There may not have been dragons, but there were plenty of locks. And they were ferocious in their own way.

Locks are dank and mysterious. They have scary ladders I had to climb and heavy gates I had to move.

“Use your bum,” the instructor told me. And I did. But sometimes I forgot my head.

Heading downstream at St. Catherine’s lock, I failed to close the gates at the back end. Could I have emptied the entire River Wey? Probably not, but you never know

And then there was the Triggs lock, when things got so crazy that the lock-keeper ran out of his adorable little cottage shouting, “What’s going on here?” and rushing us on our way.

It was tricky navigating the boat into a lock, especially if pulling beside another craft. And cranking open the sluices took almost more muscle than I could muster. Best of all (not) were the occasions when bystanders gathered to watch the locks open and close. Just what I needed: an audience!

What can I say? It was an experience I’m unlikely to repeat — or forget.