On Wednesday 24th July 2024, unbelievably 11 months since our last hike along the Thames, all the elements came together - diaries matching, floods receded, temperatures lowered, dry forecast. I pulled my trusty walking boots from the cupboard, camera packed, picnic made and water bottles filled and met up with Michala for some much needed, restorative time by water and in green spaces.
From Culham Lock
Parking just off Tolgate Road, we set off at a pace only to come to a halt almost immediately as we were confronted by a narrow path over hung by nettles and possibly giant hogweed. Michala wisely pulled on long trousers to cover her legs as you never know what plants you might be brushing past. In long grass there is also the risk of picking up ticks.
Whilst the path was dry having had a long, warm spell over the last few weeks, we had no worries about slipping and sliding however, we kept our eyes down to watch our steps along uneven ground. We walked one behind the other with me leading the way but at least we both had a nice view.
Eventually the path opened up and we found ourselves able to walk and talk more easily. The path led us along the side of fields with tall banks of great willowherb obscuring the river. The sky was a steely grey at times, but the sunshone and a gentle breeze kept us comfortable. We stepped out with a sense of confidence that we could do this despite so many months since a long distance walk together. The conversation flowed as the river.
We saw many beautiful pastoral scenes with herds of sheep in the meadows and lamb escapees in a field wheat. Cows sought shade under the willows or searched for succulent grasses among the spears of loosestrife.
Clifton Lock
Clifton Lock afforded us the perfect location to stop for our usual treat of shortbread. This may be the first time this, an essential element of our walks, features in my blog. Long distance runners rely on jelly beans. We rely on buttery shortbread, that melts in the mouth, to get us through when the going gets hard. Of couse, by Clifton Lock we still felt reasonably fresh but hey, any excuse is valid.
Whilst savouring our snack and thinking how nice it would be if the Lock Keeper offered us a cuppa, after all his job is 'moderating and controlling water levels'. Might not making tea fit the job description?
Whislt we waited for the kettle to boil we feasted our eyes on the vibrant colours of the blooms in pots, baskets and wheel barrows. More boats passed through the lock and still no sign of a brew, so on we continued.
Gothic Tales
Before us lay a sublime scene of wispy willows overhanging the gleaming blue ribbon of the Thames, with the red brick, Grade II listed gothic bridge of Clifton Hampden and its church spire beyond. The silky surface was only broken by rowers as they glided past with what appeared great ease despite their speed.
Arriving by the arches of the bridge, we made a detour to visit St Michael’s and All Angel’s Church, passing colourful gardens of hollyhocks in many different shades. We mounted the steep steps to the church and I felt for a moment I was stepping into the depths of a Carlos Ruiz Zafón novel. I shivered as light rain (not forecasted) started to fall. The church was locked, which was perhaps just as well since so many gothic novels are based upon someone taking shelter from a storm. If that door had creaked, I would have run a mile and, even worse, if the organ had been played or a dark figure had stepped from the shadows.
We retreated down the steps and retraced our route back to the bridge. Meanwhile, oddly, the rain stopped. A mystery I was happy to leave behind.
We crossed over the bridge and back down along the Thames Path, listening to the meadow singing to us, alive with grasshoppers chirping, bees buzzing and the twitters of a charm of goldfinches as they rose up from teasels.
Unperturbed by the distant cries of people messing about on the river, a grey heron sat above the reeds, preening his feathers.
Clifton Meadow was a breathtaking sight in the shimmering sunshine, with loosestrife, geraniums, ragwort and convolvulus providing nectar for bees and pollinating insects.
Michala and I were completely absorbed by the beauty all around us. Nothing else mattered. We had not a care in the world. Any troubles were behind us or certainly locked well away. We walked in silent contemplation.
All around there seemed to be birds of prey perhaps on account of some harvested fields where rodents might have been disturbed. We saw what appeared to be a hobby but please feel free to correct me. We also saw a buzzard and many red kites soaring above issuing their plaintive cry of 'peeeow' and others lined up along the fence.
