you think that's a good enough reason to run us over?"
The altercation continued for a few minutes, and people began stopping to see what was going on.
I had just begun to wonder whether it was going to come to blows when Mick threw his arms in the air and strode off.
The rest of the shopping trip passed off uneventfully and once we had completed our shopping we headed back to the boat. Time was getting on and we set off pretty quickly. Banbury lock is right in the middle of the shopping centre and there were a fair few gongoozlers watching us. They were also watching us go through the swing bridge which was a shame. The bridge must be slightly lower than the other swing bridges on the Oxford Canal. With our bikes on the roof, we normally cleared the bridge with a good two inches to spare. On this one, however, I realised, too late, that the bikes were not going to clear the bridge. They collided with the bridge and I watched helplessly as they slid off the boat and into the canal.
"Oh well, they needed a wash," said Mick as he fished them out with a boathook.

As we waited at the next lock another boat came up behind. It was hire boat with half-a-dozen middle aged men. Two of them strode up to the lock and began opening it up for us. We went in and one of them fully opened up the top paddles to fill the lock. The trouble with this on a narrow lock is that the water surges backwards and forwards, rushing the boat against the top gates. I glared at him but said nothing. At the next lock the same thing happened, they took over the lock and rushed about like idiots.
By the third lock we were thoroughly fed up with them.
"Could you not open the paddle fully?" said Mick. "We prefer to fill it gradually."
"Well that'll take too long," said the guy. Mick pointed out that as there were two boats in front of us, it wouldn't really make any difference.
"They should let us go in front then."
"Are you late taking your boat back or something?" asked Mick.
"No, but we like to get a move on."
"In that case," replied Mick, "you've chosen the wrong holiday."

Oh dear. Two arguments in one day! This was not good. We reckoned they had all fallen out, they certainly all seemed stressed and impatient.We arrived at Cropredy in a bad mood after all the aggravation of the day. The village was busy with boats and the water level was very low. Several of the boats looked like they would have trouble moving anywhere at all. We went through the lock and managed to squeeze into the last remaining space above it. No sign of our friends in the hire boat, for all their impatience they had got no further than us or anyone else that day.
"I can't be bothered to go to the pub," I said.
"The way today has gone we'll only have another row. Anyway I expect the hire boaters will be in there."
Mick agreed and instead we stayed in with a glass of wine and a game of cards before going to bed exhausted.

Kidlington to Aynho

A spare day so we decided to edge the boat a little further along the canal towards Rugby Boats, our destination. At this rate it would take us months to get there! We parked the car at Thrupp and then cycled back down the canal to Kidlington where we collected the boat, slung the bikes on the roof and then headed back up the canal the way we had come.

The sharp bend at Thrupp took us by surprise and I completely cocked it up and had to execute an embarassing ten-point turn before the boat was pointing in the right direction. The Oxford does provide some wonderful opportunities for practising one's steering!

Mick took over the tiller. A few minutes later a boat came down the channel in the opposite direction. We moved far too far to the right, grounded on the bank and tipped alarmingly to the left. The plates on the draining board slid onto the floor and a very loud smashing noise emanated from the galley (it's a reverse layout!).

Mick swore loudly. I gave an apologetic smile to the chap on the other boat who was looking at us quizzically. "We're used to the Thames," I said, omitting to mention we had run aground there as well.

I explained to Mick that the trick is to steer right at the nose of the other boat until the last minute and then swing right. From then on we viewed passing boats as a game of "chicken", heading right for them, then veering aside and passing them with a couple of inches to spare. It worked!

At Upper Heyford we stopped and had a walk into the village in the folorn hope that the Barley Mow would be open. It wasn't. Beyond the village was the now disused Upper Heyford Airfield which has recently got planning approval for a thousand new houses to be built on the site. The last time I was here the US were leasing the site and the local pub had a plaque on the wall stating that CND members were not welcome!

Somerton Deep Lock was pretty deep. It was also pretty narrow. Mick was up on the lock and as I passed under the bridge and entered the lock I got wedged against the wall. I had negelcted to take up the fenders and despite the fact that they were only narrow ones, the extra width was enough to jam us tight. After a lot of cursing and revving I managed to reverse back and took up the fenders before trying again. Once in the lock Mick opened the top paddles and the boat immediately surged forwards and backwards, with me revving hard to stop the boat smashing into the gate. More cursing and revving. We were making a hell of a din.

