I have a hectic routine. I work to tight deadlines, I cycle to work in heavy London traffic, and between times I race around the city, trying to do too many things in too little time. Now, inspired by a campaign by the Canal & River Trust (CRT), for the public to use and enjoy Britain's waterways more, and in relaxed, “real-time”, I decide to take this literally. I am going to fulfil a long-time personal ambition and canoe to work.
It's an eight-mile journey by river and canal, along the intricate but often unnoticed waterways that interlace our city. The River Lea, just a minute's walk from my home near Springfield Park, Hackney, is frequented by swans, geese, herons, ducks, coots and many a houseboat. My plan is to follow it south, turn right on to the Hertford and Union Canal, and then swing into the Regent's Canal and follow that all the way to work, ideally without touching a single road.
Worries? Well, I've only been in a canoe or kayak twice before. And I've never canoed anything like this kind of distance. Further along there's also the Islington tunnel, which is nearly half a mile long. I don't know if I'll be able to go through it (it's bound to be full of rats) or whether I'll be forced to carry the canoe overland. I sleep badly but when I get to the river it's a beautiful morning. A quick push, a gentle splish-splash, and I am off on my own epic Cahulawassee voyage, Deliverance-style. But I can still hear the twang of duelling banjos. Commuting, I decide, can now be called "canuting".
The first mile heading south alongside Hackney Marshes is extremely picturesque. And I'm already feeling relaxed. There's a real community spirit here, and, over the 12 or so years I've lived in the area, I've noticed a huge increase in narrowboats, a growing alternative to the tidal wave of huge property prices. But the river is also one of the most polluted in Britain. In between beautiful stretches, and despite frequent dredging by official boats and volunteers, I can see oil patches, cans, and many plastic bags at the bottom. But somehow there are some fish, and otters have even been reported on some parts of the Lea.
It has been rumoured that the Lea is frequented by a crocodile, perhaps some overgrown, discarded pet, seen, it was claimed, taking down the odd goose. Maybe that's why you don't see many inflatable canoes here. But there's no sign of it. Yet. But I do pass an upturned terrapin floating in the water. Perhaps pollution has killed off the croc too?
In 2013 waterways charity Thames21, who run the Love the Lea campaign, reported the death of thousands of fish after heavy rainfall washed a variety of toxins from roads, combined with massive leak of sewage effluence. In 2012 CRT took over from British Waterways to take responsibility for maintenance of 2,000 miles of rivers and canals in England and Wales. It works alongside the Environment Agency (EA) and has income from Defra, other sources and donors, and help from volunteers. I have certainly noticed progress in walkways maintenance in the past couple of years, and Joe Coggins from the CRT tells me that since the 2013 tragedy: "There have been no major pollution incidents on London’s waterways this past year. Wildlife is alive and well with a number of species such as herons, otters and kingfishers (River Lea) providing an important indicator of good water and habitat quality."
But although there has been progress both here and nationally, there are still profound and complex issues. Thames21's area manager Theo Thomas tells me the Lea still fails the EU's water framework directive, that e-coli bacteria levels are still high, and that the Lea is badly in need of natural drainage systems (Suds) and investment to deal with sewage pipes due to misconnections from homes and businesses. On the national scale, Thames21's chief executive Debbie Leach tells me of "shocking finds" over pollution on two-thirds of rivers and that there is "a massive job ahead of us before we can claim to have healthy rivers in this country … there is not one person in this country who has not played a part – nearly always, completely unknowingly."
Can things improve? I pass a large, closed-off area under development within sight of London's Olympic Stadium. On the bridge nearby graffiti reads, “Play your part”, but added before this, with humorous subversion, “Feel free not to”. On another bridge someone has daubed: "Change is the only certain thing." I'm really enjoying this journey. I turn into the Hertford and Union Canal and hit a series of locks. I have to get and carry my boat at each – the correct term being “portage”. I'm really getting into this now.
Eventually I join the Regent's Canal, where, even on a Tuesday morning, the water is much busier, with many narrowboats, some full of excited schoolchildren on trips. All along here the area is thriving, new cafes having sprung up in the last few years, a part of London seemingly to be particularly immune from recession.
It's been more than a couple of hours of paddling so far. This isn't a quick way to get to work. It's walking pace at best. And I'm feeling weary. Surprisingly it isn't my arms or shoulders that hurt, but my stomach. Canoeing, or kayaking (the difference is defined by how you sit but all self-propelled paddle boating is canoeing) is all about using your core muscles. Encouraged by a brief session at my local Leaside club to sit up and forward in the boat at all times, my abs are now on fire. But I'm finding this is a really good way to get a six-pack.
Finally I arrive at Angel, and the dreaded Islington tunnel, which is more than half a mile long, narrow and deadly straight. Unfortunately there's a sign indicating non-motorised boats are not permitted. I venture in a little way, just to have a quick look, mesmerised by the dot of light in the distance. It's otherworldly. The reflection on the brick ceiling makes it look like I'm floating through the centre of a huge transparent egg. “Go towards the light,” says a sinister, whispery voice in my head, but somehow I resist death, particularly because the light isn't getting any nearer, and I think I can hear the scratch and squeal of rats. I turn back to the bigger light at the Angel entrance.
I could ask a narrowboat for a lift, but then decide not to wait. The vow to avoid the roads will have to be broken: it's portage time again, across the streets of Islington. The boat under my arm brings stares and jokes from pedestrians; "You expecting a lot of rain, mate?" Soon I'm back on the water for the final stretch, and within five minutes, I'm docking at work, exhausted but exhilarated. I feel I could just continue further. But there's a mountain of copy waiting for me.
This wouldn't be a realistic daily commute, but over a shorter distance, "canuting", I think, is a viable occasional option. Our waterways are a wonderful resource for green travel on boat, cycle or foot, so from now I'll continue to support and use them. They are magical living museums running through our cities, and we should do our best to preserve and nurture them.
Do you use Britain's waterways or towpaths? Or internal waterways elsewhere in the world? What are your experiences? Let us know below.
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