Cross-Country Rowing: England
11.5-days rowing 143-miles from Bristol to London in Tramp, a mahogany skerry rowing boat
[Too Long Didn’t Read]
Launching from Bristol harbour, we weren’t sure how many miles, locks, or days’ rowing lay between us two adventurers and our destination Fulham Reach Boat Club on the River Thames. 143 miles, 129 locks, 24 tins of beans, 11.5 days, 8 campsites, 4 oars, 3 kgs of oats, 2 rowers, 1 Tramp.
Having been in lockdown for much of 2021 with restrictions gradually easing over the past few months, my co-adventurer and I set off as UK COVID-19 case numbers are soaring while rules on socialising are being relaxed. We both had our first vaccinations about six weeks ago. I feel reassured that we are self-sufficient, rowing in a naturally socially-distanced boat, outside all day and camping most nights. Nature-loving makes even more sense during this pandemic.
Designed and built by Sir Benjamin Jackson of Jackson Yachts, Tramp is a 62kg mahogany rowing boat — a wooden viking boat for two.
Dailly distances rowed are best guesstimations.
Day 1: Bristol harbour to out-of-Bristol
Distance rowed: 9 miles | # of locks: 3 (Netham — Keynsham)| Campsite: humid.trick.puff
A friendly chap at Shirehampton Sailing Club advised us to avoid the Cumberland Basin lock and start from Bristol Harbour next to The Cottage Inn pub. England is in a heatwave and it’s a sweaty-by-breakfast 31°C (88°F). It’s wonderfully easy to take Tramp off the car with three people! We sit her in the water, load her up with our tent, sleeping gear, water, and after fuelling ourselves up with a lazy breakfast, we launch around late morning. £8 to the harbour master for the privilege, and our £45 annual British Canoeing Waterways Licence. Tiny fish playing in the shallows bid us good luck as we row through the city centre past waterside restaurants and apartments. We pass the M-shed museum where yesterday, we saw the slave-trader Colson’s statue exhibited horizontally after it was toppled, graffitied, and thrown in the water during protests against the killing of George Floyd. We row on past the 98-metre long SS Great Britain, the world’s longest passenger ship between 1845–1859 now a museum ship probably best viewed by rowers. City splendours give way to industrial vendors, we drink plenty of water as the river meanders us a couple of hours to Netham Lock, the gates out of Bristol conveniently open. Countryside takes over and we see Beese’s riverside bar who ferry its customers from one side of the river to the other in a rowing boat. Sunburnt people are swimming in the river to cool off. We reach the first official lock on the Kennet and Avon Canal, Hanham Lock, very much closed and we have no key. The Chequers Inn looks beautiful and inviting yet completely inaccessible to us the wrong side of the weir and no sign of any other boaters. Welcome to life on the waterways — slow down, relax, take a look at what’s around you, enjoy! After an hour or so, we decide the quickest way to get a boat to come along is to to start off-loading our luggage and sure enough, after transporting about half of it up, out, and along the lock, a boat arrives from the other direction. After they are through, my co-adventurer paddles in to become king-of-the-lock, everyone watching him wait for the water to rise and gates to open. We are happy to return to rowing after travelling 30 metres in 1.5 hours.
Though it’s still so burning hot sunshine the peaceful green around us calms. Young guys are fishing, teenagers are jumping in the water by Keynsham Lock and we moor Tramp to look for somewhere to camp. Not before a cup of tea of course, once poured, we hear the hum of an engine so we hop back into Tramp to share the lock. The friendly Irish guy driving the hire-boat revs the engine filling our faces with fumes as I count three take-out trays and a can floating among the filth. The water rises about 2 metres taking its time, so so do we. Tea-drinking, chatting, I watch a teenage boy put his friend’s bra on his head, “Don’t lose it!” she cries as he jumps in. I wouldn’t jump in that muck no matter how hot it gets. Glad we got through and don’t have to camp there, we continue rowing until we see what looks a mid-size music festival set up where we moor and pop our heads up over the riverbank to assess its campability: affirmative. Fine-dining this evening is a starter of baked beans, followed by Mexican mixed beans with homegrown courgette and one (pre-)baked potato. I stretch out, occasional motor boats rumble by, a group of kayakers paddle one way then return splashing playing ‘kayak polo’ “we’ll leave you in peace soon” the instructor shouts. Sheeps in the field next door have cow patterns though definitely talk sheep. We set up camp at nightfall.
