First time on the Kennet & Avon, and initial impressions are not entirely favourable… but everyone says it gets better after Newbury. The scenery heading West from Reading through Thatcham and Theale is pleasant enough, but the big locks are a bit of a pain.

Locks are (to our way of thinking) best either a long way apart, or close enough that one can roll up one’s sleeves and get stuck in, sending extra lockwheeling crew walking on ahead if possible/available. On the K&A they seem spaced for optimum inconvenience… too far apart to walk on (requiring you to pick up and drop crew all the time), not quite far enough apart to even boil the kettle, let alone drink the coffee. And places where you can actually moor up for a while within jumping distance of the bank are rare indeed,  and in places a flame-thrower on the bow would be more useful than a bow-thruster.

Not only is going uphill through big heavy locks with only the two crew hard and slow work – Biggles merely supervises –  each lock is different. Some have really vicious gate paddles at the top that create a Geneva-like Jet d’Eau that could sink you in seconds, others have turbulence inducing ground paddles. Some have straight walls, some have scalloped walls, and there are a couple of rare turf sided locks with no walls at all. And they’re all different lengths too, with varying gears / hydraulic mechanisms to add to the fun. And some need emptying  again after use. A far cry from the well maintained and usually manned Thames locks! If you can buddy-up with another boat to share the load, well and good (assuming their crew are not gung-ho boat sinkers), but there’s hardly anyone about now the schools are back.

At one point, the towpath between Theale and Thatcham was disrupted, and there were signs from the local fishery in the adjacent vast gravels pit apologising, saying that due to continued predation of their fish stocks despite earlier measures, they were busy installing otter-proof fencing. Which suggests there are loads of otters about, or a few very fat ones. Or some paranoid anglers.

Unlike many towns, Newbury embraces the canal: the bridge in the picture just beyond the lock carries the pleasant and largely pedestrianized high street over the canal. Fresh Orange Juice and croissants for breakfast within 2 minutes walk. Works for us!

Arriving in Wallingford – which turned out to be a delightful town – the day before the start of the Bunkfest, the much vaunted council moorings by the bridge were already full (and only available for 24 hours, though several boats stayed all weekend).

So a swift about-turn (nice wide river!), and about 1km back upstream we dived under the weeping willows lining the banks by Wallingford Castle Meadows and tied up to a couple of trees. Beats using mooring pins in soggy ground, and it was nice and quiet, secluded and cat friendly – unlike down by the town bridge – if a little “overgrown”.

Nice walk along the river path into town via the bridge, or across the fields into the town centre. What more could you want, apart from the fact that the area would soon be awash with Morris Dancers?

Walking back in the evening twilight, there was a silent and stately procession of forty one Canada Geese sailing slowly down river in strict single file, about eighteen inches apart: the spacing was accurate enough for a Red Arrows display. Quite spooky.

Two wet days sees a visit to Oxford Cruisers at Eynsham: Song & Dance is now the proud possessor of an anchor and chain: let’s just hope we never have to use it! Time to bin those old risk assessments…

A night moored up at Osney Bridge (you can see why the Upper Thames has so few big boats: it was a tight-ish fit even for us). Convenient for a quick trip into the Oxford shops, then off down river again towards Abingdon. Osney appears to have five streets: East Street, North Street, South Street, West Street and Bridge Street, which has a refreshing simplicity about it. Except the Bridge Street is some way from the Bridge. Oh well.

The river’s changing: clearly they take their rowing seriously hereabouts (even if we didn’t mow down or even see a single rower), the locks are getting bigger, and the river wider. Maybe we need some risk assessments on the thorny issue of life jackets or flotation devices. Maybe.

At one of the locks, just as the gate was opening, there was a brief turquoise flash by the bow, a modest “splash” then a kingfisher flew out of the water with a small fish in his beak and headed into the bankside bushes, quite unconcerned by boats and people. Lovely.

…Lechlade puts the “moo” in mooring.

Once past Eynsham it really becomes remote: unlike the canals there are virtually no animal or foot bridges linking fields either side, and very few roads crossing or even road access. The few villages are all well set back from the river, and hardly a building or vehicle is to be seen as one winds back and forth in a leisurely fashion heading in a vaguely West-South-Westerly direction with either open vistas or heavily overgrown banks for company. Not for nothing did Bampton used to be known as Bampton in the Bush, but the threatening pile-driver precluded a walk into town on the way up-river, so no danger of Morris Dancing activities for the moment.

The pleasant public moorings at just by the bridge at Lechlade are alongside a large open field in which a large number of cows roost. Some of these seemed intent on devouring our radio aerial and licking the other boats to death, while one was planning on visiting the Sylvan Dancer folks whether invited or not.

A pleasant evening ensued, with the first proper visitors to Song & Dance (some old friends who moved to Lechlade nine years ago), and a very nice Italian Restaurant. In the morning a quick wander for a mile or so up to Inglesham Round House – the effective end of the navigable river for us – then back to the marina for a day catching up with household chores before setting off down river for points South and East.

Should that be boathold chores?