Another red kite sat on the extended bough of a the willow as cattle grazed by the water's edge.
Canadian geese bobbed on the river as if conserving their energy in this, the hottest part of the day.
With a view, not unlike a Paul Nash painting, we looked across at the Sinodun Hills and Wittenham Clumps. I knew that on the distant hill, in front of the huddle of beech trees, there were benches offering a splendid view and the perfect location for lunch, however, this would have involved a detour. Today we were going to keep on track.
We were also tempted to detour to Dorchester Abbey and the tea rooms thinking how nice it would be indulge in a pot of tea, a scone, clotted cream and strawberry jam. However, not wishing to over stretch ourselves, we chose to continue on with thoughts of returning at some later opportunity for a circular walk.
Instead we stopped for a picnic lunch in the shade of a tree by Day's Lock. At Michala's suggestion, we removed our hiking boots and let our feet breath in the air. We were agreed that previously we had assumed that the act of removing one's boots during a hike was a massive mistake but realised that removing high heels on an night out on the tiles was not the same. I am sure we ladies have all experienced that moment when we realised we could not squeeze our swollen dancing feet back into our pointy toed, high heeled evening shoes.
In fact only just last night, I was reading David Nicholls novel, You Are Here, in which one of the protagonists offers a great tip to us walkers - bring a spare pair of socks. Changing into a fresh pair can bring back a spring to your step. It is ‘like getting new feet’. This is definitely something I will be trying on our next trek.
This time round, I was content to slip my feet back into my boots and there is no doubt the break had the desired effect.
Fed and watered we moved on. The lock was not what we had come to expect of Thames locks which are usually a blaze of colour. There were no blooms to hold our attention, no manicured lawns or pretty lock keeper’s cottage but we enjoyed the sounds of the tumbling waters and the swish of the breeze in the willows.
This was a particularly pretty stretch of river with Little Wittenham Wood on the opposite banks. The reflections of the over hanging trees created beautiful emerald waters.
There was a peaceful, relaxed atmosphere hanging over the glassy waters with a lone fisher man preparing his line before casting off.
From Shillingford Bridge, we found ourselves in a magical tree tunnel
Then out in the open meadows we were confronted with the gorgeous heady scent of meadow sweet.
At Benson we came upon the Waterfront Cafe. This provided us with the opportunity to take a rest for that final mile remaining. We lingered over iced drinks, enjoying the release of pressure on our feet and the removal of rucksacks. We sat on the outside decking listening to the gentle murmer of conversation all around and feeling incredibly lazy. There was a lovely holiday atmosphere about this place.
Time was slipping by and it was hard to shift ourselves but it was inevitable. Besides, this last mile should be particularly spectacular with the roaring waters of Benson weir and the remains of Wallingford castle yet to be seen.
However, our hopes for a grand final mile were dashed as we found large diversion signs pointing us away from the river. What is worrying is that Rambing Man wrote about this same diversion in 2015 and he said that the '6 month diversion' signs on account of flood damage had been in place for 2 years. So effectively the diversion appears to have been in place for 11 years. (Just managing expectations here if any of you choose to follow in our footsteps).
After spotting a fox, a pheasant and a cat, the remainder of the walk, which was much longer than a mile with this detour, was alongside a busy road.
Finally the end was in sight as the skeletal spire of Wallingford's St Peter's Church appeared in front of us. We crossed over the bridge, giving us a final glimpse of the river and then returned to our car and home.
We had made it and remarkably our time and distance was not unlike our previous leg of the Thames Path. Of course it was not meant to be so long. For the benefit of Michala's husband, this was not due to poor map reading skills or failure to pick up on the acorns like Hansel's crumbs. Even in deep conversation we had not missed a turn. However, it was that unwelcome detour plus our chosen detour to visit Clifton Hampden's church and the ascending steps which accounted for the greater elevation of our route.
Do reading about our next leg along the Thames Path.
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