Beside The River Cam

There are two maps which overlie the countryside. One is a road map and the other a chart of the footpaths, bridleways and tracks which we take when we are walking. Occasionally these two impressions of the landscape meet up unexpectedly. It's always a great surprise when a feature like a ruined church, which I've only known as a place reached by muddy field paths, appears on the horizon from a main road. And it's equally discombobulating when an ancient walking track suddenly deposits you right beside a much-travelled highway.

How many motorists and lorry-drivers know what lies beyond the litter-strewn embankments that confine the busy M11 motorway near Cambridge? Not even people who have spent a large part of their lives in the area it turns out, as my brother and I discovered recently.

It begins like this. Long ago there was a small piece of woodland that flanked Byron's Pool, a well-known beauty-spot on the River Cam. It was here that we came as boys to ride bikes, walk and fish. We'd often sat at the very point where the above picture was taken and wished that we could explore further, but there was a fence which made it clear that we weren't welcome.

We did manage to outflank the landowners eventually by the simple expedient of getting our punt up above the weir and to "boldly punt where no punter had punted before"!

What has changed since our pioneering expedition is that a housing company wanted to develop a piece of land nearby and erect some houses and apartments. In order to ease their way through the planning rules and the expected local opposition, they agreed to also transform the area between the projected new development and Byron's Pool into a nature reserve to be known as Trumpington Meadows. Mostly it's meadowland which has been sown with wild flower seeds. 

But beyond the motorway it also takes in a strip of rougher land alongside the river and it was this part which came as a pleasant surprise to us - an area of countryside which we had never imagined was there. It took a while to figure out exactly where we were.

This long, narrow pond, a notice informed us, was a trench left from the digging of "coprolites". These phosphatic nodules were thought to be dinosaur dung and were exploited for their mineral content; ground-up they made excellent fertilizer. Within a few decades the value of coprolites fell, as guano (sea-bird droppings) began to be imported from tropical islands. The notice had a helpful illustration to help you imagine the once-industrious scene....

It also went on to explain that this trench was not part of the original "coprolite rush", but a revival in the trade when the Great War disrupted supplies of guano. However before the project got into full swing the war ended and the trench was abandoned.

Part of the work of transforming agricultural land into a nature reserve involved the planting of many native trees, including hazel and alder.

And, of course, it's almost compulsory these days to have carvings of the wildlife that you might or might not see when you visit. I'm all for promoting any artistic endeavours (with just one or two exceptions) but I admit that there are times when I curse these sculptures for getting in the way of my photos! I think these are (clockwise from top-left) Skylark, Brown Trout, unidentified birds feeding on berries, and Otter.

There's a pond too to attract more wildlife. We were surprised to see a Stonechat here perching among the reeds. And this fellow was on duty as well...

A Black-Headed Gull - one of those hopeless names which doesn't tell you that in winter the head is mostly white and even in summer it's not really black but chocolate-brown. I hope he was OK; it made no attempt to fly as I approached with my camera, though I wasn't as close as the photo makes it look.

We hadn't really expected much from this outing - the picture above is how I remember much of our punt trip some fifty years ago! But it really provided a pleasant walk and, despite the noise of the motorway, it felt as though we were in an entirely different world.

And who can resist when the low winter sun lights up the first colourful signs of spring growth?

Take care.

Light Entertainment

This afternoon I took my mother down to the Village Hall for her monthly Mothers' Union meeting. Then I had a couple of hours to kill.

A stroll down to the river beckoned. There was a little fleeting afternoon sun and a tinge of Autumn colour on the trees.

All very pleasant down by The Shallows, looking across to Trumpington Fen.

One of this year's cygnets was admiring his reflection in the water - "Me a swan? Go on!"

The light was just acquiring that late afternoon golden glow. But clouds were gathering.

The wind was in the north-west and dark rainclouds were rolling in, meanwhile the sun was manfully battling through from the south-west.

Then suddenly....

 Time to run for home.

Or to hang around, get wet and enjoy the show.

The rain cleared within a few minutes, leaving moody skies.

