Lift bridge mayhem and size really does matter

Wednesday was a day off from cruising as we didn't fancy battling the gusting winds for a second day. So we had an early start on Thursday, dropping down onto the River Cherwell towards Thrupp. Having negotiated the second diamond weir at Shipton, we came to lift bridge 219, the memory of which will stay with me for some time. 

Having offered to go and raise the bridge myself, Louise decided that she would do it. Off she jumped on the approach, crossed the bridge and then started to quite literally wrestle the balance beam. It was a case of almost, but not quite. Not once, not twice or even thrice. She just couldn't get the bridge to fully raise and I had visions of her being catapulted across the canal as the bridge slammed shut. Start showing concern laughing uncontrollably. This just made her more determined (or was it angry) and a few expletives and a big final effort saw her tackle the beam and win the fight with a pinfall. 

The bridge finally beaten into submission

On into Thrupp, gathering control of our senses, we stopped off at the service point to make use of what was on offer. What a well kept and welcoming place it is. You can even help yourself to herbs from the tubs especially grown for boaters. A lovely touch we thought. We wandered down to see if Maffi was aboard, but sadly not, so despite the draw of the pubs, we continued on towards Dukes Cut. Louise decided to leave the next lift up bridge to me and we soon arrived at our gateway to the Thames.

Nobody at home unfortunately

We cruised up to Eynsham Lock where we were to get our Environment Agency licence for our stay on the river. The lock keeper was most helpful and pleasant. As we started filling out the form in his little office, he asked our length, as the fee is based on boat area, not just length. Apparently we have shrunk to 59' according to him, and, on this occasion, I'm not going to argue. Size clearly isn't everything. Strangely, although we are going to be on the Thames for about three weeks, it's slightly cheaper to buy a permit for 31 days than it is for 21. I still can't work that one out. 

Leaving Eynsham Lock

So, having got our licence, we locked up and headed on to Pinkhill Lock, where we found another cheery chappy to assist us through, before we moored up just above the lock in a most peaceful place below Fermoor Reservoir. Soon after stopping we were fortunate enough to see a Barn Owl out hunting. Quite unusual in the daylight, but this place is renowned for it apparently. 

Pinkhill Lock

Mooring for the night

Off we went for a walk around part of the reservoir, and on our return we had neighbours moored behind. We soon got chatting away, as you do, and it transpires that these people used to live in Derbyshire. Buxton to be precise. Well I used to be a fresh faced young copper in Buxton back in the late eighties. Do you know 'Scrimmers' I was asked. 'A good friend of mine and I used to play rugby with him at Buxton' I replied. Well this chaps eyes lit up. 'I used to be president at Buxton Rugby Club' he announced. Turns out he was probably president when I played there. They say it's a small world and so often it turns out to be just so.