Driving Miss Millie: A Three Red Kite Road Trip from Wiltshire to Wales

Today was set aside for a road trip, taking Jinny and her dog Millie on the first leg of her journey to New Quay in Wales, where she's very sensibly decided to spend the worst of winter. 

The first leg of my journey was to Avoncliff Station car park, the nearest parking place to where Jinny was moored on the Kennet and Avon canal. Except there weren't any empty spaces there, at least not at first; eventually a couple of boaters appeared and drove off into the just about daylight, and I managed to manoeuvre my car into the gap they left, which was good, as it meant I could wander across the aqueduct and help Jinny carry the things she needed during her stay -  clothes and lots of work materials - from her boat to my boot. I could also enjoy the stillness of the canal, the quirky birch next to the cottages, and the trickling song of the wrens in the trees on the towpath, clearly audible above a full and very roary River Avon. 

Of course, the trouble with road trips is that what you mostly see - especially if you're the driver - is the road. There was a moment of real beauty, deep into Wales, as the weather cleared and sun lit the rusty, bracken-covered hills up ahead at the Taibach end of Port Talbot, plus the sighting of a red kite at the very moment Jinny and I were talking about how much Jinny's late wife, Chris, loved Bwlch Yr Nant Arian and the unforgettable spectacle of hundreds of kites being fed. And the joy of a calm and happy dog on the back seat who wasn't my Cwtch, but Jinny's Millie enjoying her first long journey since she arrived in Britain from Macedonia last spring.

I parted ways with my travelling companions at Pont Abraham, returning with a bag of goodies very kindly given me by Jinny's parents, who were driving her and Millie the rest of the way to New Quay. I'd had the notion that if there was time and enough light, I might stop off at Neath Abbey on the return leg, but the traffic was already getting quite heavy, and then Son the Younger rang to say he was really quite poorly and needed some provisions, so in the end I drove straight home. No matter: just before Bridgend two more kites flew over the car and they, along with spending time with Jinny, were enough to make the day really special.  

The 2016 Kennet & Avon Canal Floating Market Summer

We went to the Floating Market earlier today.

'Lovely fresh dreams. First-class nightmares. We got 'em. Get yer lovely nightmares here.'

'Weapons! Arm yourself! Defend your cellar, cave, or hole! You want to hit 'em? We got 'em. Come on darling, come on over here ... '

'Rubbish!' screamed a fat, elderly woman, in Richard's ear, as he passed her malodorous stall. 'Junk!' she continued. 'Garbage! Trash! Offal! Debris! Come and get it! Nothing whole or undamaged! Crap, tripe, and useless piles of shit. You know you want it.'

No, not the Floating Market in the London Below of Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere; this one was on the Kennet and Avon canal in Bradford-on-Avon.

And we weren't forced to venture over Night's Bridge to get there either. 

Though having parked at Avoncliff, we did have to cross the aqueduct over the River Avon, but it wasn't anywhere near as dark or scary. 

We then had a pleasant wander the mile and a half or so along the canal to the lock at Bradford on Avon.

The throng of people on the towpath started to thicken by the tithe barn so I decided to sit with Ted, who, like many collies, is averse to crowds, in the adjoining field while the Northerner went on to sample wares.  

The juxtaposition of Civil War Re-Enacters with members of the public made for some interesting vignettes. It all looked quite convincing ... 

 

... though the quest for historical authenticity clearly didn't extend to eschewing water tanks ... 

... or portaloos.

The Northerner came back to say that it wasn't as crowded as he'd feared so Ted and I ventured back up onto the towpath.

And oh look, Sturmey Archer spoken here, it's got to be Dru ... 

Alongside were Chris and Jinny of Skyravenwolf and I was vexed when I got home to discover that I'd been so busy chatting to them that I hadn't taken any pictures of their work, and I can't photograph the things I bought because they're presents for people who might read this blog.  But here's a link to their Facebook page.   Such stunning work!  I'm on their waiting list for a present for the Northerner but I think I need to agitate for him to get onto the waiting list for a present for me. 