The sun settled down slowly in the west at the day's end.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes the entertainment for today.

Take care.

Old Mills In Autumn

Old Mills is the old name for Byron's Pool, a local nature reserve just outside Cambridge. It takes Byron's name from the story that the poet used to swim here during his student days at Cambridge. Well, so did many other people and, other than a few quickly fading ripples on the surface of the river, he left no mark here, not even a mention in his poetry.

Earthworks and pits associated with the watermill which once stood here, on the other hand, can still be traced on the ground and the place was also mentioned in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. It seems a shame that the name Old Mills is virtually unknown these days.

Autumn has come to some trees here while others still green, taking advantage of what little protection is afforded by the river valley, which is barely a blemish on this flat landscape. 

The turbulent little stream, which has been created to allow fish to pass up-river beyond the weir, is always a favourite haunt of mine. I can't resist slowing down the shutter speed to see what shows up in the rushing waters.

The green weed-covered pond, bejewelled with yellow leaves, was once a fish-pond associated with the mill. Fish that were caught in the millstream were placed in the ponds to provide a source of food during the long winter months.

Even this single twig is uncertain about whether it's time for Autumn yet.

This may be the first time I've ever used the little built-in flash in my camera. And I'm not really sure what inspired me to take a few shots with it on this particular day. Anyway I quite like the end result - though all the other shots I took with it were quickly deleted.

The somnolent River Cam loiters reflectively above the weir, wondering whether or not to take the plunge.

A solitary red leaf on a carpet of yellows and browns. The wind is becoming chill, the rooks are flying to roost, my bicycle is waiting locked up to the fence and I must make my way home.

Take care.

A Bumpy Ride

The Cambridge University students were out on the river this week doing what they've been doing for over 120 years, racing against one another in the Lent Bumps. We had a post about this a couple of years ago which baffled many of you. So here's another attempt to explain what's going on.

The river at Cambridge is too narrow to allow boats to race side by side or overtake safely, so a different kind of race had to be devised.

The boats race in groups of seventeen and start at various points along the river with one-and-a-half boat lengths between each boat. The fastest crew from the previous race starts at the front with the second fastest behind them and so on down the line.

The idea then is to try to catch up with and bump the boat ahead. Once a bump is achieved the crews involved pull over to the side of the river to let the following crews past. As you will see in the video later, this does not always go as smoothly as it might!

Sometimes bumps occur within a few hundred yards of the start, while others chase the whole length of the course to no avail. For the next race the crews involved in a bump change places in the start order. 

Successful crews decorate themselves with ivy - there being a lack of laurel leaves along the river bank.

So here's a video which I hope captures some of the excitement, exuberance and exertion of the event. There are four races featured - two Women's races and two Men's. Hold tight!

A quiet afternoon on the river - not.


Take care.

Once Upon A River

I spent much of my teenage years, ("too much", my schoolteachers might have said), messing about in a punt on the River Cam. I always had at least one pair of shoes drying out and my jeans permanently had the smell of the river hanging about them.

We found an old punt that was riddled with holes skulking forlornly in the river and decided to drag it out of the water and renovate it. We effected our repairs with metal plates, bits of plywood, baler twine and copious quantities of black, sticky pitch. (Add the smell of pitch to my fragrant old jeans).

But somehow it held the water out....well most of it anyway. Just in case you ever need to know, the ideal implement for bailing out a leaky punt is the humble plastic dustpan. Works a treat! 

Then of, course, we had to learn the techniques and tricks of propelling a long, awkward boat with a long, awkward pole. Our early efforts were not pretty to behold, but we improved with practice, to the point where we felt we'd earned the right to mock, ridicule and generally insult all those who were less skilful than us. And, certainly at the beginning of the punting season, that included most of the students who'd newly arrived at the University. Every year a new intake of intellectuals learned one of life's important lessons...

....it's harder than it looks. For those who want to know, the beginner's way to do it is thus:
stand on the back of the boat; put the pole into the water alongside the punt, push the boat forward, leave the pole dragging in the water and use it as a rudder to straighten your course. Easy, isn't it? The steering bit obviously loses you momentum so when you get good you can keep on course by subtly altering the way you push on the pole - it's called "pulling and pinching". Honest.

