Walking the Lea Valley 6: PROPER-LEA Hertford → Ware(2 miles)
Despite being Hertfordshire born and bred, I'm relatively unacquainted with its county town. So when I strode in along the Lea, I was surprised to get a feeling that the place seemed strangely familiar. And then the Shire Hallclock struck two, and that's when the penny suddenly dropped. Trumpton... Hertford's suspiciously like Trumpton. The town centre is a relatively un-wrecked grid of backstreets lined by quaint-ishbuildings - most of them shops, but also including the oldest Quaker meeting house in the world. There are higgledy-houses and meandering alleys, and there are oddly-shaped squares and regimented terraces. There are statues, of the sort beneath which a flower seller might sit, and there are proper greengrocers that sell non-shrink-wrapped fruit and vegetables. It really wouldn't have surprised me to see six lads from the local fire brigade come gliding round a corner at any minute. OK, so the clock didn't perform a merry dance on the hour, and I'm sure Trumpton never had a giant Waitrose tucked away in an ugly brick mall round the back of the bus station. But as generic Betjeman-friendly county towns go, Hertford's survived better than most.
It's in Hertford that the Lea changes, irreversibly, from a tame stream to a deep river. Earlier I'd always thought I might be able to wade across it, but from here on it's proper drownable. The town centre is also the upper limit of the navigable Lea. Set off in a narrowboat from the quayside behind Hertford Museum and you could, if you wanted, chug all the way down to the Thames [photo]. There's a particularly pretty urban section alongside Folly Island, where a row of flower-bedecked cottages face directly onto the river [photo]. Unfortunately the best view is not from the Old Barge pub nextdoor, it's from the tacky terrace of a modern Starbucks on the opposite bank (beside the aforementioned Waitrose).
I headed downstream across the top of a lengthyweir - a popular place for preening ducks, but also home to a number of speculative riverside developments [photo]. Out here in Hertford, there's a premium for a Lea-view address. Then out of town towards the Navigation's uppermost lock[photo], the first of about 20 between here and Bow Creek. From the lower gates there was a fine view out across King's Mead - the 250 acre water meadow that separates Hertford from Ware. The land's never been ploughed, and is maintained as commonland for grazing and as a nature reserve. It's probably quite bleak in the middle of winter, but in midsummer it made for a delightful panoramicstroll.
New River: When 17th century Londoners needed fresh drinking water, and the Thames obviously wouldn't do, an ingenious entrepreneur called Sir Hugh Myddelton turned instead to the Lea. He funded the construction of a 20 mile artificial channel from just-below-Hertford all the way down to Islington, following the contours of the land to avoid any necessity for pumping. The head of the New River is on King's Mead, inside a remote-looking house-type building, with a sluice inside to divert water away from the natural stream [photo]. From here it runs across the meadows towards the edge of the valley (and some additional springs), before running pretty much parallel to the Lea at least as far as the M25. One day, honest, I'll run a detailed feature on the NewRiver and its lost meanders through North London. For now, however, I continued along the proper Lea (and under the A10 KingsmeadViaduct) into the town of Ware.
Ware is an old coaching town, ideally located one day's ride from London on the Great Cambridge Road. It's famous for a couple of things. One is for being an 'hilarious' homonym ("Where are you from?" "Yes, Ware"), and the other is for once having an enormous bed. The Great Bed of Ware was a ten-foot-wide four-poster, carved out of oak around 1590, and capable of accommodating more than a dozen heavy sleepers simultaneously. It started out as an overnight attraction in a local tavern, but has since ended up in the Victoria and Albert Museum. The town's museum in the High Street therefore has to make do with showing a scrap of ripped coverlet, which quite frankly isn't as exciting. Nevertheless I rather enjoyed Ware Museum. It's a good example of just how much can be done with an extremely limited space, including a selection of Hertfordshire brickwork, a WW2 bunker and (at the moment) a geological exhibition on 'Chalk'. The nice lady volunteers who run the place are also charming (unless you're a bunch of irreverent 12 year olds, in which case they'll tut a lot after you've left).
