out from Reading onto the big bad wide Thames – Monday 5th August to Friday 9th August
It’s been quite a week. We left Reading on Monday morning and had to contend with a traffic light system which took us through the city – and it’s shopping complex – right out into the Thames.
There’s an almost mini-lock, which we managed to fit into with another narrow boat (pretty lucky as we didn’t know what we were doing). Next step, wait for any other boats coming the other direction: it’s a long stretch so there’s a 12 minute delay before the green lights up and then it’s GO GO GO.
We followed the narrow boat through and it was quite surreal, going from plush green river-life into full-on civilisation in the space of 5 minutes. Shops, bars and restaurants line the canal-side, kids wave hello and the next thing you know, you’re out of the otherside.
One more lock and then boom; the River Thames opens up wider than you could have imagined a day ago. It almost makes you feel like you have agoraphobia: no banks on either side and a river so wide that you could actually fit about six of our 50 foot long boats across it.
Once you get over the fish-eye lens sense of extra space, there’s something quite liberating about being on the Thames. You can bomb along and full revs and not worry about banging into anything.
Suddenly our progress speeds up and Shiplake to Wargrave flies by.
We even manage to engineer a quick lunch pit-stop with my friend Claire who has been tracking us on Whatsapp’s clever live-location app. She suggests the George & Dragon pub by the river, just before it comes into sight and Ryan somehow manages to execute a spectacular sideways slide, whilst utlilising the wind, into the only available – almost exactly 50 foot long – space outside the pub! He even gets an applause (which he deserves!).
Amazingly the rain has stayed away so it’s not a wet day after all and (ignoring the wasps) we soak up the sunshine and the jaunty ambiance of this jolly stretch of river.
“I could get used to this” says Clarabella (affectionate nickname) as we sit in the sunshine, looking out onto this quaint, posh part of the Thames whilst play-boy types whizz by in their super whizzy skiffs and expensive sailing boats, and students from Shiplake School get put through their paces on the rowing boats.
Eventually we push off and wave goodbye to Clara (who will be back to Buntingford at least a week before us by car!) and pass well-practiced rowing crews, supervised groups and stray (not well practiced) bunches of children on their holidays; somehow we manage to avoid any incidents.
A group of calves float by (this is what it feels like from the vantage of the boat).
Ryan speaks to his sister about rendez-vous’ing at Sawbridgeworth on Tuesday. I’ll be back from my jaunt to see my own sisters in Buxton by then (I know – having to miss a whole crazy-brilliant section of the journey through London, but you know how it is when family calls!).
I take over the steering as we glide into Henley-on-Thames as if we belong there. Underneath the famous bridge and out the other side. We navigate the vast wide waters past the stands for the Henley Regatta, continue onwards to Temple Island and likely slide past a million other famous and historical sights which unfortunately our schedule didn’t allow us time to indulge in.
There has been so many mahoosive houses along this stretch and I send a whatsapp to my girlfriends ‘A couple of houses for you to chose from ladies..!’.
Its truly another world.
We pull up opposite an impossibly neat looking (huge) bungalow, adjacent to what was probably either a hotel or a manor house, white and surrounded by it’s own estate.
Funny that you can moor up and stay in this expensive corner of the world for a night, without having to pay or be on dry land. Hey diddly dee a boaters life for me!
We take a quick dip. Very quick on my part. The weeds are slimey and tickly and I can’t help but shriek and squeal as I try – unsuccessfully – to avoid them caressing my legs. Ryan shushes me but it’s grim and I don’t like it so I – successfully – interrupt the polite quiet of the posh neighbourhood. Having managed to clamber out via the gang plank and the sandy bank (yes unfortunately having to make my way back over the tickle-some weeds) we shower off and have dinner.
There’s a swan swimming in front of the big white manor and the sun sinks in a purple orange haze behind it. Peaceful idyll for us this evening.
Tuesday we take it easy. I do a 6 mile run, carefully avoiding the goose poo decorating the regatta stands as I make my way back to the bridge at Henley-On-Thames, where I cross the river and continue down to the big weir and lock we came through yesterday.
