It had been far too long since my last Thames walk with my good friend Michala. On Saturday 25th June 2023, four whole months since our last outing along this winding waterway, we managed to match diaries. To be fair, spring had been a wash out with major flooding along the banks of the Thames. I had read about the frustrations of the Rambling Man, as he negotiated the difficulties of flooded paths in February 2016. We did not want to find ourselves diverted away from the river we had longed to see in those first few miles last October.
From Tadpole Bridge
Picking up from Tadpole Bridge, off we set. Having had weeks of hot weather we welcomed the grey skies protecting us from the full strength of the sun’s rays, but not deceived by the cloud cover, I had applied sunblock before leaving home.
We started out at a reasonable pace in the knowledge that temperatures were rising. We were doing 19 minute miles but as the day progressed we dropped to 33 minute miles and this was not due so much to stopping for photos but more to do with the draining heat which sapped us of energy.
We followed grassy paths through meadows of ox-eyed daisies, scabious, cinquefoil, camomile and curly dock whilst the crickets and grasshoppers sang to us. Swallows swooped low over the meadows and a cuckoo called out from across the river. With barely a breath of air, the river flowed like silk.
Before long, the sun was scorching hot. Very occasionally we would have some respite whilst walking through bits of woodland. Why did we even question the fact that we encountered so few walkers along the way? They had more sense than us. The few we met wore wide brimmed hats to shade them from the blistering sun. The rest had wisely stayed at home today.
Messing about on the River
There were more people passing us by on the water than on land. They were in rowing boats, river cruisers, and on paddle boards.
On we walked, through swathes of grass, Michala walking behind me watching clouds of pollen rising as she sneezed and sneezed and sneezed. Hay fever is a miserable affliction for someone who loves the outdoors.
Chimney Meadows is a national nature reserve of about 1000 acres, rich in hay meadow plants which would explain the intense sneezing suffered by Michala. Sometimes we could barely locate the path through the thick grasses but thankfully for most of this walk, the path hugged the banks of the Thames only deviating away from the river towards the end of the walk.
Melting in the sizzling heat we welcomed a soft breeze as we stood above the verdant river looking down at paddle boarders led by Phil Plume of Cave Active Adventures, https://www.caveactive.co.uk enjoying the cool green waterway.
An Early Lunch
It was not yet lunch time however, a jet black caterpillar dressed in fine white polka dots and baring spiky spines to ward off predators, was gorging himself on tasty nettles. This hungry caterpillar would one day become a beautiful peacock butterfly. He was not the only one gorging himself.
Horseflies were visciously feeding themselves on every inch of exposed skin on Michala and I as we waded through tall grasses. I would not normally wear shorts for fear of picking up ticks, but this day was an exception in view of the temperatures. The horseflies could not have been happier.
We escaped briefly into a bird hide, where we sprayed ourselves with a certain Avon product which is renowned to reduce the voracious appetite of nasty insects. Already our legs were covered in lumps and bumps from these blood suckers. Hopefully now we would not have lumps and bumps on our lumps and bumps. Michala also offered me an antihistamine to help avoid a reaction to some of the more serious bites. I gratefully accepted.
Despite the clouds, there was little relief from the searing heat. There was no shade as we traversed this massive meadow. Thankfully we had carried two bottles of drinking water each. (A wise decision don’t you think, Michala?) Later, we were glad to find drinking water freely available from a tap outside a Lock Keeper’s cottage.
Eventually we stopped for lunch on the edge of the river. I first selected a seat on a tree stump, however, Michala found a small boulder in the shade of a low hanging willow. I joined her and we sat quietly munching whilst watching dancing damselflies as they pirouetted just above the surface of the water.
Lagging Behind
With mile after mile of tall grasses and sizzling heat, we dragged our heels on, drained by the muggy temperatures. Despite the lack of shade, we kept going, encountering no more walkers. Instead, we found greylags gathered among the purple loosestrife on the water’s edge and paddling in the river. The greylag is a descendent of the domestic goose and so called because he is the last goose to fly south, lagging behind the rest. I was beginning to lag myself.
Nevertheless, the landscape was breathtakingly beautiful with the slender leafed willows, their silvery leaves glistening on the edge of the meadows and banks, putting me in mind of the brush strokes of a Constable painting.
In the river spadderdock, with large oval leaves and sunshine yellow heads, stretched up from the depths. Among the unripe barley stood the occasional scarlet poppy.
Songs from the West
From this deserted landscape, we suddenly heard the melancholy, languid tones of the west. We had arrived in Newbridge. Before detecting the origins we stopped to admire the honeyed tones of the bridge, which happens to be the oldest bridge along the Thames, built by monks who were tasked with improving communications between towns to assist free movement of the fleece trade. This bridge is built of Taynton stone, which was also used for building the colleges of Oxford and St Paul’s cathedral.
Arriving at the Maybush, a singer, dressed in Stetson and cowboy boots, sang to us tales of lost love as he strummed his melody. It would have been rude to walk through the pub garden without out stopping to show our respect.
We were glad to rest our weary feet and find shelter whilst enjoying a tall, cold drink. I could tell Michala wanted to linger but we had to press on.
Rose Revived
On the opposite side of the road was the Rose Revived, a more sedate setting with a blaze of colour in the garden. Apparently, some years before, in the 1600s, Cromwell is said to have stopped by for a drink and placed a wilting rose in his beverage. The rose revived. Today, we, two roses, felt revived after our drink, and able to pick up the path again.
Momentarily we forgot how intense the heat had been as we walked through a fresh leafy tunnel admiring a view of the river framed by shady trees.
Before long we were hot again and looked longingly at the peaceful havens of shaded jetties on the opposite banks, whilst we sweltered and envied more greylags as they took to the cool waters.
Mesmerised by sizzling heat, with the sleepy, doleful tones of country and western music still in my head, I could well imagine we were lost out on the remote prairies of South Dakota or Wyoming with no sign of life other than the red kite soaring above, crying out as if a vulture, waiting for us to drop to the ground.
We trudged on in silence.
Suddenly I was woken from my reverie to see the most quintessential of English blooms, the hollyhocks and signs of civilization - a lock, where thankfully, we were able to refill our water bottles.
Oh to be a Sheep
Then on we plod, digging deep for every ounce of energy to get us to the end.
Even the sheep were too lethargic to run away, grazing only where they could find shade. Some cooled their warm tummies on the grass, whilst others sheltered under the hedgerows, watchful as we passed by.
Pink Hill Lock
Through more meadows we continued, longing for sight of Famoor Reservoir (like a desert oasis) and journey’s end. However, we had to push on to the northly point of the reservoir as, after miles following the west bank of the Thames, our only crossing was at Pink Hill Lock.
From there, we left the Thames and turned back along the eastern side of the reservoir, finally arriving at the car park where we sank with relief into our car to drive back to Tadpole bridge to retrieve our other car.
We were giddy and delirious from frying ourselves on this hottest of midsummer’s days and undoubtedly had a lucky escape not to end up with severe sun stroke. We were pleased to have covered a distance of 15.68 miles, but we had also learnt a valuable lesson. We would not be walking out again whilst the temperatures are so high unless we can guarantee some shade.
Do reading about our next leg along the Thames Path.
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