"I hate this fucking lock" I yelled out to Mick over the revving of the engine. I was then was slightly embarassed to notice that there was a chap lying on the grass in the garden of the adjacent cottage, once the lock keepers cottage, trying to have a nap in the afternoon sunshine.

We crept quietly out of the top gates and chugged round the corner. This was a nice mooring spot, and we decided that we had had enough excitement for one day. We tied up John Damsell and cycled back to Thrupp where we couldn't resist a swift pint in the Boat Inn to calm our jagged nerves.

Abingdon to Kidlington

Before leaving we had a good nose at the bridge built by the Wilts and Berks Canal company. The canal used to enter the Thames near here once, a link from the Kennet and Avon canal at Semington near Melksham. Sadly the canal was never very profitable and was abandoned in 1914. There is a long running restoration project to restore it, which if completed would create a popular and no doubt lucrative cruising ring. There is, however, the small snag that Swindon has been built on top of it. But there's nothing wrong with a bit of vision.

Where would we be if Isambard Brunel or Thomas Telford had said "Oh I'm not doing that, that'll take years and anyway whose going to pay for it? It can't be done!" More vision is what we need in this country if you ask me.

For once we had managed to get away early, it was not yet seven o'clock and the river was quiet. The early morning sun lit up swarms of damsel flies hovering like a mist above the water. There was no sound except the chugging of the engine. Except for Mick, of course, saying, "isn't it time you made another cup of tea?"

Coming into Oxford, we passed the boathouses of the various colleges and Christchurch Meadow after which we had a minor panic at Folly Bridge, a low balustraded bridge, where a channel went off to the left of the bridge.
"Which way, which way?" I yelled.
Mick shrugged. "No idea," he said.
As it turned out, either way was ok, we headed under the bridge and past the pub, The Head of the River.

It is possible to join the Southern Oxford Canal at its start, via Sheepwash channel, or further up the Thames at Dukes Cut. We reasoned the Thames would probably be quicker so ignored the right hand turn onto the Oxford and continued up-river. At Port Meadow the river becomes wide and shallow, we saw one boat left high and dry.

Port Meadow is an ancient area of common land to the west of Oxford. Less frequented than Christchurch Meadow it feels very rural, despite the presence of the railway and the suburbs of Oxford beyond. The meadow was given to the Freemen of Oxford by Alfred the Greta in gratitude for help he received in defending the area against the Danes. Their right to graze animals on the meadow was recorded in the Domesday Book on 1086 and has remained ever since, we saw plenty of horses and ponies grazing alongside the river.

One summer day in July 1862 Charles Dodgson, Deacon at Oxford, and his friend Rev'd Robinson Duckworth took the three daughters of the Dean of Christchurch on a rowing trip up through Port Meadow to Godstow. On the way Charles entertained the girls with a story about a girl who fell down a rabbit hole. Ten-year old Alice asked if he would write the story down for her. Three years later Alice's Adventures inWonderland was published under the pen-name Lewis Carroll. The relationship between Charles and Alice is of course the subject of of much controversy and speculation, and not one I   want to delve into here. Whatever the truth, Alice in Wonderland was one of my favourite books as a child, and I still love it.

We tackled Godstow Lock and Kings Lock, after which I knew we should look for a turning into Duke's Cut. When we found it, we did not initially realise that it was the turning, after all the river is full of little creeks and inlets. We almost went past it before Mick yelled "Turn, turn, that's our turning!"
"All right!" I said, crossly. "How was I to know?"
The signing on the junction was pretty crap, you could only see it having practically gone past. Presumably it is assumed that upstream boat traffic will take the junction further down the river.

Duke's Cut was constructed in 1789 on the orders of the Duke of Marlborough, who owned much of the land through which the canal had been cut, finally being completed that year. By then linking the canal to the Thames, coal could be brought from the Warwickshire Coalfields down to London,and for the next fifteen years it became a major transport link until it was superseded by the wider and more direct Grand Junction Canal.