Day 2: Bath
Distance rowed: 10 miles | # of locks: 11 (Swineford — Bath Top)| Campsite: scores.excuse.deeper
Peacocks call to wake us up and tell us to get going around 5am. It’s hazy outside and blissfully cool!
25-minutes later we are at Swineford Lock and its powerful weir, enjoying our morning coffee and oats, we see two kingfishers disappear into the vegetation around the lock. I stretch with my hula-hoop until a small motorboat comes to use the lock. The father and son each have a key to open the sluices, then the father stands at the edge of the lock, holding the rope tied to his boat while the water level quickly drops. But the nose of his boat gets stuck on a few millimetres of brick jutting out the edge of the lock, the stern falls with the water while the bow is perched up. His son runs back to close the sluices, then open the others to fill the lock and float the boat off its perch. “What a day…” the man tells us he was on his way to drop off his boat for repairs when the engine failed, and now this. He believes he is unlucky. He realises we have no lock key and insists we take one of his. I give him a large ziplock full of homemade flapjacks in return. I believe we are lucky and now we have our own lock key we are unstoppable!
Saltford Lock, Kelston Lock, Weston Lock and soon we are rowing into Bath city. We hear squeaking and notice two animals squirming around each other in the water, at first I think they are eels but it turns out they are OTTERS! Herons continue to marshal our way into Bath where a sign tells us that we’ve come 18-miles from Bristol. For one day’s rowing in 31°C that doesn’t feel far.
We stop in Bath through the heat of the day for some lunch, toilets, touristic trundling and an ice-cream, before returning to the water later in the afternoon. There are a series of six locks to get through, including the second deepest lock in England, 5.92 m (19 feet 5 inches) aptly named Bath Deep Lock. Its gates of doom close us in with a boom, blocking the sunshine behind black gates towering above us.
In the first lock, the driver tries to reverse steer the boat against the torrent, making a ton of fumes and helping no one. He joins another narrowboat ahead in the second lock and we wait in the scorching sun for our next lock companion; a man with his two mopey teenagers and a big dog called Sebastian (the kind that gets dodgy knees). We guess that children aged 8–12-years old can help and perhaps even enjoy a narrowboat holiday as a family, whereas it can safely be assumed that most teenagers will be mopey.
On lock 3 of 6, I try opening my first lock and fail, it’s a stiff one. I try again on locks 4–6, practising my lock-winding as if I’m the fastest lock-winder there is. The 6th lock does not budge. A man barbecuing in his riverside back garden suggests I make sure the sluice gates of the top gate are fully up. He looks at the rowing boat and asks us where we are going.
“London!”
“Isn’t the river a bit narrow with your oars out?”
“So far it’s been fine” I say, “but we don’t know what’s next”. My co-adventurer helps me budge the gate open, we go through and stop for some beans. After dinner, we row until we see a possible campsite, hacking down stinging nettles with the paddle to clear a path up the riverbank. It’s nearly 9pm and getting dark as we pitch.
Day 3: Aqueducts & Bradford-upon-Avon
Distance rowed: 15 miles | # of locks: 8 (Bradford — Seend)| Campsite: inflation.january.chairing
We wake in the bushes we’d made our campsite, de-camp and start rowing on misty water once again. Before long we arrive at Dundas Aqueduct where we moor at a sign saying “No mooring because of filming”. A narrowboat resident tells us a crew are filming for a Sky TV show “Agatha Raisin” ‘some kind of spoof detective thing’ . We’re earlier than the crew so we enjoy our oats and realise that the showers and facilities we’d hoped to find along the way are non-existent. We cross over the river Avon paddling over the narrow Dundas Aqueduct which marks the start of more narrow waters, which means just one of us rowing and the other steering. Sometimes the rower is down to a single oar and in places, the reeds are so overgrown that we’re down to the paddle alone. Slow progress. And I need the toilet! We stop so I can investigate Avoncliff train station where there is nothing more than two platforms, so I’m delighted to discover the pub next door has outdoor toilets, open! I set a world record for longest pee, then return to the boat to get my wash-kit. Teeth brushed, hair brushed, face splashed, I am a new woman ready to row again.
