Trip to Elford (Easter Saturday)

Although I got out on the boat when I could with work, I got out of the habit of blogging. Sorry. Anyway the trip to Elford:-

I was in such a rhythm there, in the shed, having my thoughts, messing about on the river, back in the shed as the sun goes down for a beer. And then they put me back to work, only for, what was it, three weeks? But I can't find were I was up to.

Got off hired on Tuesday, and won't be doing anything before middle of next week, with it being Easter and all. And I'm sat at the kitchen table and the closest I'm getting is looking at an OS map.

One of the disciplines I was sticking to was if I'm not working I go out of the house at 10 o'clock... why, what for?... doesn’t matter... it just satisfied something in my head... I think from childhood, when we were on School holidays Mum would always say, go out and get some fresh air now boys, and don't come back till tea time. And that was the catalyst for a thousand boyhood adventures. At least that’s the way I choose to remember it. You know, scumping apples, damming the stream down the lane, chasing the cows, making fires under the railways bridge, beating up who ever in the gangs turn it was that week. All those innocent childhood pass times.

So Easter Saturday... 10o'clock in our back garden can be pretty cool, the sun starts to fall across the garden about nine, and works clockwise round (duh) through the day. At 10 the rays fall on the shed door, and according to what I've been on, this can seem like a sign. In fact we are having the back garden block paved and I'm thinking of a big sundial design, kind of 2D Stonehenge sort of idea, what do you think?

12 o’clock fight the inertia and carry the boat over to the launch spot the other side of the weir. Immediately my efforts are rewarded by the sight of pristine black and yellow Umbro football in the reeds on the opposite bank. As I head of downstream I feel a great exileration as I pass the boundaries of the Alders estate. What ever I may say later this is were the trip began.

This dirty old river that flows through our town, has changed do much in just my life time, rated as one of the most polluted rivers in England in my childhood years, I can now look through crystal clear water to the green river bed plants growing in the sand and gravel bed, and glimpse the occasional fish darting for cover.

Over some shallows and rounding the bend, Hopwas, always pretty looks even better at river level. A chap cutting his grass stops his mower, and we have the craic as I drift by. The non descript bridge I've crossed a thousand times shows its age a beauty. I've no idea when Hopwas Bridge was built but it was in the time aesthetics were as important as the function of things, and no matter that the best aspect is going to be seen by so few. Millions of people over it and millions of gallons under it. And still a stunning piece of design and architecture.

And on past the side of the woods. Not ten minutes from the bridge I drift and have a ciggie, and take in the ambience, the only sounds the birds singing. Not a mile from home and I'm absorbed in tranquility.

On into the open countryside, soon arriving at the mega structure of the new railway bridge constructed to carry the extra lines of the London
Liverpool railway.
Now I know I was just waxing lyrical about Hopwas Bridge, but I can see a beauty and elegance in this utilitarian construction. I even stopped for a while and imagined how a water gypsy could make a home underneath.
Next to the bridge is the outfall from Coton Lane sewerage works.
As an old Tamworthian, we forever blamed Birmingham for polluting our river, never did we think of the shit we pump in for those downstream of us. Anyway things have been cleaned up, and the outfall doesn’t seem in any way offensive and the slightly murky colour is soon dissipated in the flow.

Onwards and a field of grazing sheep in lined at the waters edge with a dozen or more willow trees, perfectly spaced for swinging my hammock between. Camping down the river is really starting to appeal.

Next up the river is getting an increasing amount of trees alongside as I come to the village of Comberford. One of our childhood playgrounds. There's a little brook that enters the river here were I left my first ever Timex overnight to test its waterproof claims. Couldn't find it the next day. So for me there is a spot here where time stands still.

Again in to open countryside. The weather just perfect. This is an area so far from any roads or settlements that the only visitors are the farmer tending his fields.
On one bend the inside has formed a lovely sandy beach. I stop for half an hour, looking forward to the time I’ve got the necessary tackle to make a brew. I spend the time using up some free weekend calls on the mobile to tell an old fishing mate in Scotland of the time I'm having.
You need to share these things to make them last don't you? I suppose this is what the blogs about. He tells me he's sat in the kitchen freezing his balls off. I did the right thing leaving there. Nice to visit, but to harsh for a nesh Englishman year round!

Next up, Elford Low, a dramatic sandstone outcrop towering up from the river, with ancient woodland. Carpets of bluebells fair make the heart sing. And two more prime footballs held in the overhanging branches. Heven.

The bridge on the Fisherwick road, another masterpiece, I stop underneath for a photo, and talk to an Eastern European lady leaning over the parapet. I had the vision that she was gazing at the waters remembering some special place from her home.

And into Elford, the village the family lived in during my time at Art College and of getting my first job. Happy memories and a sense of coming home.

Another black and white umbro, and I come ashore. Walk through the village with the boat on my back, coracle style. And pitch up at the Old Crown, leaving the boat leaning up next to the door and stood in the bar, with my paddle, drinking one of the finest pints of Bass in a long time, I can hardly believe three hours ago I was glued to a mudling kitchen table.

Sitting outside, I'm talking to a couple of chaps who have been doing a couple of jobs round at the cricket club. There over the moon when I donate three footballs, for the kids to kick around.

The first time since I got the boat, I deflate it, to get it in the car boot of my lift back home. A young lad, with his mum and dad, stares longingly at the one remaining football. And seeing him and his dad kicking it home feels better than pound I might have got from EBay.
A good day.