Onto the Upper Thames

One of the entrancing things about the Thames is that its character changes as you move up or downstream, from the metropolitan excitements of the tidal section, through the ostentation of the lower part of the non-tidal bit, to the scenic splendour of the Middle Thames above Reading, and finally to the more intimate joys of the Upper Thames or Isis.

We’re now on that last section, taking a leisurely cruise to the head of navigation. Last night’s mooring at Iffley was everything you could want, including some unusual cattle on the nature reserve alongside:

They are Belted Galloways, famous for being able to graze less nutritious herbage than many another breed, and here being used to provide the traditional, post hay making graze on a classical water meadow.

We’ve had an excellent day’s cruise up to Eynsham Lock and Swinford Toll Bridge. After lunch, we took Sally for her afternoon constitutional. An interpretation board at the lock recommended walking up to the next lock, Pinkhill, and returning by field paths to Eynsham, describing it as 2½ miles, which sounded about right.

I’ve heard of country miles, but this was ridiculous. It took us just on two hours, and we are not slow walkers, even allowing for dog rummaging time. In addition, we had to find our way round the tip that is Oxford Cruisers yard, where the Anglo Welsh boats came from that gave us so much grief on the Oxford Canal a couple of months back, and some of the field paths, though reasonably well way marked, were distinctly overgrown and punctuated by the odd fallen tree.

Never mind, it made for a good walk, though we missed a quicker return to the lock by another field path at the end, instead walking over the toll bridge, which is narrow and has only a cursory provision for pedestrians. In the morning, I plan to try the other route, as an excellent pair of leaflets about the village, available from the lock, promises both a butcher’s and a baker’s.

That’ll mean a comparatively late start by our standards, so we’ll probably only go on as far as Bablock Hythe.

Canine Water Transport

We’ve survived our first day of cruising with a pooch. It’ll take a while to get into a new routine, and to find out what we have to watch out for in terms of unexpected canine behaviour. As it happens, and nothing to do with Sally, the day didn’t go as planned from the outset, but all turned out OK in the end.

With around three hours cruising from Abingdon to Osney, and a target arrival time of 11 o’clock, we’d decided to start the day at six. This would allow Sheila to take Sally for her first thing comfort break whilst I made the tea, then we’d get up and breakfast as usual.

Sally could then have a long walk with Sheila from seven to eight before we started boating for the day. This bit went like a dream. I did some odd jobs around the boat whilst Sheila and Sally were out, then just after eight we set off upstream.

Arriving at Abingdon Lock, it all came unstuck when the lock wouldn’t work. It was on Self Service, of course, and since by now it was around twenty past eight, it wasn’t worth calling the EA helpline, since the lockie would be there at nine.

We hung about, giving the dog a bit of extra exercise, and the lockie and his assistant arrived on the stroke of nine, in the former’s case by walking out of the front door of his cottage by the lock.

When I told him of the problem, he walked up to one of the control plinths, pushed a button and it all functioned perfectly. He made some disparaging remark, and his assistant then worked us through.

Now we may be being paranoid, but, perhaps understandably, the lockies are very suspicious of the introduction of self operation, as they fear for their jobs. The guy at Abingdon is not one of Nature’s little rays of sunshine at the best of times, and I would not be totally surprised if he’d left the lock only half changed over, so that it appeared to be OK, but couldn't be worked by a boater.

Possibly unfair, but there you are. He certainly didn’t apologise for the fact that we’d been kept hanging about for 40 minutes.

Sheila steered up the river, and I spent a fair bit of time with Sally (in her buoyancy aid) in the well deck. She seemed to take to it OK, after some suspicious examination of the water streaming past, and showed little inclination to abandon ship, which is the main thing. We sent her below for the locks, which she didn’t appreciate, but we couldn’t take the risk of her charging about a lockside in a panic.

Time was getting on as we approached Iffley, and it occurred to us that stopping before Osney would be better from the dog walking point of view.

Accordingly, after a very smooth passage up Iffley, we pulled over beyond the first Rowing Club and tied on pins just by the Nature Reserve. When I walked Sally up to Folly Bridge later in the day, our wisdom in so doing was apparent; the moorings opposite Christchurch meadow were chocker, it being a sunny Sunday afternoon in July.

Tomorrow, we’ll amble on up river, stopping somewhere above Oxford.