At the end of the cut was a lock, which after the K&A and the Thames locks, appeared almost miniature. This was Duke's Cut Lock, our first narrow lock, letting us down around a foot to the Oxford Canal. Immediately after turning left we had another little lock to negotiate. These were lovely, the paddles could be wound up in a few seconds, rather than the endless winding you have to do  on the K&A. We pottered slowly up the canal for an hour or so before mooring up. We had to get back to Bristol for a couple of days, so we cycled back into Oxford and caught a train to Reading and then cycled back to where I had left my car a few days before and quickly joined the M4 back to Bristol. Boat, bike, train and car in the space of two hours......

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.

Reading to Beale Park

Turf sided lock

I had to go home for a couple of days, by the time I caught up with Mick he was heading into Reading. I had parked at the end of the town and cycled back along the towpath to meet him, just outside the town. He was just coming through Garston Lock, one of the two remaining turf sided locks on the canal. These have vegetation rather than brick walls, almost all the locks at this end of the navigation were once turf sided, now only Garston and Monkey Marsh remain. As the boat roof drew level with the side, I stepped on the roof and deposited my bike before demanding a cup of tea.

The canal to Reading was much nicer than I had expected, mainly river fed through meadows, we were not really aware of the proximity of Reading itself until we were right in the town. At county lock we had to wait at the traffic lights. Yes, traffic lights on the canal! The lights control boat traffic through "brewery gut".At one time Simonds Brewery buildings stood on both sides of the channel, forcing the River Kennet to flow fast and furious downstream. In order to maintain steerage boats would have to belt downstream and there were occasions when collisions occured with boats coming the other way. The brewery has long been demolished, and Reading town centre looked very different to the last time I boated along here, circa 1991. Now we were right in the centre of "The Oracle" shopping centre, and the place was full of people out enjoying lunch in the sunshine.

We passed the only surviving building of the once great Huntley and Palmers biscuit company. Estrablished in Reading, in 1900 this was the largest biscuit manufacturer in the world, and employed a local workforce of 5000. Reading was known as "Biscuit Town". The building that survived was the old social club, although now it has been turned into (what else?) flats. Still, at least it wasn't flattened along with the others, to be replaced by shops and restaurants. From beer and biscuits to shopping and services. Like most places in the Uk, Reading no longer makes anything at all really.

Blakes Lock is the official end of the Kennet and Avon navigation. From now on we were under the care of  the Environment Agency rather than BW, the lock is unique in being the only EA lock not actuall on the River Thames. We needed to buy a licence but there was no-one at the lock. As we started to turn the huge wheels that open the paddles on the lock, a chap crossed the lock wearing blue overalls and a PFD around his neck. (Personal Floatation Device), bouyancy aid to you and me. Aha, I thought, this must be the lock keeper and I went to ask him about licences. He laughed.
"I'm not the lock keeper," he said. "I'm an electrician. I have to wear this because I'm crossing the lock. Health and safety." Ah yes. Of course.

Once through Blakes Lock it was not long before we saw the Thames up ahead. Gosh it looked big. As we approached, a boat shot downtream past the entrance from which we were about to emerge.
"Bloody hell! I'll go on lookout," I said, making my way to the front of the boat. "Blast on the horn! What's the signal for 'out of the way we're coming across'?"
"Three long blasts, two short ones," Mick said.
I looked at him, impressed. "Really?"
"No, I've no idea, I made that up."

Anyway, we blasted the horn a lot and then made a run for it across the river to the right hand side and turned left.

The Thames was glorious. And wide. We thoroughly enjoyed our passage up through Caversham Lock, how nice to have the lock worked for you. Things did not go quite so smoothly at Mapledurham lock however. As we approached the lock a buoy was tethered midstream.
"What does it mean?" said Mick? "Left or right?"
"Dunno, um go left," I said, just as Mick steered right of the buoy and glided onto a sandbank where we stuck fast.
"Bollocks!" he exclaimed.
We tried forward and reverse but didn't move an inch. Then Mick had a go with the pole which simply sank into the soft mud.
"Shit, shit, shit."
A couple of women were walking down the path in the far side. "Hey, do you fancy pulling me off?" shouted Mick.
God he's embarrassing.

