Where is all the water?

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Mayfly, Here we Go! and Emily's Journey.
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This post started in October 2016.   Scroll down to find the he latest update

****POST UPDATED 15th June 2017****
(update title is "Our Triumphant return!")

Basingstoke or bust.

On the first trip up the river Wey, which I think was in the late summer of 1973, I spotted a notice in the middle of a canal that led off at right angles to the navigation a short way above New Haw lock. “Basingstoke Canal. Basingstoke 37 miles” is what was painted on the fluorescent green noticeboard. I wondered why anybody would build a canal to somewhere like that, and thus my interest in the waterway began. Early the next year, on a general drive around, Dad turned down Scotland Bridge Road near New Haw. There was a car park just over the bridge so he parked for mum and him to have the routine cigarette. I remember they used to smoke Players Number Ten, unless they were on a health kick in which case they gave up or smoked one of the many non tobacco mixtures sold at health food shops. One I remember “Shaka Maxon” came in tins of 100 and smelled like burning compost heaps.

Whilst they smoked, I took a walk along the towpath to what I assume was Scotland Bridge Lock. A further walk to Woodham lock had me riveted and Mum and Dad wondering exactly where I was. That was it though, I was hooked. Like my little boat, the Basingstoke canal had worked its spell on me and I wanted to find out more. Other journeys were made, and I walked a fair way along the lower reaches of the canal. Then I bought the rather good book “London's lost rout to Basingstoke,” by P.A.L. Vine. This was a kind of sequel to his rather more dramatically titled book about the Wey and Arun, “London's Lost Route to the Sea.” I guess that both routes are now more mislaid than lost because London Has a route almost to Greywell,at the very least. I was even more hooked, and wanted to make the journey to Basingstoke by water, something which the canal didn't have very much of. Even at her small size, It would be impossible to go more than a short distance in Bee 1, so for the time being I was scuppered.

Kingston College of Further Education was the place that provided an answer in the form of a friend who had just built a 10 foot rowing dinghy out of plywood and was keen on doing a visit to Cubitts Yard on the tidal Thames using Bee I as motive power and the dingy for the final sortie. Sadly the trip had to be called off when property developers shut off access to the place, but my suggestion of an alternative adventure was well accepted.

“Why not go up the Basingstoke canal?” I'd said, then followed it with details of the incongruous waterway and that I had joined the society that hoped to preserve it. Plans were made, and on the allocated weekend, he rowed up the tidal Thames to be picked up by me on Bee , after which we towed the dinghy up the river and through onto the Wey where we then transferred to the dinghy.

As a plan it was good enough, but most of our time was spent actually getting to the canal, so we didn't really make much of a dent on the journey. Not wishing to be beaten, more plans were made, and on March 22^nd 1975, we set off again. This time the boat was on top of Dad's car as he'd been badgered into helping. We arrived at New Haw Lock at around midday, and were soon on the canal for a journey that we had calculated would take us 4 days, after which Dad would come and pick the triumphant team from the terminal basin, which was in fact now occupied by Basingstoke bus station.

Making a Start.

First lock of the day

Looking back down the canal.

 The lock chamber from above.

Pretty much what it said.

Making a start.