The Lea hugs the town from the south, arriving beside the HQ of GlaxoSmithKline beside a strangely modern weir [photo]. Shortly afterwards the river crosses the route of Roman Ermine Street (but invisibly, so you'd never know), then continues round the back of a Franciscan Priory. Next are the picturesque Waregazebos - a series of white-painted summerhouses perched beside and above the riverbank [photo]. Some are more than 300 years old, while others are more recent additions installed by house owners who fancied a very different style of conservatory at the bottom of the garden. My camera loved them.
Walking the Lea Valley 7: RYE-LEA Ware → Broxbourne(6 miles)
On the way out of Ware, the Lea evolves further. The Lee Valley Regional Park starts at the town bridge, stretching 22 recreational miles down to the Thames, so all the waterside signage is suddenly a lot better. There's a bend a little further along where the river finally turns to head south-ish rather than east, starting the long slog down towards Bow and the Dome. And it's here that the waterway splits - the official River Lea meandering one way, and the far-straighter LeeNavigation another. Walking alongside the latter is a whole new broad-gauge linear experience, and a world away from the narrow rippling channel experienced further up.
The valley's rather wider, and lake-ier, from here on [photo]. Along the next stretch are glimpses of various filled-in gravel pits - now the AmwellNatureReserve, whose hides are a a great place (if you've brought binoculars) to watch for waterfowl and otters. Hidden behind the trees on the towpath side is the picturesque village of Great Amwell, through which the artificial New River runs - probably worth a brief detour across an unmanned level crossing. There's a greater flirtation with civilisation at St Margaret's/Stanstead Abbotts - two very-neighbouring villages separated only by the Lea. The Greenwich Meridian crosses the river above Stanstead Lock, known for its rare swingbridge (which allows those living in the lockkeeper's cottage to get their car out) [photo].
Rye House: The Island of Rye, surrounded by floodable marsh, has been a select spot for settlement since Saxon times. In 1443 a local nobleman built a fine brick manorhouse by the river here, most of which has long since crumbled, but the entire Rye House gatehouse still stands. It's no ruin, but a nigh-perfectly preserved example of high quality 15th century brickwork [photo]. Finest of all, especially to anyone with a camera, is the tall twisting 'Barley Sugar' chimney on the roof [photo]. And yes, it was possible to climb up there to take a closer look. First of all I had to cross the moat to meet with the gatehouse custodian, guarding her till (and the shop) from marauding invaders. I don't know if it's always the same lady, but the East Ender I met added to the experience by being chatty, forthright and fun. She took my £1.80 and then flicked a switch so I could listen to three wax dummies plotting to kill the King. Oh, yes, back in 1683 Rye House almost changed British history. King Charles II was due to ride back from Newmarket through the estate, where conspirators planned to ambush the royal party and restore brother James to the succession. All might have worked perfectly if only Charles hadn't accidentally saved his own life by returning home a week early. The Rye House plot might possibly have been fictitious, but its ringleaders were swiftly dispatched nevertheless. After a dash of 'history' on the vaulted ground floor, I ascended to 'architecture' level where it was possible to admire the rendering close-up and learn a bit more about brickery. And then the roof. I love a good roof, especially when I've got it to myself and there's a decent view. Here I could gaze across nearbyHoddesdon, and another nearby bird reserve, plus a large caravan park where the Showmen's Guild store fairground rides over the Winter. That droning buzz to the south was the sound of speedway at the Rye House Stadium, home to the Rye House Rockets (I'm only related to one of them, apparently). All this (plus a station on the doorstep, a decent riverside pub, and rumours of nearby dogging) makes Rye House a compact yet fascinating spot. Add it to the list of places you now know you haven't been.
The Lea continues southward, past the Speedway circuit [photo] and a pylon-infested power station, to be joined by the largest tributary of all - the Stort. That's the river which flows down from Bishops Stortford, obviously, and its also been canalised to enable navigation by narrowboat. There were a lot of boats on the Lea as I walked down, almost as many as there were bikes on the towpath. At Feildes Weir Lock a 50th birthday party (afloat) was in full swing, with the party girl identifiable by a cheap plastic sash and a rather more expensive glass of bubbly.