Eventually we managed, by both standing on the bow and pushing hard on a pole to float the boat off. By then the current had pulled the front round and we found ourselves floating back downstream.
"No worries," I said. "I'll turn round here in this inlet."
I then proceeded to miss the inlet as I tried to turn and we continued downstream, now sideways on.
"Let me do it," said Mick irritably. He grabbed the tiller and we finally managed to turn around and head back upstream towards the lock, this time passing on the left hand side of the marker buoy.

If the lock keeper had noticed our antics he gave no sign of it, passing comment about the weather.
"Wife's been on the phone," he said. "Torrential rain in Reading at the moment, yet here there's nothing!"
We nodded politely, too shaken by our ordeal to think of anything to say.

Love a glass of wine on in the Thames!

"Dunno about you, but I could do with a pint after that," said Mick.
We moored up outside Beale Park and I took the opportunity for a quick dip in the Thames to cool off before we headed into Pangbourne for a pint.

Three men out of their boat

Whilst we were in the George Hotel a group of three men came in, whom Mick recognised as having seen rowing a skiff on the river an hour or so earlier.
"Hey its the three men in a boat!" he exclaimed.
"You recognise us?" they said, evidently gratified.
We nodded. "But where is Montemerency?"
"Couldn't manage a dog as well," they groaned. "It's been bloody hard work." Turned out they had only managed one nights camping before bailing out and booking into the hotel.

Provisions for today....

Still we enjoyed a few beers before Mick and I trotted back down the now very dark towpath to get some well earned zeds.

Great Bedwyn to Newbury

After a soaking first thing, the weather picked up as we headed east towards Hungerford. We did have to perform a duckling rescue at one lock, where a duckling at got swept down the side sluice. Its mother was quacking frantically by the side of the lock and the duckling was paddling upstream frantically, but getting nowhere. Gallantly we jumped in and scooped up the duckling, delivering it to mum on the other side. My sympathy for the mother's anxiety abated however when, after throwing them a bit of duck food, I noticed that she was grabbling it all, leaving nothing for the poor chick.

"That one is a crap mum," I observed.

We have noticed whilst boating that some birds are distinctly more family orientated than others. Last year one duck, whom we nicknamed "supermum" managed to rear nine ducklings without losing one. When we watched her we realised that she always made sure the youngsters had food before she ate any herself. Other, less family orientated parents grab everything they can and leave the chicks to fend for themselves.

Anyway, crap mum or not, we felt we had done our bit. I stuck my soaking boots on the back to dry out and we pressed on. 

At Hungerford Marsh, the lock is awkward, having a swing bridge across the top of it. The bridge has to be opened before using the lock. Mick went on to deal with the lock whilst I secured the boat. The lock was against us so Mick closed the bottom gates, opened the paddles and, whilst the lock was filling, wandered off. When I got up to the lock I realised that the bottom gate had swung fully open and the water was rushing through, creating mini whirlpools beneath the paddles. Ooops! Luckily the pound above the lock was long and full. I yelled for Mick and we reset the lock again. 

"I remember this one, now," said Mick ruefully. "I had the same trouble last time, and I was on my own. I had to prop the gate shut with a pole."

The Rose of Hungerford passed us at Hungerford Wharf. This is a trip boat for the K&A Trust and was the boat that the Queen travelled down Caen Hill aboard for the official re-opening of the canal on 8th August 1990, 180 years after its first opening. 

 By the time we reached Newbury it was nine o'clock and we were pretty bushed. There was no room at West Mills so we wearily made our way through the swing bridge and tied up above Newbury Lock for the night.

Honey Street to Great Bedwyn

The party had gone on long into the night at the Barge Inn and at the campsite next door. This morning all was quiet save for a few early birds who were packing up their gear. I watched them as they moved about gingerly, as if any sudden movement or loud noise would have made their head explode. It had obviously been a good night.

Yesterday at Devizes we had stopped for a chat with a family from New Zealand, a young couple with their uncle and aunt,  who were heading up the same way as us. At Wootton Rivers we cam upon them again. Here are the last four locks that take the canal up to the summit pound, and they were waiting for the first one to fill as we approached. 

"They're indulging me, " said the uncle as we sat on the back of the boats whilst the others took care of filling the lock. "I wanted to go through the tunnel. Who knows when I'll get another chance?"

