Things got a little rocky last time, didn’t they? But the Idiots’ annual between-Christmas-and-New-Year-slash-for-Rob’s-birthday hike is a set in stone event, and nothing was going to derail that.

Plotting for this one was pretty easy – we knew we wanted something around 10-12 miles in length and we kicked around a few options before Rob decided he liked the idea of a trek from Twyford to Henley. We did a quick roll call of attendees and most of the usual Christmas line up joined us, Rob’s dad sadly missing out as he had a cold and John having to take a pass owing to a job interview. I love hiking with the boys but I’m not sure how much I was expecting with this one given the short distance and (I assumed) familiar setting; I pretty much figured it would be a pleasant but uneventful amble and we’d be back shortly after lunch.

We convened at Twyford (no relation) train station and off we went, walking a short distance before entering the woods.

The first thing to bear in mind about hiking in winter is how damn muddy it is. Even simple pathways through the woods are suddenly like ice rinks.

The second thing is that not only is winter muddy, but (obviously) wet. And sometimes the wetness can get a little out of hand, as we learned within the first hour.

So after a short discussion, we were off again, our success guaranteed. Right? Almost.

The third thing to note is that hiking along the riverside footpaths in winter is that sometimes there are no riverside footpaths.

So we decided rather than turn round again, we’d do some discreet trespassing through the adjacent field and loop round to where the pass resumed.

It was fine though, all we had to do was cross the next bridge –

– and we’d be back on our way –

Fine. We’ll just keep going. Sure the worst is behind us.

Well, it kinda was. The route was almost passable, only mostly flooded, with lots of felled branches piled up along the side. So Big Al decided to use his construction skills and assembled a bridge to get us across, the rest of us acting as an assembly line to pass the raw materials his way.

Annoyingly I forgot to get a picture of Big Al’s masterpiece, but Rob and I recreated a scale model of it for your benefit:

Fortunately no more floods present themselves for a while and we were able to continue, although we now found ourselves wandering along an extended stretch into Woodley for a mile or so. Just before it we saw my new favourite back garden…

Anyway, once we clear Woodley we entered Sonning and were back on track!

Sonning is seriously impressive. Jerome K. Jerome of Three Men in a Boat fame called it “the most fairy-like little nook on the whole river,” which is a beautiful description, with its charming old houses and cottages, many of them listed. Presumably JKJ never saw it with the traffic piled up behind the lights waiting to cross the bridge anytime roughly approaching rush hour, but commuting gripes aside, he may have been onto something.

Our route takes a short diversion into the local graveyard (my request, I’m quirky like that) and we briefly try and work out what the symbols on the below headstones are:

The symbol, if you can make it out, cleverly spells IHS, or Iesus Hominum Salvator, which refers to early Christian monuments. Jesus starting with an “I” gives us our second Indiana Jones reference of the day after the rope bridge, a sign that things are going very well indeed.

And then, to only make it better, we find a pub! And it serves us! Before noon!

The entrance to the Bull isn’t massively obvious (multiple doors, duh) and we milled around for a short while until the bartender kindly poked his head out the door and asked if we’d like to come in.

The Bull and its staff were charming, I got my water bottles refilled (all that mud worked up a thirst) and we stayed for a short while to soak in the ambience (and a pint) before heading off. We liked The Bull a lot, would strongly recommend it.

Overcoming the desire to stick around for longer, we said our goodbyes and passed through Sonning, crossing the bridge over the Thames and walking along the Thames Path, the mud returning with a vengeance. Rob finds a set of car keys which have a phone number on, so he gives them a call out of the goodness of his heart. And the promised £10 reward. The owner is very grateful and agrees to collect the keys from us when we get to Henley.

The stretch between Sonning and Shiplake college was probably rather beautiful, but I don’t think any of us saw much of it as we were too busy trying to power through the mud. We did see a couple on a barge asking if we’d see (what we assumed was) their dog, but that was about it. Finally we got to the end of the mud, and was rewarded with this sight:

Returning to something resembling a path, we found ourselves at Shiplake, and this rather impressive door.

Annoyingly around this point we find ourselves detoured one final time, and have to amend our route once more, the reason for the footpath being closed only becoming apparent a short while later.

Still, post cryptic and indeterminately-sized sinkhole we’re back on track once more and happy to carry on, with only five miles left to go. Surely it’s just a sprint to the finish now?

Come on, you know it’s never that straightforward. Within minutes we find ourselves crossing a field which isn’t so much mud as just water, the water sneakily having risen up to the level of the grass, meaning the only way to even try to stay dry is to keep moving and aim for the denser patches of grass. Maybe if we kept moving we’d make it without incident.

However, much like the owner of the keys Rob found (generally believed to be Keira Knightly at this point) we found ourselves presented with someone in need.

This time it was a family, who despite being prepared enough to be wearing Wellington boots (and therefore having drier feet than us) also were trying to carry a buggy across four hundred metres of waterlogged fields. We were all more than ready to do our share, but Big Al got in there first and refused to quit, and helped the sheepish dad lug buggy and passenger (who was pretty chilled out about the whole thing) to the other side.

Leaving the (rather grateful) family to it once we’d cleared the water, we ducked under the low hanging railway bridge and entered the final stretch of the way, which mostly consisted of admiring the very posh houses and buildings built along the riverside on the stretch to Henley.

Finally though, Henley came into sight and with it, the Angel, a pub we had last visited all the way back in Hike 4. Short of indoor seating for the five of us, we opt to sit outside and commemorate our success at a decent day’s hike.

Mat and Big Al depart soon after, and Rob, Alan and I head inside to wait for definitely Keira Knightly to collect her keys (okay it wasn’t, but she was very nice). Alan and I pass the time by drinking more hard earned beer, because what else are we supposed to do in this situation?

And that was Twyford to Henley; full of mud and mishaps, detours and diversions. Exactly the sort of nonsense we love.