Our planned Scottish sea kayaking trip was cancelled due to a low-pressure system. This is my report of our hastily flung together Plan B – “Let’s see how far we can get down the River Great Ouse before we have to go back to work.” We started exploring the river last year (see my blog). This time we had the chance to stop out for a couple of nights and make an adventure out of it.
The headlines:
| Day 1 Friday | Day 2 Saturday | Day 3 Sunday |
| 📍Willington to Huntingdon. | 📍Huntingdon to Cottenham. | 📍Cottenham to Ely |
| 🛶Turkish banquet, a nightclub, a suspicious handshake, a night in a hotel that was far too good for us and a 5* breakfast. | 🏡An Airbnb we nearly didn’t find, bleeding feet, a caravan in a barn, an excellent curry and shortbread for breakfast. | 🍽️A civilised lunch and the drive home. |
| 📈36.24 km 8:30 paddling time. Avg speed 4.2 km/h | 📈32.05 km 7:02 paddling time. Avg speed 4.5 km/h | 📈17.0 km 3:30 paddling time. Avg speed 5.3 km/h |
Day 1 Willington to Huntingdon
We had decided to travel ultra-light and book accommodation along the route. Short boats, no food, minimal water, just a toothbrush each and some going out clothes.
On Friday morning, we set off from Nick’s house in Willington. We had to carry the kayaks about half a mile to get to the river. Our forearms were thoroughly stretched before we even got wet.
The first day was pleasant and largely uneventful. Lunch at the River Mill, easy paddling, no major dramas with any of the portages, it was pretty much the same as last year. I noticed that the water was extremely clear in places. That was because I’d just paddled past a sheepish looking elderly man treading water, all of his clothes folded neatly on the riverbank. Unfortunately, I saw everything.
When we reached Godmanchester Lock, there appeared to be an A-Level results celebration in full swing. 10 or so good-natured teenagers were diving in, splashing around and sunbathing. They seemed uneasy by our presence at first, but once they realised we were only passing through, they relaxed and offered to help us to climb out.
The Old Bridge Hotel – Huntingdon
We paddled past the mooring area, it looked a good 3-4ft above the water, not doable from kayaks. Just beyond the bridge itself was a lower walkway which we managed to haul ourselves onto. Nick looked after the boats whilst I did a recce – I’d asked for somewhere to store them overnight.
Reception looked a little surprised by my damp self, clad in boat shoes, a buoyancy aid and a baseball cap. The other clients were better dressed and probably smelled much nicer. The lady could not have been any more helpful. She led me through the dining room, out a side door and showed me a private terraced area near the river. It was not being used that night, it looked like the kind of place you would have a wedding party.
We carried the kayaks across the road, around the outside of the building and emptied the hatches into our Ikea bags. Nick had a bike lock which we used to fix them to a railing.
We really appreciated the hot showers with a range of products – a luxury we’ve never experienced on any of our other overnight kayaking trips!
We ate at the Hill Ephesus Turkish restaurant, a smart, clean looking place just off the main square. There were only a couple of occupied tables, so they were pleased to see us. We noticed a constant stream of couriers carrying massive square boxes, a sign of the times perhaps. Being ravenous, we decided on the medi sharing platter for two. £54 plus beers. We were Christmas Day full at the end of that, but no food was wasted. The owner brought us a couple of sweet tasting shots as we settled up.
We had a couple of pints in the Wetherspoons, what looked like an old post office called Sandford House. We used the excellent beer garden at the back, sat in between what appeared to be a female works’ group and various students back for the summer. It was very good natured; the bouncer was bored and underworked.
It was too early to turn in so we popped into Cromwell’s Bar on our way back. We had the whole place to ourselves but stayed for an hour or so as it filled up. A young lady of about 20 kept trying to get us to dance with her, we sensed an effort to stimulate the competitive nature of a young man sitting to the side. He had certainly noticed us. When Nick used the loo, the young man made a beeline for me and shook hands, his face didn’t register bonhomie. I held his gaze and drew on a bit of paddle-trained grip. Conscious of our age in more ways than one, we left the youngsters to it and turned in.
Day 2 – Huntingdon to Cottenham
Breakfast was exceptional. A full English (or full Anglian) as they styled it with plenty of good coffee, we were most impressed.
Happily, the kayaks were still exactly where we had left them. I’d hidden an AirTag deep within mine just to be on the safe side.