The next weir was possibly the most picturesque on the whole river [photo]. Dobbs Weir has three long V-shaped notches, which greatly increase the length over which the water can tumble [photo]. They used to be much loved by daredevil canoeists, but British Waterways have now locked them away in lieu of expensive repairs. The area's long been loved by anglers (Isaak Walton included), not just the flat river above but also the weirpond below. Britain's largest chub was landed here (it's been beaten since), and there were plenty of would-be record breakers lining the banks when I wandered by. A favourite haunt of families who never walk more than 200 yards from the car park, I thought, aided and abetted by the presence of a fine pub plus waterside terrace. But that's Essex for you. For the next five miles or so, one's bank's Hertfordshire and one bank's Essex, and it's here at Dobb's Weir that a bridge carries the towpath from the former to the latter.
A leafy curved stretch followed, with the three extensive lakes of Nazeing Meads screened off behind the trees. I'd not have noticed them, nor their watersports, nor the cucumber-packed glasshouses beyond, if I hadn't stepped off the towpath for an inquisitive scout-round. My detour allowed a merry stag party barge the opportunity to overtake, until I caught up with them again at Carthagena Lock[photo]. The lockkeepers here keep a particularly fine cottage, with hanging baskets across the lower gates and a "ring the bell for service" kiosk hidden round the back. Negotiating the descent slowed the floating revellers just long enough to give me a decent head start into Broxbourne, where their journey terminated. Messing around in boats may be a lot of fun, but it sure isn't fast.
Walking the Lea Valley 8: LOCKS-LEA Broxbourne → Waltham Abbey(5 miles)
If you fancy messing about in a boat on the Lea, head to Broxbourne[photo]. You can hire anything from a pedalo (for an hour) to a narrowboat (for the day), or (if you're feeling refined) go for a river cruise on the "Lady of Lea Valley". I resisted, even the special offer of a cream tea afloat, because none of these options would have deposited me any further down the valley. But it's a fine spot for a boating centre because there's a variety of interesting scenery (wooded, meadowy, residential). And, more importantly, there are no nasty annoying locks nearby to get in the way of horizontal watercrafting.
I followed the flotilla downstream, past some vole-filled freshwater marsh and a row of rich Essex houses with boats at the bottom of the garden. At King's Weir the Lea tumbled away to one side, and the towpath continued alongside the Lea Navigation. The artificialness of the waterway soon became clear - broad, arrow-straight and relentlessly featureless. A screen of trees hid the commuter 'burbs of Wormley and Turnford from view, with occasional views of bird-rich filled-in gravel pits inbetween. It was a relief when Aqueduct Lock finally appeared, if only because there'd be something different to stare at. I must say I wasn't expecting that something to be a bare-chested 30 stone man in a Viking helmet [photo]. He had more drooping wobbly bits than my brain could comfortably cope with, none of which were helping his boat party to negotiate to the lock. I moved swiftly on.
This was a lonely stretch, segregated from reality with only the occasional whizzed-by cyclist for company. A two-mile chain of wooden electricity pylons followed the towpath, their elevated cables prohibiting anglers from dangling any lines beneath [photo]. Another change in elevation broke the monotony, this time at Cheshunt Lock, and I took the opportunity to go and stare briefly at another water-filled gravel pit. Then on, past some very keen young canoeists, and a welcome bend at the turn-off to Cheshuntstation. Oh joy, more straight stuff, all the way down to Waltham Common Lock. There were five parallel streams here, and I was stuck on the non-meandering one.
Waterway 1 - Small River Lea: Precious little originality in the naming of rivers round here, eh? Waterway 2 - Lea Navigation: That's the straight one (here with a lot of geese, ducks and swans) Waterway 3 - Millhead Stream: This one feeds the canalsystem of the Royal Gunpowder Mills (a fascinating and historic explosive attraction - do go visit) Waterway 4 - Old River Lea: The proper river (and wholly unwalkable) Waterway 5 - Cornmill Stream: On the west bank is the Cornmill Meadows Dragonfly Sanctuary (which is very pretty, but where I didn't see a single dragonfly). And on the east bank is the former GLC Arboretum (which contains my favourite mile-long meridian-followingfootpath between two granitestatues)
A big surprise after the bend at Cheshunt Marsh was the appearance of a sprawling contoured building site. Hillocks of earth had been piled up across a former overspill car park, with red-and-white striped cylinders dotted here and there like discarded slices of seaside rock [photo]. An information board by the footbridge revealed that this was the site of the London 2012White WaterCanoe Centre. There'll be four days of canoe and kayak action down the artificial course, and those cylinders are for the pumps to keep the white water flowing. Unlike the Olympic Park downstream, these facilities are scheduled to open for public use in 2011, with a separate intermediate course as well as the scary world-class rapids. It's early days yet - more of a mudpile than a lake and torrent - but an impressive watersports attraction awaits.