It meant they were on a tight schedule as, due to low water, these locks were closed at three in the afternoon. "I'm sure we'll make it," he said optimistically. 

We have been surprised by how many visitors we come across from New Zealand, Australia and North America on the canal system, it  seems to be an increasingly popular holiday destination. And everyone we spoke to told us how much they loved it. 

With all hands to the lock we made good time up the flight and then pressed on to Bruce Tunnel. Its only a dinky one, lengthwise, by canal standards, a mere 502 yards long, but it takes a good few minutes to navigate through, and I could see why he was keen to do it. We took photos of them exiting the tunnel behind us to email off to them, sharing email addresses as they executed a turn at the winding hole above the Crofton flight which takes the canal down to Great Bedwyn south of Savernake Forest.

The first couple of locks were uneventful. Then pandemonium broke out. We were coming through the third lock when a chap rushed up to the lock. 

"We're all on the bottom down there!" he said. ""When you've come through I'll have to let another lockful of water down." 

The wife of the chap at the lock asked frantically where her husband was. "We're tipping right over!" she said. We went to help her hold a rope. 

"He's letting more water down to try and float you off," I explained.

The woman from the other widebeam came along the towpath. 

"Its those two down there," she said grimly. ""They've been at that lock for half an hour, they don't know what they're doing. My husband has gone to have a word."

We looked down the canal to the next lock where a smallish narrowboat had just gone into the lock. A man on the bank was gesticulating and we and could hear a lot of shouting going on. After a while he came storming back.

"Bloody idiots!" he exclaimed. "They haven't a clue what they're doing. They've opened the bottom and the top paddles at the same time. This, of course, had the effect of allowing the water simply to wash though the lock. No wonder they were grounded. 

"We only stopped for a cup of tea," the chap groaned. "Now we're going to be here until tomorrow."

"We'd better tell them to wait," I said, heart sinking. We can't let them go on or we'll have to waste another lockful of water. Mick gingerly edged the boat along the very low pound, scraping along the bottom the whole time. At the lock the culprits were still faffing about. They were a couple in their sixties. He was clearly ex-army, it stood out a mile. He was shouting and blustering, the way men do when they have made a cock up but can't admit it. She was looking weary, but in a way that showed she was used to this sort of thing. They had picked the hire boat up in Devizes and clearly had no idea whatsoever what they were doing.

"Do we have to share locks with bloody Colonel Blimp?" I hissed to Mick.

He nodded glumly. "Yes I think we do, we can't risk them going alone. The whole effing canal will be empty, he's a complete disaster area."

The worst thing was, although he clearly had no idea what he was doing, "the colonel" refused to listen to anybody else. As soon as one of us tried to show him anything he would  say, "yes, yes I know I know," before going on to completely fuck it up. Even worse, he would insist from charging around the lock, shouting and waving his arms about like a demented hippo.

And so, together we limped down the canal to Great Bedwyn where we moored both boats up for the night. Great Bedwyn only has two pubs so it was hardly surprising that we ran into the two of them later in the evening. 

"Oh hi," said Mrs Blimp, clearly delighted to see us. "Thank you so much for your help today. I don't know how we would have managed without you!"

"Oh that's ok,"I said. "It's difficult the first time you go boating isn't it."

"Oh it's not the first time," she said. "Last year we did the Warwickshire ring."

I looked at her in disbelief. 

"And um, any plans for next year?"

"We thought we might try the Thames."

I made a mental note to look out for them on news at ten.

Devizes to Honey Street

When we arrived at the bottom of the flight last night there had been another boat waiting to lock up. They looked a bit horrified when we said we wanted to set off at eight o'clock, we eventually agreed on eight-thirty. As it was, we weren't quite ready at eight-thirty anyway, as we realised at the last minute that we had forgotten to load up our bikes which were tied to a post on the towpath. 

But we were still the first pair of boats up the flight when we set off with John and Carolyn on their narrowboat, Chalico. We made good progress halfway up the flight but then got held up by British Waterways who were doing running repairs to one of the paddles  on the lock.  This blew our schedule out of the water (as it were). I wondered whether John and Carolyn were secretly thinking, "Hah, that'll teach you, with your damn early start, huh?" If they were, they were far too nice to let on though.