We'd gathered plenty of information about the state of the waterway, not the least of which came from photos I'd taken of the lower reaches of the canal of the few walks I'd done. After some searching I have managed to revive the old 120 format negatives to get a bit of a flavour of what we were up against. Along with these I have rediscovered a journal that was kept of the voyage, plus another wad of photos and negatives which I have now scanned. 40 plus years has taken its toll on image quality, but there is plenty to jog my memory of the adventure. We were told that probably half the canal was in water, which was broadly true dependent on the definitions applied. Still, on the day, the boat was put in the water and we set off at a good pace towards the junction. The section up to the first lock was well watered, and not in too bad a state. We'd been warned of various underwater obstructions (which included a mysterious power cable that had a habit, so we were told, of sinking canoes or any other craft paddled foolishly over it) but found none, only a piece of forlorn graffiti on the lower gates pleading for the restoration of the whole canal. The chamber of the lock was in a fair state but unworkable, as were all the locks (and there were plenty) so we did the first portage using the launching trolley. This was a basic abuse of the thing, which was designed to roll down a gentle slope until the craft floated and not to heave it over canal banks. It did the job though, and we soon got used to the process of getting the point of balance right before pulling the craft ashore. The pound above was watered, so the boat was relaunched and we rowed off towards Scotland bridge where we paused for a lunch of sandwiches taken from home. The lock chamber was again in a fair condition, though it did have quite a bit of vegetation in it. After making some notes, we carted the boat round again to another short but well watered pound that contained a number of widebeam houseboats. Although the reduced the width of the channel we were still moving by water, blissfully unaware of what lay ahead. The chamber of the next lock was in poorer condition again, and getting the boat around was pretty awkward due to a car parked close to the canal on the tarmac edge. We had also arrived at our first unwatered pound. I remember being tempted to push the gates together to see if they would hold water again but, without balance beams it would have taken a winch to shift them. There were advantages and disadvantages to the dry sections of canal. Although rowing was easier than towing on the trolley, the process of getting the boat out an in the water was hard, so that on short pounds there was really no difference in the energy we used. We'd decided though that we would row on any part of the canal that had sufficient water depth to do that. The trolley was O.K. on flat land, but did have a tendency to find any rut on the towpath and go its own way. The boat also shifted back periodically, meaning we had to stop and re-balance it. The two pounds gave us a bit of a chance to get the towing procedure right, which helped a lot on later parts of the journey. We'd started by using the wooden handle to tow by hand, but soon found that lashing ropes to create a harness for ourselves worked a lot better.

We paused before going up to the top of the last lock in the Woodham flight in case the promised water was not there, feeling that a rest was in order. After a few minutes we pulled the boat up to a well watered pound which were again able to row along. We'd been told that the gates of the top lock leaked rather badly, but we were lucky that there had been quite a lot of rain, which temporarily have us the depth we needed. When moving again it was hard to think that this was in fact a disused canal. They were all pretty quiet at that time of year, even in the summer the traffic was minimal by today's standards. I remember holidays on the Oxford Canal (which I have already put in this blog) where you could run all day and maybe see just a couple of other boats on the move. Where we were though, was somewhere that had largely had a back turned to it. There was talk of filling the channel in and using it as either building land or a linear park. Suggestions had been made to convert locks to dams and keep some of the sections in water. The best suggestion though, and the one which has been adopted, was the idea painted on the lower left gate of that first lock. 

 “Save this canal.”

 

Here are a few more photos from our first day's travel.
(the black and white one is from an ealier visit by car)
Quite why I chose to hold onto the rope whilst the photo was taken is anybody's guess.
The boat was hardly going to blow away!

The wilds of (wait for it!) Woking.

It's never been a surprise that any area of wasteland is either reclaimed by nature, or used as a linear rubbish tip by humans. It should have been no surprise therefore that, as we slowly approached the town of Woking, the channel became narrower, and more choked. We'd had a good run through the remaining locks with a little bit of help from some inquisitive local kids who eventually dispersed to their respective homes a short while before we got to the watered pound. Now it was time to get to the side (before weed prevented us) and heave the boat back onto the launching trolley. Once on the towpath, which was in a reasonable condition, we continued on our way, with ropes round our middles like a pair of biped horses with a small cart.

It was somewhere around a bridge with a criss cross ironwork parapet in the middle of the town that we saw the blue helmet of a policeman. We'd been taking a short break, but cut it even shorter, deciding that he should meet with us as we headed purposefully along the towpath. Quite why we thought this would make a better impression I have no idea, but it was the two of us, harnessed up that he met. First question was:

“Is this boat yours?”

We were both tempted to say that it wasn't, and that we had in fact stolen it, but we owned up and said that the boat belonged to my friend, and that the contents had a mix of ownership, some mine and some his. We were also asked if we had any offensive weapons aboard. This subject is a bit of a grey area. We did have a sizeable billhook, which was quite old, but also pretty sharp. I'm sure that it could have caused great offence if brandished at someone, but we'd brought it in case we needed to clear our path. In any case, we told the policeman that we had no such items on account of the fact that we were tired and had forgotten we had the thing. It would have been interesting explaining that something with a sharp 12 inch blade, and a fair amount of weight behind it, was not offensive, and we'd have been on the right side of the argument. We also had the oars which could have caused a fair bit of upset if used as weapons. On the balance it's probably a good idea that we didn't, as two rather scruffy looking youths, try and argue our point. The third question:

“Where are you going?” was rather easier to answer.

