Some Oxford Exploration

It was the Sunday after the end of term. Having avoided the mass Saturday undergraduate exodus and having also missed a Saturday trip to Hurley due to his late night Hilda's partying (but therein lies a different story) Jon was particularly keen to arrange a Sunday paddle. I decided that although I had made it to Hurley the previous day a little bow-stalling practice on a Sunday afternoon is always preferable to work. And so I arrived, late, at the shed to meet Jon, Nick and Alison all nearly ready to paddle (one day I will take account of the fact that the centre of town is full of traffic on a Sunday afternoon - but then again a little bit of road rage can alleviate that Sunday morning induced post lunchtime apathy nicely).

Anyway, I demonstrated the anti-faff nature of the drysuit and joined them on the water in time for the discussion about exactly what we should do. Paddling to the Trout was considered but given that the weir was at a dubious level the previous week and falling water levels were unlikely to have improved the situation (combined with my personal, though unvoiced, consideration that it involves paddling upstream) we decided that we would instead venture down the river. [Observant readers may already have noticed at this point a flaw in the notion of initial downstream progress to the be the lazy option, but more pertaining to that anon.]

So it was that we headed off down the main channel of the river throwing the occasional end or overdoing a sporadic bow-stall. After some minutes of progress we reached a junction. Now this is something of a difficulty for a river trained paddler. Rivers tend to follow a fairly set, downhill, course. The only real exceptions to this rule would be the encountering of various island channels, the choosing of which is usually based on determining the one least likely to be entirely filled with a small felled wood - or indeed with antisocial tree dwelling animals. A decision which I notably got wrong once towards the end of the Ogwen only to have my paddles rudely snatched from me by some small tree dwelling elf as I passed. He had no need of them and in fact placed them propped vertically in the centre of the channel purely for the fun of the thing.

However, on this occasion my senses suggested that whichever channel was chosen that we should be free from such mythological nuisances. So we turned left with the vague idea of discovering whether the channel went anywhere near Alison's house - as good a reason as any for choosing a direction. Passing under the low and somewhat dark railway bridge, hung as it was with stalactites and dark hanging green foliage, it was hard to withhold from a deep sense of foreboding. Yet somehow we managed to do so.

Passing though to the other side we encountered a new junction. This would, we surmised, on turning left lead us back to where we had started. A further option also existed of climbing to the canal. However all thoughts of such options where driven from our minds on noting that the right hand turn was marked with a large red danger sign. Route finding is always so much easier when your path is so clearly signed. Soon after embarking on this new channel the trees began to close in and a slight niggling thought came to mind about paddle stealing elves, but I decided that we were probably safe for now.

The speed of the water began to pick up a little at this point. Almost definable eddies began to appear and the question was raised about paddling back. However no true exploration was ever achieved by thinking about how you might get back (well some of it might have been, but then it wouldn't have been in the true spirit of adventure and so doesn't count).

Pressing on we passed under Bridge Street and into the true gorge section. This now had all the makings of true paddling epic - an exploration into an unknown gorge with no idea what might lie ahead: unpaddleable, unportageable falls, sumps, siphons, boulder sieves, unfriendly natives or just a mutant hippo crossed with a crocodile hiding in a rhododendron bush. Undeterred we paddled on until we reached what was nearly a serious horizon line where you almost couldn't see the bottom for the copiously tiny amount of spray. There was however an unfriendly looking native on the right hand bank. Fortunately he remained at a distance as we considered our options. This was a first true point of no return. I ventured closer to the edge of the gently sloping abyss to look further ahead. Inspection was aided by picture of a boat going down hill attached above it with a nice red border giving a pretty good idea of what might happen should I venture closer. I took the plunge and headed into the foaming waters (not thinking too hard about where the foam would be coming from lest it put me off).

The rapid turned out to provide, to slip into the guidebook vernacular, an excellent grade two shoot that Rob Roy McGregor himself would have found a worthy challenge. I signalled for the rest of the group to descend as I surfed the small wave at the end of the rapid. Having not communicated previously about the use of signals on the river I could but hope that my gesticulations would be understood. This was my first inkling that we were perhaps under prepared for the venture that we had undertaken. But my signals were comprehended and the rest of the party descended to the safety of the eddy.

My fears, too soon, were abated as it was but minutes after this that Nick, unaccustomed to such tumultuous waters, become overwhelmed, capsized and swam from his boat. Urgent action was required. Jon swiftly moved to rescue Nick, floundering in surging and turbulent waters which frequently reached well over his waist, whilst I charged blindly under the bridge to recover the boat and paddles. The recovery operation was both arduous and wearisome. Eventually however, Nick was returned to his boat and the expedition could continue.

Following this episode the rest of the journey felt somewhat uneventful. We followed the river winding through gentle rapids and an opening out of the gorge to emerge, through the imposing architectural bulk of the city college and past the vast, arching structures of the ice-rink, into the untroubled waters of the Thames. And so we relaxed - paddling onwards. It was only now, with our minds turned aside from the all-encompassing challenge of the waters above that we began to consider how we should return. To navigate back up the gorge would be impossible. The only option was to continue onwards to a suitable egress and then for me to venture back to bring the car.

I think it was some primitive calling felt by Jon that drew us back towards Hilda's college. However it was decided that, with the undergraduate population having left the previous day, that getting out and walking through the college would not achieve the required degree of public spectacle to overcome the inconveniences which may be encountered. We opted instead to exit under Magdalene Bridge and walk across for the rest of the party to wait in Cowley Place whilst I journeyed forth to retrieve the car. The bridge crossing was largely uneventful and accompanied only by the intermittent cries of pain and annoyance as Alison, blithely unaware, wielded her boat across the whole of the pavement and cycle path at random.

