Clifton Life - June 09
Take me to the river
Join Vicky Green on her maiden voyage along the River Avon
Like me, you might have spent many a fine day walking or cycling along the towpath between Bristol and Bath, coveting thy neighbours' houses with their private moorings, enjoying the spectacle of a boat moving through a lock, and wondering what it would be like to be part of that exclusive community of those who live on the water.
I recently decided to make the move from towpath to river and then to canal, by hiring a narrowboat courtesy of UK Boat Hire, whose nearest base is at Hilperton Marina in Wiltshire. They advised me that I “might just make it” from there via Bath to Bristol and back within the five days. It was a challenge I couldn't resist, and one I'm glad I took up. Here's my captain's log of our week on the waterways.
Day one
It had not started auspiciously. Although late May, two days before we were due to pick up our boat there had been freak hailstorms; that day the car had broken down and we hadn't the time or the money to sort it out. So we found ourselves waiting at the bus station in the rain, then walked from Trowbridge to Hilperton Marina. We arrived bang on three to a warm welcome and were shown to our boat by Zena, who explained about the central heating, TV (you might struggle to get a decent picture), radio and DVD, shower, flushing toilet (phew!) and fully stocked kitchen with gas cooker and fridge, rather fancy looking toaster and percolator.
We then returned to the office where we watched a faintly soft-focus 10-minute video about the rules of the road, after which we were deemed ready for our technical induction with Nick the engineer. This took not much more than half an hour, in which he ran through a lengthy checklist of do's and don'ts – eg here are your fire extinguishers, but if there's a fire, actually just get off the boat; showed us pictures of locks, how to do them correctly, what might happen if you don't. It was then time for our driving lesson. Like other motorboats, it has a tiller and a throttle which goes forward, reverse and neutral, and more forward for more power and vice versa. This I was fine with, although the finer details slightly went over my head. Fortunately my partner Ian was nodding confidently, and Nick was obviously happy to leave us at the first opportunity. We drove as far as Bradford on Avon, slightly full of tension, enhanced by the presence of one of the couples who had picked their boat up at the same time as us (Scandinavian, we thought; the others were American - clearly this is something that strikes a chord with tourists as quintessentially British). And although I struggled to pull the boat in by rope and Ian just – just – made the leap on to the bank over a too-wide gap, the boat was still there when we returned from Sainsbury's equipped with two bags of hearty food and, rather improbably, a bottle of £1 mulled wine; things were looking up.
We were anxious about our first lock, in Bradford on Avon, but fortunately our American friends were already on it so we caught a ride with them. We promised them a round of drinks at the Cross Guns but unfortunately when we got to Avoncliff we were firing on all cylinders, and made it as far as Limpley Stoke before we felt like stopping. Mooring was marginally easier; we put on some thick, dry socks and the mulled wine straight on the stove.
Day two
Our boat is the definition of cosy, but that didn't stop me lying awake at night worrying about the potential pitfalls of our little trip. Our first day of hardcore cruising was to be a learning curve, and I knew it.
Lesson 1: Once you're on the river, never assume you'll find a place to moor when you fancy stopping. If you see a mooring place, stop, or be prepared to keep going for another two hours. We ended up doing six hours' straight on two pieces of toast. Be prepared to eat in relay rather than expecting to be able to stop and have a nice lunch together.
Lesson 2: Don't assume the man shouting instructions at you in the lock knows what he's talking about. He might make your first lock unnecessarily stressful, when really you should be listening to the Welsh couple you meet at the next lock, who help you all the way to Bitton even when you want to cry. (Although fellow users of UK Boat Hire, they did this regularly enough to know what they were doing and appeared to be thoroughly enjoying themselves.)
