Preface:
There now follows a day-by-day summary of this challenge, and I have attempted to write it vaguely in the style of Jerome K. Jerome. I have tried to keep it brief but that is very difficult and, even though I am splitting it into two parts, I strongly suspect most cannot be bothered to read through it so here is the summary version:
Paul, Chris and I, together with a cuddly toy dog called Montmorency spent 5 days in a 130 year old skiff rowing from Kingston to Oxford. We had a lot of fun and met a few people. We ached by the end of it but the challenge was successfully completed.
Only masochists and the lonely need read on:
Chapter 1
Date: 7 May - Start: Kingston Bridge - End: Chertsey Bridge - Distance: Not Known batteries ran out on GPS - Average Speed: Not known batteries ran out on GPS - Fact of the day: The oxter is the medical term for the armpit.
It was a glorious morning, late spring or early summer as you care to take it. I had some tasks to perform in town and, as a result of difficulty arranging a cab, it was decided I would walk there whilst Paul and Chris took our bags to the station. Despite planning to travel light there was an awful lot of luggage waiting at the door to our lodgings. I confess the majority was mine, but it is important to be suitably attired when rowing on the Thames.
My luggage concerns increased as we pulled into the car park in Walton. Tom was waiting for us with Edward, a 130 year old double sculling skiff and our cab driver, who one would expect to know about baggage space, said he did not believe it would all fit. I wondered which of the other two would be willing to leave one of their bags behind but as it turned out Edward held it quite comfortably. I regretted not bringing the extra clothes I had jettisoned at our lodgings.
Tom was a decent sort, thorough and abrupt rather than genial when giving instruction, which in our eagerness to set off was no bad thing. The three of us had agreed to take it in turns to scull (two of us) and steer (one of us). I was first to steer. Montmorency sat at the front and kept watch. I had already insisted that the challenge was to be done properly and we had to row from Kingston. This meant initially heading away from Oxford. However, it was downstream and the current was stronger than usual so Paul and Chris made short work of the 7 or so miles to Kingston Bridge. We were there in time for lunch.
At 3.05pm we set off on our journey proper. We went under Kingston Bridge, again and alongside Hampton Court Palace again. The travel was far slower, being upstream with the current was stronger than usual.
Our first lock of the day had been Shepperton Lock where the keeper had generously explained the finer points of properly passing through them. We told him we would be back again that day and when we finally returned he gave us a leaflet on camping and recommended we spend the night by Chertsey Bridge where there was both a campsite and pub. This suited us perfectly, Chertsey Bridge being only a short way past Walton meant we would get back past where we started. Rather than use the campsite, we decided to moor nearer the Kingfisher pub. Putting a canvas on a skiff is a far easier task than Jerome K. Jerome would have you believe and we were soon ready to celebrate the first night of our adventure.
The Kingfisher staff were initially a surly bunch offering little in the way of hospitality but as the evening drew on and it became quieter they became far more sociable. Indeed one of the ladies took quite a shine to Montmorency, although she did insist on calling him Boris.
Chapter 2
Date: 8 May - Start: Chertsey Bridge – End: Cookham Lock - Distance: 20.5 miles - Average Speed: 2.7mph - Fact of the day: Martin Van Buren was the first US President to be born in the USA
I had no pillow but with Montmorency making an adequate substitute I slept well on the skiff and was first up, keen to shower and start the day. I walked to Chertsey Campsite with my toiletries, noting the sign outside describing it as the “friendly campsite”. I strolled confidently up to the man at the gate and asked him if I could use the shower. He told me “No”. Apparently the shower could only be used by people staying at the site. I am not unreasonable and explained to him that I was more than happy to pay the price for staying at the campsite in exchange for using the shower. Again he said “No” and did so in an aggressive and definite manner. I left and snorted at the lie on the campsite sign.