I start practise steering with the paddle because my solo rowing is much slower than my co-adventurer’s. 10am Bradfield-upon-Avon we walk into the town and see signs for a SWIMMING POOL!!! Since the pandemic, a swim in a pool requires booking in, so I give a fake details to book a swim in an hour’s time. We enjoy coffee and a second breakfast at a pub-restaurant next to our mooring, then head to the pool shower where I take great pleasure cleaning my filthy feet. I climb into the pool for a few lazy laps, reminding myself this is a rowing not a swimming day.
Feeling thoroughly refreshed and human once again, we return into the sunshine, leave through Bradford Lock, back onto narrow waters made narrower with houseboats and narrowboats moored. We are so low in the water we can glide under most swing bridges ducking, though some we have to lay down fully in Tramp. By evening, that showered-feeling long-sweated away, we are so tired still looking for a place to camp that we unexpectedly find ourselves at the bottom of Caen Hill lock flight where we set up tent hiding in plain sight on the tow path in front of lock 22.
Day 4: Caen Hill Flight, Devizes
Distance rowed: 5 miles | # of locks: 29 (Caen Hill 22–50)| Campsite: thumb.encloses.envisage
We wake at 5, de-camp in half an hour and are through the first lock by 6. We switch between managing the lock gates and being in the boat, standing holding onto the ladder which runs down the lock’s walls. We complete the first seven locks by 8am where we find a narrowboat hoping we were something larger he could share the ascent with. We stop for a well-earned breakfast, contemplating locks ascending the hill whose summit remains out of sight.
Not seeing any other boats coming to share with, the narrowboat decides to get going — it usually takes about six hours to travel up the 22 locks. We have decided that we’ll take Tramp out of the water and push her up the hill on the trolley instead. With the sun getting increasingly hotter we are keen to get going.
Tramp weighs 62 kgs plus perhaps another 30kg of oars, tent, sleeping bags, mat, clothes, hula hoop and galley. We load the bow onto wheels and start with one one person pulling and one person pushing each end. But I feel I’m doing nothing so we both go to pull from the stern. One, two, three….GO! We start our ascent in the already baking sunshine aiming to get to the next shady spot, sometimes we do, sometimes we need to stop to rest.
Passers-by make jokes and comments, “Whose bright idea was that then?”, “it’s easier on the water”, “looks like hard work” and the most encouraging, “stunning boat!” From lock 29 we are counting down-up to our goal lock 44. A canal volunteer starts chatting and offers to help. Between learning about his teaching French and Germain in the Bay Area and a wife he met in Paris, he pushes the bow while we two haul it — he makes it a lot easier and faster though we still need encouragement. Ichi, ni, san…GO! “Nearly there!” My FitBit watch is buzzing as I hit I-don’t-know-what activity targets and finally, we make it to lock 44! Done!
?
There, the chief volunteer suggests that their colleague take our luggage on the trailer with the quad-bike while we continue hauling Tramp up to lock 50 because locks are “a lot of water for a very small boat”.
How kind and helpful we smile outwardly while inside drowning “I thought we were done”. We’d underestimated everything about Caen Hill — the incline, the distance, and the fact that the top is 50, not 44! The guy with the quad-bike and trailer finds us resting in the shade. Back to boat-hauling, the distance between the remaining locks is significant. Much sweat, pulling, and ducking through a low tunnel later, we pull Tramp up to lock 49 where the quad bike can’t go any further. We unload our luggage, thank him for his help, joyfully push Tramp back onto water and reload her. One paddle, one lock, and we’re done — 29 locks by noon!
It’s market day in Devizes, town is busy, noisy, two punnets of raspberries for £1, strawberries sold out. Looking for a cool shady place to relax, we spot Wetherspoons and opt for a cheap refuel lunch instead. My co-adventurer is almost falling asleep at the table, we restock our tins, return to Tramp and push off again, our only goal to find some shade to rest in. On we row but the bank is steep or private housing or blocked by 2–3 metres of reeds. It’s almost 4pm by the time we reach a swing bridge by some flat shaded grass accessible from the water. Turns out we’ve found a caravan campsite (= no toilets). We lie down in the shade of a tree for a snooze, definitely done for the day.
