After a fifth or sixth week of temperatures above 25 degrees into mid 30 degrees, Patrick and I decided that we simply weren't going to make it through another Friday of work on the boat.
A few evenings earlier, we had explored a little way upriver and discovered a space where we could tie up beside the weir at Mapledurham Lock. It was quiet, shady and, most importantly, only about ten minutes away. So we grabbed a few provisions, made sure the batteries were charged, packed up our work things and moved upriver. We weren't sure whether we would stay the night, but took some BBQ supplies — steak, salad and beer — just in case. It was a ten-minute journey, but it felt as though we had moved countries.
As the working day ended and the weekend crept closer, the decision was made. Light the BBQ (very carefully — we were acutely aware of the fire risk after weeks of hot, dry weather), crack open one or more of those beers, cook the steaks and see who would win at cards. Plot twist: it wasn't me.
The 2–0 Vote
We woke early the following morning and held a quick "team meeting" about our plans for the weekend. We have a boat show coming up in London in about three weeks and a fairly substantial to-do list before then, including painting the decks and touching up some wear and tear on the hull.
Our dilemma was that the weather was perfect for painting. It was also perfect for travelling.
We took a vote.
Travel: 2. Painting: 0.
A unanimous decision.
The rough plan became Mapledurham – Sonning – Henley-on-Thames – and back again. Anything in between was fair game. We needed a few more provisions, but there was a supermarket on the way down to Sonning, we had fuel, and there seemed to be absolutely no sensible reason not to keep going.
Sonning
We arrived at Sonning around midday to discover that all the moorings were taken. Apparently everyone else had looked at the weather forecast and reached much the same conclusion as us.
The difference between Deux Poissons and many of the other boats is that she has (a) a steel hull and (b) fairly fearless owners. So we found a suitable stretch of bank alongside a wall of bushes, jumped ashore, cut our way through a few brambles and hammered in some stakes.
Home for the night.
Patrick had heard about a motor boat club in Sonning, so we found it on the map and wandered over for a visit. A few hours, a tour and several conversations with members later, and we were ready to sign up as members. We had hamburgers aboard that evening and an early night because we had plans for the morning.
Very early plans.
A 5am Start
There is a wetland area only a few minutes' walk along the towpath from the Sonning moorings. We knew that if we went early enough, we should see and hear plenty of birds — one of our favourite pastimes — and perhaps spot a muntjac or even a fox. Patrick and I both have a bird-identification app on our phones, which has somehow turned birdwatching into a competition.
Who heard the most birds? Who got a new one?
Neither of us has the slightest control over which phone happens to pick up which bird, but that doesn't appear to have made the competition any less serious.
So at 5am, we were up. And it was worth it.
We watched the sunrise from beside a pond, surrounded by the morning chorus, binoculars in hand and sipping Baileys coffee. We spotted a fox but no muntjac. We did hear them though and it was obvious why they are known as “barking deer”. There as a serious conversation going on between two males a little off in the bushes, but we didn’t get to see them.
There are definitely worse ways to start a day.
Let's Try Something Different
Back aboard Deux Poissons, after comparing our bird-app results, breakfast and a shower, it was time to decide what to do next. We had originally planned to head straight down to Henley-on-Thames, but a few weeks earlier we had seen a boat anchored near Shiplake Lock.
We hadn't actually anchored Deux Poissons on the river before. In fact, we hadn't been "at anchor" for years.
So... why not?
Patrick fitted a trip line to the anchor in case it became caught on something on the riverbed. That's a very real possibility on rivers and canals because you never quite know what's down there — tree stumps, shopping trolleys, bicycles...
I once watched an office chair slowly disappear beneath the surface of the Thames.
We found our spot, dropped the anchor and set up camp. It was incredibly hot, so up went our enormous umbrella on the foredeck. Out came the mattresses. The bird apps went on. And we settled down for an afternoon of doing very little. There were a couple of games of backgammon — I wasn't risking cards again — some attempts at reading our books while sipping on cold beers and, eventually, the inevitable snoozing.
It was glorious.
A Night on the Riverbank
We decided not to stay at anchor overnight and set off again, looking for somewhere equally remote and a little different. Our Environment Agency licence allows us to use EA visitor moorings along the Thames, and with the help of one of the river apps we found a bankside mooring between Shiplake and Henley.
It was perfect. Trees overhead, countryside around us and what looked like some beautiful shady walks along the towpath.
Once again, there were no neat bollards waiting for us. Out came the stakes and the hammer. I love mooring that way. There is something much more traditional — and slightly wild — about hammering your own stakes into the riverbank and tying the boat to them.
By then it was getting fairly late, so the remainder of the evening was simple: showers, dinner and a few games of Rummikub. My losing streak continued.
The following morning we woke early. It was a work day, but there was still enough time to enjoy the coolness of the morning and take a walk along the towpath before opening the laptops.
And then the day was spent in meetings and doing all the necessary things that make this rather beautiful lifestyle possible.
Henley-on-Thames
We found a gap in the working day, said goodbye to our pretty little mooring — making careful note of its location so we could find it again — and continued downriver to Henley-on-Thames.
Henley is beautiful, historic and very traditionally English, although after the secluded places we'd spent the previous few days, it felt decidedly busy. We found a mooring.
Just.
It was a squeeze.
And without either of us really needing to say anything, we both agreed that dinner out sounded like an excellent idea.
So we headed to the pub for a meal and then wandered through town as the evening drew in.
It was getting darker earlier now, which felt rather sad. It has been a glorious summer.
And Then We Met a Friend...
The following morning was another work day, but it was also time to begin making our way back towards our mooring in Reading. We planned one final night at Sonning before heading home. Just as we were discussing when to set off, a friend appeared upriver in his boat. We hadn't seen him for almost a year. He had spent much of that time further down the Thames and was now making his way back upriver — with plans to spend the night at Sonning.
Perfect. We arranged to meet there later that afternoon.
That evening turned into one of those wonderfully unplanned nights that seem to happen on the river. We sat talking until late, catching up and swapping stories about boats, travels and life on the Thames.
The next morning we were up early again and set off together towards Reading. As expected, there were no lock keepers on duty that early on a weekday, so we worked the locks ourselves. With two boats and extra hands, even that became part of the fun.
Eventually Deux Poissons turned back into her familiar mooring as we waved our friend off, slightly jealous that he was headed up to beyond Goring-on-Thames, which is so beautiful and remote.
So it was ...shore power connected. Water tanks filled. And the washing machine in our tiny marina laundry already working its way through the inevitable pile of clothes.
Five days earlier, we had moved the boat ten minutes upriver because it was too hot to sit at our mooring and work. Somehow, that had turned into Mapledurham, Sonning, a dawn walk through the wetlands, an afternoon at anchor, a night tied to a riverbank, Henley, dinner out, an unexpected reunion with a friend and a journey home together.
The painting hadn't been done.
The decks still needed attention.
The to-do list was exactly where we'd left it.
And we didn't regret our 2–0 vote for a second.
Sometimes one of the greatest luxuries of living aboard isn't travelling somewhere far away.
It's being able to untie the ropes and see what happens.