There was one problem that we needed to overcome before we could cruise the Thames: we needed a licence from the Environment Agency, the government department responsible for policing the non-tidal Thames. The problem was that once we had submitted the application on line, the licence would be posted out to us, but our postal address was back in Sheffield, one hundred and fifty miles away. I called them and explained our dilemma and surprisingly, for a government department, they were extremely helpful and said they would send the licence to the lock keeper at Teddington, marked for the attention of Art Deco and we could pick it up as we passed through.

With that little problem sorted we headed down the Lea navigation, re-tracing the journey we had made over a year ago on our way to Roydon and on towards the Olympic park, an area we were fond of and had come to know well. Around Hackney Wick, just before Old Ford lock, a turn to the right would take us on to the Hertford Union Canal, (known as Ducketts) and past Victoria park to its end at the junction with the Regents canal. There is a cast iron foot bridge over the canal at the junction and the canal narrows considerably, making the turn to the right extremely difficult. For a craft the size of Art Deco it’s impossible to make it in one go and requires a lot of forward and reverse to get her round. The Regents Canal has its challenges, as we know from our previous journey, but fore warned is fore armed and this time we were prepared for the Islington and Maida tunnels.

Safely through the two obstacles, we arrive in the wonderful Little Venice, where surprise, surprise, we find a mooring spot, so we take advantage of our good luck and spend a couple of nights there as previously we’ve never been able to get a mooring. We can’t linger too long though as our CRT licence expires at the end of the month so it’s onwards and upwards, as they say. We have a long stretch now before we meet the Grand Union canal around Hayes where we turn to the left and head towards Brentford, our entry point on to the river Thames. We are entering into unchartered territory now as we have not cruised this stretch of canal before, so it should make the journey more interesting.

According to the Nicolson Guide we have the Hanwell flight of six locks to negotiate and as we approach the first one someone begins to open the gates for us. It’s getting late in the day and we had planned to wait until the morning before we tackled them so I shout to him and he ceases his task and walks over and helps us moor up. He’s a CRT volunteer and we offer him a coffee, which he gladly accepts, but I have an ulterior motive, a little local knowledge I think is always handy. His advice is invaluable and he explains that due to repeated vandalism the lock is usually manned all the time and is locked when they leave at 4pm. He advises us to get into Brentford as early as possible because although there are good visitor moorings near the town centre they do fill up quickly. He tells us that the volunteers will be back at 10am in the morning which seems a good time to start as there are still three more locks after these six before we reach Brentford.

We are ready for the off when two CRT volunteers arrive at the lock around 10am and one of them asks if we are going down the whole flight. When I tell him that’s our plan he replies, oh good, we like an early workout first thing in the morning and we don’t know if he’s telling the truth or simply being ironic. Due credit to them though, they get on their bikes and proceed to work the locks as we travel down the flight and what we thought would be a very tough morning turns out to be very pleasant one.

We pass a place called Three Bridges, a rare intersection of canal, road and railway with the three bridges stacked on top of one another like children’s building blocks. At lock 94 the volunteer explains that the large building on the canal side used to be a lunatic asylum. Back in the day that was the name given to what we now call a secure hospital. He points out an unusual feature, a series of purpose built holes in the wall where the firemen put their hose, included because the inmates were constantly setting fire to the building! There’s even a bricked up portico leading from the canal for goods and inmates to be delivered directly into the facility. Ealing hospital has taken over the site but the section near the canal is still a secure unit and boasts it’s own farm, brewery and bakery.

The volunteers leave us at the bottom of the flight and we thank them for helping us negotiate the flight, leaving us with just three more locks to go before we reach Brentford. The next lock, Osterley, needs a BW key to open two of the four paddles and I didn’t realise so I had to go and find it and after we are through I keep hold of it, needless to say at the next lock Clitheroe’s, it’s not required. Never mind. We finally make it into Brentford dock and on first sight, it doesn’t look as though there are any free moorings, but a guy on a moored boat shouts over to us and directs us to a fourteen day leisure mooring, complete with a water point near by. What a day it turned out too be! The gods must have been smiling down on us, not only did we have help with the Hanwell locks but we’ve filled up with water and managed to get a fourteen day mooring in Brentford marina. It’s the little things in life that count!