“Basingstoke,” we both said, in all seriousness.

We were met with laughter from the officer, who laughed some more when we told him that we were not joking, but were on a self imposed mission to be the first boat to get to the town in a very long time. Eventually he believed us, and let us proceed on our way, having taken our names and addresses, and given us the assurance that we stood absolutely no chance. After thanking him for his help, albeit with rather a lack of sincerity, we were on our way again.

As we edged our way out of the town, the water level in the canal became a bit more tempting and, after a bit more towing, the weed had reduced sufficiently to relaunch and row, which was a welcome break.

By about 7.30, having asked a hiker earlier on about possible camping spots, we gave up for the night, close to the bottom of another flight of locks, as the light began to fade. Whether we'd found the one he'd suggested or not is something that will never be found out. But the area we chose, though not ideal due to the soil being rather wet was, after a bit of clearance, good enough to pitch our tent. It had been our intention to make a small camp fire and cook on it, but any wood we'd collected was still too wet to burn, and anything in the rather muddy area was in the same state, so it was the little blue camping stove that we used to prepare our tea on.

And a few more photos.
These were all taken well over 40 years ago.   I don't have prints for all of them so I have copied them using a digital camera and Gimp on my computer.   I'm as sure as I can be that they are in order but I have used the film numbering and the cut edges of the negatives to get them right.   If I have made any mistakes, please feel free to let me know.

Onwards and upwards.

The following day, after an early start, we cleared the boat of debris and set off to the first of what were informed were the Goldsworth locks. Though the locks, and some of the gates, seemed in fair order, the pounds in between were dewatered, so it was a longish slog to the top, where we ere greeted with a pound with sufficient water to float the boat again. The section took us to Brookwood, where the first lock caused us to have to unload the boat to get it up and over a bridge then reload it. Getting back onto the canal involved us having to go across the forecourt of a petrol station, and past a rather inconveniently parked caravan. This meant unloading yet again to tip the boat on its side in order to get past. Next obstacle came in the form of a balance beam which, yet again, there was no clear path round. Most of the gates that we'd tried as we moved slowly up the canal were surprisingly easy to move, despite the lack of water, but this one would not budge whatever we did. Only solution was to lift the boat up and over, which again meant unloading it!

Again we were on our way, and at the top of the flight we found there was still no water. The only solution to that one was to pause for lunch! Our culinary skills stretched us to instant mash mixed with dried vegetables, which probably tasted a lot better then than they would do now.

One of the surprising things that I have noticed in re reading the diary of our journey is how helpful people were. Whilst on our way to the Deepcut locks, we decided to try and find somewhere to fill our water container, so we simply set off across a bridge where we'd noticed some houses, then knocked on a door. An old lady answered it and took us (two rather scruffy youths) at face value. We'd said we were travelling by canal to Basingstoke, and she had no reason to doubt it, even if she hadn't seen the boat (which we had simply left, rather trustingly, on the towpath). Not only did she let us fill our water carrier, but she insisted on us coming in for a cup of tea!

Thankfully the towpath was in good condition as there was a lot of towing to do with the trolley. The whole of the Deepcut locks in fact, and there seemed to be plenty of them! We counted fourteen of the things, some of which had pounds with water in between which, according to our initial plan, we rowed along. Whilst on our way up the locks we encountered some of the local kids who used the canal as a play area. The sight of two possible lunatics and a rowing boat got their attention rather bore than a half deflated football, and we got asked all kinds of questions. As they seemed keen to help, we let them walk the trolley along the towpath for us whilst we rowed, to save us having to keep loading and unloading the thing until they decided it was time to go home for tea, and left the trolley waiting for us at the next lock before they went. Yet again it's odd reading this from a diary in current times, but there was nothing unusual about it. People generally seemed a little more easy going then than they do now.

