The Longest Night. Day 4(Thur 31st May 2007 )

Gone midnight, I’ve managed a couple of brief micro naps but come awake again to this dire situation I’ve put myself in. I’m sure Poncho’s are great things, but I think you might need to spend more than £1.99. It’s got silly popper things on the side that I can’t do up in the dark. I’ve pulled my sleeping bag up inside to try and keep warm. Bit by bit that’s starting to get wet.
I hear a man and woman’s voice on the bank alongside me “well, there couldn’t be two of them in there….”. I pull the poncho back to see what’s happening. The man lets out a right shriek at the unexpected movement. “flippen eck mate you nearly gave me a heart attack, what you doin’ here?” With a woolly tongue and a thick head I may have failed to fill them with excitement about my trip. The bloke goes to the woman “he’s an old boy anyway”…. Cheers, I feel a lot better now.
I settle back down, and this time manage to go to sleep.
01:30am …“YOU DOWN THERE” The shiver that goes down my spine is nothing to do with the cold and wet.
Emerging from underneath my poncho again. There’s a powerful torch shinning down in my face. Looking up, all I can make out is two dark pairs of trouser and handcuffs.
Up until this point it seems I wasn’t on the Police national database, but via the DVLA they accept that I am who I say I am and although not quite convinced on the validity of my trip, wish me a good night… yeah, right.

Two o’clock in the morning, sleeping bag now heavy with damp, my joggers wicking the water from the bottom of the boat, a tug from the law and my core temperature dropping my misery is complete.

Only one thing for it, I need to get moving. I begin the long laborious task of moving all my worldly belongings up the mooring wall across the lock and back down to the river side. Once here I find a sheltered spot, get changed into dry clothes, and with a hot drink in hand make the meal I should have had last night.

This morning I’m on the river before the birds have started there song. Out of site of the lock gate I reflect on my idea that I might sort of drink my way down the river. The one lesson I’ve learned is, don’t take to drink before you know were your sleeping. But I knew that one already! In fact, for the rest of the trip, apart from the odd pint when there is a riverside pub to have lunch at drink has lost its appeal.

As I later learn the river is in no way immune from crime. Thefts from boats and properties being carried out in stolen inflatable boats.

With Attenborough Nature Reserve to the left and Barton in Fabis to the right with its log cabins, huts, chalets, caravans and assorted riverside retreats, a charming area I wish I was in a better state of mind to appreciate.


Rounding a bend at about 8 o’clock I happen on Barton Island in the middle of the river. A sometime Scout adventure centre, it’s a refuge I’m desperately in need of, I hang out all my damp gear on various bushes, hang my hammock and have the most wonderful sleep until midday. Feeling relaxed and at peace with world, even dropping my phone in the river while repacking the boat can’t dampen my spirits. In fact it gives me a new found sense of freedom.
I mean, I’ve been going online to check the BBC weather forecast twice a day, when, really, its just a case of if its raining put a jacket on. And sending text updates of progress is only distracting me from the here and now of the trip.

As I set off again, thinking about last night and the police I start to smile and am soon laughing out loud as I see the funny side. So seriously was I taking it all, I didn’t realise they were pulling my leg when they asked “have you got any knifes, guns, bazooka’s or rocket launchers aboard?” and “your not on the run are you?”


In a mile or so I come on Beeston Marina. After a poor start the days starting to come good. There’s a chandlers were I’m sure to find something I desperately for the boat, a shop were I stock up on supplies, and a café serving special of the day food, with lovely people who are blown away with the trip I’m doing, and are even kind enough to go next door to the pub and get me some hand cream to treat my hands that are cracking due to being repeatedly wet.

There’s another lock as I leave the marina. I know I was going to carry the boat round the weir, but the gates are open and the lock keeper, after a mumble about licensees and unpowered inflatable boats not using locks, lets me through.


Keen to get away from any authority figures and distracted by the narrow boats taking photo’s and wishing me well, I fail to consult my OS map and start rowing up a canal that would take me into the heart of Nottingham and away from the river.


I’m a mile or more up it before I stop a passing cyclist and learn of my error of navigation.

I’m getting to the point were I’ve had enough rowing for today, I elect to play the carthorse and take to the tow path and haul the boat back to lock and then carry it across a park to the bottom side of the weir.


As nice a spot as you could find, the weather now fine and sunny, the water crystal clear, I give the boat and myself a wash before crossing to the other side of river to Clifton Grove. A steep thickly wooded bank behind the Clifton Campus of Nottingham Trent University. A fine sand landing to my home for the night.


It’s only late afternoon, but I’ve had enough for today. And this has a feeling like Kings Mill had, peace comes to me again. Early evening I hear gentle voices and occasoional laughter from some students taking a break from there studies down by the river. This somehow adds to the peace and with the sound of the water falling over the weir and the sun setting I drift off into a relaxed sleep.



Phew…..