Day 5: Pewsey, Bruce Tunnel, Great Bedwyn
Distance rowed: 17 miles | # of locks: 13 (Wootton Rivers — Crofton)| Hotel: The Three Swans, Hungerford
After coffee and oats, we set off around 6am for the calm morning row, some nice stretches rowing together. With lots of shade and an occasional breeze, it feels different from the scorching days before. Luscious green. We pass a swan on his nest on the riverbank, he stands to attention and gets in, his wings curled up and his head tucked down, he looks like a speedboat heading aggressively for us. Ahead, we see three cygnets with their mother so we slow to a still at the other bank while they pass. But the SwanFather is very protective, floating guard next to Tramp, ready to attack. The rest of the swan family are calmly gliding around in no hurry to get away from us, pecking at the reeds for food while SwanFather waits ready to strike us. The stand-off continues, we push off the bank gently to gradually move away, but the SwanFather persists, he really wants to make sure there is no danger even when we are clearly moving away. He follows us speedboat-style as we cautiously get our oars ready to row. It’s clear that we are beyond being a threat but he’s still aggressive for what seems like forever. Eventually, we turn a river bend and I can no longer see the angry swan, I guess he’s not used to rowing boats. From here on, my caution of angry swans is heightened to maximum.
About a mile walk from the river, Pewsey looks like a village that hasn’t changed for 70 years. We return to the boat and boil up water for coffee before continuing towards Wootton. Before the lock, we meet a couple who have just turned their narrowboat Lindy Lou around at the halfway point of their holiday. We share the lock with them, glad for their experience, they know what they are doing and we feel safe. One by one, we go through Wootton’s four locks together and they offer to tow us through Bruce Tunnel. We give them our rope and we hitch a tow into the dark, prime zombie residence, the lady shining her phone torch ahead. Slowly our eyes adjust to the darkness, I look back to see my co-adventurer’s silhouette against the light of the tunnel entrance. I lie front forward on the boat taking video footage of black for about 7-minutes until we emerge into blinding daylight. Bruce Tunnel, the highest point in our journey, made passage by water possible from London to Bristol in 1810.
Not expecting to get this far, we aren’t sure how many locks are ahead, perhaps 4, turns out to be 6, plus 3 more to get to Bedwyn. Exhausted, my mind is excited by the potential of a place named ‘Great Bed Win’ and we stroll to the village looking for accommodation. The Three Tuns pub is closed this Friday night because of COVID, probably its staff had to self-isolate. We look online and consider options in nearby Hungerford. A hotel returns our missed call and bingo! We have a room and a train is leaving at the right time. We return to Tramp, stow things away as best we can from the thunderstorms forecast and catch the train. This entire journey, the train line follows the logical contours of the canal — we zip past where we will be rowing tomorrow and arrive in Hungerford in 6-minutes! We buy chips, sit on a bench by the river to eat them salt and vinegared before a well-deserved shower and glorious hotel room.
Day 6: Hungerford
Distance rowed: 7-8 miles | # of locks: 12 (Bedwyn Church — Dun Mill)| Campsite: skyrocket.debit.lungs
Breakfast included and a morning bath because we can. Check out 11am we wander in famous-for-antiques Hungerford before catching the 12:14 train back to Bedwyn. As we cross the bridge we see our lock buddies on Lindy Lou down river, I give them a shout and a wave. Last night it rained, we sponge the water out of Tramp for 5-minutes, glad to see all our belongings still here. We see a guy with his perhaps 12-year-old daughter wearing matching T-shirts, it looks like they’re on a charity fundraising mission for brain tumour research. He is wheeling their kayak and belongings around the lock — we know how that feels. I change into trousers, after four days of sun it’s a relief to feel cool again, light rain so I put on waterproofs. We leave Bedwyn around 1:15, 7+4 = 11 locks to Hungerford. We meet our closest peer, a guy in a self-built wooden boat rowing-camping from Cricklade (on-Thames?) to Bristol or Bath. Yesterday he got his boat hooked stuck under the ladder of the lock, as the lock filled his water and his boat. “From now on, I’ll use two ropes”. His phone was utterly dead, “Is it Thursday?” he asks. “It’s Saturday!” I wonder how he’ll tell his wife when and where to meet him. It’s very quiet on the river today. At one lock, a lady pops out apologising for enjoying a cigarette in her secretive spot. “What’s worse, having a wee or smoking cigarette in public?” she asks. Neither, I think. She’s just bought a place in Bedwyn and we discuss the pros and cons of getting a kayak to enjoy these waters. Later we pass a lady sitting on a narrowboat who asks to take a photo of us, the guy asks “Are you going the full 125 miles?” and we wonder if perhaps our fame has preceded us on the waterways community chit-chat.