Once we are moored we take a walk around the marina and agree that it’s very similar to Limehouse Basin, both are small tranquil havens amongst the hustle and bustle of a modern city. We come upon the marina office and chat to the lock keeper about the Thames and our passage on to it. We only need to book a time slot twenty four hours in advance, he tells us and as we still have two weeks left on our CRT licence we can relax and spend a few days here. Kew Gardens are just a short walk away, across the river so we will certainly spend a day there and from Brentford rail station we can get a train direct to Waterloo and spend some time in central London.

We meet the guy who pointed out the mooring as we are returning to Art Deco and he invites us on to his boat for a coffee, he has something unusual to show us he says, how can we refuse an invitation like that? We descend the rear steps into the main cabin and immediately see why he was so keen for us to come aboard, for dominating the space is a piano, now that’s something you don’t see every day on a canal boat! Ok his boat is a ‘mini wide beam craft at ten foot wide and the piano is an upright one, but even so it’s still surprising. He’s a northern lad from Manchester and has lived on his boat for the last ten years and moves every fourteen days to keep within the CRT regulations. He knows the area like the back of his hand and we spend a pleasant few hours with him as he passes on his knowledge. He knows the best local pubs too and we agree to meet him tomorrow lunch time for a few pints. Back on Art Deco, enjoying a glass of wine in the evening, we reflect on the day and how lucky we’ve been and hope that it’s a portent of what’s to come in the future.

We did take advantage of the full fourteen day mooring and enjoyed exploring the local area and discovered two museums in Brentford, the Musical Museum and the London Museum of Water and Steam. Guess which one we visited? It’s no contest, steam wins every time for me. We visited central London a couple of times and enjoyed a day exploring Kew Gardens too, so we certainly got our money's worth out of the mooring. We thoroughly enjoyed our time in the marina but it was time to move on, the river Thames was calling!

It was a bright and sunny spring day when we left the comfort of the marina and made the short cruise down to the Thames lock reaching it at 10.20, over an hour early but there was already a narrow boat waiting. Chatting, as we waited, we learn that the couple live in Berkhamsted and are planning to cruise up to Oxford. They have two boats but they haven’t taken this one on the Thames before and are a little apprehensive because it’s so low in the water. Looking at it, I think that I’d be uneasy too. They tell us they have seen our boat in Berkhamsted. We seem to be very memorable: everyone it seems remembers Art Deco, a case of once seen, never forgotten. They tell us that getting diesel on the Thames can be a problem because many of the marinas are gated and not open to the general public. There is a small marina at Reading which they use, just below Caversham lock with easy access from the river and I make a mental note. We were due to leave the lock at 11.30 but we don’t leave until 11.45am, apparently due to the tide, which seems like a lame excuse to me as tides can be predicted years in advance. Another narrowboat has joined us and they go into the lock before us and sit alongside our new friends and we follow them in. The lock is massive and our little convoy looks lost in the vast space but all goes well and we are cruising the Thames by midday.

The wide expanse of the river spreads out before us and looks quite daunting after the confined waters of the canal, but the going is easy and we are helped along by the incoming tide. We have cruised on rivers before, the Lea and Stort but they are little more than drains compared with the tidal Thames. When you think about the tide you associate it with the sea but the coast is miles away, yet the tide still has an effect on the river at this point. We are actually travelling up river, going against the natural flow but it doesn’t feel like that because the incoming tide is more powerful than the natural flow and in fact overcomes it and pushes us along. It’s also the sheer width of the river that’s the problem for me, I’m not use to being so far from dry land! But it’s strange how quickly you adjust to the different conditions and surroundings and soon our anxiety turns to enjoyment as we settle in.

