three day stretch – Friday 2nd August to Sunday 4th August

Wow, I can’t believe (and am ashamed to acknowledge) that the last time I published one of these pre-written blogs was back in October 2020. Time just slips sometimes. Now its July 2021 and I’ve still got this and another blog from our boat trip two years ago to add.. So, onwards! Better late than never?? fold your hands around something tasty and warm (or cold, depending on the weather which could still go either way), settle into a comfy deckchair and flashback with me to August 2019. We might even be reminded of what life was like when we didn’t know what furlough was, that lockdowns were a thing, and when close contact was 100% permitted if that was the way you rolled…

*********

The last three days have all blended into one. I’m not sure where to start, so I figure right now is as good a time as any.

As I write, Ryan is cooking Italian cubed potatoes, sweet corn and BBQ chicken, in the oven. We are just outside Reading on a tidy little canal path a mile or two from the Reading Football stadium, past the giant power lines and before Fobney Lock No 105. Here didn’t seem an appropriate place for our Instant Barbeque (look how pristine that sandy path is above!).

[ASIDE: We bought the instant BBQ at Thatcham Coop – where we were at lunchtime today. The town centre was a 12 minute walk (for Ryan) from the hard standing next to the train station, which had: “Nothing of note: kind of like Thorley in Bishops Stortford“. I had occupied myself by giving the boat a thorough sweep whilst he foraged supplies. Happily, we then ate hotdogs, gerkin, ketchup, mustard rolls at 1pm, with as commuters on the road over the canal, looking on jealously, whilst swans and cygnets, ducks and ducklings and moorhens and erm baby moorhens (chicks?) fanned out around us, demanding titbits.]

We’ve had swan bookmarks around both our mealtimes today: earlier this evening we had a swan-pair preening before admiring their own sleepy reflections in the River Kennet (it was the Avon up until Newbury and then the switch happened). They’re resting their long necks onto their snowy bodies, tucking their beaks into downy wings and dozily gazing into the hypnotic current as they drop off.

The wind is picking up and whipping up a rustle of leaves to our left. A (baby?) bird is emitting a high pitched squeak every couple of minutes (I’m pretty sure its not Ryan’s nose whistling, as its been going on for at least an hour and he’s had a shower since then).

Today has been a loooong 12 hour day of cruising … nine locks and six swing bridges. That’s fifteen obstacle tackled. Some of which included roads. Roads that cars drive on, being swung sideways across the river. By me. With my special key. Well, it’s probably Ryan’s special key. Well, officially it’s the C&RT’s special key.

We worked out this morning that (at that point) we had moved four roads. Our first was at Newbury: pretty little town – well the bit we saw. A Mum and her two kids climbed aboard there for a mini-cruise, up past the pub. Yeap, we had a double -sided-audience for my first road-move, because the road we had to move in order to continue our journey, was right next to the pub. Nothing like a challenge.

Then there the one at Woolhampton. That was a bit sketchy for Ryan, who was steering the boat across a fast flowing current and through a swing/road bridge which had almost imperceptible metal bolts sticking out of one side. I was glad to have had the Newbury road-swing-bridge-before-that-one, for practice, because right before I had to operate it with a clockwise turn of the special key, I twisted my ankle pretty badly. But – screw the pain – we had another pub audience (to the right this time) AND a super-busy road to contend with, aaaaand at this point the C&RT chappie had given me the wave to “GO GO GO!”, so I had to carry on regardless. Luckily – despite the fact that I was moving a road in a feat of inhuman power worthy of El from Stranger Things – all I had to do was turn the magic-key and press the green OPEN button continuously for about 2.5 minutes; the bridge does its thing: sounds the alarm, raises the barriers, levitates on tarmac hinges, swings around and settles sideways to usher the boat through.

This sounds like it might be fairly quick, but no. It takes FOREVER. And there are uncomfortable pauses between each stage where you have to scan the (very clear) instructions to check that you’ve done nothing wrong. Because, by now the car drivers – and you – are wondering…

Everything is on track after all, so you just look apologetically at the mildly pissed off car drivers (probably locals who have better things to do) and wait, blush awkwardly, until you can press the red CLOSE button to repeat the whole thing in reverse. Longest 5 minutes everrrr (proof below).

I now couldn’t tell you how many of these road bridges we have contended with. A LOT. It doesn’t get any more comfortable.