About ten or so minutes after the last lock we'd had enough. It was gone seven o'clock and we had got further than our target for the day so it was time to celebrate with a curry. Aficionados of the cuisine would no doubt have turned their collective noses up at a mess made out of dried soya mince, dried vegetables, Marmite and curry powder, served with rather sticky rice, all cooked on a camp fire, but this was the food of the gods that evening.

Two views of Greatbottom Flash

Section of dry canal bed 

This view of the famous breach hardly 
does it justice. 

 The boat with a full load halfway up a flight.

 The campsite after a bad day.

Good and bad.

Our next two days of progress towards Greywell were very variable indeed. Setting off in good spirits, we made good progress, though the fatigue of lugging a 10 foot plywood dinghy for long periods on the launching trolley did get to us. There were several watered sections of the canal, but some were pretty weedy so we were unable to propel the boat with oars. By lunchtime we were close to a pub called “The Swan Inn” which was advertising pub lunches. We decided that the energy we would save by eating there outweighed the cost and time disadvantage so, despite warnings from a man bearing a striking resemblance to Private Fraser from Dad's Army who was standing on the bridge, we left the boat on the towpath and enjoyed what was a good meal. I have no note of what it was, but we felt bolstered by it and set off again, putting the boat back in the water soon after.

The canal eventually widened out into “Greatbottom Flash” which resembles a reasonably sized lake. The wrecks of two narrowboats mouldered on the far edge, and I was given to understand they were called “Greywell” and “Mapledurwell” that, again I was told were once owned by the Harmsworth family. I have since found that one of the boats was in fact called Brookwood but was built on the scrapped frames of Basingstoke, this being the last craft to attempt what we were now attempting. The canal remained watered until we reached a bridge with stop planks, the next mile being dry due to a breach at Ash Vale many years previously. With the towpath in very poor condition, the mile to Ash lock took a longer time than we thought, with us having to keep the boat from sliding down the slope into the canal bed quite often. Eventually we saw the breach on the opposite bank, which still showed itself as a scene of devastation. The photo we took doesn't really do the area much justice, but the twisted fencing does give some indication of what happened.

After looking at the lock, which was in pretty good condition but for a concrete dam that kept the water in the Hampshire section of the canal. We were told that the Hampshire section was watered throughout and were looking to move fairly quickly so that we would be in good time to get to Greywell the following day. We'd done well and this next bit was going to be a doddle.... or so we thought! After a mile of clear water we encountered a patch of thick weed, which we decided to plough on through. This was not a good choice and we ended stuck fast in the stuff, eventually giving up moving to sit and think of a solution. After some time we decided to force the boat to the bank and portage. It took half an hour to get turned but we still couldn't get to the bank, so eventually Charles, (who had the longer wellies!) took the rope and stepped onto the mat of weed whilst I stood on a thwart to raise the boat by pushing the oars down on the mess. To do this I had to hook one foot under the thwart whilst standing on the other. This worked well until, on the third step, the weed gave way, and Charles' boot was well and truly filled with something that only loosely equated to water. I wasn't wet, but the lurch in movement of the boat had tipped me off balance and I'd fallen backwards into the boat, cracking the water carrier in the process. We then pressed our food container (a one gallon catering ice cream box) as a substitute and carried on, having lost a lot of time and energy.

Eventually there was enough water and we put the boat back in, only to have to take it out soon after because of a really strange and very clingy weed that made propelling the thing impossible. That was it... it was tea break, and whilst we sat with one mug and one bowl (we'd lost the other mug somewhere) of tea, we worked out that we were now quite seriously behind schedule. It was whilst going through Aldershot that a group of soldiers passed us in the opposite direction on the towpath. One of them looked across and smiled.

“You knackered lads?” he said. “You want to do what we've just done.”

I doubt he would have thought us mad enough to drag a dinghy as far as we had, but we still had high hopes of getting to Greywell the next day. We continued later than we'd wanted but were still only a mile or so out of Aldershot when we pitched the tent. One piece of luck was that we'd found quite a nice spot with plenty of dry wood for a fire, over which we cooked a mess that was best described as stew. It could have been anything and we'd have eaten it happily! The original idea was to have been at Greywell that evening, and do the rest of the journey in a day, as the canal would be dewatered and we (theoretically) would have made brilliant progress. We still thought we may be in with a chance.