The people on a hire boat on the other side of the stoppage were getting a little worked up, as they were behind schedule, we could hear some rather bad language so we retreated and put the kettle on. Boating is like that, there are often unexpected stoppages and hold-ups, just when you are thinking you are making good progress. If you like rushing about, or indeed actually getting somewhere, boating is probably not the best pastime. With boating its all about the journey.

Three quarters of an hour later we were on the move again and we finally found ourselves wearily arriving at Devizes wharf at half past two, having waved goodbye to our new acquaintances at the top of the flight. We popped into Devizes for some provisions.


If you ask me, Devizes is very under-rated. Its a lovely market town and, unlike many town centres, it still has plenty of independent shops, despite the presence of several supermarkets in town. it has two independent bookshops. We stopped at Walter Rose and Sons, an excellent butcher/deli and stocked up on meats and cheeses for the journey.

Back on board, by the time we had filled up the water tank and what not, it was a) gone four o'clock and b) tipping with rain. At least now we were at the start of the "long pound", a fifteen mile stretch with no  locks and just a couple of swing bridges, so we put up the hood on the boat and pressed on through the rain. And rain. And rain. We put the hood out and peered out glumly as we pottered along.

Honey Street is a small settlement by the canal, focused around The Barge pub. For some years now it has been the focus for crop circle hunters and one or two crop circle creators. This "phenomenon" has nothing to do with alien forces or the supernatural. It's down to a group of "trustafarians", upper middle class drop-outs with too much time on their hands, and no way of using that Oxbridge degree. So they compete to come up with the most complex designs, some of which, it must be said, are quite beautiful.

Anyway, today was the summer solstice and so the pub was brimming with space cadets, all out of their heads. No sooner had we moored up then a woman staggered over to ask for a light. When I produced one she flung her arms around me in delight, declaring that she loved me, the world and just about everything else.

"Not sure I can cope with too much of this," muttered Mick.
So after a quick pint we retreated to the safety of the boat, opened a bottle of wine and both fell asleep before drinking a drop. It  had been a long day.

Bradford on Avon to Devizes

The section of the canal around Bradford on Avon is always busy and this morning was no exception. By nine o'clock when we set off there was already two boats moored by the lock. By the time we had waited for them o go up and another one to come down, it was over an hour before us and our companions in the rental boat had cleaed the lock. We gave them a wave as we headed off.

"Ask for your money back!" I called out as we motored away. I hope he did.

The section of canal through Hilperton and Trowbridge is not that salubrious and there were so many moored boats it was slow going. (It is not good form to go too fast past moored boats, the resulting wash can pull out mooring pins, cause nasty bumps and make people on board spill their cornflakes . Or worse. I know because some years ago my boat was sunk on the K&A just below Bradford lock. A narrowboat had gone past very fast pushing my wooden boat onto the bank and making a hole in the hull. Some witnesses thought it was a boat that belonged to the Royal Navy and used by their personnel for holidays, but I had no proof. Still, at least I can claim to be probably the owner of the only boat on the canal system to be sunk by the Navy!)

Once past Hilperton the landscape began to change to open fields. At Semington two locks continues the gradual climb of the canal .On the left was a bricked up side bridge marking the spot where the Wilts and Berks Canal used to join with the K&A. The canal was abandoned in 1914 by an Act of Parliament. There is an active restoration group (here and here) who have gained considerable support in their efforts to re-open the canal. Considering that quite a lot of Swindon and the M4 have been built on it, I have a great deal of admiration for their determination and commitment.

Emptying the toilet

This is what the toilet smelt of - not!

Further on at Semington are the next five locks. There is also a "sanitary station" where we stopped to perform the gruesome task of emptying the toilet.
We wished Vince was with us to volunteer. (previous post).


After a quick beer stop at the pub opposite we pressed on to Devizes and locked up the first seven to the bottom of the Caen Hill flight. We were both feeling pretty weary which was a bit of a worry as at eight o'clock the next morning we were due to start the long climb of twenty-two locks which separated us from Devizes Wharf two miles up the hill.

