“How many interesting things can happen on a six mile paddle up and down a little river that is too small and has bridges too low to permit anything but tiny rowing dinghies and kayaks to pass?”

One day in May, a small group of ACC paddlers decided to do something else for a Sunday paddle and explored the Abbey River. The Abbey is not really a river as the name implies, but rather a sidearm of the River Thames, leaving its main flow just past Penton Hook Yacht Club and rejoining at Chertsey Lock on the far end of the weir. But it is certainly worth the bother!

Starting the trip going upriver, the first obstacle presented itself in the form of a small weir, and since the land on both sides is private gardens, the middle part of the weir is constructed as a fish-ladder-cum-boat-slipway with rolling bars across the water and small walkways both sides. To save us ladies (Moe, Fera and myself) having to get out of our boats, Sean gave us a drag up the rollers - hard work, and I guess the fact that one roller was missing didn't help…

The effort was rewarded with a most scenic sight: a small slow-flowing river with a huge bed of sea roses framed by reeds and trees of all descriptions and an old wooden bridge ahead laden with a beautiful cascade of Wisteria in full blossom. We all stopped for a moment to take in this picture-postcard view.

The way past Stanley Island up to the trailer park turned out to be a voyage of discovery, filled with the wonders of nature: All matter of beautiful waterside flowers vying for attention with the multitude of birds including loads of little moorhens drifting by in their floating nests. Careful not to disturb their peace we paddled in stunned silence.

Horses shooed away from their drinking places at the river when we passed while a cocky Icelandic pony greeted the welcome distraction with excited whinnying. Quite obviously, little Abbey River does not count among the frequently travelled waters of Britain - a theory also proved by a number of obstacles to be negotiated, mainly in the form of logs and other matter entangled in the riverside vegetation to build floating barriers. The trees and bushes themselves often hardly left enough space to pass through and we were down to single-file paddling, making for a slow and windy progress which really evoked that pioneering spirit, even though we were just off our favourite playspot of Chertsey Weir!

The main adventure of the day, however, was our encounter with two pairs of swans and their young. The first couple we met right at their nest, which was on the bank completely open to the river at a point where it narrowed down between large bushes. The swanness and her kids did not seem overly worried, but hubby nevertheless decided to make a stand, watching us with blustered feathers as we sneaked by at the far edge of the river. And just as if to discourage any further use of his private thoroughfare he put in a mock attack on the last boat as well (luckily not me…)!

On our way back, Mr. Swan was out and about and his Lady hardly bothered to look at us, but we did meet another family further upstream, all six of them swimming, and had to give way until they decided to let us through.

The encounter with another species called "angler" was less enticing. Dave committed the ultimate faux-pas: Still wondering why the rest of us quietly "changed lane" to the river-right, he overlooked a line and promptly got entangled in it. The bloke at the other end of the line did not say much then, but seemed to remember us when we came back half an hour later: "You lot again!" may not sound like a lot of abuse, but his intention was without doubt…

The final stretch through Laleham Reach Trailer Park was probably less idyllic, even though it had an interest of its own, affording us some prime views into people's back gardens along with a very good idea of what they manage to loose into the river at its end: From light bulbs to a child's buggy there was an illustrious assortment!

And suddenly, around another twisty obstructed corner, we emerged into the "open waters" of the real Thames - left with the decision to fight for space with a venerable fleet of Sunday yachters on our way home, or dare the winding back-route again (and the fury of a certain angler…). The vote went four to one - Dave would have preferred to give the angler a miss…

It quite surprised most of us how much quicker we made the downriver journey. Even though the flow of the Abbey was hardly noticeable most of the time and paddling upriver had not seemed too much of an effort, we undercut our time by nearly half and were back at the fish-ladder-cum-boat-slipway in just 40 minutes. A rattly descent with the help of Dave to overcome the missing roller brought us back to Chertsey Weir just in time to get off the water and back to the Club in time for a set meeting.

A very different Sunday afternoon experience, much to be recommended!

by Petra Hudson, June 1999