We pass Kew Gardens and Syon House, the seat of the Duke of Northumberland and I have read that this stretch of river, between Kew and Hampton Court is called The Arcadian Thames because of its unique landscape, richly ornamented buildings and designed parkland. We cruise under Twickenham bridge and we are looking out for Richmond lock but we don’t need to use it because it’s only used at low water. Richmond lives up to its name, definitely top end real estate here and this is the theme of our cruise and you would expect no more from the most important river in the country. We have been cruising the river for a little over an hour when we see Teddington lock in the distance, the tidal lock. Once through the lock we are on the non-tidal section, the lock acting as a barrier to the ebb and flow of the tide. We have been following the two narrow boats that we shared Brentford lock with and enter Teddington lock in the same formation, the two narrow boats side by side and Art Deco behind them. They take off up river when the lock gates open but the keeper calls out, I’ve been expecting you, but your licence hasn’t turned up yet. Moor up at the end of the pontoon on the visitor moorings, he tells me and when you're ready come and see me and we’ll sort you out.

When we’re securely tied up I walk down to the lock and find the keeper in the hut, filling out paper work. He tells me it normally costs £8.50 a night to moor at the lock and it’s limited to no more than three nights but because we are waiting on the Environment Agency he will waver the fee until our licence arrives, which is a great deal for us, as we are in no rush to move on.

The mooring is across from the long and dramatic weir that stretches down to the bridge leading to Teddington town centre, and it is here that the flow of the River Thames is monitored and that can be up to 15,000 million gallons per day in times of flood. Teddington lock is the lowest and largest on the non-tidal Thames and is well known as the place where the river changes colour, signifying it’s the highest point to which the tide flows. Before the lock was built in 1810 the tide flowed eleven miles further upstream, as far as Staines before its effect was lost. The spring sunshine, it seems, had woken the good people of Teddington from their winter hibernation and the towpath is quite busy, it’s amazing how a little bit of sun cheers everyone up.

Quite a few people stop and talk, interested in the pros and cons of life aboard a boat, so I am intrigued when one gentleman doesn’t ask the usual questions but says; I like what you’ve done with the graphics, nodding to the logo on the side of the boat; it’s a modern take on the roses and castles that adorn traditional canal boats, he says. I’m shocked, he’s the first person to mention the graphics, so I ask him to explain his thinking, wondering if he really understands. Well, he says the stylised Mackintosh rose represents the roses and the squares represent the battlements of a castle… roses and castles. He’s right and I’m so pleased that someone has finally noticed it, but my euphoria is short lived when he says; The design's not Art Deco though, it’s more in the style of the Arts and Crafts movement, and walks away without further comment.

We take a stroll into Teddington and are pleased to see that the high street is similar to the ones in the towns and villages we visited on our trip up the Grand Union, holding the corporates at bay and keeping their independent shops, something that cannot be said for our Northern towns. After a pleasant stroll we return to the boat and spend a lazy afternoon on board because tomorrow we start phase two of TLC on Art Deco, we are going to polish the roof. We cleaned and polished most of the boat while we were in Brentford but didn’t get round to the roof. This short statement doesn’t convey the hard work that it entails and after three and a half hours on our hands and knees we are both knackered! We are now waiting for it to rain, the satisfaction of a job well done is to see the rain drops standing proud of the paintwork.

While we are working the lock keeper comes by and says our licence has arrived so I walk back with him and pick up the paperwork. He says that we can stay for three more nights if we like but we would have to pay £8.50 per night. We want to visit Strawberry Hill House which is nearby so I pay him for two more nights and we will make the visit tomorrow.

Strawberry Hill House was built in the early 18th century by Horatio Walpole, 4th Earl of Orford who was an English Whig politician, writer, historian and antiquarian. The house itself is a large and quirky Gothic mansion and is filled with Walpole’s eccentric collection of gothic items and a décor that can best be described as gloomy. It’s set in 46 acres of land and when we visited there was an exhibition of strange human/animal shaped sculptures and they looked perfectly at home in the landscape of this eccentric place. We enjoyed the visit and spent a full day there looking round the house and exploring the vast gardens.

It was time to move on though, we had been moored at Teddington for five days and the power in batteries was down to 55%. I had been advised not to let the charge fall below 50% so we were in need of a long cruise to get them back up to scratch and we were desperate to start our adventure on the Thames. We had a website designed and ready to go live but we thought we should hold fire and familiarise ourselves with our new surroundings and get to know the river a little better before we started taking on any guests.