Saltford to Bradford on Avon

Narrowboat John Damsell is going to Rugby.  By car the journey would probably take between two and three hours. By boat, it is more like two to three weeks. The journey will take us along the length of the Kennet and Avon, up the Thames to Oxford then a right turn up the Oxford Canal.

Kelston Lock

The sailing club were out at Saltford, whizzing up and down in small dinghies. We waited for them to move down river then turned the boat round and headed upstream to Bath. There were two river locks to negotiate, Kelston and Weston Locks, before we turned off the river and onto the Kennet and Avon proper. The river locks are a hundred years older than the canal ones. The development of Bath in the early eighteenth century as a fashionable Spa town had involved transporting materials by packhorses and carts along untarred tracks.  Ralph Allen and other big names from Bath decided to invest in making the River Avon navigable and six locks were built on the river at a total cost of £12,000. The Avon opened as a navigation in 1727. Railways were built from the Bath quarries to the river and Shropshire coal was taken down the Severn and then brought up from Bristol. This caused a bit of trouble with the Somersetshire miners who were unhappy with the threat to local jobs and industry. In 1738 the lock at Saltford was almost destroyed by Persons Unknown.  The wreckers left "threatening papers" demanding a stop to sending any more coals by water.

Newbridge, River Avon near Bath

Bath Deep Lock

After passing the railway station at Bath we turned right off the River under an arched bridge and started up the Kennet and Avon, retracing the route we had taken with MANKINI MAN a couple of weeks previously, up the Widombe flight of locks. This time all was quiet and we navigated the horrifying Deep Lock uneventfully. The Kennet and Avon canal was completed in 1810, last year it celebrated its bi-centenary. We had been at Bedwyn in Wiltshire at the time, Timothy West and Prunella Scales, keen boaters on the K&A, had arrived to join the celebrations and unveil a commemorative plaque.

After the flight we went through the short tunnels of Sydney Gardens and under Cleveland House, the old headquarters of the K&A company. In the roof of the tunnel is  a small hole which apparently was used for delivering and picking up packages from the barges below. The two cast iron bridges, dating from 1800, have just been restored this year, and a very good job they have done of it too.

We meandered on through the Limpley Stoke valley and over Dundas aqueduct. The Somerset Coal Canal arm, a short length of the original coal canal, enters the K&A next to the aqueduct. The SCC was lost to the railway which was built along its route. If you've seen the excellent film The Titfield Thunderbolt (Ealing Studios) you'll recognise it, Monkton Combe just along the valley is Titfield. I went to a showing of the film in Monkton Combe village hall: several of the more senior members of the audience had been extras in the film!

When we got to Bradford-on-Avon it was getting late. We hoped to moor beneath the lock but it was packed with boats. A chap was sat on the back of a hire boat just down from the lock. Cheekily we asked if we could moor alongside him for the night. "No problem," he said, "if you'll help me through the lock in the morning."

It turned out that he and his wife had hired the boat from a hire company at Trowbridge. His wife was disabled and was unable to assist with any of the locking or bridge operations. The chap had explained this to the hire company and said that he had never been boating before. The hire company had said that it wouldn't be a problem. Of course it was a problem. The K&A is not an easy canal to boat single handed even for experienced boaters. The locks are large and one swing bridge is impossible to boat through alone as when you have manually opened the bridge you find you are stood on the opposite side of the canal to the bridge! The poor couple had only gone a couple of miles and through Bradford on Avon lock before realising they couldn't manage, they were about to head back to the hire company base. I hope he complained to them, he had in effect paid a thousand pounds for two half days boating. The hire company should have suggested that he at least try boating on an easier, single width, canal first.

So we tied our boat to his and set off into the town in search of fish and chips. There is a nice chip shop with seating next to the railway station so we went there and ordered fish, chips and mushy peas, yum! When the food arrived, Mick leant over and nicked a large chip off my plate. In retaliation I leant over and picked up a huge fistful of chips off his plate and dropped them on mine. Unfortunately this act was witnessed by the waitress who had just returned with the condiments.
 
Totally embarrassed, I glared at Mick. "That was your fault!" I hissed.
Mick was laughing so much he couldn't eat. "Ha ha!" he said, "only you could be too uncouth for a chip shop!"