The Thames still flowed strong against us but the previous day had not tired us and we rowed well, albeit our technique was still rather questionable. We made Datchet for lunch and moored at a very attractive point just off the High Street, enjoying the glorious sunshine as we ate. An oddity to the moorings at Datchet is that you can only reach the landing plank from one side without having to negotiate a metal handrail to reach the gangplank. As we pulled away from our mooring, we witnessed an elderly couple arrive on the wrong side of the rail, which the lady of the boat was incapable of getting past, although she tried gamely for one of her advanced years. This somewhat comic scene took an unpleasant turn with the husband cursing and threatening in a way that did not benefit the serenity of the area. Why they did not just move the boat I cannot say but we were soon out of earshot and they became a mere memory as we pressed on through Windsor, being photographed by tourists and dodging swans and pleasure boats.
I shall digress briefly to pass on some advice to those inspired to do as we did. The people who enjoy the pleasures of the Thames are a social bunch who wish each other good day and chat at locks as they pass through. Three men in a 130 year old double sculling skiff get particular attention and for those planning on spending any time in a skiff I do strongly recommend you take a stuffed dog. It was with a tedious frequency that those men (it was always men) who considered themselves particularly humorous hollered to us “3 men in a boat, where is your dog?” Montmorency’s presence would allow us to point at the stern and yell back “he is guiding our way”. Thus the river wit was invariably outsmarted.
The need for a shower demanded that we stay at a campsite that night and Cookham Lock was, in theory, the ideal choice. Paul called ahead and was told that the lock keeper would be finished by the time we arrived but would hide the key for us. We passed through Cookham Lock, having been told by the previous keeper that the campsite was just after it, only to find it was not there. We asked for directions at the next pub we came to but they had not heard of it. This was a real puzzle and, with darkness encroaching, we decided to return to the lock and search by foot. It turned out the site was at the bottom of the lock. We decided to moor where we were.
We had now been some two days without a shower and were most unkempt and uncomfortable. It was our intention not to inflict this on the people of Cookham by buying dinner and eating on the boat. However, Cookham is a town consisting only of pubs and restaurants. We had no choice but to go out to eat and chose an Indian restaurant that had been acknowledged by the Cobra awards to be the best in the South of England. The food was good, no doubt, but it is the toilet that was most appreciated. They supplied towels for hand drying that made excellent flannels. In turn we washed our faces. I do not think Daz was going to rescue those.
Date: 7 May - Start: Kingston Bridge - End: Chertsey Bridge - Distance: Not Known batteries ran out on GPS - Average Speed: Not known batteries ran out on GPS - Fact of the day: The oxter is the medical term for the armpit.
It was a glorious morning, late spring or early summer as you care to take it. I had some tasks to perform in town and, as a result of difficulty arranging a cab, it was decided I would walk there whilst Paul and Chris took our bags to the station. Despite planning to travel light there was an awful lot of luggage waiting at the door to our lodgings. I confess the majority was mine, but it is important to be suitably attired when rowing on the Thames.
My luggage concerns increased as we pulled into the car park in Walton. Tom was waiting for us with Edward, a 130 year old double sculling skiff and our cab driver, who one would expect to know about baggage space, said he did not believe it would all fit. I wondered which of the other two would be willing to leave one of their bags behind but as it turned out Edward held it quite comfortably. I regretted not bringing the extra clothes I had jettisoned at our lodgings.
Tom was a decent sort, thorough and abrupt rather than genial when giving instruction, which in our eagerness to set off was no bad thing. The three of us had agreed to take it in turns to scull (two of us) and steer (one of us). I was first to steer. Montmorency sat at the front and kept watch. I had already insisted that the challenge was to be done properly and we had to row from Kingston. This meant initially heading away from Oxford. However, it was downstream and the current was stronger than usual so Paul and Chris made short work of the 7 or so miles to Kingston Bridge. We were there in time for lunch.
At 3.05pm we set off on our journey proper. We went under Kingston Bridge, again and alongside Hampton Court Palace again. The travel was far slower, being upstream with the current was stronger than usual.
