Canoeing The Length of The Thames
An 8 Day UK Adventure Challenge
If you are looking for an adventure close to London that will test and surprise you in equal measure, then perhaps this is the one for you.
An 8 day expedition, paddling the length of the River Thames, from its source in Lechlade, Oxfordshire, right through to the rivers tidal section at Teddington Lock, London.
This is a 140 mile journey along the UKs most famous river.
Below is the story of our experience as we navigated it’s length, and includes details and pointers to hopefully inform and inspire you to take on something similar, even if it is just a section of the challenge.
Why?
For us, like may, the first UK lockdown got us thinking, it forced us to reflect and take stock of the things that really mattered in our lives. Friends, family and freedom were top of the list of course, with that last one playing a particularly important role in maintaining a healthy mind.
We realised the impact adventure and exploration have on our physical and mental health. Lockdown had highlighted just how important getting outdoors and having new experiences were to our happiness.
So naturally that got us thinking, what were we going to do once we were free to move again?
The Thames
One afternoon in lockdown, conversation turned to the river Thames - a river which we grew up either end of, me in London and Jess near the source in Oxfordshire. You could, at a push, say it was what connected us before we even met. It was also a river we knew next to nothing about, something we both found to be odd considering it had forever been on our doorstep.
“Why don’t we canoe the length” I said, half joking, Jess’ eyes lit up “Great idea!”. I couldn’t tell whether she was calling my bluff or was genuinely enthused. Either way, as usual, that was all it took, we were canoeing the length of the Thames.
Fast forward 6 weeks and we were standing on the banks of the river at Lechlade. It was 7am and Guy, owner of Moose Canoes was introducing us to our Canoe and running us through some last safety checks.
We were accompanied by several large bags filled with camera kit, clothes, camping gear, dry foods and a stove. Aside from some brief distance calculations this is all the preparation we had done, no gym, no fitness, no real investigation into how this experience might play out, just an excited energy that we were counting on to power us through.
How hard could it be?… surely just paddle forward until you reach the end, taking in the beauty of the english countryside you go. A doddle no doubt…
Day One - Lechlade to Eynsham Lock
We waved goodbye to Guy and set on our way. It was the perfect August morning, the sun was shining and other than ducks taking their morning bath, we were the only ones on the water. The feeling of freedom was immediate. And this was the way for the first couple of hours as we meandered our way through the english countryside taking in the scenery.
Before long we reached Rushey Lock, the first of 45 locks we would encounter on our journey. At this first phase of the river all the locks were manually operated, so in typical Jess fashion she leapt out of the canoe and began to try and open the slewths. Now, I’m not sure if you’ve ever attempted to operate a lock before, but they aren’t exactly intuitive and after several minutes of joyless wrestling with the lock’s wheels she wasn’t getting anywhere.
Perhaps we should have done a little more research.
It was at this point that the door to the lock keeper's house swung open and a surprisingly irate man steamed out barking incoherent instructions. In his anger he was unable to communicate anything of any substance, and neither, it seemed, did he want to. 30 seconds later and he was gone, returned to the house with the same chaotic energy with which he had left it.
And that is how we met our first lock keeper, a unique breed of human, who we later learned would take all shapes and forms.
Before we had a moment to pick the experience apart, a dog walker stopped and asked if we needed help. He proceeded to talk us through the details of not only how to operate the lock, but also the physics of how it worked, needless to say that was exactly what the doctor ordered.
And it was in fact the kindness of the dog walker, not the aggravation of the lock keeper that set the tone for the people we would meet the rest of the way.
With the first mini victory under our belt we continued on our journey with a sense of confidence. We soon slipped into the habit of paddling, allowing us to absorb our surroundings - Tall willows and long grasses lined the banks, birds dipped down around the canoe and the water danced in the morning sun. We were immediately justified in our plan, this is why we were doing this, this was England at its best. As the hours passed we began to be joined on the river by an occasional barge and the odd boat, we were met by smiles and waves from those on board, further cementing a sense of serenity.
This was great, we both agreed.
This serenity wasn’t to last however, and after eight hours of consistent paddling we finally reached a riverside pub where we stopped to reward ourselves with some lunch. It was here, already pretty exhausted and hovering over a map, that we were forced to face reality. By our calculations we should have already finished our time on the water for the day… however we had only covered a third of the distance!
