Camp Hill to Curdworth
Well, I have been at Camp Hill before about five years ago when we were returning from Stratford. In the event, it was a wise decision to stay again last night. The journey to get out of Injun country will take us about four hours and we certainly didn’t want to make this journey in the dark.
Camp Hill is a CRT (Canal and River Trust) unmanned services centre. It is clean and well maintained. Here there is a safe gated mooring for us. We were alone but once moored within the security fencing access to my long kennel was only possible by key or canal. It is a long way from being salubrious but here I felt quite safe and secure for myself and my pets.
Early this morning I took my bearded one for his morning walk and he thought it a good idea if we explored our proposed route ahead and this was an opportunity for him to prepare the six descending locks at Camp Hill which are our first and immediate obstacle. He set each ready for my long kennel. We were careful not to wake the poor sleeping souls taking shelter under the bridges. This was a sad site and apart from a few cyclists who gave us a cheery wave as they whizzed along the towpath they were the only humans around.
We left our safe mooring quite early as we had a few hours ahead of weaving our way through a jumble of crumbling factories and abandoned warehouses ploughing our way through a sea of discarded. plastic bottles and worse.
I helped my long-haired one with the total of eleven locks which surprisingly were in good condition. We met nobody and saw no other long kennels, no humans and no dogs or activity of any sort. Also, we saw no trees and nowhere along the route for several hours that we would care to stop even if we had been able to.
Even to me as a dog, it seems shameful and sad, the condition of this part of a great canal system once the main artery of thriving industry. It probably holds some interest to archaeological historians my bearded one muttered.
At Salford Junction We passed under the infamous confluence of modern motorways the canals transport successor known as Spaghetti Junction, it was so noisy and did not lift our spirits.
After about four hours, by the time we reached Minworth some of nature’s own creation became evident once more and for the last hour or so of today’s travel we heard birds singing once again. We went to a house called the White Horse at Curdworth. They had supper and I was much admired
My picture today is me and my long-haired one considering a seemingly endless exhibition of graffiti. You can see how interested I am!
Love Douglas x