Launching took a bit more thought, we didn’t fancy retracing our steps, so we used the jetty. To the left (as you look at the river) there’s a bit of a concrete drainage culvert near the surface so we were able to stand on that and step into our kayaks.
Huntingdon was soon left behind. We started to encounter what I will term as the BMWs of the river (some offence). Every other water user went out of their way to smile, say hello, wave, or if their hands were full give an exaggerated nod of the head. We met several rowing boat crews and only one of them so much as glanced in our direction.
Neither of us had been to St Ives before. We did not get out, but from the water, it looked a most pleasing place.
We pushed on a little further to The Old Ferry Boat at Holywell. There was no obvious way to land, but a paddle boarder suggested we go down the overgrown channel of water to the left, assuring us there would be an easier way out at the end of it.
The pub is pleasant, an attractive building set back from the riverside with an area of green or common in front of it. We sat outside where we could keep an eye on the kayaks. The service was less impressive: the QR code didn’t work, the app was a faff, and our meals arrived without drinks or cutlery. Still, the food itself was ok and it was a superb setting.
We pressed on, taking in a raucous Indian wedding on the riverside.
The lock south of Bluntisham was challenging. There was no possible way for us to get out of the water, no portage area, no riverbank that we could identify. To the left may once have been possible but it was now fenced off for building work.
The lock gate was open from our side and the water was in the “up” position. Even so, the sides of the lock were a good 5 feet above the water level. There was nothing for it but to climb out onto the ladder, attach rescue lines to the kayaks and haul them up behind us.
Getting back in on the other side involved a porpoise entry from the jetty, probably the highest one of the trip. The front of my kayak went deep into the water, so much so that I got soaked up to chest height.
We reached the junction of the River Great Ouse and the Old Bedford River – a man-made drainage channel providing a shortcut towards the coast. I had been worried about paddling down it by accident, but I need not have been.
We portaged around another lock and then found ourselves next to and below the B1050. I didn’t much relish the thought of a vehicle veering off the road and landing on my head. Before long, the road turned off to the right, the river went straight on and I was much happier. With no more locks or major landmarks, it was now just a case of ticking off the kilometres to get to our Airbnb. The river became much narrower and darker; it was not really used by boats due to the more direct alternative route up the Hundred-Foot Drain. The countryside felt unexpectedly wild. Neither of us had any idea that there was such wilderness to be found in the south of England. If you had a safe you needed to break into in privacy, this would be the kind of place to do it. The riverbank itself was less pleasing, with continual metal piling and old signs warning of underwater hazards. I think these were the result of the 1970s project to make the river navigable once more. For more background, the Inland Waterways Association has a useful overview.
We paused to look at the remains of the flat-top bridge; it had a military look to it.
It was pulled down in 2018 leaving the abutments on either bank. It looked incongruous, dystopian even in that empty landscape, although I could find nothing to suggest it had ever had a military purpose.
We reached the point I had marked on the map for our Airbnb. I jumped out and climbed to the top of the earth flood defence. Sure enough, the farm was just 600m or so down the track just as planned. We emptied the boats into our Ikea bags, chained them together and hid them face down in some reeds.
I sent our hosts a message on the Airbnb app to say we were off the water and headed their way.
The Airbnb
I’d been restricted for choice because I needed accommodation close to the river, roughly 30km from where we had set off in Huntingdon. I’d thought about stashing the boats and getting a taxi to a hotel, but none of the hotels within range had vacancies. On Airbnb I found, by amazing happy coincidence, a treehouse and a caravan, both available and close enough to work. They were not very cheap: £120 for the caravan and £200 for the treehouse. But beggars can’t be choosers, and the location was perfect.
The marketing photos clearly targeted young couples intent on carnal activities. Which was not us, being two middle-aged men both married to women!
We approached the farm that corresponded with the map location on the Airbnb app. I could not see a treehouse or a caravan in a barn. The windows were open, I used the ring doorbell. Several small dogs barked at us but after 5 minutes nobody came.
I looked at the Airbnb app again and noticed that the actual location was the crossroads a few yards away. The address of the place was given as Smithy Fen farm and a signpost at the crossroads said the farm was down the lane. We could see a farm about 500m down the lane, so we set off. Feet now sore as we were both in wet kayak shoes, arms feeling a bit stiff. The second farmstead did not remotely resemble the photos, and a sign told us to keep going for Smithy Fen Farm. We could see it, probably another kilometre away. By the time we arrived, we were pissed off. My feet were starting to bleed. A young woman came out to greet us; she knew nothing about any Airbnb and did not recognise the name of our host.