This was going to be quite a bit tougher than we had forecasted.
The afternoon was spent paddling. Stroke after stroke we inched our way along the river stopping only occasionally for water breaks, we were now in a race against the sun to reach Eynsham, our destination for the night.
We were exhausted but in our hour of need the river delivered, as a spectacular sunset lit up our path, turning the water all manner of colours and giving us the energy to push on as the last light slipped away. About 45 minutes later, in the dark, we reached our home for the night.
13 hours of paddling.
“everyone we had met, from the very first morning to now was happy, smiling and wanting to chat. We realised that the water acted as a filter of sorts.”
Day Two - Eynsham Lock to Clifton Hampden
After a pretty rough 5 hours sleep, we poked our heads out of the tent to the sight of the morning mist rising off the water, and with that any grump or groans we might have had evaporated. As we began our new morning ritual of packing up the canoe, there was a sense of calm, every moment of doubt and despair from the previous day was in that moment nullified.
This was going to be a real adventure.
Joined by a family of swans we began to paddle. At that time in the morning the river is nothing short of magical, a world unto its own, unaffected by life’s stresses and strains. After three months of lockdown we felt immensely grateful to be experiencing this freedom.
Now that we had wrapped our heads around the fact that this was going to be less of a holiday on the river and more of a challenge of stamina it changed our mentality and we were able to soak up our surroundings and savour the experience. From eating breakfast with the cows in Port Meadow to picking wild blackberries in the canoe near xxx we settled into life on the river and began to enjoy all the unusual quirks that came with it.
A relatively leisurely morning meant that the afternoon was going to require some less than leisurely focused work if we were to make it to our campsite before dark. And so we got our heads down and slipped back into the rhythm of synchronised paddling.
The motion of canoeing is repetitive to say the least, in out, in out for hours on end. It is both a test of your physical strength but also after a while a real examination of your mental resilience. The lock system of the Thames means that there is no tide and therefore we were not treated to any natural momentum, if we wanted to move forward then we needed to paddle. And with two people in a heavy four person canoe filled with bags of kit this was not a particularly speedy process. Something that we really had not accounted for.
For the second night in a row we pulled up to pitch our tent in the dark. Exhausted. Head hit our makeshift pillows. Out for the count.
Day Three - Clifton Hampden to Goring Lock
We woke around 8am having accidentally slept for 10 solid hours, which is quite a feat considering that we were sleeping on the floor. It was, however, vital rest, and gave us the energy to get back on the water revitalised and perhaps even with a sense of optimism for the day ahead.
However, as the river proved time and time again, a misplaced sense of confidence is unwise and soon the spring in our step was halted by the arrival of some fairly brutal headwinds. It was our first taste of a headwind and it wasn’t pleasant, for every two strokes forward we seemed to get pushed one back, in fact when we did pause for a water break we were blown back up river.
It was demoralising to say the least.
This agonisingly slow progress combined with the beginnings of real physical tiredness resulted in us starting to argue. When sat one in front of the other in a canoe, there aren’t actually that many topics you can fight about, however when you're as tired as we were you quite quickly find those topics and begin to pick at them “Stop paddling so fast!”, “stop paddling so slow!”, “We’re veering too far left!”, “we’re veering too right!”, and so it continued as we battled not only the river but now each other. A foolish and unsustainable combination.
After a day of this ridiculousness we finally reached x where we moored the canoe and were faced with a decision. Based on a tip from a barge owner we were scheduled to pitch our tent behind a bush in the local park, however once we arrived, tired, dirty and in a pretty bad mood the prospect of doing so filled us with dread.
So we jumped on Google, found a local pub and checked ourselves in. That evening I distinctly remember being sat at the table of the restaurant as my steak arrived. I took a bite and washed it down with some red wine… I could have cried, it was perfect. That might sound pathetic now, but believe me after those past three days of exhaustion it was a real moment of joy. One more glass of wine later and we couldn’t remember what we had been fighting about.
More wine, bed, sleep.
Day 4 - Goring Lock to Shiplake Island
After a night of good food and mattress based sleep we got back on the water full of beans (sort of). We pulled out of x the only ones on the river, the winds had dropped and the sun was shining. In now a familiar contrast of character, the river seemed like our best friend again as we paddled merrily on our way. We were soon joined by smiling rowers, cheery barge owners and chatty boat skippers. It was the beginning of the August heat wave and the river was full of life.