The inexperienced boatman, though,  would end up bouncing along from one bank to the other, while the object of their affections was forced to use the paddle to push the boat out of overhanging bushes or off from the muddy banks. Furthermore they might well have been entertained by one of my witty friends putting on a "posh boy" voice and bellowing "Oh, how quaint, Cyril, someone is operating a ferry service!"

It is no surprise to learn that a society exists within the University which is known as The Dampers' Club and is open to all those who have unintentionally entered the River Cam fully-clothed.

Anyone visiting Cambridge and anxious not to become immersed in the limpid waters of the Cam might be interested to hear that chauffeured punts are available for hire which will transport you safely and effortlessly past the historic buildings and even provide a commentary on the journey. Don't be a cheapskate: do it in style!

Most printed sources claim that punts originated on the Thames, however most of the old men in our village told us that punts came from the Fens where they were used for wildfowling, fishing and setting eel-traps. I also heard that they made their first appearance in my home village of Grantchester transporting churns of milk downriver to Cambridge. 

One summer's evening my friend Salty and I decided to see how quickly we could get down the river to Cambridge. To do this we equipped ourselves with two punt poles and punted in tandem. In my memory we did it in thirty-five minutes, though our time may have improved with frequent retelling. We then moored up and had a few beers in The Mill pub before returning rather more slowly and erratically back up the river in total darkness.

However most of our expeditions were more leisurely; fishing in the millpond, slopping along gently to a soundtrack of guitar and harmonica music, mooring up under an old willow tree and drinking cider or drifting downstream on a Sunday morning watching the wildlife. And usually we remembered to.....

take care!    

  

At Trompynton, Nat Fer Fro Canterbrigge....

Everyone is telling me that Autumn is here. It's got a little bit cooler and some rain is threatened to arrive soon. Experts inform us that the Autumn colour should be spectacular this year. Even the local weather forecast is saying that trees have started to change. Really?

I went for a little wander at Byron's Pool local nature reserve but, although I found some brown and yellow leaves lying around (as you can at any time of year), it seems we'll have to wait a little longer for the full show.

No matter - green can be quite attractive too. So I went for a stroll with my camera and my memories anyway. This little strip of woodland alongside the River Cam in Trumpington, near Cambridge, was where I used to ride my bike as a youth, where we punted up the river a couple of years later, where I used to walk with my father on Sunday mornings and where I've often come with either binoculars or camera during the last forty-odd years.

On old maps this area is called Old Mills, presumably to differentiate it from the "modern" water-mill at Grantchester which has been unused since 1929 and was built several centuries before that. There were also two other mills in the past but no one's quite sure where they were! It's generally thought that Old Mills was the site of the mill mentioned in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales.

At Trompynton, nat fer fro Canterbrigge, (Cambridge)
Ther goth a brook and over that a brigge,
Up-on the whyche brook ther tant a melle; (Mill)

And this is verray soth as I yow telle.

All that remains today from that mill are some rather silted up fish ponds.

Over the years I must have photographed nearly every tree stump in this little wood, some of them must have grown considerably over the decades I've been visiting, while others have fallen and rotted away, thanks to the efforts of the wonderful fungi.

I zapped up the colour on one of these photos once and was astounded at the range of colours hidden in the greys and muddy browns. I'll do another in time for my next post, just to show you what I mean. 

And there are so many shades within the greens too, more I think than digital technology can reproduce accurately.

In case anyone was wondering, Byron's Pool gets its name from the fact that Lord Byron - old George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron himself, he of the Romantic poetry and excessive and reckless lifestyle - used to swim here while a student at Cambridge. Virginia Woolf is also said to have skinny-dipped in these same limpid waters.

Just as I was thinking about leaving a flash of azure zipped downstream - a Kingfisher. I watched its hasty departure then was aware of movement just below the bank where I was standing. A grass snake, known in olden times as a water snake, was making its way purposefully to the other bank.

Take care.