Boat deposited I shed the outer trappings of my paddling gear, borrowed Jon's boots as having slightly less in the way of holes in the bottom than mine, and set off at a run back to the shed. Whether the shortest route or not I decided that the ideal passage had to be up the High Street and then to turn along Cornmarket. Running at speed, shedding river water, in a bright orange drysuit proved to be one of the most effective ways of moving through shopping crowds that I am yet to encounter and any complaints were soon left in the surprised wake of my forward progress. The narrower streets of Jericho did prove more of a problem to my passage and I was forced at one point to pull out into the road to overtake an old man cycling on the correct over taking side, much to his surprise.

By the time I reached the car darkness was falling and on returning to the shed, having collected the boats and changed (or 'got naked' to coin Jon's phrase) on the pavement of Cowley Place, it was properly dark and there was nothing to but put the boats back in the shed and head home for dinner in contemplation of a day well spent and with thoughts of where to venture next.

***

The following Sunday it transpired that where to go next was turning right.

When the intrepid group of explorers gathered again a week later a certain degree of holiday mood had crept unbidden, but not unwelcome into the planning. It was decided that the right hand channel would be explored, but that provision would be made to end the trip a suitable hostelry. Given such consideration appropriate clothing was donned. Personally I chose the option of simply putting on my drysuit over what I was wearing. Jon however managed the most stylish outfit, wearing a gimpsuit top covered with a red cag complimented with jeans rolled up to the knee and faded neoprene socks, topped off with an oxford university woollen hat - an outfit that would not have looked out of place gracing the catwalks of Paris or Milan.

So it was that we arrived back at that same downstream junction which had caused us such indecision the week before. The right turn, identified ahead of time from a local map turned out to be something of a concealed entrance which we had completely failed to notice on our previous visit. Pushing aside the overhanging branches we headed down into this new channel of unknown adventure.

It was not long before we encountered a knife-edge horizon line. Cautiously we edged towards the drop and peered over. Everything looked good to go and, throwing caution to the wind I powered towards the lip setting up for the perfect boof. Circumstance was, however, against me and the half centimetre of water flowing over the drop proved insufficient to maintain the necessary forward speed and I pitched forwards dropping down ankles first onto the concrete ledge. Recovering from this ungainly descent I called for the others to join me, which they did with their own varying degrees of style and grace. A little below here the river narrowed and flowed over a second weir, possibly more deadly even than the first. But our skills proved up to the challenge and we soon resumed our venture down the river.

After these two drops the rest of the journey proved decidedly uneventful as we passed around the backs of some exceptionally large industrial buildings that we had, somewhat surprisingly given their size, never seen before. It was with something of a sense of anti-climax that we rejoined the main waters of the Thames and headed onwards to find a suitable watering hole. After some discussion the Head-of-the-River was settled upon as the best choice, mostly because we were right beside it at the time and it was hoped that the beer garden (which in the true sense of the word is not really a garden but more an oversized paved patio area) would provide convenient boat storage.

Only one obstacle now stood between us and our objective - and that was the very physical barrier of the beer garden being about four and a half feet above the level of the river vertically upwards, bordered with a slightly crumbling, but very upright, stone wall.

Jon was the first to take on the challenge, and acquitted himself admirably. I passed his boat up to him as Nick attempted the climb and again passed with flying colours (though I'm not sure what those colours were though as it was getting a little dark and everything was looking a bit grey). I climbed next. Raising myself to standing position proved no problem, however the challenge of getting from a position of standing in my boat with my chin resting on the wall to being on top of it (I'm thinking now that it might have been more than the four and a half feet I quoted above, or potentially I was having very short day). The problem proved to be the wearing of a large buoyancy aid adorned with a bulging front pocket containing all manner of things, from car keys to a skullcap to all the various accoutrements that one accumulates over time and periodically forgets to throw away. I was however, assisted in my difficulties by Jon and a couple of helping hands. I landed myself in the beer garden only to discover that my exertions had sent my boat speeding back out into the river and some nifty paddle fishing was required to retrieve it. Alison was the last to egress and slightly to my disappointment made the whole thing look less difficult than walking up some very small stairs.

Still, I feel I managed to regain some of my ego by emerging James Bond style from my drysuit and being fully equipped in normal clothing in which to enter the pub. However, Jon's comfort whilst sitting in the pub in his rubber gimp top indicates that style is only really necessary for those who are interested in such things (a sentiment I entirely concur with unless I am the one being stylish when my opinion changes somewhat). At least I didn't have damp underwear.

We sat for some while in the pub (somewhat precipitated by the extraordinary time which it took for Alison to drink a pint of cider) before deciding that the seal launch back into the river was too good to miss and so we would paddle back up to the shed. This paddle proved surprisingly swift, though I would not like to say whether the beer and darkness contributed significatly to this impression.

The only incident of note on the way back is to remember never to trust a climber when confronted with a potentially climbable barrier. Portaging round the lock we encountered a reasonably high fence and gate barring the way through to the upper waters. Nick spent some moments wondering the best way to climb over this before I pointed out that it was probably easiest simply to open the unlocked gate and walk through it - which we did. And continued our tranquil paddle home, with Jon taken over in pensive thought wondering whether this could be made into a good way of returning home after a visit to Park End.

And so another successful day of exploration ended. In fact the day ended with dinner and many beers and the planning for a reconnaissance mission the next day. But that isn't nearly ready to be written about yet...

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