Homeward Bound

Osney to Abingdon, 7.5 miles, 3 locks

To my surprise it was bright and sunny this morning. I had been expecting rain, so I assumed that this was a temporary thing that would deteriorate as the day wore on. After a simple breakfast of bran flakes and yoghurt, and a cup of coffee while I brought the blog up to date, I got on with the day's business: getting ready for the Thames.

First off was to sort out the screws that hold the Cratch in place. I had thought these would have to be replaced, but a simple tightening was all that was needed.

Next was the tunnel light, which required tidying the ends of the wire that was left and connecting it with a small connector block. After a tap on the light to wake it up, that was fixed too.

Third job was to put Oothoon's new name on the outside. I have a magnet that I use for fishing things out of, for example, bilges, that has a string made of old bootlaces on it. Clamping this to the gunwale directly below the porthole, I tied an Ikea pencil into the string just above the porthole top and drew an arc. Using this as a baseline I positioned the letters, starting with the central "H" and working outwards. I was stood on the shore at this point so it was easy to adjust the letters to get the kerning right. I was quite impressed when I stood back and admired my handiwork, thinking that I'd done a pretty good job for a first attempt, although I think a professional probably wouldn't have had the 'H' right in the middle, since the name actually looks slightly heavy on the right side, probably because the "N" has a square side which makes it seem more substantial than the leading "O" whose roundness makes it seem lighter. It's an optical thing and I think shifting it round the curve a small amount would probably balance it out.

I did the same on the off-side, trying not to fall in or drop the letters in the river as I did so. When I was drawing round the acetate last night I was using a felt-tipped pen intended for writing on CDs, since I figured it would work on shiny plastic, but I hadn't expected it to leak ink, which caused large splodges in a couple of places. I put the splodgy letters on the outside so they wouldn't be so visible, forgetting that the river has two banks.

Next were river ropes. I haven't used these for a year and it appears that they have shrunk slightly. They're very dry, so if they get wet later today, maybe that will sort them out. Also I seem to have a lot more stuff on the roof than last year, with the gangplank and the new water heater chimney being obstacles I could do without. I would just have to see how I got on.

Finally it was time to check the oil and water. Oil was fine, but I decided to top the water up. And up. And up. In the end it needed 12 litres before the coolant system was full, so it's clearly leaking, and I doubt that it's the drip-drip-drip leak of the water pump grease nipples that I had earlier. It would also explain why my bilges are quite full most days. I had assumed that this was due to water coming in the stern gland, because where else could it be coming from, however I refilled the stern gland greaser the other day and I'd noticed that there was nothing in the bilges in the morning. If it was just the gland leaking, I doubt that it would only let in water if the propeller was going round, but a leak from the cooling system would explain it nicely. This was going to need to be looked at, but I'd no idea where. Or more importantly, when.

With all that done, it was time to brace myself and cast off. Osney lock was about 150 yards (137m) away and it was 12:55 when I pulled into the lay-by. By the time I'd stopped and tied up, Ray had locked the hut and walked along opposite, and shouted over that it was now lunchtime but that I could do my licence at Iffley lock. At this point I kind of lost my nerve and decided that perhaps I'd wait, so I stopped the engine and popped below to have lunch too.

Lunch was Herr Aldi's Fresh Gorgonzola and Walnut Ravioli. I've had the Salmon version of this a couple of times and it's lovely, but I thought I'd give this a go for a change and it's equally nice. Although it only takes four minutes to cook, by the time I'd messed around doing dishes and boiling water and serving it, it was already 1:40pm and by the time I'd had a cuppa and played Animal Crossing for a little while, it was after 2! I popped over to the lock-keeper's hut to find a sign saying that he was 'doing weirs' until 15:00. Looks like I was going to have to go through myself after all.

