Canals like this once crisscrossed the country connecting waterways and were the primary form of transportation for goods being produced as part of the Industrial Revolution. Throughout the late 18^th and early 19^th centuries, canal boats laden with products would be able to get to their destination more economically and reliably than overland road routes (the “you-can’t-get-there-from-here” phenomena in the UK has been around for a while!).

However, in 1829 engineers George and Robert Stephenson unintentionally signed the death warrant for the canal, at least in its industrial form. Their innovative locomotive and the burgeoning railway network soon saw the country covered with hundreds of miles of railroad tracks, and goods could now be shuttled across the nation in the span of hours. The age of the canal had passed: they entered a period of gradual decline until the second half of the 20^th century when these arterial networks were given a new lease of life by an unexpected source: the leisure industry.

From day-trippers and holidaymakers to a thriving community of those who chose to live on canal boats, canals began to be seen as a recreational pursuit. Once derelict, some, like the incredible Caen Hill Locks near Devizes, were fully restored to working order. Others, like the one I found myself walking alongside, have been given over to nature, at least for the time being.*

Within minutes, both MrElaineous and I had fallen in love with the trail. Lined with trees and dappled with sunlight, it felt like a world away from the busy town we had just left. The sound of cars cruising along a nearby motorway faded into the background, to be replaced with the louder, sharper notes of birdsong. Territorial robins in particular made it clear who was boss! The canal was also home to other wildlife—mallards, moorhens, and wagtails—and as we walked further, the nearby lakes came into view, complete with resident swans. 

From the towpath trail we turned on to a quiet road that was bordered by the River Churn on one side and a mill race—the channel of water that turns a mill wheel—on the other. We hadn’t walked very far when lovely stone houses began to come into view, each one seemingly more elaborate than the last. The delightful architecture continued along the length of the road and we discovered as we reached the end that this was the Bow Wow: a quaint Cotswold street whose name I have not been able to track down the origin of (if you have any information, please let me know!).

This was the apex of the circular walk we were following, and the return route took us through the village of South Cerney, past fishing lakes, and along an old drover’s route poetically called Wildmoorway Lane, which I have been advised is pronounced as the shorter but less poetic “Wilmer”. We were joined by a pair of mallards for part of the walk and tracks of deer were visible in the mud as we rejoined the original canal path for the last leg of the journey.

I don’t usually write immediate travel sequels, but if all of the walking trails are like this, I have a suspicion that the Cotswold Water Park may inspire an entire series … especially if this month’s April showers bring the promised May flowers.