Waltham Abbey: I have a soft spot for the town of WalthamAbbey, because it's jam-packed with little but lovely things. It's only a short walk from Waltham Town Lock into town (you are now entering Essex), past the entrance to the aforementioned Gunpowder Mills to the doors of the medieval Abbey itself. Church services prevented me from getting inside, but the grounds were lovely, including the reputed grave of King Harold and a Meridian gateway at the entrance to the walled garden. The meridian was also marked on the pavement in Sun Street, not far from the small and almost-interesting Epping Forest Museum. Summer Sunday opening at the museum didn't seem to be drawing in the crowds, and the untouched pots of pens and scissors on the "children's activities" table in the garden told their own forlorn story. If you head for the town yourself, pick a sunny day, and remember there's just as much around the edge of town as in the centre.
And yes, that rumbling viaduct in the distance, that's the M25. London beckons.
Walking the Lea Valley 9: INDUSTRIAL-LEA Waltham Abbey → Tottenham Hale(6 miles)
Beneath the M25, somewhere near where Junction 25½ ought to be, the Lee Navigation trickles into London. It runs through RammeyMarsh, which is the last vaguely natural bit of valley before Walthamstow, and where there's always a string of brightly painted narrowboats tied up [photo]. But it's not far until Enfield Lock, where housing re-intrudes. EnfieldIsland used to be home to the Royal Small Arms Factory, where the army manufactured a century's worth of firepower including the LeeEnfield rifle (it's named 'Lee' after its designer, not the river). More recently the island site has been redeveloped as an isolated housing estate, with a number of the original buildings left standing uneasily amidst a sea of bland townhouses [photo]. Some of the riverside cottages I thought were delightful, but the Rifles pub had long been boarded up, and the Swan and Pike Pool seemed to attract far more plastic bags than birds and fish.
And then the reservoirs began. Two of these (King George's and the William Girling) filled the broad gap between river and navigation. They're vast - a total of three miles long, and with a combined capacity of nearly thirty billion litres. I didn't see much of them from the towpath, just a high grassy embankment along which trapped sheep circuitously grazed. Horses nibbled the thin strip of marshland closer to the river, best viewed from a rare footbridge at Mossops Creek. On the opposite bank, a few swans excepted, the view was rather less pastoral. The BrimsdownIndustrial Estate clung to the river, wafting the smell of something almost bread-like across the water, close to where a chain of pylons erupted from a power station to stalk the valley. It ought to have been very ugly, but this two mile strip was alluringly disjoint [photo].
Diversion: I guess it had to happen eventually. At Ponders EndLock a sign slapped to some iron railings announced "STOP. Towpath Closed. Diversion ←". There were apparently workmen refurbishing the overhead lines somewhere along the next stretch, even at the weekend, and a few hundred yards ahead the towpath was gated shut. Damn you National Grid, damn you. There was absolutely no indication of how long the diversion would be, nor precisely which route I'd be forced to take, just a series of yellow arrows to follow. A bleak walk alongside the roaring A10 ensued, although there was one bonus which was the additional opportunity to photograph theiconicPondersEndtowerblocks from yet more photogenic angles [photo]. Eventually the arrows pointed back towards the river, diverting through the grounds of the Lee Valley Leisure Complex. Last time I was here, five years ago, I found a disused local sports centre, some buddleia-covered tennis courts and a locked-away driving range. Now a gleaming blade-shaped sporting facility had been erected on site - the Lee Valley Athletics Centre[photo] - through whose glassy walls I could spot budding young superstars engaged in pre-Olympic warm-ups. The diversion seemed interminable, trudging past the 400m track then back towards the river down Pickett's Lock Lane. Here there should have been access to Pickett's Lock itself, but no, the car park was full of construction vehicles and walkers were kept well away. Every couple of minutes or so a yellow-jacketed worker whizzed down the lane and back in a tiny electric buggy, just for a laugh, scaring off unseen dragonflies. And as the two mile diversion eventually drew to an end, I heard a distinct 'clink' on the opposite side of the river as a gate was unlocked and the direct route along the towpath reopened. Damn. Pylon-tweaking had finished early for the day, and I'd missed out on a lengthy chunk of the Lea unnecessarily. Never mind, I'm sure I'll see Pickett's Lock properly the next time I'm here.