And on to Basingstoke?

The following morning was cold, but we soon warmed up heaving the boat on the trolley. We felt just a little fed up that there wasn't enough water to float, and what was there was so choked by weed as to be unusable (our experience of the previous day having made us a little wary). We still pushed on and, after being blown about by the wind on the embankment at Farnborough, we decided to do a quick sortie to see what lay ahead. Eventually there was sufficient and we put the boat in tying up at Pondtail bridge to go and replenish our water and buy some food. This was at 1.30 pm and we now knew we would not make Basingstoke, but still had high hopes of getting to Greywell. Though the water level and amount of weed made for easier rowing, we came upon several other types of obstruction in the form of concrete blocks under some of the bridges, which were presumably put there to stop enemies using the waterway during the second world war. The defences for this were quite prominent, with pillboxes and haystack shaped concrete tank traps which we (for some reason) referred to as zombies.

We stopped for lunch at half past three just short of a lifting bridge that we would probably have to carry the boat round, given that there was no visible way of opening it. After a closer inspection we decided that there was just enough clearance to get the boat through, which saved us a bit of time. The next big obstacle was Baseley's bridge which was under repair and totally blocked. This meant heaving the boat up and over the road then back down the other side, requiring us to completely unload and transport the contents of the boat separately. Once on the other side we rowed for a bit in the now fading light. We knew we wouldn't reach Greywell, but also had no real idea of where we actually were. By the time we had got to Broad Oak Bridge, we'd had enough. The canal was again impassable, the water having descended into being barely liquid mud. We were exhausted, had no food left, and no money to buy any. It was time to phone home!

Dad was beginning to wonder where we were but was happy to know we had arrived somewhere identifiable. By the time he and Mum arrived it was pitch dark, and pretty cold so we wasted little time in getting the boat onto the roof rack, lashing it down and heading off, both of us swearing that we would never attempt something as stupid again, whilst we raided what we had of our food (a jar of Marmite, and some powdered milk.) I'm not sure what eating the two did to our insides but we insisted we were O.K. That was until we passed a chip shop and Dad asked if we should stop.

Yes we'd failed to reach Basingstoke, and even failed to get to Greywell, but we had done our absolute best, were muddy, knackered, but fortified with the contents of two newspaper wrapped parcels, were now plotting our triumphant return!

Our triumphant return!

An easy hole to fall down!

 Hidden from view

Little Tunnel

 

Spot the bridge!

 It was nine weeks before we could return to Broad Oak bridge, and we'd decided to keep the load on the boat as light as possible for this second leg of the journey. There was no more water than there had been when we left, and the weather didn't look too good, but we set off anyway, and were happily towing the boat along the towpath by half twelve. Our first obstacle was an overspill channel which we could step across but had to physically lift the boat over the two foot or so width. Eventually the channel cleared, and we were able to row for the first time on this second leg of the journey. It had also started to rain so we stopped for lunch near Colt hill bridge. I presume it was silly season for insects as it's noted in the diary that we were plagued by mating dragonflies. We more or less knew that the run to Greywell would be relatively straightforward slog of portage and rowing. The landmark of Odiham castle was welcome, letting us know that we were on target, pausing in the water to take a photo. The water level was generally good on the summit but a lot was rather choked with weed. Progress was pretty good, though we did get held up by a rather curious lift bridge that crossed the canal not far before the tunnel. It went too low for us to simply go under, as we had with the previous lift bridges, and also had no visible means of lifting. This was the hydraulic lift bridge of legend. We found the control box but could do absolutely nothing so we decided (rashly ) to carefully take the boat under, getting firmly stuck about two thirds of the way through. Eventually we came up with the idea of one of us shinning onto the bridge deck and pushing the bow down through the planking with a tent pole. It being the school holidays, our activity attracted the attention of a couple of girls of around thirteen, who offered to push the pole down whilst we moved the boat through. Continuing on our way we got bombed by various projectiles being chucked into the canal at us, so we kept well away from the towpath side, avoiding anything worse than a few splashes of canal water.

