It was a warm summer afternoon in the university town of Oxford, England, and we were on the Hythe Bridge, a Victorian-era cast-iron structure, when we spotted two men fishing in the canal below. The winding path along the waterway looked inviting in the dappled sunlight. “It can’t get more English countryside than this,” I thought and yet we were in the centre of the town. I don’t know about the fish, but we were hooked.
We — my son and I — were on our way back from the Oxford University Museum of Natural History, with no immediate plan for the afternoon. And the obscure gate leading to the pathway along the canal seemed full of promise. It was only our second day in Oxford, so we hadn’t got our bearings too firm. A yellow lectern map with a “You are here” indicated we were at the beginning of the Oxford Canal Heritage Trail — designed to highlight the importance of the waterway that connects with River Thames. Strangely, this option didn’t pop up on my phone when I scoured the internet for things to do in Oxford, though it is part of the UK’s oldest canal network systems.
The map also showed that the canal flowed past Port Meadow, a vast grassland where one gets to see wild horses. The trail featured 10 spots, which looked fairly easy to cover. It’s a rather long walk, though, which we realised only after we set out. We were at the seventh spot, in two-and-a-half hours, when we decided to call it a day.
Like all things in England, the Oxford Canal is loaded with history — the 200-year-old structure was the lifeline of trade and commerce, with coal, timber and stone being brought in by boat to build some of the oldest colleges at Oxford. The story of the Oxford Canal Company, of prisoners building wharves, of horses towing canal boats along towpaths, of the major brewery industry around the canal, are things history buffs will enjoy (audio and PDF guides are available on oxfordcanalheritage.org).
One can also enjoy the walk for its natural beauty and ecological diversity. The path was lined by maples and willows, with reeds and water plants skirting the canal. Ducks waddled in the water and birds skimmed the surface in search of fish and snails.
We passed by the Isis Lock, the first of the ‘gatekeepers’, so to speak — a lock to allow barges that came in from the Thames, in and out of the Oxford Canal Company’s Worcester Street wharves. Then began our boatspotting — there is a thriving community of people who live on cute little narrow-boats along the canal. Two women sat knitting at the entrance of one, and four old men sat on the deck of another, ready with their evening drink. We waved out to them, sighed, wished our life were this beautiful and walked on.
The path is a hot favourite with joggers and cyclists. Every few metres, we would hear footsteps approaching from behind, or the tinkling of cautious cycle bells, and we would give way. Every single cyclist thanked us with polite nods and smiles.
On both sides of the canal were beautiful Victorian homes and large apartment-like buildings. Some homes had backyard gardens leading to the steps into the canal. We were envious of an old lady settled on a sun deck with a book and a glass of wine and of the kids playing in the backyard of another home. The occasional kayaker was the subject of our envy, too, especially after our feet started to hurt from all the walking.
Over time and with development, roadways and railways took over the canal’s transporting functions and it took the involvement of poets such as John Betjeman (Poet Laureate of the UK, 1972-84), and more recently novelist Philip Pullman (creator of the His Dark Materials trilogy) and a residents’ movement in preserving the canal.
Each of the bridges along the path looked different from the other. We passed Jericho, one of the oldest suburbs of Oxford, where a massive restoration project was underway. Then we walked under Walton Well Bridge and the Aristotle Bridge, and were going further down when we realised we had overshot the path to the Meadow. We retraced our way till we reached a bridge with signs asking walkers to keep the gates shut in order to keep horses in.
Port Meadow was everything we had imagined it to be: A vast expanse of green with yellow buttercups dancing to the breeze and scores of wild horses — brown, black and chestnut — bobbing in the horizon. The beautiful creatures had but one job: To munch on grass. We stood watching them as well as birders and joggers who were equally enamoured of the place. Who knew that an obscure little gate could lead to such heavens?
Bhumika K is a freelance journalised based in Bengaluru