The sun starts trying to shine and soon succeeds. From waterproofs to cap and sunglasses. Leaks of water spring from the lock wall, spouting directly at me and the boat. I try to push Tramp as far away from the wall as possible while hanging onto the ladder to keep us steady. Another lock, I see a wide-nosed creature, about 2-feet long (fish? eel? alligator?!) leap out the water and splash back down. Finally we make it to Hungerford where we are reunited with our lock buddies, fresh from the supermarket with “a lot of beer”. We stop after the bridge at Hungerford for an early dinner: starters of crisps, carrots and peanuts, followed by mains of 3-beans mixed with baked beans and jalapeno pickle, accompanied with sun dried tomatoes with white sourdough bread. Fuelled to continue we look for a campsite. Nearing Kintbury we find the other couple we’d shared locks with yesterday. He’s drinking whisky and they’ve lit a fire on the towpath. They kindly take a photo of us in Tramp and take our email address — up until now we didn’t have any photos of both of us.
Dark clouds are threatening and we spy some spots on the bank with vegetation cut away for fishing and decide to set up camp in one of them. After almost dropping our mattress into the river, we set up the tent, check we’re rainproof and get inside. Perfect timing — a clap of thunder, a flash of lightning and the heavy rain begins. I guess our friend’s fire on the towpath didn’t last long. Rain continues for about an hour. When the storm has passed, my co-adventurer checks Tramp to find the rainwater has already gone over the floorboards, so he bails out before bedtime.
Day 7: Kintbury, Newbury, Thatcham
Distance rowed: 12 ?miles | # of locks: 15 (Wire — Monkey Marsh)| Campsite: converter.decide.hairspray
After the rainy night, I wake around 6am not worried about being seen or de-camping early. Coffee. Oats. Teeth. De-camp. Row. Kintbury is not far away though we don’t feel like exploring beyond the toilets because it’s too early for anything to be open. Stiff locks. Old locks. Cranks-worn-away locks. A lady walks up to us around lock 81 explaining that vandals untied a cruiser from its mooring and left the gates open last night so the water is now about 2-feet lower than it should be. With our shallow draft, we head on through. I feel like a walk so meet my co-adventurer at the next lock where about 10 people are gathered to watch. Since the three barges going up are stuck there, we are the star of the show, now on the outskirts of Newbury. A father explains to his children how the lock works and although we don’t need the second gate, he gives it a push and his kids push it all the way open. Soon after, there is a swing bridge too low for us to get under in Tramp. It’s operated by the key we had hoped would give us to access to the non-existent showers — finally, it becomes worth the £7 investment, we push the button to move the bridge. We moor before the Newbury lock, vendors are selling street-food in the marketplace, wooden chopping boards, coffee and a Greek vendor has duplicated both himself and his stand to double his sales of olives. WH Smiths here stocks Classic Yacht, Classic Sailor, Canal World, and Waterways. We go to investigate a booming sound-system — a random gazebo is set up with a DJ playing reggae, two girls dancing in the square.
We find a pub-restaurant The Elephant in the Market and I order a mushroom and camembert wellington roast dinner. Hiding inside is one WHOLE CAMEMBERT, and roast potatoes, veges, Yorkshire pudding. With a little support I claim victory over the camembert and am proud to present a clean plate.
Newbury lock is very well kept, a strong brick lip to push off from, everything works easily, its central location a real crowd-attractor. We are soon on the River Kennett. Signs warn us that navigation conditions can change, we notice the flow in our favour immediately. The locks are in varying condition of not great. A guy walking by the river offers to help me and I learn that the key to open the lock gates is called a ‘windlass’. Rain clears off and I lay out my two pairs of shoes hoping they will dry. A very long, narrow stretch just 2.5–3m wide, thick reeds bulging across both sides, we are reduced to one paddle. Soon we reach Thatcham Lock, a turf lock with three ladders on either side, very different from the dark slimy brick walls we’re used to. Instead, there are reeds, vegetation and a bank with a very clear mud line. A man, perhaps Russian, or Polish, is explaining to his young daughter how the lock works and they watch us go through. His elderly mother asks us a question which he translates to us “what do you do in the rain?”
“Jackets — or we stop,” he translates our answer back to his mother. Later, we moor close to Thatcham station, he asks us about food “Perhaps you need to shop?” I suppose he’s Polish after all.