With the tunnel ahead, we got as close as possible, though we didn't go in in case of underwater obstructions or further bombings from above. This more or less marked the end of travel by water, and the boat was heaved onto its trolley after a short backtrack to a suitable spot. The original plan had been to use the horse path but it was far too overgrown for a boat and launching trolley so we went around the hill guided by the ordinance survey map, eventually arriving at a bridge that spanned the rather overgrown canal below. Following our plan, the boat was heaved down and towed on the old towpath as far towards the tunnel as we could get, with the rest of the distance to the portal covered on foot.

The eastern portal now has a strong metal fence around it as it is nothing more than a dangerous hole in the ground. Then it was simply a dangerous hole in the ground with an earth bar across it. We were teenagers and therefore indestructible so we had a good look around the whole structure, peering in as far as we could, which was far enough to find that it had a fantastic echo and water in the bottom. Had we fallen into that water we would probably still be there now!

We picked a suitable bridge to camp beneath for the first night of the second leg of our journey, lighting a small wood fire to dry our clothes out (which had been soaked from the things thrown into the canal at us earlier in the day), eventually retiring just after midnight. The following day was a mix of dragging the boat along the towpath wherever possible (which was not that often!) or taking it along the road to the location of each bridge before walking back down the towpath and returning by road. This way we covered a good deal of the distance, finding the famous “Little Tunnel” by itself with a short length of dry bed either side. Following the path, we took the boat on the trolley through the dry bed of the tunnel, and back to the road to continue our journey. The tunnel seemed in pretty good condition, with no more than the odd missing brick. In the area were some beautifully clear streams, the water in which looked (and probably was) good enough to drink.

In the evening, we pitched the tent in a small field, turning the boat over in case of rain. The night was bitterly cold, and we woke very early in the morning, early enough to see the sun rise! After breakfast, we set the boat the right way up, to find it full of small slugs, each of which were evicted before we moved on towards the final goal, the Terminal Basin at Basingstoke. Whatever remained of the canal was completely dry so we continued by foot, towing the boat wherever we could on the towpath or dry canal bed. The only part of the canal we were unable to go directly along was a very small section that was in the grounds of a truck depot, but (with much difficulty) we negotiated our way around the perimeter fence on what would have been one of the canal banks (not sure if it was the towpath side). This required the boat to be fully unloaded with its contents being placed (on the bottom boards) on top of a corrugated iron hut whilst we posted the craft sideways through a narrow gap. Our goal was now in sight, and after a brief lunch at the top of a cutting where the M3 ran, we continued to Basingstoke.

The terminal basin was filled in many years before our journey, but it was occupied by the bus station (which I believe is now elsewhere in the town). On arrival, we took the boat on its trolley to the information desk and asked if we could photograph it, in a suitable position, and then leave it for safe storage until we could get a lift back home. Surprisingly the answer to both requests was an enthusiastic yes!

On reading through the records of this journey, I can't help thinking how much has changed. It is of course wonderful that the canal is now largely open, but I can't help thinking that we simply would not have been able to cover what we did in today's atmosphere. People simply accepted that we were a pair of lads doing something that was probably pointless, mildly dangerous, but quite fun. The ownership of the boat was questioned only once, and the policeman was quite happy at our assurance that the craft was ours. Nobody bothered us at any of the places we stopped along the way, and people were happy to top our water carriers up when we asked. The staff of the bus station were happy that we had not packed the thing with anything dangerous and simply let us leave it by their office where it was ignored by members of the public.

We both believe that we were the first boat to Basingstoke in over 70 years though. Maybe we hadn't floated all the way there, but we had done where there was water to do so. We were also not a 70 foot cargo boat, but we were crewing a small boat and we got to our destination.

Journey's end!   This is the site of the old treminal basin of the Basingstoke canal.   The boat is tied, as close as we could be sure, to a wharf edge.   Hard work, but a good job well done in our opinions!

***New book "Nearwater" out soon! *** 

There are currently three books in the Mayfly series

Mayfly, Here we Go! and Emily's Journey.
***Check my website for details***

***New short story "A Pause for Thought" available.   Check website or Facebook. http://www.michaelnyewriter.com