I think it was last summer that I heard of kayaking in the middle of Birmingham. For any non-Brits reading this, Birmingham is the UK’s second city, perched in the middle of England – a region creatively referred to as the midlands – and also the setting for Peaky Blinders. The city expanded fast during the industrial revolution of the 17-1800s, and one of the things that required was some means of moving large quantities of raw materials. Back before there were railways, that was done by boats. Birmingham being a long way from the sea, that meant canals. And that is why, as Birmingham’s tourist board is not shy of mentioning, Birmingham has more canals than Venice. A few years back they started to offer kayak tours of the city. Some of those tours start at dawn.
Five am, and eight of us plus two guides are pushing out onto the black water of the canal. Quiet – quiet as a city gets. The water’s still, no chop, and nothing to really call current – if I paddle four strokes then stop, then I’ll glide onward in that same direction. After all those months of folding my limbs into a lotus position under the spray deck, the sit on top kayaks with their backrests and endless legroom feel absurdly comfortable – like being adrift on a living room lounger, but with the added benefit that the widescreen view unfolding ahead of you is real.
Under bridge, over water, dawn coming in now. There’s greenery from the occasional tree, but we’re gliding past walls that have formed a canvas for generations of rattlecan Picassos and along the edges of building sites where the fences sprout jelly-roll curls of razorwire. On the right an early train jogs past. Turn left, under a hump-backed bridge, and the first disturbance of the water is the inlet from Edgbaston Reservoir. There are ducks about, moving unhurriedly out of our way, and on the left the gutted remains of a factory that once made something. I’ve no idea what – this is Birmingham we’re in, it could have manufactured pretty much anything.
There’s a few geese knocking about – a pair of Canada geese have nested at the base of the central pier of a bridge, and they eye us narrowly as we pass. A heron stands sentry on the towpath, immobile to the point where I wonder if it’s a statue, until it takes off and glides with an eerie quiet out of the tunnel of a bridge and down along the canal. Cheering to see this much wildlife. The guide mentions that when the Gas-Street basin was last dredged they found a mussel bed. While I personally wouldn’t be queuing up to eat those mussels, the fact that they could survive says something for the water quality.
Another bridge and we’re going past the landmarks I recognise – the indoor arena (saw Cirque Du Soleil in there a few years back), the National Sea Life Centre (must go there sometime – odd dichotomy in that I live by the sea, and this is the furthest you can get from the sea in Britain) and the Malt House (not technically a landmark, but possibly my favourite pub in Birmingham). Under the Black Sabbath Memorial Bridge (it’s probably got an official name, but damned if I can remember it) and into the Gas Street basin. And along the way there’s canal boats moored along each side, plus pubs, shops, precincts – Birmingham’s leaned into developing all of this as waterfront property. When my mother grew up in Birmingham in the 70s the Gas Street basin is somewhere you’d avoid after dark, and you’d probably not be kayaking in there – you’d be constantly grounding on shoals of shopping trolleys if nothing else.
Finish up back where we started. Haul out the kayaks. Seven am now – colder than I’d have thought. From the hotel a hot-shower and a cooked breakfast are calling my name.
Anything to take away from this?
The canals have more life than I expected – and not the human kind. There were birds, and several species. I’m going to guess there’s other animals about as well – where there’s water there’s rats. That’s not something I expected somewhere this urban, but wildlife’s nothing if not adaptable. Other than that….water’s where you find it I guess, and sit on top kayaks really are ridiculously comfortable. They’re probably not great on white water, but then neither am I. As a platform for peaceful waterborne photography, they’ve just earned rack-space in my fantasy boathouse (somewhere between the junk-rigged folkboat and the jet-ski enclosure).
Until next time……
Photos By Alex 