Going with the flow. Day 2 (Tue 29th May 2007)

Made it through the night unmolested. When the tarp that goes over the hammock flapped in a breeze the sound had me instantly awake early on, and I awoke every hour through the night. But for the first night paranoia not to bad at all. Although it was cold in the night. I was worried about wearing Lycra cycling shorts, now I’m considering a pair of tights for extra warmth! Later I get in the habit of putting on every piece of clothing I’ve bought with me at turning in time.
However, up when the birds start singing (04:15), and after a quick brew eager to get under way.

On through still sleeping Walton on Trent to the nature reserve were Draklow power station used to stand. Now, as I’ve been going up and down the river outside home the swans have just moved gently ahead, never a problem, but they’ve been lulling me into a false sense of security.


This one is making for me like some ancient Viking warship at ramming speed. What ever you do, don’t try and outrun an angry swan in a rubber dingy. I take to splashing him with my paddle to keep him away as I drift helpless with the current. Must have followed me for half a mile before looking very chuffed with himself at seeing me of. The rest of the trip, when I see a swan I row to the opposite bank and face away, avoiding eye contact and don’t have any more trouble.




In to Burton on Trent, the place I was born, and the home of the breweries that have kept me half addled half my life. This used to be the top of the Trent navigation for many years, with barges bringing hops from Newark up river, before returning down stream laden with beer that was exported world wide. Not sure about the hoardings that now claim “Coors, Burton’s oldest brewers.”

After the brief bustle of the town, back into the countryside, and the villages dotted along the river, in what was once the capital of Mercia.

Apart from the adrenaline rush with the swan a wonderful day, albeit in regular showers of rain, and the realisation that I’ve left the milk at the house last night. Still, black tea is ok.






Get to Kings Mill, at Castle Donnington, the site of no less than four mills in past history, and the site of one of the last working ferries on the Trent run by the splendidly named Polly Rowbottem. Now largely reclaimed by nature, a beautiful place to set up camp for the night