I was now seriously worried we had been ripped off and would have nowhere to stay! We had no phone number for our host so I used the app to message them asking them to ring me ASAP.
I changed into my going out shoes on the lane outside the farm and after a minute or two, the phone rang. We exchanged locations via WhatsApp pins and our host came to get us in his van.
I took one for the team and chose the caravan, Nick got the treehouse.
The caravan had been parked side on in a dark barn. It had (thankfully) been connected to a domestic drainage system which avoided having to store and empty toilet contents. It had not, however, been connected to mains electricity or water so it was still necessary to use the “computer” above the doorway to pump water into the tank and control the lighting.
The area outside the caravan was carpeted and there was even a dining room table and chairs. An extension cable lay on the floor. Outside the barn was a seating area, a fire pit and an outdoor sink. The host advised me not to bother with the caravan shower as we had access to the treehouse one instead.
I used the toilet and then found there was no water to wash my hands. I later learned that the pump button needed to be pressed in order to get that service.
Nick was in relative luxury over in the treehouse.
I took my wash kit over and used his rooftop bathtub.
I don’t often use Uber so I’m not very confident with it. I tried my luck asking for a ride to the local town – Cottenham where there was an award-winning curry house.
My low expectations were far exceeded when the app told me to expect pickup in 10 minutes.
Cottenham
They were queuing out onto the street at The Curry Palace. The clientele were a little fractious. We joined the end and were soon inside. The manager advised us to come back in half an hour, so we knocked back a couple of pints at The Hop Bind, a classic village pub.
As we headed back over the road, a middle-aged couple were engaged in a full on flounce out of the Curry Palace, slamming the door as they left. We sat on their warm seats in the waiting area, and within 5 minutes had been led to our table. Poppadoms, Kingfishers, chicken balti, pilau rice and a naan for me, prawn curry and rice for Nick. An excellent meal and I can see why the place was so busy.
We were pretty done in by the time we finished so we decided to order an Uber back.
It was pitch dark when we arrived and we had no torch between us. Our iPhone lights got us to our respective beds. I locked myself in but didn’t feel overly at ease with all the unfamiliar sounds of a caravan in a barn. I had an irrational fear of waking up with the caravan hitched to a vehicle on the way to the Netherlands for my organs to be harvested. Thankfully, that did not happen.
We were up early, they had laid on tea, coffee and fresh milk for us and some packets of shortbread. It wasn’t quite as good as the breakfast the day before, but we’d definitely had a lot worse.
The boats were still there, and we hit the water about 0830.
Day 3 Cottenham to Ely
We were a lot faster on the Sunday, there were no locks to slow us down and we were feeling much fitter. It was an uneventful but pleasant paddle, the scenery started to feel much more Norfolk-like. Ely Cathedral was visible on the horizon. There were numerous moored canal barges and cabin cruisers with people living in them.
We hit the junction with the River Cam mid-morning and I dropped a pin on the map for Nick’s wife to come and meet us with the car in an hour or so.
Ely left a great impression on us. After two days of locks, portages, awkward landings and improvised accommodation, it felt suddenly civilised.
The river was clean and busy with all kinds of boats, and the bars, pubs and cafes along the riverside gave the place a relaxed holiday feel. We went all the way through the city and out the other side before turning back and making use of a slipway near to the Riverside Bar and Kitchen. By the time we’d changed and ordered some drinks, Kathy had found us. Lunch for three, kayaks loaded onto the car, and home.
On reflection, this was an excellent trip. What began as a weather-driven compromise turned into one of the most enjoyable paddles we’ve done. We covered about 85km, travelled pleasingly light and found stretches of countryside neither of us expected to exist in this part of England. Each lock became a small escape-room challenge. We saw shanty-style riverbank homes fused into houseboats, a riverside Indian wedding, foreboding reaches of empty landscape and, at Ely, a properly satisfying finish. The contrast between the hotel and the Airbnb was excellent too. With no disrespect to the Airbnb, it made us value the hotel all the more.
Resources
If you would like to learn more about some of the kit I used on this trip, here is my list
If you are thinking of paddling this route, do make sure you have the appropriate waterways licence and insurance – we got ours from https://paddleuk.org.uk.