Locks on the Thames are huge in comparison even with Grand Union barge locks, able to hold boats up to 120ft (36.5m) long and the gates and paddles are equally impressive. Consequently, they're all hydraulically powered and while there's a big handle you can crank to operate everything, normally they're electrically powered and sequenced, which makes everything easy. You push a button to open the sluices and it slowly sequences filling or emptying the lock, opening a little at a time so that the flow isn't too bad. Once that's out of the way, you press and hold the 'Gate Open' button and the gates open. I prepared the lock and got Oothoon in, and had just tied her up with the centre rope while I got the front and back ropes organised, when another boat came along. I waved her into the lock and she came alongside. Then a 35-footer arrived and we wondered whether it could go behind either Oothoon or the other boat, but the captain wasn't keen, so he did the lock while I controlled Oothoon with the ropes. That was far nicer than I was expecting.

I went out first and was very nervous. Last time I'd been on this stretch of water, disaster was lurking just around the corner after Osney Railway Bridge and I was extremely twitchy, but the boat handled nicely and the engine temperature stayed fairly level at 80° and as I watched the bank go by I recalled all the times I'd walked backwards and forwards along it to the water point at the lock, and just how rough that time had been. The Environment Agency have obviously decided to do something about the trees, which were getting a bit mad along that stretch and then I went round a corner and there was Osney Railway Bridge, where I'd had my enforced mooring last year. It was amazing to see it and how unthreatening it looked, and even more amazing to see how low the water levels were on the legs. I'd forgotten just how high the water was last year.

Once I was past there, the next worry was the turn for the Folly Bridge. Last year, a college boat was partially submerged on this bend because the captain had decided that he could go upstream on red boards and got it wrong. Even when I came down the current was quite strong and I remembered it being quite a scary turn. Today there was no bother at all. I aimed for the gap between the wooden guide posts, turned as I got past one, straightened up and turned gracefully. Even the bridge itself was easy. I remember it being very low and a squeeze to get under with a tight turn afterwards, but today it was tall and roomy and I could begin the turn halfway through. Once you're under the Folly Bridge, the Thames opens up as you go past the delightful Christchurch Meadow and the water is full of university rowing boats. I remember my relief as I got this far last year and figured that maybe I would make it home okay. There were only three rowing boats today, but that was enough to make me start having the same thoughts.

Everything went well all the way down to Iffley lock, with the engine temperature staying at 80° and the sky staying almost entirely cloudless and sunny. At Iffley, the lock keeper (I seem to remember that his name is Austin) spotted me and opened the gates to let me in. Ray had obviously phoned ahead to say that I was coming and would need a licence and he was ready. The boat that had shared Osney lock had turned around to moor at Christchurch, so I knew it wouldn't be coming, but the little boat we left behind might be, so the lock was left open just in case. He turned up just as I completed filling in the paperwork and handing over a cheque (I know! A cheque!) so we both went down together. He went out first as I had ropes to sort out and by the time I left he was in the far distance. 

I caught up with her at Sandford locks, where by the looks of things they'd been waiting a while. The speed limit on the Thames (I believe) is 8kph and I'd been doing roughly that since I left Iffley lock, so I didn't feel guilty. Besides, I'd actually started to calm down and enjoy the journey. I'd forgotten just how lovely a stretch of waterway the Thames is and also just how staggeringly large and desirable some of the waterside properties are. Some of them I recognised from last year, including a wreck of a boat next to the shore, which seemed to be no less intact for having been there another year. The Sandford lock keeper was very kind and let me take my time to sort out ropes both before and afterwards, and again my companion was out of sight before I'd even left the lock.

After Sandford the Thames does a long sweeping curve round to Abingdon lock, passing Nuneham Courtney. Prominent above the river is Nuneham house and down by the water's edge there are a couple of tiny cottages, such as the one opposite Radley College Boathouse, which must be idyllic places to live if the river isn't in flood. There's also a small boathouse, with a couple of canoes hidden behind the gates. After that there's a thickly wooded section and you feel like you've got the whole river entirely to yourself, until you come to Nuneham Railway Bridge and the thundering of trains reminds you that you're not far from civilisation.

