We seized the opportunity. It wasn’t raining, or bitterly cold. At last, the sun glowed.

“Let’s go down by the river,” I suggested, pulling on my boots and coat, and in a jiffy, we were down on St Germans quayside.

“Where’s the water?” my little grandson declared, as we marched downhill by the sailing club where a variety of boats usually bob on sparkling ripples, although most are lifted onto the banks now until winter’s end. At high tide, glassy reflections of the River Tiddy railway viaduct and scenery around it are spectacular, unlike the gloomy riverbed that met us.

“Just look at that lovely mud,” I replied, undeterred, as I explained enthusiastically about currents flowing in and out.

After waving at a train heading in Plymouth’s direction, we tramped along the footpath by a row of cottages and a picturesque disused lime kiln storing colourful rowing boats and dinghies. How different it must look now compared to when it was fired up after first being built.

As we drew closer to the viaduct, and after plopping pebbles out into the brown sludge and puddle splashing. We were intrigued, by what ordinarily lies under the water. Gnarled tree trunks and other strange shapes that are naturally submerged were on show.

Drawn to the structure, we trod carefully across shingle, fascinated to see inside the gargantuan arches at close range before collecting leaves and twigs along the riverside. The bits and pieces foraged, ideal for children’s artwork.

Feeling revitalised, even though we were quite mucky on our return home, I felt grateful for the washing machine and made a cup of tea while our dirty clothes swished and swirled around. If only our boots and wellies could be cleaned so easily.

But, all things considered, our mini mud adventure was successful, enjoyable, and well worth the effort.

Until next time.
Sue. X