What a palaver it was getting through Bath! From the quaint cottages of Bathampton to the gaping wound of the Batheaston Bypass to the higgledy-piggledy backs of tall Georgian houses in London Road. The six locks took us two hours, me taking the role of (trying to) control the boat, Ian using his superior upper body strength to open and close the gates. Within the locks, especially the famous 18ft deep one at Widcombe, I found myself marvelling at these relics from the industrial revolution, even if the rain did pick up at that point. At least we avoided the hail and lightning that had been forecast. So at last it was into the disappointingly industrial and litter-filled River Avon whose currents caught us both off guard after the placid canal. We were wet through and exhausted when we found the first place to stop; after an hour's lie-down we got back on it and it was a mere 40 minutes to Keynsham where, like manna from heaven, an empty mooring space appeared before us, we parked without making fools of ourselves (or worse) and, best of all, it was opposite a pub, the Lock-Keepers' Inn, where we enjoyed a well-deserved, although slightly disconcerting, pint, as we realised everything was rocking.
Day three
How much more confident do we feel today! After yesterday's arduous lock marathon, we had received enough training, courtesy of the friendly Welsh couple, to feel reasonably fit to tackle the morning's first challenge: Keynsham Lock. As I steered the boat into the mooring bay and Ian jumped on at the other side, we gave each other a high five: our first solo lock! Then we meandered past the Cadbury's factory where you can actually smell chocolate in the air, and by the second lock we felt like pros. Hanham turned out to be even more magical than it appears from the railway, a secret woodland community with weir and lock which, once we passed through, a sign told us we were now entering the waterways of Bristol Harbour Authority. That was good enough for us, except we pootled further towards the city, past the tall trees of Hencliff Wood, as far as the sandstone cliffs and a surprise wall of graffiti amongst the greenery, which told us we were coming into Bristol. This was the most idyllic stretch of the river: we counted six herons, many moorhens, a family of geese, a cygnet riding on its mother's back – the Avon Wildlife Park, which we passed on the way back, had nothing on this. What's more, now we knew the route, we were able to schedule in a lunchtime stop at Bitton, arriving just before 1 o' clock, after nearly four hours of travelling. How's that for timing?
Fully refreshed, having learned from our mistakes of the day before, we had energy to last us the rest of the day. We passed through Saltford, Kelston and Swineford Lock, where we met a man from British Waterways whose job it was to travel around Somerset and Gloucestershire checking the locks . Great job when the weather's fine, which incredibly it was all day. Coming into Bath, we phoned a couple of friends who we knew would be able to meet us at Weston Lock in time to hitch a ride into the centre, where we moored up and took ourselves off for a drink. By now we were elated with our progress and bored them with triumphant stories of our endeavours.
Day four
Our Swedish friend, Maria, arrived this morning to help us through the six locks of Bath. I cruised into lock after lock and felt relief as I was lifted up to ground level, less disconcerting than sinking into them on the way down. We cleared all six in around an hour and a half, and it was plain sailing then all the way to Avoncliff, where we stopped for a late pub lunch – apart from the bit when Maria and I struggled to open the swing bridge before the man mowing his lawn behind us shouted “Wrong way!”. Ian was laughing with satisfaction when we climbed back on the boat.
As planned, we made it into Bradford on Avon for the evening, finding the perfect spot to moor that wasn't just a good base for exploring the town but had three very good pubs within close proximity. Of these we picked The Barge Inn for dinner, and it turned out we were lucky to get a table. Its recent reinvention as a gastropub has saved this waterside pub from an uncertain future, and it's not hard to see why: how refreshing to find pub grub done brilliantly, but served, in true pub style, in enormous portions. We worried about sinking the boat when we returned.
Day five
Our last day and I'm marvelling that nothing has yet gone wrong. Could it be possible that we manage to flood the bathroom or capsize some kayakers on our return to the base? It was an early start: unfortunately you have to return the boat at 9am so they can have it ready for the long weekenders by 3pm; clearly they give it a thorough servicing. This left us with the excuse of a leisurely breakfast, so we walked back along the canal to Bradford on Avon, to enjoy The Lock Inn Cafe's “world famous” Boatman's Breakfast, “as seen on TV” (hardened boaters Rosie & Jim once paid it a visit).
It couldn't have been more hearty; based on our experience here and at The Barge, we wondered that Bradford wasn't full of obese people wobbling around. The sun was shining, as it had been since Wednesday, and we felt like we'd been on an adventure. Now some days later, when we look at the river, we feel we know it more intimately; even our home city feels fresh, as though seen from a different perspective.
