Whatever happened to Autumn? Leaving Abingdon for Oxford on a lovely, warm, sunny and calm day, there seemed little evidence of any leaves turning, although some trees looked a bit down in the mouth. Over a month ago the horse chestnuts looked as though they were turning, but haven’t done much except drop conkers, and we haven’t seen a swallow or martin for quite some time. There are a few leaves in the water, but hardly any really. Everything’s very confused.

You often meet interesting people on the water. A good example: mooring up for lunch just above Iffley Lock on the outskirts of Oxford, a young woman – late 20s, early 30s we’d guess – who was sitting the bench scribbling in a large notebook looked up and offered to take a rope. The kettle was going on so coffee was offered and accepted and we all got chatting.

Turned out she was enjoying the good weather sitting on the bank “writing a novel”, that having returned from teaching in New Zealand and having failed to make much progress writing and working in Manchester she’d recently cycled down the canal system and was now living in Oxford just writing. A novel about a woman with mental health problems it would seem. Amiable, cheerful, chatty, interesting… we never found out whether she was being sponsored in some way or starving in a garret somewhere. Her name was Kate, don’t know what the novel was called… wonder if she’ll ever get published. Guess we’ll probably never know.

Meanwhile, Iffley Lock not only has an unusual by-pass for canoes and rowing skiffs, but the Environment Agency are obviously struggling to recruit decent volunteer lock keepers these days.

Surprisingly, it’s more interesting than you might think coming back the way you came: you see everything on the canal from the other side, so to speak, and spot lots of things you missed first time round, and the weather conditions will be different.

After leaving Crofton top lock, we soon found ourselves outside the Beam Engines establishment again, end of season – a very different place from the hue and cry of the previous Gala Weekend we’d made a day trip to. Even though we’d been around here several times recently, it’s a fascinating spot in lovely countryside, so no hardship involved.

Second breakfast in the cafe saw us setting out on a short circular walk up the Roman road to Wilton Windmill then via the highly amenable Swan at Wilton for first lunch, then back to the boat at Crofton. Or at least that was the plan.

Mapless in Wilton, the Roman road and route to the windmill were no problem. But even the local signs are bit ambiguous about the way from Wilton to the Crofton Beam Engines where we were moored, and the largest lake in Wiltshire lies between the two.

Maybe it was the lunchtime Guinness and scrumpy, but we took the wrong footpath out of Wilton, leading round the wrong side of the lake, with no way back across the outlet to the boat. After an hour wandering apparently in a large circle round muddy fields and a sewage works we were pretty much back at the pub, and found the correct path on Take 2. Oh well, probably needed the exercise.

Overnighting in Great Bedwyn, we were joined again by Joe for the pleasant run down to Hungerford – it’s much easier with another crew member, particularly with someone who’s so knowledgeable about the canal, River Kennet and local gossip.

The route runs alongside the River Dunn, which at one point dives under the canal through a circular weir…

You can see the Gunnera is really dying back now, and if you look very carefully at the full-size picture (click the mouse on the small picture) you can see a grey wagtail watching us drift past.

Approaching Hungerford over their commons, Hungerford Marsh Lock presents an interesting challenge, having a swing-bridge right in the middle of the lock.

With CaRT’s minimalist approach to mowing the grass these days, it’s bad enough with anti-social owners who let their dogs fowl the lock area without clearing up the excrement, leaving the long grass booby-trapped. But a herd of cows wandering everywhere adds a whole new dimension, particularly the one who turned, reversed and lifted it’s tail over the canal just as First Officer Fran was on short finals to the gate. The bilge pump in the front well-deck had a narrow escape.

Incidentally, if you look closely, you can just see the tower of Hungerford church rising over the distant tree line. There is some debate as to whether Hungerford or Kidderminster church is the nearest to a canal; I reckon Hungerford wins by a few gravestones, but in the interests of political balance, here’s an otherwise irrelevant photo of Kidderminster church taken a few years ago.

I’m clearly slow off the mark. As  the cygnets get older and bigger and moult into their snow-white adult plumage, it has only just occurred to me ( some half-century or more late) that I – and all the other listeners to Uncle Mac – have been lied to all those years ago by Danny Kaye. Came as quite a shock.

There once was an ugly duckling, with feathers all stubby and brown

is bad enough, as most cygnets are pretty much grey, although to be fair you do see the occasional one which is a rather muddy brown kind of grey, if you see what I mean. But

And he went with a quack and a waddle and a quack
In a flurry of eiderdown

is clearly rubbish. Trust me, cygnets don’t quack: they whistle. And surely it would only be a flurry of eiderdown if the ugly duckling was an eider duck or some seriously unusual cross-dressing had been going on.

Don’t know which is the bigger shock. Danny Kaye lying, or me being so slow on the uptake concerning an iconic piece of music from my childhood.

I mean, what else from Uncle Mac is false? The Old Woman who Swallowed a Fly? High Hopes? Three Billy Goats Gruff? Even – may your deity forbid – Sparky’s Magic Piano? And now Uncle Mac is even being mentioned in connection with the Jimmy Savile sex scandal. With such rampant iconoclasm in these troubled times, just what can one believe these days?