The author returns to the Willow Wren Boatyard, Rugby, from where he first cast off in 1975 - for a twenty year adventure!

“We’ll go on the Canal Cruise – it sounds a bit different” came Mel’s monotone voice.

Still, I’m pleased that she and Alec, the Church’s youth leaders, have made a positive choice for a summer holiday with CYFA (the Church Youth Fellowship Association) – the main Church of England Youth organisation. I had already been a leader on a couple of CYFA holidays based at Independent school campuses, but I’d never really noticed the Canal Cruise before as a potential holiday option.

My next move is to contact Roger, the cruise leader - who is a vicar in a northern parish. I learn that the cruise consists of four seventy foot narrowboats, with room for 35 youngsters plus ten leaders – and he suggests that the two of us should meet up and take one of the boats out on the Oxford canal for an afternoon’s training.

I’m intrigued.

casting off

It’s a fresh and misty February afternoon when Roger and I step aboard ‘Crane’ for my two hours of training in narrowboat handling. Rays of weak winter sunshine filter through the chilly mist as Roger casts off the ropes, then jumps on the back and, with a chug, chug, chug from the diesel engine – the boat slowly slides forward through the water, under Roger’s careful supervision. He will take the boat along the short canal arm until it meets the main Oxford Canal. Turn left and you get to Coventry and the north, turn right and you get to Oxford and London. But not today.

After checking for other unsuspecting boats, we turn right onto the Oxford Canal, and head off for Hillmorton locks, a gentle hour’s cruising away – where we will turn the boat around and return to the boatyard. Once in mid-stream, Roger steps aside and hands me the tiller, my aim being to keep the boat in the middle of the canal where there is (normally) the deepest water. It actually seems pretty easy, until the bow (front) seems to be drifting towards the left bank. So to correct, I naturally push the tiller to the right – but that only makes the drift worse, and we end up close to the bank! So Roger takes over to deal with the immediate situation, and he soon gets us back into the middle:

“You see James, it’s the opposite of driving a car. In a car, if you want to go right, you steer to the right. But on narrowboat, if you want to move the boat to the right, you take the tiller to the left! And vice-versa. It’s completely counter-intuitive.”

So I work on this basic principle as I need to correct the boat’s natural drift almost all the time and full-time concentration is required. Not as easy as I thought! So I find myself always

the aim is to keep the boat in the centre of the canal!

checking the line of the bow which is 70 feet in front of me. The next problem is when I realise that the bow takes quite a few seconds to respond to the tiller’s movements. And it’s easy to think that it’s not moving and so you correct with the tiller – too early – and then get confused as to whether you are going left or right. Then panic sets in! So basically, you need to shift the tiller – and then wait 10 seconds for the boat to respond. The longer the boat, the longer it takes to respond – and we’ve got 70 foot of it, pivoting in the middle! It’s another steep learning curve, but I’m enjoying it, as eventually we arrive at Hillmorton locks where Roger offers to turn the boat around in the ‘winding hole’. The way to do it, it seems, is to steer the front of the boat into the apex of the winding hole and keep the throttle going gently forward, with the tiller hard over, as the back turns in the opposite direction to the front. Then, with a few bursts on the reverse throttle, the boat drifts back to mid-canal and pointing in the opposite direction from where we came. Simples!

On the return journey, I now face the horror of seeing another boat coming towards us in mid-canal, so I need not to panic, but to get the steering steady and spot on, as I nudge Crane slightly to the right without hitting the bank. This I manage to do and the boats pass easily with several feet of water between us - relief! Roger now lets me steer the boat all the way back to the boatyard, where he assists with the throttle, in order let the boat gently slide to a stop right next to the Willow Wren wharf. Easy if you know how.

“Well done James - you picked that up really well. I’ll put you down as one of our eight skippers on the CYFA cruise. There will always be two of you on board to help each other.”