Paddling was now second nature to us, physically our shoulders and arms had toughened and mentally we had become used to the rhythm, and so we plugged on through x and x as the quiet rural leg of our journey made way for a more built up section. This changed the feeling of the river from untouched and wild to more manicured, not necessarily a negative transition but certainly a noteworthy one. The next chapter in it’s story was unfolding.
In a lock we had passed through a few hours earlier we had got talking to a couple who lived near Shiplake, they had told us about a collection of small islands near their house that would be perfect for us to set up camp on that night ‘strictly speaking you’re supposed to but everyone does’, they told us.
We checked the map - perfect.
In the heat of the afternoon we pulled up to the small set of islands and soon found the perfect spot to camp. We moored our canoe and pitched the tent under a large oak tree. As the sun lowered in the sky we cooked our now signature dish of chorizo and lentils on the trusty camping stove and watched as the geese went about their evening business.
It was here that we treated ourselves to our first swim of the adventure. We had been so tight on time up until that point that we hadn’t done more than dip our feet in to cool off. So as the sun set on our island camp on the evening of day 4, we lay on our backs in the water allowing the river to work its magic, washing away not only the dirt and sweat but also any pent up tension from the journey thus far.
Again the Thames was teaching us that for every minute of pain it inflicted on us it would pay us back tenfold in magical moments like this. A pretty good deal I think you’ll agree.
Day 5 - Shiplake Island to Cookham
We woke before the sun and jumped into the canoe. As we paddled, the moon made way for first light. It was 5.45am and the sky was putting on a show, transitioning through pinks, oranges and reds. A thin mist lifted slowly off the water as we floated through it. At first we were alone, but soon, as the river shrugged off its slumber, we were joined by geese, ducks, swans and dozens of other smaller birds dipping and diving around us.
It was extremely peaceful, the stillness of the experience completely at odds with some of the ferocious, almost frantic paddling of days gone by. We knew to savour it whilst it lasted.
Hours passed and as the mid summer heat picked up, we forgot about the calmness with which the day had started… This was a test of endurance and we had to paddle miles before dark. Slipping back into our canoe trance we battled through the heat until we reached Henley-On-Thames where we moored to refill on water.
As Jess hopped onto dry land I was left to guard our belongings. Looking around me I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. It was late Saturday morning in Henley-On-Thames and I was surrounded by yellow trousers, leather boat shoes, summer dresses and preened Daschunds.
In contrast, I had cut the sleeves off my sweat stained F&F T-shirt, my arms were sunburnt, as were my legs and to keep the sun from my face I was wearing a wide brimmed camouflage hat with a French Legion style neck protector, stylishly coupled with New Look sunglasses.
People looked at me, puzzled.
Hunched over in the heat and visibility exhausted it looked like I had just washed up from another world. In some senses, I had.
A banana and half a litre of water later and we were off.
After another 11 hour day on the water this time in 35c heat. We arrived in x and once again succumbed to the temptation to book into a pub. We were really starting to tire, we needed proper sleep.
Day 6: Cookham to Old Windsor
A large part of our daily routine was now the process of passing through locks, on average we encountered around 8 per day and each one took roughly 20 minutes to pass through if we didn’t have to queue to enter, which we often did.
This process includes letting the lock fill up, paddling through to between the gates, waiting for the water to empty before paddling out.
Other smaller vessels, like kayaks, lighter canoes and paddle boards that were light enough to carry around, did so via the Portage system. However with our 4 man canoe and small army of kit, it just wasn’t worth it for us. This resulted in us always being the odd ones out as we sat between the Lock’s gates waiting for them to drain, and we were often dwarfed by much bigger boats, which attracted quite a lot of attention and in turn often invited conversation.
It was in this middle part of this process, sat in our canoe on the morning day 6 chatting to 3 elderly couples, that we came to an observation that really characterised the human side of our Thames experience.
Everyone on the river was in a good mood.
Barring the aforementioned angry lock keeper on our first day, everyone we had met, from the very first morning to now was happy, smiling and wanting to chat. We realised that the water acted as a filter of sorts. Those who were attracted to the river were here and happy for it and those who weren’t were not.
Quite simple really.