Jinny very kindly checked when the Re-Enacters were due to start firing their cannons in their planned skirmish on the town's mediaeval bridge, and as it was only half an hour away, we decided that for the sake of our noise-sensitive Ted, we'd do well to head back towards Avoncliff and a pint in the Crossed Guns. 

So we did. 

The Coming Of The King Part I: Kennet & Avon

I love aqueducts.  I learnt about them with astonishment at primary school - a bridge for water?! - and I've never lost that incredulity.  I remember drawing a picture which showed both the water running over the aqueduct and the river flowing beneath, and our teacher telling us that one day we would think we knew how to spell it because aqua is Latin for water, but actually, aqueduct is not spelt how you might expect.  Being an eight year old smartypants, I had already spelt it wrong and had to bracket it with a cross at the end and rewrite the whole word.

Which is a roundabout way of saying that when Dru announced that she was poised to move NB Eve from her current mooring at Bath to Bradford-on-Avon, I begged to come along for the ride, since it involves crossing the River Avon via both Dundas and Avoncliff aqueducts en route.  

So Dru said I could help as crew which was very kind as both she and I know that I am rubbish at doing anything remotely useful on the canal, but the fact that there are no locks and only a couple of swing bridges between the departure point and destination meant that I didn't have to do a lot more than just stand around holding a bit of rope and looking picturesque, so it wasn't really too much of a problem. 

Anyway, we were off not long after 8am, past Solsbury Hill ...

... and through Bathampton.  

The day was bright and warmish (well, in the sun it was) but a funny thing was happening with the colours, at times very vivid...

 ... and at others all but monochrome.  

Particularly striking were the cumulus clouds of Old Man's Beard, which gleamed as if they were backlit ... 

... and a heron which creaked across the canal to land in a field. 

We had a long wait to use the bowser at Claverton Pumping Station while a couple of boaters filled up their water tank with the speed of a dripping stalactite.  Dru did clever, agile things that were potentially uncomfortable ... 

... and (in case you think this is an idyllic way of life) emptied the poo canister.  I stood around a bit.  

Then, with a full water tank and  a warning toot to any boaters coming around the corner towards us, we were off across Dundas aqueduct.

Another heron, intent.  

And back across the Avon at Avoncliff.

 

By now we were shrammed, so it was into the Cross Guns for some mulled cider and half each of the one remaining mince pie on the premises. 

Is it my imagination, or is this an early Valentine?

I'd taken so many photos, I'd exhausted my camera battery, but no worries, I had another in my bag which I smugly slotted into place as we reached Bradford-on-Avon.  

' I can't believe you've never seen a kingfisher,' Dru said as she moored NB Eve in a spot with a decent phone signal. 'This is kingfisher central. You'd be lucky not to see one.'

But there were none, so I took a few photos of the 14th century tithe barn instead, with its magnificent cruck roof.  

And the earliest known proof of the existence of a Spirograph set. (Not sure if they are masons' marks or there for apotropaic reasons - if the latter, they didn't work because at this point my replacement battery died. Turns out it was uncharged. Boo.)  

We walked back to the Moggy which was parked further up the canal.  Dru suddenly stopped.  'Look on the side of the bridge,' she said. 

I peered through the dusk.  I didn't have my glasses with me and all I could see was a rusty stain.

'It's a kingfisher,' she said. And lo, it was. 

Camera batteries dead - both of them. I resolved to relish the sighting in real time instead (while fishing for my phone). 

It flew up to the bridge railings in a proverbial flash of electric blue ... 

... and then onto the bow of a narrowboat moored just the other side of the bridge ... 

... before turning its brilliant back on us in a tree on the opposite bank.

  I think 2015 is going to be a good year. 

Photos of me at Claverton Pumping Station and Warleigh Weir by Dru Marland.