Anniversary

On 4th July, Independence Day for a collection of erstwhile obscure British outposts along the eastern coast of a continent somewhere far to our west, an indenpendence day of its own order for me took place a year ago when I moved on to my boat. The anniversary this year passed without fireworks, without celebration and with little ostentation other than pizza for dinner. But it meant something nonetheless. I had survived the cold of winter, the various trials of boat repair, the coninuous balancing of London life with permanent cruising and the new found scaling down of life. And whatsmore, I am still enjoying it. Possibly this anniversary marks the passing of this blog too. I feel as though enough has been said unless I embark upon a significantly exciting journey around the system. As it is, I am returning, like a dog to its own vomit, to London where I will hang around on its less salubrious borders in places such as Tottenham Hale, Waltham and Cheshunt. Business calls, society tempts and friends lure.
As I left the Oxford canal sweeping on to the Thames, I was surprised by the sheer scale of the river after a year on the tranquil narrows of the canal system. Suddenly I was on a current of water, the banks distant enough to allow mighty leisure cruisers packed to the gills with young and old admiring the silver magnificence of the river. But I have always had a hankering for the intimate, the cosy and the gentle and to me the Thames was not a place for me to dawdle. And indeed, dawdle I didn't. The combined speed of my boat and the moving waters meant that each day I underestimated how far I would cover and my itinerary sloshed by at twice the rate.
One beautiful and memorable occasion on the Thames does live me however for as I powered along through Henley, an attractive town in its own right, I suddenly became a bit part player in the heavenly machinations of a clamorous storm. Directly under the fat-bellied clouds, thunder cracked and hollered above whilst lightning flashed its apocalyptic anger all around me. Ensconced in my waterproofs and wide brimmed Indian Jones hat, I was nearly impervious to the buckets of rain descending on me and could only admire the wonderful scene of tumult as it unfolded.
Beyond that, the Thames was certainly attractive in many parts but just as I have always favoured woodland over seaside in the classic "which are you" question, so I find myself drawn ineluctably to the peace of the canal, the low hanging trees, the soily reach of the bank on either side, the still, opaque greeness of the water and look forward to exploring in more detail and with more time the delights of the Stort and Lee.
Still, before that I have the joys of the journey from Windsor through to Brentford taking in my old stomping grounds of Hampton, Kingston, Teddington and Richmond. It's coming home, it's coming home.......

All change please, all change

So, things didn't work out quite as I had anticipiated. Having arrived, in unending torrents of rain, at the top of the Northampton flight of locks which would lead me to the River Nene, I met two boaters who told me "Don't do it!" or words to that effect. The Nene can flood very quickly and very powerfully leaving boaters stranded in one area for a week or more. Now I am in no rush but I want to enjoy my boating season and not be stuck in a desolate spot for a long period. So I moored up that night at the top of the flight having U-turned ready to resume my progress up the Grand Union. As I relaxed in my boat protected from the elements, a parade of boats chugged past me late in to the night having escaped the Nene and struggled up the Northampton Arm in wind, rain and cold. I felt that I had definitely made the right decision and this was confirmed the next day when three separate parties of boaters told me of being held up in one spot for a week then another for three days as they tried to get to Cambridge.

But what next? Well, at that time I was undecided but now I am well on my way to completing my last year's journey in reverse! I am heading down the Oxford Canal with a view to spending some time on the Thames and at Reading before completing the stretch of river down to Brentford, onto the Grand Union, though London and up on to the River Lee! I could have stayed still at Christmas and been in the same place by August! Still, the journey is lovely and the Oxford Canal is really beautiful. I sleep in utter silence and wake to bird song.