Here I discover my first fish ladder. It has been funded by a grant making trust, so that the trout can still get up-river, despite the mountainous weir. It’s sort of like a mini-escalator for fish that runs up the side of the weir, allowing them to belly flop their way up. Genius, presuming that they can find it of course as the ladder is only about 50cm wide and the weir stretches across the entire river. Still, pretty handy, for the fish.
I jog back, stopping momentarily to read about the sculptures of Isis (who we saw yesterday as I steered us to our current mooring) and Tamesis.
They were sculpted by Anne Seymour Damer who was John Townesend’s daughter; he was the mason responsible for building the bridge itself. My first thought was that the two of them looked like stony-face versions of me and Ryan and turn over whether Isis might be a good name for the boat, in my mind:
“Apart from the terrorist overtones…” Ryan points out.
Oh yeah. ‘The Littlest Hobo’ is too twee. ‘Chub’ funny but potentially far too grafetti’able. ‘Kingfisher’ isn’t nice enough as a sound. Anything with blue in it, too obvious. ‘Mask’, funny for Ryan and his friends but no. ‘McFace’ – well, just no. ‘Kissing fish’ too confusing. ‘Lovely colour’ a bit daft?? (but appropriate as we’ve had this comment at least three times a day so far). ‘Bigger Minnow’ may just stay front runner at this rate (in homage tor Ryan’s previous – smaller, much smaller – boat).
The day then opens into a gentle cruise further along the Thames and we chug through our favourite stretch so far, just before Boulters Lock, Ray Mill Island and Maidenhead. It’s almost tropical in its lush green-ness and there are gullies and inlets, lagoons and tiny tree-lined quietly ancient islands to moor up at.
A calm watery paradise, like something out of Peter Pan (just with less flying children). We agree that we will come back and spend a week chilling out in this oasis at some point.
Next stop is Boulters. The swanky restaurant we’ve already heard about on the river, which we have decided is where we will stop for a treat, thanks to some birthday money I have to spend from a dear friend. We were waiting for somewhere special and here is it.
We are cutting it fine through, as last orders are at 9, our table booking is at 8.45 and we’re still waiting for the lock to fill at half 9. It’s just started pouring with rain as well.
No time for showers as we quickly moor-up, throwing the mooring lines over the railings which separate the canal from the road. Quick wipe down of the legs, chuck on a dress (or some trousers and a t-shirt in Ryan’s case – its all he has left!) and scuttle across to the restaurant in our red and yellow waterproofs.
Our table has an pretty view of the river and the boats moored along its banks, and as we settle at the table we laugh. How many of the other diners have just seen the fastest ever boat-to-restaurant-turnaround in the history of Maidenhead?!
Our waitress recommends a chardonnay called Morning Fog. It’s £38 so I hesitate but Ryan reckons I should go for it as its a birthday treat. The waitress says she’s going to give us a really good discount, as she just really wants me to try it. Deal sealed. Ryan has chicken terrine to start and I pick the smoked trout (yum – wonder if that’s one of the ones that didn’t make it up the fish ladder?). Fish and chips for him and Duck with dauphinoise potatoes and port jus for me. Then a creme brulee. Quite delicious. And £20 off the bill!! First time for everything…!
Tim and Tad meet us the next morning and so we now have two more in tow. It’s great to have a couple more hands on deck, to help with ropes and mooring and steering and Ryan and I even manage to have our first in-boat hug (whilst the boat is moving) since the journey began.
Tad’s twelve and is constantly hungry so there are lots of food breaks.
We pass Windsor and work out that – as the Royal Standard flag isn’t flying but the Union Jack is – the Queen is not at home to wave to us. Sad face.
Its a nice short day – much to Tad’s disappointment, who makes up for it by circling the boat at least 60 times) when we moor up at Molesey, before Staines.
We end up moored on Runnymede Common, with Magna Carta island just behind us.
