The North Oxford Canal is not our favourite, partly because it’s less scenic than many, often enclosed by trees, and mooring can be a problem – there are loads of large boulders just below water level along the banks, and tying up anywhere without pilings can be a problem. It’s not without interest though.

It used to be a wiggly contour canal like the South Oxford (the summit of which goes to ridiculous ends). But to speed things up subsequently, embankments and cuttings were built to make short  cuts across quite a few of the lengthy loops. The towpath crossed the resultant redundant loops on some impressive iron bridges (bought as a job-lot by the look of it), and the loops themselves either died, became mooring arms or turned into marinas.

These pictures were actually taken on our race North at the same time last year.

We’ve moored just here, on the way South one year: quite a nice spot.

Eventually, after winding in and out of Ansty and the surrounding motorway junctions and omnipresent electricity pylons, one reaches the meeting of the Oxford Canal with the Coventry Canal at Hawkesbury Junction, also know as Sutton Stop. And indeed there is a stop lock between the two canals with a drop of about six inches maximum. This time the Visitor Moorings were crowded but we just about fitted on the end.

Here’s some old pictures of the area: Sutton Stop on a busy, hot and sunny weekend on our first trip south. Somehow they never made it into the Blog first time around.

Not sure why ponies were wandering around the moorings, but The Greyhound sure was busy.

Coming South down the Coventry Canal, just after the Hawkesbury pumping station there’s an interestingly tight turn under the junction  bridge into the stop lock/North Oxford Canal. And on a sunny weekend there are dozens of gongoozlers at the pub to mark your handiwork. Using the bow thruster is regarded as cheating…

This time, we were pleased to see the little cat “graffiti” was still there, four years later.

We’d also decided that instead of turning Right at the junction in the morning and heading North, we’d turn Left and follow the 5 miles or so into Coventry Basin, as we’d never been down there before (although SWMBO knows Coventry rather well from a past life over which we will draw a veil).

Parked on the North Oxford Canal just on the outskirts of Braunston, we needed some groceries, to collect an fRoots package from the Post Office, and some small boat bits from the huge Midland Chandlery, so off we set across the muddy field for a stroll around town.

In the Post Office, a tall slim person, we guessed late 60s, dressed smartly in women’s clothes, and without a trace of stubble or Adams apple spoke just like a bloke; having changed a massive £20 into Euros s/he expressed surprise when I said the magic words Poste Restante and said s/he didn’t know that service existed. and asked about it.

The assistant in the shop called him Bryn. We moved across to the community cafe across the road, and shortly after we’d got our coffees, s/he came in and we got chatting. S/he’d been a sea-going engineering person for many years, travelled most of the canal system years ago in a narrowboat, and still worked in the marina for the boat sales company, even though s/he was now over 70. Knew Piper Boats well. Clearly a well known figure around town, s/he was off to France on the bus for the weekend on the annual village exchange visit (hence the Euros), it was equally clear that the totally unfazed locals still referred to Bryn as “him”. Clearly rural England isn’t as hide-bound as one might think…

Returning to Song & Dance via the chandlers, we set off after lunch for the delights of Rugby. Arriving at the top of Hillmorton Locks, we decided to lock down: there are six locks paired up so only three to work, and tied up at the bottom at what used to be a pleasant mooring “out in the sticks”. Apparently Hillmorton locks are the busiest on the system. It was quiet when we passed through, although we did spot nb Rebellion who we’d helped out last year as we leapfrogged each other down the River Soar and past Leicester.

These green fields now seemed pretty well churned up, and diggers and stuff were beavering away. We discovered the next morning that the whole area that used to comprise the VLF Rugby Radio Station (for submarines and self-setting clocks) was being turned into a new town: hundreds of houses, two primary schools, a secondary school, yadda, yadda. And doubtless no improvements to the local transport infrastructure. Not quite true: there were rumours of a Rugby Parkway railway station. Wonder what we’ll find next time we pass.

The nip in the air coming home from last night’s gig wasn’t a figment of our imagination. Monday was overcast and cold, in complete contrast to the weekend. Sue left for the station short order, as she had to get back to Southampton, wash her morris uniform, and get back out again to dance in Odiham in the evening. Some people have it bad!

We soon set off too, as we had an appointment in Thrupp on Tuesday morning with Mark Paris, a Boat Safety Scheme Surveyor. Yup. Song & Dance is nearly 4 years old!

The winding hole on the Oxford Canal proper is eight feet too small for Song & Dance. So, locking down onto Castle Mill Stream/The Thames (technically needing an Environmental Agency licence – oops) we quickly locked back up again before anyone noticed. Then, pausing only for a croissant and coffee at the excellent Hayfield Deli right on the canal, before averting our eyes from the Agenda 21 dwellings, we soon escaped Oxford, noticed that the red board at Dukes Cut Junction had gone, and were soon passing Mark’s boat in Thrupp before finding a mooring right outside The Boat Inn. How convenient!

Anyway, it was so cold and miserable, we decided that we’d better eat there – not a hardship. And later we saw Mark playing cribbage in the bar, so kept our fingers crossed that he won, and would be in a good mood.

Shortly after we’d arrived, Joss turned up. We’d spent a week or more crossing paths with them and their mates in Corniche back in September while coming down the River Soar and Leicester section of the Grand Union. Last week, we’d passed them moored in Banbury on the way down to Oxford: this year they were heading to the Kennet and Avon, but all the Thames red boards and a poorly dog had caused them to delay for several days in Banbury while we hit the fleshpots of Oxford. With dog and river sorted, they’d obviously decided to move on now, as they came into Thrupp shortly after us. More catching up to do!

The next morning Mark arrived, spent an hour or so prodding and poking around the boat and testing the gas and stuff before pronouncing himself satisfied. A couple of very minor issues that need addressing but that’s us all legal for another 4 years. We celebrated by going for a walk in the Thrupp Community Woodlands by the Cherwell in the cold and rain before retiring for tea and cakes at Annie’s Tea Room before a cosy evening “at home” on Song & Dance.

The season’s drawing to an end, and leaving Braunston on the Friday morning, it was definitely autumnal. We didn’t go far, and ended up just a few miles down the water, on that bit of canal which is technically part of the Grand Union, but also the bit that joins the North and South bits of the Oxford Canal. It was pretty quiet, and with pretty views.

We were rather intrigued with this wide-beam shell tied up in the middle of nowhere. With no obvious vehicle access, it appeared to be a sail-away shell that was being fitted out, but rather abandoned. Ah well, who knows what the story was/is.

Saturday morning, we turned onto the South Oxford, and eschewing the delights of The Folly Inn and/or Napton Post Office coffee and croissants carried straight on up the Napton flight of nine locks onto the summit, and moored in the middle of nowhere.

Or nearly the middle of nowhere.

From Bridge 124 you can cross the canal and walk across the fields on a farm track for just over a mile to The Butchers Arms at Priors Hardwick. It’s not really a pub, it’s more a seriously good restaurant, and we’d been vaguely promising ourselves a visit for some years. Maybe it was the trek across the fields sharpening the appetite, but we had the best meal we’d had for a seriously long time. (And, it has to be said, one of the biggest bills too). Well worth the dark country walk – an evening to remember. We may have to return when the bank balance recovers!