Welcome to our ‘Reading Rivers’ series, where we explore how our waterways inspire the written word. Today we’re looking at The Pull of the River: A Journey into the Wild and Watery Heart of Britain by Matt Gaw. First published in 2018, the book follows Gaw and his friend James Treadaway as they canoe along rivers in Scotland, East Anglia, the Midlands, the West Country, and London.
The book opens with the dynamic duo taking their red canoe for a test drive in the River Stour. Treadaway built “the Pipe” in his garden, both men having been seized by a compulsion to leave the land behind. This invisible summons leads them to the water, where they careen between banks and plough into bushes. When they emerge, rumpled but giddy, one thing is clear: for all the mishaps of their first outing, they are already besotted.
That night, Gaw pours over maps as if seeing them for the first time. A hidden layer of the world has been revealed; a watery vascular system that winds across the landscape. He had grown up around rivers – paddled, fished, and swam – but had he ever truly known them? Had he really explored them at all? So begins his year-long dive into this new network of possibilities, searching for places to “get lost while knowing exactly where you are”.
One striking feature of Gaw’s writing is his offbeat turns of phrase. A heron’s crest is “Brylcreemed flat”; kingfishers flash by like “wobbling gas flames”; mandarin ducks look like “an explosion in a make-up factory”. The river’s surface is “blistered from rising fish”, calm like "a sheet of dark volcanic glass” or hidden beneath “a hot chocolate skin”. The water “folds like bed sheets round the paddles" or flows with “the sound of polite applause”.
These vivid descriptions turn picture postcards into vibrant scenes alive with activity – we hear the snuffling of an otter, see the fluttering of caddisflies, and feel the brush of drifting cherry blossoms. In doing so, they highlight another of Gaw’s creative strengths: his unashamed excitement about the magic of nature. When he describes watching a beaver glide by, or stargazing under darkened canopies, the sense of awe is undeniable.
Unsurprisingly, the story isn’t always a happy one. Gaw witnesses the impact of abstraction, canalisation, and sewage. He laments the loss of native salmon, and the rise of the invasive signal crayfish. In several urban areas, the rivers are strewn with bottles, cartons, hubcaps, and shopping trolleys. In rural ones, this is replaced by the shattered remains of clay pigeons. Poisoned by pollution, the water itself is sometimes slimy and stinking.
On top of these greater threats, there are more mundane struggles. Between the blissful moments, there are slogs through mud and biting insects. Camping spots are limited, and often rather soggy. There are a seemingly endless number of obstacles to heave the Pipe over. At times, the pair’s inexperience with canoeing puts them in perilous situations – at one point, they capsize in the freezing Thames and have to be rescued by a dog walker.
Despite all this, they push onwards with admirable gusto. In fact, for Gaw, it is an important part of the experience. Challenges narrow the gap between humans and nature – they force us to confront, and appreciate, the uncaring chaos of the wilderness. Above all else, he admires “the ceaseless, unstoppable power of it all”. As he says of their tumble into the Thames, “we may have lost some gear and our confidence, but we found the wild”.
This is also, he theorises, why rivers are so steeped in spirituality and mythology. In his mind’s eye, he imagines the Bures Dragon thrashing in the Stour, and Nessie lurking in the depths of her loch. Ghost stories of the drowned are found in every corner of the country. The rivers themselves are gods and naiads, or else portals to the underworld. These stories form a “crust” atop the water - they explain, or perhaps warn about, a danger that cannot be tamed.
This isn’t to say that the book is dour; on the contrary, it overflows with enthusiasm. But it highlights that rivers are engines of change that shape people as much as the landscape. Gaw’s ideas evolve through repeated reflection, circling back through the chapters like eddies. As he opens up, the water rushes in. By experiencing nature, he becomes “gloriously, precariously, part of it” – he fully embraces the pull of the river.
Overall, this is an earnest and introspective book about the joy, and value, of finding adventure. You can borrow printed and e-book copies from your local Hampshire library, so grab your free library card today! You can also hear from Matt Gaw himself at our Tales from the Riverbank Literature Festival this June. This project is part of the Watercress and Winterbournes scheme.