Ryan and Tad go for a dip whilst Tim and I chat to our current boat-neighbour, who partakes in a Corona (even though he’s just told us he only drinks Ale) and nabs a ciggie off Ryan.
His wife comes and tells him off. He waits a respectable 20 minutes to prove she is not the boss of him (even though “she could start a jet engine”) and then its tomato pasta all round, followed by a waffles, icecream, berries and melted chocolate. Stuffed full, we say goodnight and that’s another Tuesday on the river.
Wednesday morning, Aunt Gin joins us and we pass Hampton Court Palace and she tells us which bridge is which as we go.
She is over the moon when we spy where she had her wedding reception. We lasso the boat around a couple of sturdy trees for lunch and it turns out that we are right opposite her first marital home. We can’t see the cottage but she deduces it must be behind the willow tree stroking the river, next to the red brick house as we are right next to the water works.
We toast Uncle Michael with a G&T:
“I’ve never seen London from the water like this!” she brims.
It’s great to have her on board to tell us exactly where we are, as we continue onto Teddington.
One more important thing to do, before she disembarks. Crack open the bottle of Tattinger she has gifted us, and christen the boat, even if we don’t have a viable name for her yet! Auntie G reckons ‘Aurora’ would be a good one, meaning Dawn in Italian and all, but only says this quietly as we toast our health, home and future happiness.
Tim and Tad have mac and cheese for tea and Ryan cooks up a sausage and bean casserole which we tuck into as dusk falls and a boat pulls up next to us having come from the other direction. Tomorrow the tide goes out at 10am, and we’ll be on our way for the riskiest part of the journey home!
Friday breaks and we (and several other canal boats) are loaded up into Teddington Lock, before being released into the tidal Thames. Tad is upset because he’s being made to wear a life-jacket (the Thames’ rules, not ours, but he doesn’t see it that way “Can I take this off now?” he asks at every new bend! Poor Tad. In retrospect, we should have all just chucked one on).
It’s a quick run and we whip along.
As a bald man on a big black widebeam – attempts to overtake us on the inside, we realise that this is the sharp corner you have to navigate into at almost 90 degrees as there is the big silver ‘S’ sculpture.
Big Black Widebeam drops back (thank goodness) and we make it in, chased down by four other barges, including a narrowboat which at one point looks like it might side-tip over with the wind and the turning and the tide (possibly helped by the tiller-man’s annoyance at the big black widebeam’s disregard for.. well everything).
Next thing we know we’re at Thames Lock, Tad gets to take his life-jacket off (phew!) and order is restored.
A nice lock-keeper lets us through and we continue onto Brentford. We manage to master the technicalities of the double mechanical lock here (no keeper on duty!) and there’s half an hour’s grace on mooring so we pull up.
Tad gets to tuck into the cakes Aunt Gin brought, I shove half a slice of lemon polenta in my face, strap on my backpack and quick march it to Brentford station. It’s 11.40am and I need to catch the 12.09pm if I’m going to make it to my London Euston connection for 13.00pm.
So, I leave our nameless boat in a flurry, entrusting her to Ryan’s keeping… for now, planning to rejoin him for the final familiar River Stort stretch from Sawbridgeworth to South Mill Lock in Bishop’s Stortford.
POSTSCRIPT
In case you’re wondering (and don’t know us) our beautiful boat made it home. A heap of Ryan’s friends piled down to help him through the London section (via a bit of the Grand Union Canal and Little Venice etc – I know, gutted to have missed this, another time!) and I re-embarked at Sawbridgeworth, for the final steps of the journey.
That was all the way back in August 2019 and we have now been moored in our gorgeous little April Island spot since then… with a few April, summer and Christmas jaunts out on the river which have seen us through COVID and generally kept us sane!
I thought you might also like to know that on one of our summer jaunts, we stopped in a remote spot and happened to catch the magical moment of Mayfly nymphs emerging in a dance from the river’s surface. And all of a sudden we had the name for our boat: Mayfly. And the little tinder that floats alongside her is Nymph.