Wildlife report: dead fish about 50cm, a dead pigeon laying face-down like it collapsed there drunk. Alive flying bird of prey and our heron friend returns.
My neck aches in one spot on the left, perhaps it’s from turning to look behind while rowing or perhaps it’s from steering. My body is tired from one week’s rowing, I’ve been waking up stiff but my body quickly warms to the wonders of the morning river row, the best time of day to be on the water, only made possible by camping next to it. We pitch our tent on the towpath by the railway station as night falls.
Day 8: Aldermaston, Reading
Distance rowed: 13 ?miles | # of locks: 17 locks (Colthrop — Blake’s)| Hotel: Great Expectations
Wake at 5am, coffee, bread and jam and honey, flapjack, de-camp, rowing by 6. We are at lock 91 and I estimate lock 103 will be the outskirts of Reading and 111 the Thames. I do the first locks, 93 is deep and takes a long time to fill so I do a headstand on the lock gate. I am not feeling great, my head is hurting, body aching, especially my neck. My co-adventurer does most of the rowing while I steer. We reach Aldermaston quite quickly and re-fill water where a lady is turning a white drum which she explains is a manual washing machine. Aldermaston has a crinkle-crankle lock with a scalloped design. A group who sound like a London party are ahead of us, at the wharf people return their hire boats. A man standing on top of one of them says “They’re all back now so you’ve got nothing to worry about”, as hire-boat holidaymakers have varying degrees of boating experience. An electronic operated bridge follows, it grumbles and creaks, the traffic on the road is building up and for a moment we wonder if the bridge is going to move. Finally it groans its way upwards and as I paddle under it I think how very dead I would be if it dropped back down onto my head.
Today feels long. A short rest will only postpone our arrival and proper rest in Reading. These locks are the least well-maintained. When you think of a ‘leak’ you think of a trickle, but these leaky locks have torrents spouting, it’s hard to know if you’ve left the sluices open or not. I get to a lock to find the bottom gates fully open and the sluices up, people ahead of us have left half of their work for me. We count the locks, 98, 99, 100 feels like a milestone, a girl cycling by says “That’s a nasty lock that is” and I’m glad I’m in the boat, my co-adventurer pushes with all his might to open it. There are numerous low swing bridges, most of which we squeeze under lying down in Tramp, drifting through or pulling on the underside of the bridge to get us through. A family yesterday who saw us do this described as poo-sticks. A girl is struggling to open the sluices at the second turf lock, we hear her moving it one click at a time. She sees us coming down and as the lock is still full, suggests to let us through first, the turf locks are much more pleasant to be in than the slimy walls of most locks, they are wider, with mud and green vegetation. She says it’s only a couple of locks until the Thames but the canal and locks seem to go on and on and on and on.
We are sure we should be in Reading already but the countryside continues. Another narrow stretch, reduced to one paddle, perhaps this is the avenue to Reading? More countryside, more meanders, another narrow stretch, is this Reading Avenue? Eventually, a lock with some boys fishing, industrial buildings appear, DHL — how many people are as delighted as we are to reach the outskirts of Reading?! We make our way into the city, rowing past houses with their gardens backing onto the water, into the city centre, bars, shops, apartments. We keep on rowing to the Thames for a better chance of a mooring. There is a push-button pedestrian-crossing style button to wait for the green light to go under a bridge. We reach Blake’s lock and share with a hotel barge operator and crew.
Voilà!
Finally!
The Thames!
The Thames is beautifully W I D E!
We steer left and find a spot between a narrowboat and a shabby old motorboat and tie up between two trees. The narrow-boater tells us he’d once rowed all the way from Lechlade to London “not bad for 60-year olds” and doesn’t care where we’ve rowed from. We prepare to leave the boat, take our dry bags, make our way into the woods and hey presto! Tesco’s carpark welcomes us to the glamorous city of Reading. 20-minutes walk into town, we check into Great Expectations hotel whose name becomes ironic immediately after entering — a theme hotel which was probably the best place to be in 1991 and hasn’t been much loved since then. No clean sheets were delivered that day, probably the delivery drivers had to self-isolate, so after waiting around, we finally make it into our £51 no expectations room. Showered, we go out on a date; English vegetarian Vietnamese pho followed by dessert next door. Retire to the room rest well.