Well, we went for a walk in the early morning sunshine, stopped off at Spencer’s Boatyard for some more of his cheap diesel and Calor gas (his supply boat Aquilo was moored up for once, despite seeing him several times after the previous refuelling session in Wilcot). And then we stopped overnight in Caen Hill marina to get a shore line and catch up on some washing. But come Friday morning there was no putting it off any longer… [cue dramatic music] going up the Caen Hill Locks to Devizes.

These big locks on the K&A are hard work, and worse going uphill even when things are set fair – particularly with a light crew consisting only of self, SWMBO, and the ship’s cat. We waited at the bottom for a while, were delighted when another boat came along (it’s much easier when two boats share the locks and lockwheeling) and then disappointed when they dropped out after the first lock. And so we went all the way up, on our own, with every lock set against us. Just before lunch we saw some CaRT volunteers helping an already heavy crewed boat down, and our hopes were raised… they took one look at us, knocked off for lunch and never reappeared.

Coming down last week with company was a doddle compared to this! Six hours and 29 broad and deep locks later we tied up on Devizes Wharf, breathed a sigh of relief, and went in search of sustenance as the cook had gone on strike. Biggles disappeared into the bushes.

Nice spot, Devizes Wharf. Two minutes walk from the town centre. The museum, K&A Trust HQ, a canoe club and trendy theatre to provide interest, and enough boats without being mobbed and overcrowded. Even the local rat family the other side of the bridge provides local amusement by teaching their young ones to swim across the canal and nick the bread thrown for the swans.

Walked into Pizza Express then out again instantly (we normally like them as useful standbys, but that night it was mobbed, unbelievably hot and noisy, and with  a distinct smoke/fat haze in the air). And stumbled into the delightful The Bistro, where we had one of the most delightful, interesting – and reasonable – meals we’ve had in a long time. Slept well, too!

With no plans to move for the weekend, Joe visited with a lady friend who wanted to look at the boat, Bob Berry kindly delivered us some fRoots mail and then gave us a bollocking for not roping him in as crew on the locks even though he’d been at work (damn!), and we all bumped into each other again doing the cafe society bit later in the day. Nice place, Devizes – neither of us are really town-folk, but even Biggles thought he could live there.

Sunday, saw Joe driving us over to Crofton – he’s a volunteer there – for their end of season Gala, and the beam engines working are definitely impressive. Having had the guided tour a few days earlier, here’s just a couple of pictures of some other stuff there for the day.

And then another pal, who’d heard we were moored up on the wharf, changed his dog walk route to come and say hello too. A busy weekend…

Another half a dozen locks uphill from the Crofton Pumping Station and we had made it to the summit of the Kennet and Avon. The long haul from Reading up through more than fifty large and hard to work locks was over. Cruising 457ft above sea level, without the aid of oxygen.

But not for long! Biggles said we could take it easy for a bit, but we were soon in our first “proper” tunnel  – Bruce Tunnel in Savernake Forest – 502 yards long. Just before the entrance, in a deep cutting in the middle of nowhere, we were somewhat surprised to see moored up a widebeam barge. We were even more surprised to see that it was John Pinkerton , a trip boat that the Basingstoke Canal Society used to run, and on which we celebrated an old friend’s 60th birthday a few years ago. We knew it had been sold, and a John Pinkerton II acquired, but quite what it was doing there looking rather unloved was a puzzle.

Just after the tunnel there’s the historic Burbage Wharf, with a recently restored and rather fine wooden crane.

The summit pound soon ends with three locks, dropping down (a novel experience) to the Long Pound, a very welcome 15 mile lock-free stretch eventually leading into Devizes. With views opening up over the Vale of Pewsey, White Horse sightings in the distance near the delightful and delightfully named Honeystreet Wharf, the struggles of the early section of the K&A were soon forgotten.

Just as we were mooring up at Wilcot, the local fuel boat came along offering (amongst other goodies) the cheapest diesel we’d seen, was happy to sell it at the 100% domestic/red-diesel rate, and took plastic. It would have been rude to refuse! Tying up alongside, a queue soon formed…

Like the Upper Thames, there were loads of pill boxes – apparently the K&A played a major role in defending the industrial Midlands against a German invasion/advance. Most of the bridges also had these strange round large concrete objects (called Dragon’s Teeth, it would seem) to stop tanks. A forerunner of the things you see at airport terminals and American Embassies these days. Wonder why no one has ever moved them.

Lock-free, but also towpath maintenance free it would seem: a broad beam canal with the un-overgrown width down in some reed-infested areas to just about that of a narrowboat. Don’t know how the big boats get on: just passing oncoming traffic is entertaining. Where’s the Amazon Queen when you need her. An engine failure or someone needing to put ashore in an emergency would have been a real problem.

Still, autumn draws on – elsewhere the widely prevalent Man-Eating Rhubarb (Gunnera Manicata) is fast dying back, so there are quite long stretches when you can actually see the tow path for a change.