The Man in the Mankini

I have heard it said that narrowboating is boring. "It's so slow!" friends complain. "What's the point in taking eight hours to get from Bristol to Bath when I can drive there in half an hour?"

This competely misses the point of course. I remember once returning from a week's boating and work colleagues asking where I had been on holiday. "Devizes," I said.
"Devizes? For a holiday?"
"Well, it took three days to get there and three days to get back."
With boating it is all about the journey, not the destination. 

In any event, these days boating holidays have become popular for stag and hen parties, and these are livening up the canals no end. As we discovered.

I had joined Mick, Val and Vince for a jaunt down to the River Avon from Bath. We headed down the Widcombe Flight, the six locks which take the Kennet and Avon down to the Avon Navigation. Originally the flight comprised seven locks, but pre-restoration, when the canal was disused, a new road had been put through Widcombe and through the lower lock, so the two locks were combined to form Bath Deep Lock.  With a fall of 19 feet 5 inches, it is the second deepest lock in the UK. (Pipped to the post by Tuel Lane Lock on the Rochdale Canal which has a rise of 19 feet 8 inches. That one is deemed too deep to be operated without a lock keeper, presumably those three inches make all the difference as boaters are expected to navigate Bath Deep Lock unassisted.) The locks take a colossal amount of water and boaters are asked to share locks whenever possible.

Anyway, we were coming down the lock above Bath Deep Lock when I noticed a boat waiting to descend The Big One. I was about to call out to them to wait when I realised that this might not be such a good idea.  Several lads on the boat were dancing about on the roof swigging out of wine bottles and beer cans, one chap was balanced on a plastic stool on the roof holding out score cards to passing women and someone hidden from sight was blasting vigorously on an airhorn.

I wrestled with my conscience. We should ask them to wait and save water, but I really didn't want to spend half-an-hour locking down with these louts.

In the end I decided to pass the buck and asked Mick. "Um there's a boat at the next lock but its loaded up with a bunch of w**kers," I said non-judgementally. "Shall I ask them to wait or shall we let them go on?"
"Well, if we don't share locks, the pound up here is going to be empty soon," he said. ("Pound" is the name given to the bits of water which join locks together on canals - I have no idea why.) "Yes, ask them to wait."
"Ok," I sighed. "But don't say I didn't warn you!"

When we caught up with them, Mick and Val who were on the boat stared in astonishment. "I did warn you," I said. Standing on the end of the lock, right next to the main road was a bloke dressed in a Borat style  mankini, dancing and strutting up and down the lock gates. Someone needed to go and open the paddle on the gate to start letting the water out. "I'm not standing next to him", I said to Vince, "I don't want a close up of his bum."
"And you think I do?" he asked. "But he went up and did it anyway, and we watched narrowboat John Damsell and the party-boat descend together into the depths.

I feared for their safety but all seemed to be going well down there.  I saw Mick and the captain of the other boat exchange hats for a while, and a wine bottle was being passed to and fro.

"They're not sure where to go when they get on the river!" Mick yelled up to me. "I said they could come with us!"
"WHAT?" I yelled. "You are JOKING!"
He wasn't. We shared the next lock. By now quite a crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle.

"You're a ten," yelled the bloke on the roof to three attractive young ladies, holding up a ten card. "YOU are a ONE," he said to a cyclist. "Pedal faster or get a car!" Then: "You're a five!"  - aimed at a chap scuttling past with his Sainsbury's bags.

Meanwhile "Borat" was posing for all he was worth.

"They're not with us," I said to anyone who would listen.

We were now about to go onto the river. The other boat left the lock first and gradually the sound of the airhorn faded into the distance. "We'll catch them up and I'll show them where to moor up," said Mick.
I groaned. "Must we?" I said.
"Ah, they're alright," he said.


It was then that we realised that Mankini Man had been so busy posing that his comrades had left him behind.

"No problem mate!" said Mick, "You can have a lift with us!"

And so we arrived on the sedate River Avon with Mankini Man strutting his stuff on the roof of our boat.

Downstream we caught up the others and he switched boats.
"Cheers," he said as he disembarked. "We're going out in Bath now, a few pubs then we're going nightclubbing.

Vince looked him up and down.

"You'll never get in a nightclub dressed like that mate," he said. "You're wearing trainers!"