Only a handful of roads cross London's Lea Valley, and the darkest shadow is cast by the North Circular [photo]. This arterial dual carriageway draws a industrial cluster to the floodplain, including one of the capital's three giant blue IKEA sheds. The Stonehill Business Park takes full advantage of the area's accessibility, its workers fed whilst sitting on assorted plastic chairs outside the Leaside Cafe [photo]. The dead-end towpath road looked like it should be virtually unused, but I discovered a surprisingly large busgarage at the end so had to watch out for approaching bendy 29s. TottenhamMarshes were considerably lovelier, with squelchy green walkspace to either side, and parallel channels which reminded me of the narrower river further upstream. That's where I saw yet another heron, swooping towards the focal point of my latest photograph three seconds after I'd put my camera away.
From here onwards the Lea became a linear village [photo]. A succession of floatingnarrowboaters had made their homes here, temporary or otherwise, and here they were reading on the towpath, blaring out loud music from astern or wandering back from Tesco with a weekend's provisions. There was a lot more food closer to home. The riverbanks hung low with blackberries and blackcurrants, and two enterprising teenage girls were attempting to sell fruit-filled bags for £1.20 from a makeshift stall on a nearby bench. If they'd managed to stop giggling they might have been more successful. A more successful catering option was the Watersedge Cafe at Stonebridge Lock, home to Lee Valley Canoe Cycle and a wide range of tasty fry-ups. Car-driving families like to park up here and pretend they've visited the river. They've barely scratched the surface.
NDWalking the Lea Valley
Despite being Hertfordshire born and bred, I'm relatively unacquainted with its county town. So when I strode in along the Lea, I was surprised to get a feeling that the place seemed strangely familiar. And then the Shire Hall clock struck two, and that's when the penny suddenly dropped. Trumpton... Hertford's suspiciously like Trumpton. The town centre is a relatively un-wrecked grid of backstreets lined by quaint-ish buildings - most of them shops, but also including the oldest Quaker meeting house in the world. There are higgledy-houses and meandering alleys, and there are oddly-shaped squares and regimented terraces. There are statues, of the sort beneath which a flower seller might sit, and there are proper greengrocers that sell non-shrink-wrapped fruit and vegetables. It really wouldn't have surprised me to see six lads from the local fire brigade come gliding round a corner at any minute. OK, so the clock didn't perform a merry dance on the hour, and I'm sure Trumpton never had a giant Waitrose tucked away in an ugly brick mall round the back of the bus station. But as generic Betjeman-friendly county towns go, Hertford's survived better than most.
I headed downstream across the top of a lengthy weir - a popular place for preening ducks, but also home to a number of speculative riverside developments [photo]. Out here in Hertford, there's a premium for a Lea-view address. Then out of town towards the Navigation's uppermost lock [photo], the first of about 20 between here and Bow Creek. From the lower gates there was a fine view out across King's Mead - the 250 acre water meadow that separates Hertford from Ware. The land's never been ploughed, and is maintained as commonland for grazing and as a nature reserve. It's probably quite bleak in the middle of winter, but in midsummer it made for a delightful panoramic stroll.
Ware is an old coaching town, ideally located one day's ride from London on the Great Cambridge Road. It's famous for a couple of things. One is for being an 'hilarious' homonym ("Where are you from?" "Yes, Ware"), and the other is for once having an enormous bed. The Great Bed of Ware was a ten-foot-wide four-poster, carved out of oak around 1590, and capable of accommodating more than a dozen heavy sleepers simultaneously. It started out as an overnight attraction in a local tavern, but has since ended up in the Victoria and Albert Museum. The town's museum in the High Street therefore has to make do with showing a scrap of ripped coverlet, which quite frankly isn't as exciting. Nevertheless I rather enjoyed Ware Museum. It's a good example of just how much can be done with an extremely limited space, including a selection of Hertfordshire brickwork, a WW2 bunker and (at the moment) a geological exhibition on 'Chalk'. The nice lady volunteers who run the place are also charming (unless you're a bunch of irreverent 12 year olds, in which case they'll tut a lot after you've left).