Another bend, some wiggly bits and before you know it you're at Abingdon lock. This is where I was originally heading for when I set off on that fateful day last year, as the pump-out toilet I had then was full. I remember my relief at arriving there and my joy at seeing Liz, who runs the Southern Carriers coal boats down the Regent's Canal, and who had been stuck in Reading while I'd been in Oxford. I also remember that it was the best night's sleep I'd had in four weeks. Waiting in the lock was the little boat from earlier, who waved me in. I gestured to say that I was going to stop here and he waved and went to operate the lock.

I moored next to the pump-out machine, exactly as I'd done a year ago. This was perfect, because I could empty the bins, empty the loo and fill the water tank. I wandered along to the lock to see if I could help, since I'd figured that the lock keeper had probably gone off-duty by now. I chatted briefly to the chap on the little boat, but he wasn't really the talkative type. All he wanted was a mooring by a pub and that's what he was keen to get on and find. I operated the lock and let him out, then closed the gates and went back to my own business.

Jobs done, I was trying to decide whether to go through the lock and moor below. I couldn't stay where I was, although I could reverse a little way and moor there for 24 hours. I decided to walk back up to the lock to have a look at the mooring possibilities, aware that it was getting on for 6pm and sundown. As I approached, I was surprised to see the far lock gates open and into the lock came a narrowboat. I helped the chap on the prow to get a rope around a bollard and another man by the lock operated the controls. They were determined to get to Oxford tonight and took the opportunity to make sure that their navigation lights were working. I pointed out that it was basically sundown, that it would be dark in less than 20 minutes, and that Oxford was three hours away, but they said that they weren't in a hurry. More importantly, they needed to be at Oxford tonight, Banbury tomorrow then somewhere else the day after to get the boat into dry dock on Monday. It sounded like a tight schedule to me. I wished them well as they left the lock and as I returned to Oothoon, watching them disappear peacefully into the distance, I had to admire their courage. Or do I mean foolhardiness? Either way, even in my craziest moments, I wouldn't have tried doing what they were doing.

By now the sun had set and I decided that I didn't want to try mooring in the dark again. I also realised that I'd forgotten to empty the loo and that swung it for me: I would reverse away from the facilities and moor there. It was all straightforward, although the Environment Agency could make it a little more welcoming by having mooring rings rather than me having to use pegs. After that it was inside to get the fire going and cook dinner.

Dinner tonight started with a bowl of chicken soup, since I knew there'd be a while before the next course. This was because while I'd been in Sainsbury's, I'd spotted a bag of price-reduced ready-diced swede and carrot, which reminded me that I had a tin of M&S lamb mince in the larder because one day I was going to make Delia Smith's "Cheat" Shepherd's Pie. Obviously I couldn't do the 'proper' recipe, not having the space for the Aunt Bessie's Homestyle Frozen Mashed Potato, but I did the best I could, chopping the onions by hand and making mash the old-fashioned way. I also hand-chopped the leeks and grated the cheese, but accepted that sometimes you have to compromise. In the end, though, the results were worth it. While it's not exactly how I remember Shepherd's Pie, it is delicious. So much so that I had seconds, which meant I'd eaten half the pie. I also had a small glass of red wine to go with it, which was probably a mistake, however I don't feel too bad for it all.

Although I'd thought it was going to rain today, apparently it will happen tomorrow. But only in the afternoon. Maybe. After that there's supposed to be a couple of days of good weather, or more rain. That's the potted weather opinion of three boaters I've spoken to today, so I feel none the wiser, except that the Venn diagram says that it'll definitely rain tomorrow afternoon. I guess I'll wait and see what it's like in the morning. Meanwhile it's a clear frosty night and the sky is full of stars. It's beautiful, although I wish the sound of the weir wasn't so close.