Day 9: Henley-on-Thames, Medmenham
Distance rowed: 9 miles | # of locks: 4 (Sonning — Hambleden) | Campsite: swank.aboard.tradition
Despite my worries of leaving all our stuff in Tramp in the city, we return to find all is well. Full veggie breakfast at Tesco before relaunching. Finally we can both row together again for lovely long stretches on the gloriously wide river Thames! It’s 8.5 miles and three locks to Henley-on-Thames, now there are large motorboats overtaking us and creating wash. In the first lock, there is one long narrowboat and one short one, we tuck behind them. Then a motorboat comes in last, two young lads playing rap music loudly. When the lock is about half empty, the guy on the long narrowboat shouts “Haven’t you got any decent music?”, we’re in the land of London accents. “Haven’t you got anything good instead of that rap? Shit?” We all burst out laughing and the guys turn off their music. Through the lock, onwards, it’s an absolute pleasure rowing on the Thames, there’s plenty of space yet well protected. We succeed in overtaking a narrowboat — we feel powerful, though we all end up in the same lock anyway, so we remind ourselves to row slow on this, our rest day. Time rows by, these locks have lock-keepers! We start to see big houses, mansions, we’re approaching Henley-on-Thames and see Slipper Launches, the Thames boat equivalent of a sports car for fun day Sunday cruising.
Being on the river feels so special, we slow to maximise nosey-ness at all the houses and boats. The church and bridge of Henley-on-Thames come into view and we moor at the steps by the pub, I love free parking! Ice-cream and a couple hours wandering around the town before we’re back on the water and on the track of the Royal Regatta, ducking into the mooring zone out of the way of rowing teams whooshing by training. It being a rest day, we take it easy, rowing, snacking, resting, looking for a spot to camp. Along the towpath there are lovely areas of flat grass where we decide to have dinner, perhaps camp. But it’s too exposed and we’d have to wait about 3–4 hours doing nothing before being able to set up camp. To keep warm, we row on, sometimes just drifting enjoying the current. Herons a-plenty and numerous geese.
Most nice spots have “No mooring” signs and we are tired. Evening is falling, we finally see signs for a £10 mooring by a grassy field. Within about 10-minutes of mooring, we’re making a cup of tea and the farmer rolls up in his Land Rover. He kindly lets us camp for the same fee, only because it’s already late and on the condition that we’re gone by 7am. The outer layer of our tent is pretty soggy after the thunderstorms and rainy days but it stays dry where it’s meant to, inside. Anticipating difficulties in finding a place to camp in Windsor, we book a hotel for tomorrow.
Day 10: Marlow, Windsor
Distance rowed: 12 miles | # of locks: 7 (Hurley — Boveney)| Hotel: Goswell House
Geese wake us at 5am, we enjoy breakfast and coffee on the bench, I put on my trainers and thick socks as there’s a cold wind, we’re off by 6:15. We’re the only ones on the water, gaggles of geese cheer us on. About 40-minutes in we’re at Hurley Lock, ‘self-service’, button operated locks are lovely and easy though they lack the charm of manual ones and are equally dirty. Soon after, we’re at Temple Lock which tells us it’s 58-miles to London. Yesterday we felt like we were nearly done — that’s a long way to go! Rowing teams are out and kids in boats it’s the summer holidays. Marlow Lock is a very large lock for our little Tramp! By 8am it’s still only us and the rowers on the water the sun now trying to warm us. 56.75 miles to London — almost the same distance as our entire Scotland trip!