Our first lock of the day had been Shepperton Lock where the keeper had generously explained the finer points of properly passing through them. We told him we would be back again that day and when we finally returned he gave us a leaflet on camping and recommended we spend the night by Chertsey Bridge where there was both a campsite and pub. This suited us perfectly, Chertsey Bridge being only a short way past Walton meant we would get back past where we started. Rather than use the campsite, we decided to moor nearer the Kingfisher pub. Putting a canvas on a skiff is a far easier task than Jerome K. Jerome would have you believe and we were soon ready to celebrate the first night of our adventure.
The Kingfisher staff were initially a surly bunch offering little in the way of hospitality but as the evening drew on and it became quieter they became far more sociable. Indeed one of the ladies took quite a shine to Montmorency, although she did insist on calling him Boris.
Chapter 2
Date: 8 May - Start: Chertsey Bridge – End: Cookham Lock - Distance: 20.5 miles - Average Speed: 2.7mph - Fact of the day: Martin Van Buren was the first US President to be born in the USA
I had no pillow but with Montmorency making an adequate substitute I slept well on the skiff and was first up, keen to shower and start the day. I walked to Chertsey Campsite with my toiletries, noting the sign outside describing it as the “friendly campsite”. I strolled confidently up to the man at the gate and asked him if I could use the shower. He told me “No”. Apparently the shower could only be used by people staying at the site. I am not unreasonable and explained to him that I was more than happy to pay the price for staying at the campsite in exchange for using the shower. Again he said “No” and did so in an aggressive and definite manner. I left and snorted at the lie on the campsite sign.
The Thames still flowed strong against us but the previous day had not tired us and we rowed well, albeit our technique was still rather questionable. We made Datchet for lunch and moored at a very attractive point just off the High Street, enjoying the glorious sunshine as we ate. An oddity to the moorings at Datchet is that you can only reach the landing plank from one side without having to negotiate a metal handrail to reach the gangplank. As we pulled away from our mooring, we witnessed an elderly couple arrive on the wrong side of the rail, which the lady of the boat was incapable of getting past, although she tried gamely for one of her advanced years. This somewhat comic scene took an unpleasant turn with the husband cursing and threatening in a way that did not benefit the serenity of the area. Why they did not just move the boat I cannot say but we were soon out of earshot and they became a mere memory as we pressed on through Windsor, being photographed by tourists and dodging swans and pleasure boats.
I shall digress briefly to pass on some advice to those inspired to do as we did. The people who enjoy the pleasures of the Thames are a social bunch who wish each other good day and chat at locks as they pass through. Three men in a 130 year old double sculling skiff get particular attention and for those planning on spending any time in a skiff I do strongly recommend you take a stuffed dog. It was with a tedious frequency that those men (it was always men) who considered themselves particularly humorous hollered to us “3 men in a boat, where is your dog?” Montmorency’s presence would allow us to point at the stern and yell back “he is guiding our way”. Thus the river wit was invariably outsmarted.
The need for a shower demanded that we stay at a campsite that night and Cookham Lock was, in theory, the ideal choice. Paul called ahead and was told that the lock keeper would be finished by the time we arrived but would hide the key for us. We passed through Cookham Lock, having been told by the previous keeper that the campsite was just after it, only to find it was not there. We asked for directions at the next pub we came to but they had not heard of it. This was a real puzzle and, with darkness encroaching, we decided to return to the lock and search by foot. It turned out the site was at the bottom of the lock. We decided to moor where we were.
We had now been some two days without a shower and were most unkempt and uncomfortable. It was our intention not to inflict this on the people of Cookham by buying dinner and eating on the boat. However, Cookham is a town consisting only of pubs and restaurants. We had no choice but to go out to eat and chose an Indian restaurant that had been acknowledged by the Cobra awards to be the best in the South of England. The food was good, no doubt, but it is the toilet that was most appreciated. They supplied towels for hand drying that made excellent flannels. In turn we washed our faces. I do not think Daz was going to rescue those.
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