Ride the Tide (Day 9 Tuesday)

Sutton-on-Trent. Downside of Cromwell Lock

I wake as usual to the first bird song. In an instant decided to give myself the day off and go back to sleep until half past eight. That’s a four hour lie in.
I know your thinking, how can you have a day off when your on holiday.
That’s the thing, never once, even in the planning stages have I though of this as a holiday. I've always said I’m going to work my way down the river. And in many ways I have.
In one of my many conversations with myself I'd said I'm going to put the same amount of effort into each day as I do when I go to work.(pause for laughter....ok,ok..)

And that’s the thing, if you work hard all week your ready for a rest at the weekend. Well, I've been on the go for eight days now and last night I was at the end of my tether.
I warmed a tin of beans up down at the waters edge, slipped in the mud and dropped the lot. I'm laughing at myself here when I remember how mad that made me.

Today I'm at peace with the world again. I don't have to make any decisions.......
I can really tune into this new part of the world. And it does all feel new to me. Ok I have seen a windmill before and flat fields but only passing from the car window.

Sitting in the long grass in my little suntrap. Taking stock of the last week and musing about life in general. Up and down to the river bank sticking sticks in the mud to mark the high and low water marks. Looks to about two foot rise and fall here. But it’s just confirming I don't know enough about this stretch.
Getting up and going to bed have been to the sun, but I've been blissfully unaware of what the moon is doing. And when it comes to tides that’s the one to be in tune with.
On spring tides you can get a bore running up the river. The Ageir. Think mini tsunami. Anything "between a few inches and five feet. "

There must be a public right of way on the other bank. Two old boys walking in opposite directions meet at a gate and stand yarning for an hour, the occasional words carried across on the breeze. They never know I'm here, adding to my feeling of security, lying here sunning myself in the long grass.

Panic. Coming from downwind, I hear some wild animals changing through the undergrowth, they have picked up my scent. Is it wild boar, what was Lofty Wiseman saying about bear attacks?
And then a woman’s voice calling her dogs.
If she follows the dogs to my camp I'm going to feel a bit silly hiding in the long grass aint I. I shout a cheery good morning as my adrenaline rush subsides, and pop out from the cover of the bushes.

Wonder I didn't give her the fright of her life, but she doesn’t seem to find anything unusual about someone camping in the middle of nowhere on the river bank.
All she could see of my camp was the green tarp that covers my hammock, and had thought some kids must have made a camp. One of real people who understand my trip, she says her old man is thinking of something similar. Please drop round for tea later I offer. If I can find somewhere to buy milk.
She gives me directions, across fields and over fences that will get me to Sutton on Trent, with pubs for lunch, and a co-op up the high street. Excellent.

As I parting comment, I mention that my hat was bought specially for the trip "what do you think"...."yes, good, it's a Tilly hat, isn't it? I've got one"
And there you have it. That’s why I didn't freak her out when I jumped out the bushes. Anyone who buys a hat that comes with a four page instruction manual is ok! Official.

The couple of miles walk through the countryside is a welcome change from the boat. Making for the church spire in the distance I'm starting to really appreciate the countryside so different from Staffordshire.
Anybody that spent time at sea will tell you it's the best way to arrive at anywhere new. And as I come into Sutton-on-Trent I come to the conclusion the same applies to the River. This is just charming. A bus shelter that the kids haven’t tried to set fire to. A wooden hut were the paperboys load up for there rounds, that’s left open and unattended the rest of the day with an honesty box for occasional passing trade.

The pub with home made fish pie. The three other customers, working men taking a break from there toils making me feel quite at home in my scruffy river garb.
Late afternoon after a good lunch, good walking, and stocked up with provisions arriving back at camp feels like coming home. As I settle in for a quite evening I wonder if I should start worrying about tomorrow, but decide, no, I'll just take it as it comes.

Like two old mates returning, the dogs from this mourning with tails wagging come into camp closely followed by Pete and Pat.
Now, I've meet fantastic people all the way down the river, but to have visitors is something else. I feel really honoured. Quite taken me by surprise this, as I can be a right miserable git when folks come calling at home.
Pete's taken with the hammock, and we sit round drinking tea and yarning about, camping, boats, rivers, motorbikes, the meaning of life.

Turns out they live not just at the back of the windmill I saw just upriver. And I'm asking about the conveyor belt and piles in the river opposite.
Apparently this is were sand barges load from a nearby quarry and travel all the way down river to the Humber Estuary. When I say I wished there had been one loading as I passed, as I would have tried to hitch a lift, Pete makes a phone call, that goes unanswered, and doesn’t say much more. And after a wonderful social hour or so, they take there leave.


Just for the craic I make a 'hobo brazier' as described in Lofty's book, not in a old oil drum, but in last nights baked bean can. It's not for the heat, but just for the pleasure of watching the burning embers as the sun goes down.
As I put the fire out and think of bed, a voice calls from up the bank. Pete has returned by torch light with one of the dogs.
"Get back up to the jetty for half past two tomorrow afternoon, and meet the Farndale. Jonathon, the skipper will take you the rest of the way down the river"

Was it only 24 hours ago, in this very spot, completely despondent, defeated and in abject misery? I feel a song coming on..."what a difference a day makes"....I reckon you would need a lottery win to match the high that this has put me on.
We sit in the dark, drinking tea, smoking and chewing the fat till midnight before Pete makes his torch lit way home.

When someone who you've never meet before does something like that for you, well, that is a lottery win ain't it?

On that note. A very good night.

{There's something I did wrong here this night. And its bugging me.

In a lot of the adventure books I’ve read, many have said it’s not the things they've done or the things they've seen, but the kindness of strangers that’s made the biggest impression..
It's humbling, and leaves you wishing you could somehow repay the gift.
But you can't....I think all you can really do is, in the words of Joe Cockers latest hit ," pass it on, just pass it on."
Well, what happened was, Pete had been telling me about these ready meals he's got, that self heat and everything, even comes with its own salt and pepper, knife and fork, everything. Developed by NASA I shouldn't wonder.
When he came back in the moonlight he had bought two of these meals. As I now realize, for us to share a supper. I mean, how nice is that.

What do I do? Completely miss the point and say "Cheers Pete, I'll have those for me breakfast." .....I can't believe I did that. I'm ashamed, no wonder nobody trusts a Brummie......sorry Pete.}