There was another sketchy moment today coming through Aldermaston Lock No 95 and Lift Bridge No 28 (“The lift bridge is operated by boaters and spans a busy road” warns the C&RT website -eek!). Happily, at this point, some friendly boaters who are limping their floating-fix-up-jobbie-home to somewhere, were in ahead of us. We agreed to go through the swing bridge together (which involved them doing the “busy road” lift bridge – horah!). All good for me. Ryan, however, in charge of ‘steering’ had the not small challenge of scooting across a thick current, squeezing through a thin entry point, giving them enough time to follow behind (only a 5 minute delay on the bridge then lowering again). Here he is taking a moment afterwards, to allow his vital organs to return to their rightful positions.

Today we had our second old-school lock – Garston Lock (the other was Monkey Marsh Lock but more about that later). Garston Lock is a kind that has no sides: just metal edges with wooden bottoms. Apparently 20 locks of this kind used to line 18.5 miles of the Canal between Reading and Newbury, but these two are the only remaining ones in the country:

“Although cheap to build, turf-sided locks fell out of favour because they needed lots of water and their width made it difficult to climb aboard boats.”

Impossible would be more accurate. Ryan had to resort to Caen Hill flight tactics, i.e. not tieing off the boat and using the tiller and the engine propulsion to control her position in the lock. I would be no good at this (currently). While he concentrates on this, I am in charge of all lock gates and paddles (hence the “Shera Princess of Power!” pose).

[ASIDE: We now know for sure – paddles are the plug bits you wind up, whereas gates are the long black and white arms you close. Because we now know this, I was even able to responsibly report on the condition of two locks today. One had a weed-pile forming (we know all about weed-piles now, thanks to the hold-up before Hungerford), and the other, a dodgy hand rail. So I’m now feeling quite smug and virtuous].

Ryan claims I’ve even got quicker at doing the locks “Maybe you’ve got stronger“. I don’t think this is the case. I think that the locks down this way are just less hardcore (and it’s stopped raining like it is the last of days!). Between Wootton Rivers and Hungerford – there were some paddles which were so stiff you had to turn the windlass in stages; tense the core; and power the arms up and force them around, down, up around, using every ounce of strength and power (left).

Then there were the gates that, once open, dangle above thin air and murky river, with nothing to lever your legs against at the lock-edge. After all, you’re trying to move something which is several times heavier than your body weight. You can try the lean back with your arms and back straight method; the bend your bum down and arms straight method (monkey style); the wrap a windlass over the iron handle method (a good one for when the gate is low to the ground); the push from your chest method (only possible when the ground is underneath!); the line your back up against it and push from your heels method (again ground required underneath your feet); or the – when all else fails – heave and ho and wrap the edge of your foot over the brick step next door but one and pull using arm and leg muscles as well as body weight, method (this sometimes works if you have any strength left).

So compared, since Newbury the locks have pretty much been a breeze (well, other than the road bridges).

There have been a few near fall-outs during ‘driving lessons’. To be expected, I think. I feel it’s always best to be told what TO do, rather than not what NOT to do: “Don’t panic“, for example, makes me think ‘shit there’s something to panic about!’. Something about being ‘taught’ brings my child-self to the surface, but I decided to abandon her and her petulant ways in Sheffield Lock No 101 today*.

[ASIDE: There was a spot called Sheffield Bottom signposted from the river today. Which caught my eye because Arthur Rank Hospice – where I work – is Shelford Bottom, which (being Northern) always makes me think of Sheffield. But I didn’t entertain the fact that there might also be a Sheffield Bottom (in Reading of all places) though, until today!]

In what might be deemed a sequel to the child version of me emerging, there was an encounter with angry-Bolognese-me on Friday night. The issue being that – due to various factors out of our control (like the bee-in-his-bonnet chap who didn’t want us mooring opposite his marina – despite it being a very wide section of the river) we ended up mooring where two big, very clear C&RT signs stated: ‘Mooring for lock only’. Neither the child or the adult version of myself was on board with mooring here for the night. But Ryan had had enough of today and wanted to stop. He then threatened to go and get beer (which he didn’t in the end, thankfully). If he had my disastrasaurus was preparing for fines from C&RT officials, angry boaters, me having to move the boat, crashing it into the adjacent weir, sinking… etc etc etc

In the end we cracked open a bottle of organic white wine. Ryan played his guitar. I had a shower and then made the-angry-Bolognese. He apologised. We ate (the angry-Bolognese was actually delicious). Caz-the-nomad had caught us up (I gave her some of the angry-Bolognese in a washed out Norpack container). She was camping on the island between the weir and the river and interrupted us mid-make-up conversation, to ask if she could charge her phone and battery pack. An hour and a bit later, I dropped her bits back to her, together with some angry-Bolognese and peach crumble left-overs, before we retired for the night, exhausted by the day and ourselves.

