Burbage Wharf to Pewsey Wharf – including a fabulous surprise
Eleven miles there and back, which doesn’t sound a lot especially on an electric bike, almost effortless, but you really do have to concentrate to avoid the worst of the roots, stones and overheard branches and other hazards, such as where the towpath narrows worryingly or falls away altogether. It’s enjoyable, but relaxing it isn’t. I swallowed three flies (there’s an obvious solution to that, I must remember to keep my mouth shut), came off the bike completely as I misjudged a rut, cutting my hand on a sharp little rock, and rode into a bramble bush to avoid going the other way into the water – once the heavy bike starts to turn it is not easy to persuade it to go the other way. So my arms, legs and hands look as though I have been in a fight with an angry cat. But it was a cat, indirectly, which made my day.
I stopped en route to Burbage Wharf to admire the wisteria in Hungerford and the swathes of bluebells in dappled sunlight.
I had to park a little way from the wharf and briefly follow the A346, busy with thunderous lorries and coaches, across the narrow Burbage Bridge. Before I had put foot to pedal, there was a good omen, a Pied Wagtail, being every bit as difficult to photograph as the last time I tried.
The entire stretch is idyllic, past Cadley, Brimslade, Heathy Close and Wooton Rivers locks and bridges. The first of these has been renamed Wooton Top Lock according to some online sources, but on the ground and on my very old paper map of the canal published by GEO projects it’s still Cadley.
I love it when barge dwellers do this:
Bargees were the only people I saw all afternoon, not another soul. Which is fine by me but what a pity that more people don’t enjoy the tranquil beauty of it all. Generally they seem very friendly and I stopped for a chat with several. Little silver fish (and what must have been a much bigger one judging by the splash and the ripples) jumped out of the water, and Moorhens, disturbed by my passing, made their noisy way to the other bank. Chiffchaffs, Whitethroats and Blackcaps joined the constant birdsong. I don’t care what anyone says about Canada Geese, I love them.
As I approached Pewsey Wharf a man was sitting with his very relaxed black-and-white cat (not unlike ours) right by the towpath. I didn’t want to startle or disturb either of them, so I dismounted and walked slowly and carefully past them, which was much appreciated. The cat did not do so much as blink.
I remember the wharf from visits years ago. It is not now looking its best. I stopped at the Waterfront Bar & Bistro which is right on the wharf for a pint and a snack. It always was rather charmingly faded, with an owner or manager keen on Arsenal (my son would approve) and Whitesnake (I approve), who is clearly still running it. There’s an unkind review on Tripadvisor: “So run down it’s embarrassing. Frontage tatty and unloved – no pretty tubs of flowers like in the photos. Garden unkempt, long grass, untrimmed hedges so no views. Dirty, mould-covered marquee covering most of the outside seating…” It really isn’t as bad as that, although the marquee is an eyesore and needs replacing or removing. But the inside is more shabby chic and old-fashioned rather than unloved. There were just four other customers, three inside and one having lunch at a table outside at the far end of the garden. And an impressive Crow.
I think my human garden companion was from one of the long line of barges. Either he had witnessed the cat encounter or he was being kind for no particular reason – perhaps it was good karma. He came over to say that he had seen that I had a camera and that a Heron had just landed in the water right by him. The bird had moved behind one of the boats, out of sight, when I stood up, so I edged my way around as quietly as I possibly could.
Oh my! Oh my, oh my, oh my! I had pretty much given up on ever taking an even halfway decent photo of a Heron, but there he or she was on the far bank, clearly in hunting mode, just twelve feet or so away. I had never even been this close to one. My heart soared.
I never knew they were so … shaggy for want of a better word. Collins Bird Guide says that the narrow black neck plume is rarely seen but it’s visible here, especially in the first image. ‘Spectacular’ does not do this Grey Heron, Ardea cinerea, justice.
I told the guy at the other table that he had absolutely made my day and thanked him profusely before heading back, pausing for a stroll around Jones’s Hill Nature Reserve, a fen and a Wiltshire Wildlife Trust SSSI. I may have to go back since I missed the ponds entirely (it’s close enough to my next starting point).
Sometimes it’s the simplest things:
And in the distance was this:
It looks so like an animal running from a predator, or at least that’s what came to my mind.
A rich and eventful trip, finished to perfection by the sight from where I had stopped for a brief rest, of a buzzard rising from the ground, flying past a line of trees and then up and over them, with the sun shining through the feathers.
Leave a Reply