Having moored up just below Pinkhill Lock, on some open ground just below Farnmoor Reservoir, a gentle stroll up the path found us coming upon an interpretive board that had a picture of a Barn Owl, which just said “Barn Owl”.

Odd, we thought. But as the sun went down, for over three-quarters of an hour we had superb views of a Barn Owl hunting the area around the sign, occasionally diving down into the undergrowth then emerging with something small and furry in its talons before disappearing into a small wooded area, only to reappear rodent-less a minute or two later. If only all interpretive signs were so accurate and useful!

Today’s word for the vocabulary is “crepuscular”.

The next morning had us travelling for over 25 minutes down a narrow overgrown bit of the river, with one or more kingfishers in always sight. Might have been mainly the same one, but at one point we saw three at once. It always gladdens the heart to see that turquoise and russet flash as they rush by low over the water.

The Upper Thames from Oxford up to Lechlade is supposed to be narrow and very overgrown, but dropping down onto it via Isis Lock and Sheepwash channel under the railway you wouldn’t know from the early section! Compared to the overgrown and narrow horizons of the canal, the Port Meadow water meadows and big sky, combined with horses at the water’s edge and occasional sightings of a Little Egrets made it seem more like the Carmargue!

However, once past the Duke’s Cut junction (going back onto the Oxford Canal at Wolvercote) and past Godstow, it all changes. Lunch at King’s Lock was spent in the company of a surprisingly tame heron with a limp: one of his legs looks different to the other.

And of course, you get bigger boats on the river too – even if Osney Bridge downstream is too low for most of them. Folding wheel-houses come in handy…

Just a smidgeon down the water from Heyford lies Pigeon’s Lock. It’s right out in the boonies, with a couple of houses there a mile or so down an unmade road from the pleasant village of Kirtlington (while a safe distance from any Morris dancers), and a mile or so across the fields from the equally pleasant village of Tackley (where lies a handy railway station).

Chief mate had to nip home for a night so was deputed to do the honours, i.e. walk to Tackley station, go to Heyford to fetch the car, and then return the next day on train and foot laden with all the things we had forgotten when we brought the car up at the weekend.

Just below the lock was a pleasant enough spot to moor for a few nights, but being under the circuit at London Oxford Airport (sic) it’s clear that the commercial flying training bit is still busy: the continuous drone of unsynchronized props on light twin-engine aircraft practising single engine approaches and landings is unmistakeable… BTDTGTTS! Ah what memories.

Add that to one or more large dark green and unmarked helicopters carrying out nap-of-the-earth operations barely above tree level, and thunderstorms bumping around on and off all day, it wasn’t entirely the quietest spot to have a day off.

Mind you, last time I moored near here, back in the late eighties(?), it was the first weekday evening after the clocks went back to GMT, and all the commercial flying instructors were out doing their three “night” circuits and landings to keep their Night Ratings current. Within 20 minutes of official dark there were 21 (yes, I counted them, 21) aircraft airborne in the Kidlington circuit. The poor old Blackbushe air traffic controller used to wet himself if there were five in the circuit, in broad daylight.

Eschewing any flying, a kingfisher chose to moor up for half an hour or more on the boat just up from Song & Dance: lovely to watch through the binoculars, though the photo is handheld through a dirty glass window at long range.

And just to add spice to life, the plan to meet SWMBO at Tackley Station on her return and repair to the local pub for dinner was rather stymied when I rang them to check they were doing food that night. They weren’t. Good job there was nothing in the fridge.

I know Mallards (especially in the wild) don’t subsist entirely on stale bread, my fingers or hand-outs, although opening the side hatch anywhere pretty soon conjures up a bunch of them demanding food with menaces. And I guess the book does say they’re omnivorous.

Even so, moored up in the jungle on the Oxford Canal between Heyford and Tackley, we were rather surprised to see a Mallard drake paddling along in a stately fashion with head held high, and a sizeable fish in his bill. He kept tossing his head upright in an attempt to align the wriggler with his throat just like a proper-job fish-eating seabird. He got there in the end too! Respect!

Red kites and buzzards are fairly common at home, though we rarely see a kestrel these days (even though when motorways first came into use, they were the bird you saw motoring along them). When travelling North West up the M40 these days, red kites are two-a-penny from the Maidenhead – Marlow – High Wycombe area, then slowly peter out as you get further towards the Midlands, while buzzards become more prevalent.

So, travelling slowly South East from the Potteries, and seeing plenty of buzzards (as well as a dull brown painted boat named Buteo Buteo) , we were idly wondering when and where we would first spot a red kite: we were expecting to see them from Banbury downwards, maybe.

But nature moves in mysterious ways… as we pootled gently into the middle of Banbury, a dark red narrowboat came round a corner, narrowly missing us, and in the excitement of collision avoidance, we nearly failed to notice it was named Red Kite. Spooky!

And as for birds… we did indeed spot a pair of red kites this morning being suitably splendid, at Grants Lock, just South of Banbury. Along with a buzzard surveying a field on the other side of the canal, and a kestrel quietly perching on the telephone lines watching proceedings. All at once. Honour is satisfied!