Red

indicator at front boat

Bug eyed this morning, there was no tea/coffee/toast wrapped in our duvets. Straight up and out, figured no point in bed making, fire stoking, washing up if the boat was about to sink. With the hard drive zipped into my jacket, there was just time to take a picture of the flood indicator, which thanks to the over night downpour was now well into the red (amber and green below the murky water). Apparently a very scientific ‘stick flow test’ had taken place when Murk first went out this morning, meaning British Waterways are far too cautious with their flood warnings…oh joy. Did seem a bit crackers that we moored up in amber and effectively waited for red before venturing onto the River Cherwell. Untied the boat and watched as Nick drifted, slowly gaining speed without the need for throttle. Snow flakes the size of oak leaves were falling throughout the white water expedition, resulting in poor visibility, adding to the freakiness. A mile or so on, the river veered off to the left, whilst the lock gate sat open awaiting the speedy arrival of the boat.
Snow flurried down as we entered Thrupp, lines of still boats with smoke wafting from their chimneys, Sunday bells rang through muffled air. A big day on the name front…Faith and Daisy, almost side by side:)
Arrived in Thrupp, watched horses crossing the electric lift bridge before performing the usual simple key operation for us to pass underneath. Up a foot, down a foot, up a foot etc etc. Apparently it breaks ‘the whole time’. Last attempt and miraculously the thing rose high and we were away. Moored opposite some pretty cottages, where at 10.15 am I was ‘cold and not going anywhere else today’.
Back from a bin trip to Thrupp facilities where you can even pick up an oil lamp for a charity donation, we untied and set off. Quite a few hireboats making their way back to Cropredy. The Oxford canal lift bridges that started as quaint oddities are fast becoming pains. Nick tactfully asked an old guy how he managed them, ‘What if you’re wrinkly and past it like me?’ Err, well yes. Apparently the trick is pole it up inch by inch until it’s held aloft by a wooden stick that could snap while you dawdle your way underneath. Nice.

Stopped for water, before making out way under the chimney grabbing bridge 228 – some mastic poking, re-taping in the next lock by a not very impressed repair man. Hauled MORE logs onboard, this place is heaving with them.
On past Duke’s Cut (one way down onto the Thames) where red signs indicated flooding. Past the last turning point for craft over 52ft, past the last waterpoint before Isis lock. We must be getting close to London as there’s a lot of scrub land re-named ‘conservation’, floating planks attached to ropes known as ‘mammal habitats’ and long term moorers labelled ‘Agenda 21’.