And by that logic everyone who was there was in their element and had something in common. This created a completely unique, almost festival-like atmosphere. It was a shared experience and one that continually buoyed our spirits when we were flagging.
We paddled on another x miles that day until we reached our home for the night, a horse sanctuary on a small island.
Let me just explain that: One of the only pieces of planning we had done for the trip was trying to find a suitable place to pitch our tent each evening. And due to the Covid restrictions, most campsites were either closed or full, forcing us to resort to some slightly less conventional tactics. On that particular evening, Jess, like a modern day Miss Marple, had scoured the area using Google Earth and came across X. She called up, explained our mad plan and the lovely lady on the other end said that we were more than welcome to pitch up and spend the night.
So as the sunset around 9:30 we pulled up to the little river island, pitched our tent next to some horse as they drank and hit the hay.
It was brilliant and bizarre in equal measure.
Day 7: Old Windsor to Sunbury
We were woken early by airplanes so loud the tent was practically shaking. It turns out we were now directly on the Heathrow flight path. It was quite the contrast from the untouched tranquility of the first few days of the adventure and perhaps quite nicely summed up the disparity between the environments that the river travelled through on its journey to the sea.
We packed up our camp in record time and were on the water by 7. We were getting good at this.
It was our penultimate day and we were starting to afford ourselves a slightly premature sense of achievement. We hadn’t done it yet but we were pretty damn close and that gave us a burst of energy that carried us through the entire day.
The further in toward London we got the more people looked at us, stopping, staring and even pointing as we paddled past. We were never quite sure exactly why this was but a fairly safe bet was that we were a sight for sore eyes, bedraggled sore thumbs, standing out against the prim and proper backdrop of the orderly London suburbs.
By that point we had been paddling for seven days, through 33C+ heat. We were sunburnt, dirty, smelly, completely exhausted but grinning like a couple of kids, we couldn’t have been happier as we seemed to float through X, x, past Hampton Court Palace. The uninterrupted nature that had guided the first section of our journey was a distant memory, now towpaths peppered with joggers and a steady stream of buildings lined our route as we inched our way to the finish line.
That evening we pulled up to x where we rewarded ourselves with another proper bed, this time staying in a pub right on the waterfront, where we drank beer and ate chicken wings.
Day 8 - Sunbury to Teddington Lock
The final paddle.
We pushed off from the banks for the last time and paddled slowly along an empty river. It was another scorcher and the Thames looked glorious. We had about 4.5 hours of paddling left, allowing us to slip into reflective mode. We had been through a lot, seen a lot and learned a lot, not just about the river but about each other.
We agreed on our favourite parts of the journey, fantasied about what takeaway we were going to get that evening and lapped up the last of the experience.
We were so close now that we could almost taste it. We paddled through the hustle and bustle of Kingston and finally to the finish line, Teddington, the last lock before the tide kicked in and our insurance no longer covered us!
Finishing was a bit of a blur. Our journey was over, an experience that had taken over our lives for the last week was now in the past. We were tired, sunburnt but very happy.
Conclusion:
This is not for the faint hearted, nor those afraid of discomfort. In fact in a physical sense it was perhaps the most testing thing we’ve ever done. But what it lacked in ease it more than made up for in stunning and irreplicable moments.
Like all rivers, the Thames is a multi headed beast that turned from our worst enemy to our best friend in the paddle of an oar. It was unpredictable, but with that came excitement. Heading out into the unknown is, after all, what makes adventures so rewarding and this certainly had its fair share of that!
But, perhaps the standout element of the experience was the head space the adventure allowed us. The rhythm of paddling day on day became a form of outdoor meditation, allowing us to spend long periods of time just drinking in the river and all that surrounded it. We were removed from the distractions of emails, meetings and calls, swapping them for an appreciation of the present.
This focus on the here and now is something we both struggle with, however we were able to achieve on the river, it’s a calmer place with a pace to match and that’s something we will take forward into our day to day.
Although you may well not have the time, inclination or desire to take on this entire challenge, we very much suggest that you consider a day or two of it at least. The Thames, or all rivers for that matter, are often untapped environments for adventure and you will most likely be left surprised at the effect time spent on them will have on you.
The Numbers:
/ 8 days
/ 140 Miles
/ 7 Counties
/ 45 locks
/ 0 Training