Time for a second round of oats, Cookham lock 9:20, Boulters lock 10:39, Bray lock 11:16am definitely time for a square of chocolate. We stop for an early lunch knowing we have a fairly long stretch ahead. Throughout the morning, the weather has been swinging from sunny to cold, showers to hot. We head under a willow tree to shelter from the rain. A man in his back garden invites us to use his dock. He’s trying to fit a Stirling motor to his boat today. He admires Tramp and chats with my co-adventurer about the boat build method, design, and characteristics. The rain clears, the sun shines and off we go. We se the largest Slipper Launch, called Knight Errant, aptly named as we are reading Don Quixote. A steam boat passes us by. Tired, we stop and allow ourselves to drift, eating crisps, until we realise we are at a perfect grassy spot for lunch. We moor up for beans and beans and bread. As the water boils for coffee, we see dark clouds eyeing us up and a rumble of thunder. We speed up our coffee drinking and move the boat to the next clearing where we can shelter under a tree. The rain comes and quickly turns into a heavy squall, we huddle as close as we can to the tree but holes in rain jackets become apparent. Thunder and lightning all we can do is wait and smile. It lasts about 15-minutes until we notice that the rain drops under the tree on the river are perhaps heavier than the raindrops on the river not under the tree. My co-adventurer bails out Tramp with the sponge and though it’s still raining we decide it’s time to move on, not knowing which way the weather will go for how long. Boaters smile pityingly at us drenched in our rain gear and I smile back wondering what they do all day sitting in their motorboats. A private hire-boat driver, standing smoking at the side of the lock says “At least you get fit”, I sense his pity but I think I’m having the most fun of anyone, I’m singing in the rain! We try to overtake them for a brief sprint stint and soon after — ta-dah! We are rewarded with the most fabulous view of Windsor castle! Incredible! The signs say “Strictly commercial mooring only, 2 hours max, between the arrows” so that means outside of the arrows is good to moor, right?
We take our soggy selves towards the castle and into a cafe to dry off with coffee and cake. Our hotel is almost in sight of the castle, our room overlooks rainy rooftops. Showered, we later pick a dry moment to check on Tramp and fetch our luggage.
Day 11: M25, Staines(-upon-Thames), M3, Sunbury
Distance rowed: 18 miles | # of locks: 7 (Romney-Sunbury)| Campsite: estate.plus.others
We’d brought our oats and milk with us for breakfast in bed. It’s about 10:15 by the time we launch. Changing weather, first I want my trousers, then I want my shawl, worried about sunburn. Rowing around the vast Windsor estate, where trespassing is considered a serious organised crime. The meandering route past Eton college gives us lovely long stints today, yesterday’s rest and feeling closer to finishing is motivating. We reach Staines around 2 and refill our bellies at Wetherspoons where I check train times and prices for our expected arrival tomorrow. We buy pastries. Penton Hook lock 16:20, a narrowboat who’s been in our vicinity since Reading tells us it’s going to be windy showers tomorrow, he’s going as far as he can today and then he’s going to hide. 17:07 Chertsey lock the lock-keeper is on duty, we overtook both the narrowboats we shared last lock with so we’re first in the lock queue. A lady comes to chat, her mother lives in our hometown! 17:47 Shepperton lock, 18:47 Sunbury lock, preceded by fleets of racing kayakers and the Thames skiff rowing club, we’re on the look out for a camp. Perhaps 16-miles remain.
Day 12: Hampton Court, Richmond, Fulham Reach Boat Club, LONDON!
Distance rowed: 15 miles | # of locks: 3 (Molesey-Richmond)
Wake at 5am, rain has been off and on all night. Coffee, oats, de-camp, launch by 6:20. Hampton Rowing Club pass us practising. The sun creeps out, a beautiful morning, we want to get as far as we can before the rain. 06:53 Molesey lock, toilets locked! Rain clouds overhead, jackets and hats on. 08:26 Teddington lock, a boat is coming through and a police boat would be at the top of our queue to go down if it had anyone in it. Light rain comes and goes, good rowing stints, the only other boats on the water are rowers. Bearded herons look like wise oracles, they inhabit boats and locks. We moor by a park with runners running, my co-adventurer holds onto concrete steps while I search for public toilets. There are some next to a cafe, my co-adventurer and I switch so I hold on to the steps tight to stop the wind from blowing Tramp and I away, while he buys coffees to have with our pastries. We get to Richmond lock to find it open — no more locks! The wind and weather are worsening, we’re going a good pace through what still feels like countryside despite being in London.
The river meanders broadly and the wind gusts hard. A large building looks like an institution on top of a hill. Under Kew Bridge. We see rowers in skulls from Fulham Reach Boat Club, we must be close. The wind is now whipping and the rain is lashing full-time as we go around the corner, finally we see Hammersmith Bridge. We are excited and relieved to see Fulham Reach Boat Club’s pontoon. We find our way into the club to a warm welcome and use of their facilities.
Aaaaah…. Sofa. A cup of tea.
We have done it! We rowed across England!
Acknowledgements: Thank you to Fulham Reach Boat Club for taking care of Tramp over night. Thank you Leila and Chris and family for helping us launch and taking care of the Volvo while we rowed. Thank you to Marble the cat for being the remote-support team.