The sun has been shining for the last few days which has made the journey all the more pleasurable and with my Indiana Jones hat on to protect me from the worst excesses of the broil I'm sure I must make a dashing figure (in my head anyway!). However, I have noticed recently that many people on the canal system have not cut a dashing figure for more years than they probably care to remember. And the odd thing is that generally it is the women who, as usually the lock operating fodder, should be the fitter of the traditonal mid-50s couples (who occupy 90% of boats on the system) and yet who are almost always more like anthromorphic battering rams. Maybe they have come to the conclusion that the weight they carry (so often from side to side and slowly) is a useful addition to their lock-operating armoury. And I guess it is but it seems to me to be taken to the extreme and as I arrived back in London and was struck by the huge variety of attractive young women - hmmm, when will they be tempted to buy boats and chug around the country! I fear I may have to wait many years for that!

Rural idyll

Just occasionally on a particular stretch of canal I come across a spot so beautiful, simple and inviting that I just have to moor there for the night. This hasn’t happened more than maybe 10 times so far in my cruising but today is one such day. I have moored ob the outskirts of a little manorial village called Grafton Regis. I can’t see the village from where I am but the manor dominates the west side of my view like something out of a Thomas Hardy novel. The fields are full of sheep and lambs, the noise of the youngsters in the air. Around me are the songs of many kinds of birds but sadly I am no ornithologist and I can only speculate to myself what they might be. Certainly pigeons coo in nearby trees lending a soft undertone to the higher pitch warblings of other song birds. To the east, the land opens in to a wide vista with sweeping fields arcing downwards. My camera can’t catch the sheer openness and vitality of the scene instead capturing fragments of the whole which leave it bereft of life. My boat lays along the open side of canal with the fields bordering me whilst my bow is protectively covered by a gnarly old tree. It really is lovely yet, looking at the overgrown towpath, not often visited so I can look forward to a tranquil night.

Yesterday, I sat watching the little flies that dart over the surface of the water, presumably in search of scraps of food, and I noticed something curious. Occasionally, a fly would misjudge its flight and end up ingloriously struggling in the water, prey to the fish that would come and gobble it up in one mouthful. However, as I watched these little strugglers, I observed that far from being left for dead by uncaring compatriots, the fly was visited regularly by other flies who would skim down and attempt daring rescues by knocking the fly, dislodging it from the water. On one occasion, I saw a fly swoop down to a little brother-in-wings and swirl around it (I guess that it had attached itself to the poor little chap in some way) and then, seemingly using centrifugal force whisk the fly out of the water so that they both flew off. Now I know that many animals engage in such rescuing behaviour but to see flies do it was a real surprise and makes me stop to think about easily we kill them if they are annoying us. Imagine a little fly who has just attempted and succeeded in a rescue operation only to squashed seconds later for having the audacity to fly near us. Poor little blighters.

A boating holiday - at last!

So, I am back. Mmmmmm - big sigh. I am going to take two weeks off now to just boat, boat, boat.
I arrived back at Leighton Buzzard this afternoon with time to collect my newly serviced bike and buy some food for a few days. As I began preparations for setting off I noticed that my centre rope had been nicked along with my three mooring hooks and a bottle of Blue! It's so easy to become complascent on a boat since you begin to trust fellow boaters. Clearly this is not a great idea!
As I set off I felt a lovely sense of release knowing that I had two full weeks ahead of me. I should get to Cambridge by then so can look forward to the Nene, Middle Level and Great Ouse coming soon. In the meantime, the journey today was pleasant. At one point I saw a field seemingly dotted with a hundred or so sods of earth. However, as I looked I realised that I was looking at hundreds of rabbits. As I continued to cruise up the canal I saw fields full of these bunnies. Whether these are pests or affectionately nurtured little beasts I don't know but they were absolutely everywhere. In another field a lovely tan horse was frollicking and rolling around on its back. It made me smile because it just seemed to be enjoying it so much!
As usual I saw the old man of the canal, the heron, hunched over the water. As noble as these birds are I am always reminded of grumpy old men as they stand bent-backed and stolidly, with the occasional twitch of the body. It's like a bird version of Montgomery Burns, old, crotchety yet begrudgingly respectable.
I arrived at the three Soulbury locks to find that the Milton Keynes Inland Waterways Association were running a fancy dress weekend and operating the locks for boaters at a small cost. On arriving, I thought the lady standing there was an Amish or Plymouth Brethren member and found it odd to see such a clash of religion with a canal holiday. I was mightily relieved to find it was just fancy dress.
So, this evening I have moored up just short of Bletchley with a view to getting through Milton Keynes in one foul swoop tomorrow.