Walking the Lea Valley
On the way out of Ware, the Lea evolves further. The Lee Valley Regional Park starts at the town bridge, stretching 22 recreational miles down to the Thames, so all the waterside signage is suddenly a lot better. There's a bend a little further along where the river finally turns to head south-ish rather than east, starting the long slog down towards Bow and the Dome. And it's here that the waterway splits - the official River Lea meandering one way, and the far-straighter Lee Navigation another. Walking alongside the latter is a whole new broad-gauge linear experience, and a world away from the narrow rippling channel experienced further up.
Rye House: The Island of Rye, surrounded by floodable marsh, has been a select spot for settlement since Saxon times. In 1443 a local nobleman built a fine brick manorhouse by the river here, most of which has long since crumbled, but the entire Rye House gatehouse still stands. It's no ruin, but a nigh-perfectly preserved example of high quality 15th century brickwork [photo]. Finest of all, especially to anyone with a camera, is the tall twisting 'Barley Sugar' chimney on the roof [photo]. And yes, it was possible to climb up there to take a closer look. First of all I had to cross the moat to meet with the gatehouse custodian, guarding her till (and the shop) from marauding invaders. I don't know if it's always the same lady, but the East Ender I met added to the experience by being chatty, forthright and fun. She took my £1.80 and then flicked a switch so I could listen to three wax dummies plotting to kill the King. Oh, yes, back in 1683 Rye House almost changed British history. King Charles II was due to ride back from Newmarket through the estate, where conspirators planned to ambush the royal party and restore brother James to the succession. All might have worked perfectly if only Charles hadn't accidentally saved his own life by returning home a week early. The Rye House plot might possibly have been fictitious, but its ringleaders were swiftly dispatched nevertheless. After a dash of 'history' on the vaulted ground floor, I ascended to 'architecture' level where it was possible to admire the rendering close-up and learn a bit more about brickery. And then the roof. I love a good roof, especially when I've got it to myself and there's a decent view. Here I could gaze across nearby Hoddesdon, and another nearby bird reserve, plus a large caravan park where the Showmen's Guild store fairground rides over the Winter. That droning buzz to the south was the sound of speedway at the Rye House Stadium, home to the Rye House Rockets (I'm only related to one of them, apparently). All this (plus a station on the doorstep, a decent riverside pub, and rumours of nearby dogging) makes Rye House a compact yet fascinating spot. Add it to the list of places you now know you haven't been.
The next weir was possibly the most picturesque on the whole river [photo]. Dobbs Weir has three long V-shaped notches, which greatly increase the length over which the water can tumble [photo]. They used to be much loved by daredevil canoeists, but British Waterways have now locked them away in lieu of expensive repairs. The area's long been loved by anglers (Isaak Walton included), not just the flat river above but also the weirpond below. Britain's largest chub was landed here (it's been beaten since), and there were plenty of would-be record breakers lining the banks when I wandered by. A favourite haunt of families who never walk more than 200 yards from the car park, I thought, aided and abetted by the presence of a fine pub plus waterside terrace. But that's Essex for you. For the next five miles or so, one's bank's Hertfordshire and one bank's Essex, and it's here at Dobb's Weir that a bridge carries the towpath from the former to the latter.
Walking the Lea Valley
If you fancy messing about in a boat on the Lea, head to Broxbourne [photo]. You can hire anything from a pedalo (for an hour) to a narrowboat (for the day), or (if you're feeling refined) go for a river cruise on the "Lady of Lea Valley". I resisted, even the special offer of a cream tea afloat, because none of these options would have deposited me any further down the valley. But it's a fine spot for a boating centre because there's a variety of interesting scenery (wooded, meadowy, residential). And, more importantly, there are no nasty annoying locks nearby to get in the way of horizontal watercrafting.
This was a lonely stretch, segregated from reality with only the occasional whizzed-by cyclist for company. A two-mile chain of wooden electricity pylons followed the towpath, their elevated cables prohibiting anglers from dangling any lines beneath [photo]. Another change in elevation broke the monotony, this time at Cheshunt Lock, and I took the opportunity to go and stare briefly at another water-filled gravel pit. Then on, past some very keen young canoeists, and a welcome bend at the turn-off to Cheshunt station. Oh joy, more straight stuff, all the way down to Waltham Common Lock. There were five parallel streams here, and I was stuck on the non-meandering one.