For me, a new world has just opened up, and I’m excited at the prospect of the forthcoming CYFA cruise, meeting up with Roger again, and with many new leaders and members to get to know - hopefully more affable than my own church’s youth leaders. Still, at least they are giving it a try - they might even enjoy it! But doubtless they are, like me, a bit apprehensive at starting out on new adventure - not knowing what lies ahead and what the outcome of their choice might be.

spanish inquisition

Amid the excitement of learning how to handle a 70’ narrowboat, I had conveniently forgotten about another aspect of the CYFA Canal Cruise, that Roger had asked me to take over from him: chaplaincy duties. Among other things, this included my ”getting alongside” the church-based youngsters on an individual basis, to help and guide them with their faith. I was rather taken aback by this because, for whatever reason - perhaps my own introversion - this did not sit comfortably with me.

I did not want to become, or be seen as, a sort of evangelical Spanish Inquisition!

Therefore in some reflective moments before the holiday itself, I found myself asking some pertinent questions:

In my new adventure, how would I fare?

How would my church’s youth group take to it?

Would the holiday be a one-off experience, never to be repeated?

Would my boat-handling skills be good enough?

But, more to the point, how would I cope - as the Spanish Inquisition? It felt more like a difficult place to be, rather than a soft cushion or a comfy chair! [1].

“Ha! Ha!” I think to myself. “But no-one expects the Spanish Inquisition” - least of all, me!

1. This refers to the well known sketch in Monty Python’s Flying Circus. First shown on TV in 1970, now available on You Tube. It’s worth a watch! In point of fact, the phrase “No-one expects the Spanish Inquisition” was also a joke, as the Spanish Inquisition actually wrote ahead to its victims, to advise them of their impending arrival, and their need to be upholding orthodox morals and beliefs.

The canal had its own way of waking a man. Theo was still learning it. He sat cross-legged on the roof of his narrowboat, feeling the cool damp seep through the denim of his jeans, the violin balanced against his knee. Around him, the world was undecided, half caught in the tatters of mist, half revealed by the sun’s gold intrusion. Every sound felt close here: the plink of water against steel, the caw of a crow staking territory, even the faint tick of his instrument’s peg as the morning chill shifted the wood.

He drew a slow breath. Mornings on the cut were too honest. No crowds, no distortion, no lights or amplifiers to dress up the truth. Out here, every note landed bare, stripped of decoration. If you played carelessly, the canal threw the carelessness back at you. If you played fiercely, the water remembered.

He lifted the violin into place, the chin rest cool against his jaw. The first stroke of the bow rasped a complaint rather than a greeting. He grimaced and tried again, dragging the tune forward, willing his fingers to find the shape. What came out was neither polished nor broken, but something in between, like a voice cracking on a confession. It was the kind of sound he had fled the city to uncover again, the one that lay beneath noise and applause. Yet hearing it made him restless.

Theo told himself he had wanted this: an escape from the band’s suffocating rehearsals, the dressing-room arguments that never quite erupted but never quite settled. But quiet was its own tyrant. It left him alone with the ache of wondering whether the fire inside him was dwindling. The last gig’s applause had sounded obligatory. Even his bandmates had stopped meeting his eyes.

The bow slipped, screeching against the string. Theo swore softly and lowered the instrument. He rubbed his face with the heel of his hand, hair falling into his eyes. You asked for space, he reminded himself. You begged for silence. Now here it is. So, what’s your excuse?

A crunch of footsteps on the towpath pulled him back. He turned his head, and there she was, the woman from the boat down the line. Yesterday, he had seen her fumbling with her mooring lines, tying and retying with the anxious energy of someone who wanted mastery but had only muscle memory to show for it. He had noticed the raw line burns on her palms, the way she stared at the water as though waiting for permission. Today, in the clear light, he noticed more.

Chestnut hair pulled hastily back, a jacket that seemed chosen for memory rather than warmth, boots that were still learning the towpath. She carried herself like someone who had inherited both a vessel and a burden.

Theo felt a flick of recognition, as unwelcome as it was undeniable. She carried weight in her shoulders the way he carried it in his chest. Different stories, same gravity.

“You always sneak up on people like that?” he asked, because humour was easier than truth.