Back by popular demand!

It's been a few days since my last blog entry, primarily because I have been living the industrious life in London. My time on the boat at the moment is somewhat sproadic due to my yoyo-ing up and down to our noble capital. However, I will soon take an extended break from business-building to enjoy the delights of late spring on the Grand Union and make my entry to the River Nene.

I am currently in Leighton Buzzard which has provided a safe and quiet harbour for Millie. Indeed, I think that to date it has proved to be the most birdsong-saturated place that I have visited. When I wake in the morning, I am greeted by a mini-orchestra of whistles, tweets, coos and quacks. There is a real sing-song nature to the dawn chorus which I have noticed in many places is either absent or limited to one or two kinds of song. All along the towpath are slumbering ducks whose little eyes warily watch as I walk by. They look so cute and plump I can't help feeling the urge to pick one up. Still, I will be well behaved!

Leighton has a nice pub a mile or so from my boat where I went for Sunday lunch with Kelli and Andy. A nice long afternoon ensued in which copious wine and Henry VIII like proportions of food were consumed. It was a lovely afternoon and highlighted for me the absolute delights of canal life and good company!

My time in Aylesbury (previosuly so complimented in my blog) came to a slightly disappointing end. On my last day, I observed the least confidence-inspiring family I have ever seen in the market square fighting, swearing and drinking to oblivion whilst their 8 or 9 years old kids watched on. The irony was that the young daughter (perhaps 5 years old) was called Hope and I couldn't help thinking that they had missed a trick by not calling her, more honestly, Nohope. Perhaps her brother is called Noel - that would make the call to their evening KFC much more accurate..."No...Hope....cam oohn!" After this, I chugged out of the town and up the Aylesbury Arm but as I progressed a very flustered and excitable woman of around 50 waved frantically at me. When I could finally hear what she was saying, I gathered that there was a group of young guys on the next bridge slowly dismantling it brick by brick and tossing the the masonry into the canal. I mentally prepared to pull over and confront them but as Millie approached the bridge the boys slunk away just far enough to watch but not so far as to look like they couldn't "brick" me at any point. I thought all was well until 10 foot from the bridge Millie's hull hit the pile of bricks they had tossed in and skewed off to the left, hitting the bridge and knocking the chimney off. Thankfully, having lost two chimneys in my short boating career, I had taken care to tie the chimney to the boat with a piece of thin rope. I glared evilly at the kids and progressed through the bridge. As I looked back, they had already resumed their activity and I was reminded of how scavengers such as hyenas or vultures behave in a similar manner staying a little way away until a threat has gone and returning to their carrion. Well, I would get those hyenas so I called the local police and was later informed that they had stopped and "apprehended" the kids. No doubt, that will be one more incident to a long list of misdemeanors that will result in absolutely nothing happening.

From there it was on past Marsworth again which really is a cute little town and through 9 or so locks to get to Leighton. I went through the locks with a nice couple with whom I developed a nifty process of locking in which I would head off in front and operate the top locks whilst they would stay to close the gates. As a singlehander I often feel guilty about not pulling my weight at locks if two or three people are on another boat and so I prefer to go through by myself. However, this couple were easygoing and we seemed to gel in to a good pattern of action.

So, from here I must head through Milton Keynes which I recall from the southward trip tthrough it last year was the dirtiest stretch of water I came across even though the tow path is immaculately kept. Shame how people just can't respect their own environment.