A big surprise after the bend at Cheshunt Marsh was the appearance of a sprawling contoured building site. Hillocks of earth had been piled up across a former overspill car park, with red-and-white striped cylinders dotted here and there like discarded slices of seaside rock [photo]. An information board by the footbridge revealed that this was the site of the London 2012 White Water Canoe Centre. There'll be four days of canoe and kayak action down the artificial course, and those cylinders are for the pumps to keep the white water flowing. Unlike the Olympic Park downstream, these facilities are scheduled to open for public use in 2011, with a separate intermediate course as well as the scary world-class rapids. It's early days yet - more of a mudpile than a lake and torrent - but an impressive watersports attraction awaits.
Waltham Abbey: I have a soft spot for the town of Waltham Abbey, because it's jam-packed with little but lovely things. It's only a short walk from Waltham Town Lock into town (you are now entering Essex), past the entrance to the aforementioned Gunpowder Mills to the doors of the medieval Abbey itself. Church services prevented me from getting inside, but the grounds were lovely, including the reputed grave of King Harold and a Meridian gateway at the entrance to the walled garden. The meridian was also marked on the pavement in Sun Street, not far from the small and almost-interesting Epping Forest Museum. Summer Sunday opening at the museum didn't seem to be drawing in the crowds, and the untouched pots of pens and scissors on the "children's activities" table in the garden told their own forlorn story. If you head for the town yourself, pick a sunny day, and remember there's just as much around the edge of town as in the centre.
Walking the Lea Valley
Beneath the M25, somewhere near where Junction 25½ ought to be, the Lee Navigation trickles into London. It runs through Rammey Marsh, which is the last vaguely natural bit of valley before Walthamstow, and where there's always a string of brightly painted narrowboats tied up [photo]. But it's not far until Enfield Lock, where housing re-intrudes. Enfield Island used to be home to the Royal Small Arms Factory, where the army manufactured a century's worth of firepower including the Lee Enfield rifle (it's named 'Lee' after its designer, not the river). More recently the island site has been redeveloped as an isolated housing estate, with a number of the original buildings left standing uneasily amidst a sea of bland townhouses [photo]. Some of the riverside cottages I thought were delightful, but the Rifles pub had long been boarded up, and the Swan and Pike Pool seemed to attract far more plastic bags than birds and fish.
Diversion: I guess it had to happen eventually. At Ponders End Lock a sign slapped to some iron railings announced "STOP. Towpath Closed. Diversion ←". There were apparently workmen refurbishing the overhead lines somewhere along the next stretch, even at the weekend, and a few hundred yards ahead the towpath was gated shut. Damn you National Grid, damn you. There was absolutely no indication of how long the diversion would be, nor precisely which route I'd be forced to take, just a series of yellow arrows to follow. A bleak walk alongside the roaring A10 ensued, although there was one bonus which was the additional opportunity to photograph the iconic Ponders End tower blocks from yet more photogenic angles [photo]. Eventually the arrows pointed back towards the river, diverting through the grounds of the Lee Valley Leisure Complex. Last time I was here, five years ago, I found a disused local sports centre, some buddleia-covered tennis courts and a locked-away driving range. Now a gleaming blade-shaped sporting facility had been erected on site - the Lee Valley Athletics Centre [photo] - through whose glassy walls I could spot budding young superstars engaged in pre-Olympic warm-ups. The diversion seemed interminable, trudging past the 400m track then back towards the river down Pickett's Lock Lane. Here there should have been access to Pickett's Lock itself, but no, the car park was full of construction vehicles and walkers were kept well away. Every couple of minutes or so a yellow-jacketed worker whizzed down the lane and back in a tiny electric buggy, just for a laugh, scaring off unseen dragonflies. And as the two mile diversion eventually drew to an end, I heard a distinct 'clink' on the opposite side of the river as a gate was unlocked and the direct route along the towpath reopened. Damn. Pylon-tweaking had finished early for the day, and I'd missed out on a lengthy chunk of the Lea unnecessarily. Never mind, I'm sure I'll see Pickett's Lock properly the next time I'm here.