Her apology came quickly, cheeks colouring. And when she said she had grown up on the boat, her chin lifted in that way people do when they’re daring you to contradict them. Theo studied her, letting the silence lengthen. The line marks. The stubborn glint. The grief she tried to swallow.

“Doesn’t mean you belong to it yet,” he said. The words had sharper edges than he intended, but the truth was like that. Boats didn’t reward sentiment. They respected patience, rhythm, and respect. Bloodlines didn’t make the knots hold.

Her eyes flashed, defensive, then shuttered. He almost regretted it. Almost. He had lived too long with false applause; better to give her honesty, even if it stung. When she asked if he belonged, he laughed quietly. Did he belong anywhere? Not really. Only to the violin, and even that relationship felt precarious these days.

“For now,” he said, and played again, letting the notes dismiss her and protect him both. Yet when she walked away, the sound of her footsteps lingered, a rhythm his bow tried to echo without meaning to. He watched her disappear into the mist and, against his better judgment, felt that he would notice her absence more than he should.

By midmorning, he was restless. The boat’s cabin was too small, the silence too loud. He slung the violin into its case and set out toward the village. The towpath underfoot had its own percussion: the crunch of gravel, the soft give of damp earth at the edges. Crows stalked the furrows of nearby fields, and the smell of tilled soil carried on the breeze.

Theo’s reflection in a window caught him as he passed. Tall and lean from a life of touring, shoulders slightly stooped from too many nights carrying gear and too many mornings waking up in borrowed beds. His hair dark, unkempt, brushing the collar of his jacket—framed a face that wore its fatigue honestly. Eyes a shade between green and grey, depending on the light, always seemed older than the grin he could still summon when he wanted to charm. He had the hands of a musician: long-fingered, calloused, restless even when idle.

The bridge appeared around a bend, stone arched and moss-flecked. Just beyond, the day widened into a market square. Theo paused at the edge, taking it in. Stalls spilled colour against the grey stone: oranges stacked in pyramids, jars of honey glowing like captured sunlight, loaves dusted white with flour. Voices tangled in the air, vendors calling prices, children laughing, the occasional bark of a dog tied to a post.

It should have been ordinary. To Theo, it felt theatrical, like a stage set designed to remind him what community looked like. He drifted among the stalls, hands in pockets, the violin case bumping against his leg. A baker offered him a heel of bread, warm from the oven; he bit into it and tasted both kindness and salt. At another stall, a woman sold coal by the sack, her arms corded with strength from lifting more than her share. Theo bought a small bag, the weight digging into his shoulder, grounding him.

At the far end of the square, music rose: another fiddle, but not his. Rough, rustic, joined by a squeezebox and a whistle. A group of locals had gathered, tapping feet, laughing when the rhythm wobbled and then righted itself.

Theo felt his chest tighten with recognition. The fiddler was an older man, late sixties, hair silver but still thick, posture steady despite the years. His violin bore the marks of long service: varnish worn pale where fingers had pressed thousands of tunes into it. He played with a simplicity that carried weight. No flash, no showmanship, just melody drawn clean, like a well-cut stone.

Theo lingered at the edge, listening. The old man’s bowing was economical, each stroke purposeful. It was music shaped by tradition, by nights in pubs and mornings at fairs, by repetition until the tunes lived in muscle and marrow. Theo’s own style had always been fire and edge, leaning on speed, bending notes until they broke. This man’s style was river water: steady, patient, inevitable.

Their eyes met briefly across the crowd. The old fiddler’s gaze was sharp but not unkind, as if measuring Theo without judgment. Theo inclined his head in acknowledgment, and the man answered with the barest nod before slipping back into the tune.

Theo’s fingers twitched at his side, itching for the bow. Yet he stayed still. This wasn’t his stage. Not yet. He let the melody wash over him, feeling both humbled and provoked, aware of how much he had to learn and how different their paths had been.

As the crowd clapped and coins rattled into a cap, Theo turned away. He had come here to disappear, not to measure himself against tradition. Yet he carried the sound with him down the row of stalls, a counterpoint to his own restless fire.