It wasn’t the best night sleep. Partly due to the mooring indiscretion. Partly due to the spider in the bed. Yes, a spider IN THE BED. TWICE. The same spider! What the VF. Not happy about that. I don’t like to hurt any creature and I quite like spiders in a way. But I do NOT WANT THEM IN MY BED….. EVER. The second time I threw Mr Spidey across the bedroom. This is why – when we got to Thatcham – I gave the boat such a good sweep.

Spiders are everywhere on rivers and boats. Stay still for too long and they’ll build a web on you. I had one on my phone yesterday, having put it down for two seconds. There were two hiding out underneath the Sainsbury’s bag that we had secured to stop rain running into the chimney They skuttled out this morning when we swapped it out for the chimney hatch we bought in Frouds Bridge Marina this morning. Ryan briefly left his drink on the shelf next to the tiller today and the gossamer web was already in progress when he climbed back onto the stern two minutes later.

It’s mostly fine. I like having spiders across the windows for example: they keep the mosquitos and the bugs out, and anything that keeps the demon-horse-flies out is welcome in my opinion. Just keep AWAY from my BED. Glad we are now clear on that, my eight-legged friends.

On Saturday, between angry-Bolognese mooring – at Ham Mills (too close to) Lock 87 – and Thatcham, we went through Monkey Marsh. This marked a change in the ‘riverscape’.

The River Avon back in Crofton was murky and green, probably because of the clay bed. It seemed to loose some of its green and got more brown as we continued past Hungerford (still murky) and then towards Newbury it cleared up, probably because the Kennet flows in from here (I think).

As we approached Monkey Marsh the river started to come alive with more and more foliage. Lily pads peppered the surface and something like docks floated beneath the water’s surface. Inside Monkey Marsh was like pure reed-jungle. At one point we were encircled on all sides by the reeds, barely squeezing our 10 foot width through. Ryan did a little monkey dance in honour of it all. And I did a video…

The river opened out again at Thatcham and started to flow. As we came through Woolhampton there was a fast current – plus lock and road swing bridge I already mentioned, in full view of The Rowbarge Pub. Here the currents began. The pub called us like a Saturday night siren, so we moored up, steady against the flow, showered, and strolled happily into its arms. I had the most delicious seabass with a pickled Thai-style salad (and watermelon – who knew that would be so tasty?!) and Ryan happily filled his face with pulled pork burger. Happy days.

This morning was our earliest start yet. 8am up and dressed. Life is so much quicker minus make-up. It’s a bit wild-west out on the cut: make-up feels utterly superfluous. First stop was Frouds Bridge Marina, where we got our chimney hat, diesel, water and I had the dubious pleasure of cleaning out a fairly clogged up cassette toilet. I may or may not chose to explain more about how this happens in due course. Thank god, I’m not squeamish…and for the magical blue packets of breaks-it-all-down-and-stops-it-stinking-toilet-stuff. I tried to get my laptop online, to share these blogs but no luck still.

Today we stopped for lunch just after Sulhamstead Swing Bridge, shortly after seeing some huge birds of prey soaring overhead (and a petrified pigeon flying as inconspicuously as possible into the protection of some trees, except it was a fast-slightly-panicked-pigeon so you couldn’t miss it).

Otherwise, we mostly navigated currents and narrow old-fashioned locks with metal sides (well Ryan did). I mostly made motorists stop at swing bridges. We also made our way under the M4. About 100 yards from the motorway bridge, the river opens up even more and begins to winds from side to side, dotted with gaggles of 20+ native and Canadian geese.

You can tell we are approaching a big city. From our riverside seats we spy graffiti, telegraph poles, powerlines and a football stadium. There’s even a suitcase with a combination lock, chained underneath a bridge (clearly some gangster’s stolen haul of gold, although Ryan reckons it might be some kind of river monitoring equipment. Boring!).

So now, for now, sleep. It’s nearly 1am. Busy city-life approaches. Reading and then the Thames and London.

It’s going to all get a lot less green and leafy from here, I think.