by From our knees down it is almost impossible to tell where our legs end and where our trainers begin. A thick crust of seeping river mud sticks to our shins and clogs our shoes. Our skin and hairs scatter from the excited attention of hundreds of nettles enjoying their last fronds as winter approaches. But if you burst up from the battlefield on those middle-aged legs to the sweat-streaked faces above, you’d find something you wouldn’t expect: laughter, excitement and a sad look under the eyes.
My friend Alan and I are a few hours into a self-supported, three-day adventure to run the length of the historic Kennet & Avon Canal, the southernmost (and possibly most beautiful) broad-beam waterway that crosses the width of England, let’s say. narrow boats to travel from coast to coast, from Bristol to London. It was a method that aimed to revolutionize trade in the 18th century. Rather than dealing with the rocky hazards and treacherous seas of the south coast and the English Channel, not to mention pirates and the unwanted attention of the French fleet, merchants would only be able to move along the canal, arriving safely to their destination.
The canal was a significant achievement of civil engineering. The first 18 mile section, from Newbury to Reading, was navigable in 1723, just over 300 years ago, and the final section was completed 90 years later, in 1810. The ambitious engineer oversaw part of the project is professor John Rennie. – he was to canals what Isambard Kingdom Brunel was to railways. The entire venture cost £1m – a huge sum at the time, although Rennie himself was paid a modest £360 for his efforts. By the time the canal was completed, traveling all the way from Bristol Harbor to the easternmost lock on Reading’s River Kennet where it flows into the Thames, the waterway was 96 miles long, comprising of 107 locks (now down to 105), 236 bridges, two steam-driven pumping stations, one mile-long tunnel and goodness knows how many pubs.
Despite its impressive length, the Kennet & Avon was never successful and was not used – thanks mainly to the opening of the Great Western Railway, which followed a parallel route, so that goods could be found that could be loaded on barges themselves on carriages. , and the canal began a long and inevitable decline, until the last trade claimed it in 1952.
But all was not lost. In the second half of the 20th century, an army of volunteers and enthusiasts began to restore it and in August 1990 it was reopened by Queen Elizabeth. The irony is that the canal, built in the name of commerce, trade and enterprise, is a great wildlife preserve. There are many species of birds and many animals and fish, and it is a place of rest and relaxation for walkers, kayakers, cyclists – and, of course, for some runners, like Alan and me.
The big advantage of jogging on the canal is that it’s flat – hills are anathema to middle-aged plodders. It’s hard to get lost too, there are feeding stations (pubs) at regular intervals and, if you start in the west, you might get lucky with the afternoon sun and the prevailing wind at your back, laughing be ready with you.
That was the plan, anyway. What we didn’t take into account is that the sun doesn’t hang around long in November, the pubs are mostly closed out of season, the evening darkness falls faster than a pint of Guinness and, oh yes, there was a lot there. of mud…
We started early on Saturday morning in Bristol, after a big breakfast overlooking the city’s fascinating Bay. The sky was blue, but due to weeks of heavy rain we often had to go up to our knees in muddy water in many places along the towpath. It was slow going. After a morning of slipping and sliding, we headed towards Bath, the river water so high it was reaching the foundations of many of the city’s elegant stone bridges. Cloaked in mud, we lurched into a pretty Georgian square for lunch; tourists were watching us as if we were prehistoric men digging out of an ancient bog. We stopped for pasta and lemonade before heading back to the towpath and heading east out of the Roman city.
After a few more muddy miles, we stopped at one of the jewels of this grand canal, the ornate Dundas Aqueduct – a three-arch construction designed by John Rennie and completed in 1805 that allows the canal to flow high above the River River. below.
We plodded on and on, though Bradford-upon-Avon, with its medieval barns and bridges and then, finally, in the pitch darkness, we arrived at the temple of modern convenience – Travelodge Melksham. We looked like extras from All Quiet on the West Front as we fell into our room. I had a shower, but Alan felt that a bath was the only answer to the poet. When he got out of the tub it looked huge – so much mud was left behind that the plug hole was blocked. We all admitted to the loud receptionist, who laughed and said, “Oh, don’t worry at all, I’ve seen a lot worse than that!”
The next morning, stiff-legged and sore, we continued on, ticking the bridges and locks, towards the undoubted highlight of the canal – Caen Hill. Called “canna”, it is the steepest green flight in the world – a total of 29 locks with a rise of 150m. This was the last part of the navigation to be completed. If you’re lucky, and the lock gates are in your direction favorably, it will take you between three and five hours to make the flight on a narrowboat – you literally sail uphill.
The speed limit for boats on the canal is 3mph and at times I don’t think we were going much faster than that. But as we left the busy lives of our families behind, our racing minds slowed down to match the steady end of our legs and it felt like the right pace. Our random thoughts and happy chats echoed with each step as the lazy ribbon of the canal fell before us. Keep moving and you will eventually find great inner stillness.
We spent the second night in Devizes, stuffing ourselves with food and fuel – onion rings and lasagne, four pints, why not? Two muddy runners in the dining room of Bear’s much-loved pub didn’t go down well with the locals.
The third day, and the last 30 miles of the canal towpath, was a slog. Our feet were swollen and blistered with the constant muddy wet – some toe nails were hanging by a thread. The names of the passing narrowboats seemed to sum up our situation: this morning we saw one called “Isn’t This Pleasant” and that evening we saw another called “Absence of Reason”.
Finally we hit the post-industrial hinterland of Reading. As we approached the end, where the Kennet joins the Thames and boats can continue down the river to London, we found our way suddenly blocked. The final 200m stretch of the towpath was closed for work on a retaining wall. We couldn’t believe it! All this way and we are not going to reach the end. We didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. We did a bit of both. In many ways it was perfect – after all, no one wants a great episode to end.
For more information about visiting the Kennet & Avon Canal, go to canalrivertrust.org.uk