And through it all, he found his thoughts circling back to Ivy, the raw hands, the stubborn lift of her chin. Belonging was something they were both wrestling with, though in very different arenas. He adjusted the coal sack on his shoulder and walked back toward the canal, violin case knocking against his hip, the echo of two very different fiddles playing in his mind.

Between September and December 2025, I raised crucial funds for Bahar Women’s Association, a community project based in Leeds, walking 92.5 miles over 20 walks. More than enough funds were raised for the project to continue, in the interim, to provide essential support to women in need and their families. It has been a life changing and rewarding experience and I plan to do more fund raising for the project in the spring. Canal walks were included on this walk and I covered 4 canals over 8 of my favourite walks as follows.

Calder and Hebble Navigation

Brighouse to Sowerby Bridge (Calder and Hebble Navigation)- 8.11.25

I began my 9th walk of 8 miles on the Calder and Hebble Navigation from Brighouse to Sowerby Bridge in West Yorkshire. The 21-mile waterway starts at Wakefield with its eventual finish at Sowerby Bridge or vice versa. At the beginning of the walk, I was enamoured with the weeping willow trees between the water and towpath. 

Autumn Wonderland played its part on the walk. It was stunning to see the change of colours and the variety of trees particularly beech, oak and sycamore. It is agreed that autumn is a most wonderful time of the year. As an artist I felt thoroughly inspired and I was mentally planning my mono printing and cyanotyping schedule! 

Almost at the half way point, I stopped for lunch and afterwards continued towards Salterhebble (Saw the River Hebble), the Halifax Arm, Copley and on towards Sowerby Bridge.  I stopped by at the Moonbean Coffee Boat for refreshments just before I reached Sowerby Bridge. Their hot chocolate and bakes are amazing and are highly recommended! 

I eventually arrived in Sowerby Bridge, where the Calder and Hebble Navigation finishes and the Rochdale Canal begins.

Huddersfield Narrow Canal

Diggle Circular (Huddersfield Narrow Canal) - 25.10.25

My 7th walk of 5.5 miles was going to be on another canal and to one of my all-time favourite canal walking stretches, the Huddersfield Narrow Canal in Saddleworth. On arrival at Greenfield Station, in Greater Manchester, I recommend Platform 13 Café, a lovely brunch, and is opposite the station. Afterwards I descended the road towards the canal and started the walk. Walking on the canal in Saddleworth during autumn is a personal highlight of mine particularly through Uppermill. Trees, particularly beech and oak trees, line the canal and the coloured leaves cloak the towpaths. I then ascended towards Diggle via Dobcross. There are plenty of interesting engineering feats and industrial heritage to observe on the canal such as the many locks lining up, the Saddleworth Viaduct and Transport Shipment Warehouse in Dobcross, and the Standedge Tunnel. The three and a quarter mile Standedge Tunnel is known as the longest, the deepest and highest in the country and it traverses to the other side of the Pennines, to Marsden and eventually Huddersfield in West Yorkshire.

Leeds and Liverpool Canal

Leeds to Kirkstall (Leeds and Liverpool Canal) - 18.10.25

I initially was planning to walk the next day but it forecasted heavy rain and instead planned a morning walk on the canal on this day.

My 6^th walk was started at the first lock in the city centre and followed the towpath towards Liverpool, which is over 127 miles! I have walked on all the canal, in stages, in 2017 and it is certainly one of my life achievements.  On this walk it is approximately 3-4 miles and a bit  from Leeds City Centre to Kirkstall via Armley.

The canal was busy with other walkers, cyclists, and runners, but even so, it felt peaceful and calm with the stunning autumn colours enveloping the canal and towpath. Autumn is one of my favourite seasons and I aspire to  recreate the colourful trees in my photographs and paintings.

I finished my walk at Kirkstall Bridge and sought refreshments at Kirkstall Bridge Shopping Centre.

Apperley Bridge to Kirkstall, Leeds and Liverpool Canal- 13.12.25

My 19th walk took me to the Leeds and Liverpool Canal where I walked from Apperley Bridge to Kirkstall. A walk of approximately 5.5 miles.

It was a long walk down Harrogate Road towards the canal from the bus stop. Still, I was very happy to see blue skies and sunshine and no rain in sight!

