Summer ‘24 finally arrived while we were moored at Pangbourne, and boy, did we all know about it. The temperatures rocketed up - along with the humidity - as we were treated to a mini heat wave. After waiting so long for it to happen no-one complained, well not on the first day anyway, but we’re British after all and after two days of sweltering heat, the cracks began to show.
On the first morning, while Dave started work on the skip-dived flooring boards, converting them into plinth covers...
...Ann-Marie went out for a run up the Thames path towards Mapledurham lock. She only got about half way before the heat got too much and she had to walk back.
After a big breakfast, we carried on the process of clearing, cleaning and packing our belongings. Preparing for such a huge life change is so emotional - exciting and sad at the same time - this little tin box has been our life for longer than anywhere else and we are so going to miss it. But more than that, we’re going to miss this amazing Voyage of Adventure that it has given us. You know, Dear Reader. You’ve been here with us.
The next morning Dave tried to cheat the heat, and went off running just after dawn. It was indeed cooler, but with that came a heavy dew and before long the soggy socks and trainers from the knee-high grass got the better of him and he had to give up as well.
With sunhats, water bottles and plenty of factor 50 on the back deck, we pulled the pins from our little hidey hole and continued upstream...
...through Whitchurch lock and on up to Goring where we moored up in a nice shady spot under the trees.
Dave got out onto the front of the boat, undercoating the bottom of the cratch board and putting a coat of Aquasteel primer on the top of the bow.
Meanwhile, Ann-Marie re-potted our prodigal tomato plants into our round tubs. They are the great great grandchildren of the original cherry bush plant that we got in Wallingford during Covid. There are ten of them this year and if they’re anything like their parents they will be prolific. Goodness knows what we’re going to do with all the little toms when they ripen.
In the evening we had a lovely walk across Goring bridge and up through Streatly to Lardon Chase. It was a steep climb, but totally worth it. The plateau at the top was glorious with so many butterflies and wild flowers, including Pyramid Orchids, which we’d not seen before.
The next morning we had another early kick off, partly to avoid the the heat, but mainly because we wanted to get to Wallingford during the 11am - 2pm sweet spot when there would be somewhere to moor. When we got to Cleeve lock we found it empty, but with only one bottom gate open; a sure sign that the power had failed. When that happens you have to use the big wheel to manually wind the gates and paddles, which is really tiring and makes your arms ache. Happily, we only had to wind the bottom gates and paddles; by the time we’d got Legend in and up, the lock keeper had arrived and restored the power, so Ann-Marie could go back to pushing buttons.
When we got to Wallingford Colin and Julia were waiting for us on the quayside and we moored up in exactly the same place as we were in the floods and the ensuing lockdown in 2019/20.
They walked Rosie down to the boat that evening to collect them, and we sat on the river back drinking wine and celebrating not only our return to Wonderful, Wonderful Wallingford, but also Julia being able to see again.
We set off the next morning along the bit of waterway that we probably know better than anywhere else in the country. When we were moored there - first during the floods and then during lockdown - we’d walked up to Benson lock for water nearly every day for seven months, so it was all very familiar and we felt like we’d come home.
At Benson there was a lot of work going on. The floods had not only created a big shoal below the lock, but also filled the sluice gates on the weir with all manor of debris, including what looked like a small bridge!
We said hello to Kate, the lock keeper who’d looked after us while we were stranded, and - sad muppets that we are - waved goodbye to ‘our’ tap.
Even the next bit through Shillingford and up to Day’s lock was very much part of our old stomping ground, and we got all that mixed emotion stuff going on again; lovely to be there reminiscing, but also saying goodbye.
Next up were Clifton and Culham locks. The stretch between these two is nearly always the last to come down from red boards. We’re not sure why that is; it might be the reduced headroom at the bridge over Clifton cut, it could be that the river is noticeably narrower up here so the flow is stronger, or maybe it’s something to do with the very posh houses that line the river at Burcot, below Clifton lock. Whatever the reason, there had been no proper rain or stream warnings on the whole of the Thames for weeks and we had a very nice - if somewhat breezy - cruise up to Culham.
After we’d tied up on the outside of one of their hire boats and had a lovely re-union with lots of hugs we sat down with a celebratory glass of wine and they told us that the tree had come down in the night a couple of days previously, luckily missing the nearest bell tent. There were concerns about the remaining half which was leaning a bit and was hollow at the bottom just like the fallen one; another victim of Ash Die-back disease.
We’re going to be here for - we reckon at the moment - about seven weeks. During that time, we’ll do all the outstanding jobs on Legend and get it ready to sell. We’ll also pack as much of our stuff that we can possibly live without into the van, ready to ship out to Ireland. The car is due an MOT while were here, and there’s a few things that Steve and Annemarie need our help with; processing and clearing up the fallen bough, building rafts and safely dropping the other half of the tree for a start, so it’s going to be a busy summer.