Aylesbury heaven

I have been tucked up in Aylesbury for the last few days and will be so until Saturday. It is really nice here and yet quite hard to say why. It just has an ambience of a relaxed London satellite which is comfortable being what it is. This has undoubtedly been helped by the lovely weather of the Bank Holiday. Aylesbury soaked up the sun like an small Italian town - its two squares every bit like piazzas, the locals relaxed, happy, unaggresive even on the evenings of football specials (Man U/Barcelona). Something just seems to work here. It is not quiet in the absolute sense; there is a moderate rush of traffic. And yet it feels tranquil. On my boat, I lay atop my roof listening to the radio commentary on Chelsea/Newcastle, the sun beating down and the wind blowing down the Aylesbury cut and feeling for all the world like a warm breeze in the Bahamas - it was one of my most blissful moments that I have had in a long time. OK, so maybe I exxagerate Aylesbury's delights, perhaps it is just the start of spring which has hatched these fledliging positive views, but I have to say that it's been great being here. The fact that the Aylesbury Arm drops right in to the centre of town is another big plus. The centre is about 2 minutes walk from my boat.
The trip from the Grand Union main arm down to Aylesbury was only about 6 miles but with 16 locks is a full day's trip - taking me 6 hours in pouring rain. Thankfully, the rain didn't start until I was approaching the last 4 or 5 locks and so it was a pleasant enough section. On arriving at Tesco on the outskirt of town I found a burned out boat sunk into the canal - I wasn't sure if it was locals vandals or an on-board gas explosion which caused it and I moored overnight here with some trepidation about the possibility of having Millie burned to the water. I hadn't cruised into the final Aylesbury section that evening since it was getting dark and I didn't want to arrive in the visitor mooring area only to find a lack of space and a need to go back the way I came. The next morning I chugged down the final few hundred metres and found a perfect spot for my boat and there I have stayed!
From here I will travel back up the Arm to Marsworth and then continue my journey northwards through Milton Keynes and onto Northampton.

Top of the Chilterns

It’s been a lovely few days of boating since arriving back from London. Despite the BBC weather forecasters’ gloomy prognostications, each day has been bright, warm and perfect for the miles on miles of locks that punctuate the lower Grand Union as it continues to climb through the Chiltern Hills. I can recall the descent towards London last year and the feeling that the interminable locks were a thing not to be willingly repeated. Yet this time round they have been well-paced due to my absences in London and the climb to Tring summit has been thoroughly enjoyable. Whilst largely keeping myself to myself on my journeys, I have bumped in to a few nice families, couples and even the odd individual with whom I have chatted and this has made the whole experience relaxed and gently social.

The ascent of the locks through King’s Langley, Apsley, Hemel Hempsted and Berkhamsted, done at this decent but unhurried rate, meant I was able to meet up with a friend and his wife in Apsley for a pub quiz (we didn’t win), football TV at Berkhamsted and the necessary water top up at Hemel. I travelled through a number of locks with a couple of late-middle aged Scottish ladies renting a boat for a fortnight who proved to be most accommodating to my being a single-hander, and despite my initial protests, refused to let me do more work than necessary, closing gates after me and even going further than they originally intended in order to double up going through the electronically operated Winkwell Swingbridge.

On reaching the Tring Summit, I found myself in a lovely spot – rural and panoramic yet neighboured by a number of boats with short and long term moorers walking dogs, carrying out maintenance, hanging out washing, even barbecuing in the chill evening!

Setting off today, I was to meet a friend and potential fellow life-coach for a drink in Marsworth and so polished off the summit level and the descending Marsworth flight to arrive outside the White Lion pub where I have stopped for tonight. This is a pleasant little mooring where many boats congregate along with swans, ducks and a large number of huge fat fish which swim just beneath the surface snaffling scraps of bread thrown to the birds. I used my early arrival at the mooring to thoroughly tidy and clean my boat and am pretty sure it is now in its best state since buying it last year.

Tomorrow I set off down the Aylesbury Arm and in to a narrow beam canal – I haven’t seen 7 foot wide locks since leaving the Oxford Canal around August last year! It will be pleasant not to have the lateral movement of the boat in the wide locks to think about for a few days. I will probably stay on the Aylesbury Arm for the Bank Holiday when Wayne and Serpil will join me for a couple of nights. I hear that this section of canal, whilst still relatively near London, is one of the most isolated in appearance and I am looking forward to checking it out.