My penultimate walk was pleasant through the surrounding countryside. It was busy with cyclists, runners, and walkers especially with dogs. I think there was a running race happening at the same time as I was walking. 

In Rodley I stopped at the Tiny Tea Room for refreshments. I then continued walking towards Horsforth, Newlay, Bramley Falls Park and Kirkstall Forge via three locks. I eventually arrived in Kirkstall and caught my bus home.

Crossflatts to Saltaire (Leeds and Liverpool Canal) - 5.10.25

I started the 4-mile walk, my 3^rd one, later than planned due to a train delay. The weather was dry and sunny but still very windy following Storm Amy.

Starting in Crossflatts, I descended the canal via the infamous Bingley Five Rise Locks, an engineering marvel (built in 1774), and through Bingley and Dowley Gap including its aqueduct (crossing the River Aire).

The canal goes through Hirst Woods and Hirst Locks. I took a little detour to the Higher Ground Hirst Lock Cafe for some refreshments. Afterwards I finished the walk in Saltaire which is famous for its Salt Mills and the village itself.

Gargrave to Barnoldswick, Leeds and Liverpool Canal- 16.11.25

The weather forecast was dry and sunny so I took the opportunity to do my 11th walk on the Leeds and Liverpool Canal. The recent rainy weather has been a setback for the planned walks on this fundraising project.

On arrival in Gargrave, I walked half a mile or so to the canal where I started my walk. It is approximately 7.5 miles to Barnoldswick.

The walk took me through some of the most scenic landscape on the canal. This includes the Summit, the highest point, on the canal.  There are some interesting canal engineering features such as the locks. I especially love the signature bridges, including the double arched Bridge (Bridge 161), and they fit beautifully in the surrounding landscape. 

I had a lunch stop just before East Marton on the infamous zig zag stretch. I also stopped for refreshments at The Abbots Wharf, half way on the walk, and at Greenberfield Lock Stop Cafe at The Summit and just before finishing at Barnoldswick.

I thoroughly enjoyed this walk and I was appreciative of the Yorkshire and Lancashire countryside. I subsequently arrived in Barnoldswick in good time (wanted to be off the canal before it got dark), waited for my Skipton bound bus and alighted at the railway station for my train back home.

Rochdale Canal

Littleborough to Todmorden (Rochdale Canal) - 31.10.25

My 8th walk was on the Rochdale Canal, a canal that traverses through the Pennines. I chose to walk from Littleborough in Greater Manchester to Todmorden in Calderdale. The 5 mile walk takes in the Summit, the highest point on the Canal.

I made my ascent on the canal towards the Summit and stopped at the Summit Pub for lunch. I continued and soon made my descent towards Walsden.

The autumn colours on the canal, particularly in the Summit area, and the hills were stunning with the patchwork of yellows, oranges and browns. 

It began raining on and off in Walsden and it got heavier. I decided to walk the remaining mile to Todmorden on the road (fortunately they have pavements). The towpath on the stretch was muddy in places and some of the stretches were flooded. I did not want to walk on the towpath with those conditions anymore especially in the rain. I sought the dry and the warmth when I had refreshments in the White Hart Pub afterwards.

Hebden Bridge to Sowerby Bridge, Rochdale Canal - 30.11.25

I had the opportunity to return to Calderdale, West Yorkshire and the Rochdale Canal, for my 15th walk of this fundraising project. It was cold, temperature wise, but sunny and importantly, no rain!

I started at Hebden Bridge and walked the 5.5 mile walk to Sowerby Bridge . Hebden Bridge is a busy place with plenty of boats moored in line. Traversing through Fallingroyd tunnel I soon arrived at Mytholmroyd and had the opportunity to stop at the Moonbeam Coffee Boat again for refreshments. They were previously moored at Copley Bridge on the Calder and Hebble Navigation and I stopped there on a previous walk when I walked from Brighouse to Sowerby Bridge.

I continued after refreshments through the stunning Calderdale (South Pennines) countryside towards Luddenfoot and eventually Sowerby Bridge, the canal’s terminus or vice versa.

My other walk updates and details about the fundraising project in general can be read via this link