Annual punt trip evolves again

Thanks to the beastly virus, our annual punting trip to Oxford had been on hold for a couple of years, creating a palpable excitement, as punt poles were twirled nervously and picnic hampers bulged with comestible goodness. The boatyard crew were good to their word, always keeping aside the boats we needed even though we never actually book. They confirmed that it had been a tough few years for them and that vital tourist numbers had still not returned to pre-Covid levels.

Around 12.30 our flotilla pulled away from the boatyard. One of the early jaunts saw us head downriver, but since then we have always travelled upstream, originally using the rollers to haul the punts to the higher level of river before finding a picnic spot. It's been years since we've made it beyond the rollers, however, as in recent times we have always arrived to find them underwater—a sign of global warming? The current is often strong, making it hard to punt against the stream, and I think some of our punters were again struggling. (I was lucky enough to be in a punt with Robert Beckwith, probably the finest punter in our midst, and even he felt the need to put down his Champagne glass and use both hands.)

As is traditional, we paused by Magdalen College gardens, mooring up by the big "NO MOORING" signs, to allow the last boats to set sail to catch up with the convoy, and to take a brief group photograph with the punts. Then it was on upriver towards our usual picnicking ground, by the High Bridge in the University Parks—there is suitable grass for us to spread out on, plus some handy public toilets close by.

However, it was not to be. Past a vigorous weir and a small island we came across a fallen tree. We'd managed to limbo under a few trees already, but this time what looked like a clear path turned out to have a submerged trunk in the water—we tried to force the lead punt over the top, but it was not happening. (And, now I think about it, it would have meant we'd have to be sure of getting all the boats over it, and back over on the return journey to the boatyard.)

We probably weren't that far from our usual picnic ground, but we also needed a point where we could moor the boats and get out easily on to dry land, plus a section of bank that is not private property. Someone made a decision and we ended up punting all the way back to the boatyard and surrendering our vessels after just a couple of hours. Mind you, this saved us some money, so folk were then happy enough to stump up £7 to enter the university Botanical Gardens, pretty much opposite the boatyard. This made a perfect picnic ground (and also had loos!).

After two hours it was 5pm and the gardens closed. Some folk returned to their digs to offload punting and picnicking equipment, before we all reconvened at the Turf Tavern until closing time. (Traditionally we also meet here at 11am for a sharpener before the punting, but after a year in which the landlord outraged Scarheart by forbidding our crew from eating some of their picnic food in the beer garden—even though at that hour the pub wasn't serving food itself—we had switched our allegiances to the Bear Inn for a while. However, the Bear seemed to be closed this year, so back to the Turf it was.)

Thanks to whoever organised all this (Scarheart, I suspect) and to Helena for arranging a black tie dinner for earlier arrivals the night before. And thanks to all the Club members who joined in, gracing the rivers and streets of Oxford with a splash of dapperness, much to the amusement of tourists.

In addition to the limited amount of punting, it was an unusual year also in having more children present than I think we've seen before; and of course it was unusual in that no one fell into the water. Typically there is always one, but it most often happens on the way back from the boozy picnic—and this time the punting was over by the time the picnic started. I guess this means the sweepstake that Scarheart always runs will roll over till next year (at which point he'll either come up with some excuse for the mysterious disappearance of the funds, or simply claim that we are all mistaken and there never was a sweepstake in the first place). See you all then!

You can see all the photos I took in this album on Flickr, and you can see other people’s snaps in the Facebook event.