We soon began to recognise the imposing Symonds Yat rocks and the meadow area where we had walked a few weeks ago. We stopped on a pebbly bank and Ella had great fun launching herself into the river for stones – which she always failed to retrieve of course!
By late afternoon we arrived at the campsite at Symonds Yat East on our left. There were steep concrete steps leading up from the water. Designed for kayaks, they were not wide enough to carry a Canadian canoe parallel to the river but we managed to haul it up and onto the grass at the top.
Compared with the pristine luxury of Lucksall campsite, or the quiet simplicity of the White Lion river bank camping, Symonds Yat East was a disappointment. It was unattractive, bustling and noisy. The toilet block – admittedly clean – was very basic with one shower and a broken lock on the toilet door.
Adjacent to the camping was a car park where large canoeing groups were returning all their gear after a day on the river. The campsite office was locked up, but we eventually tracked down someone to book us in. Although I had booked ahead, and even given my credit card details, they had no record but fortunately there was space for us.
We pitched the tents under some power lines, next to a family with a crying baby and wondered how we were going to get any sleep. In fact we both needed a siesta once we had got set up, and I dozed off to the sound of a newly arrived family arguing about whether they could bear to stay given the primitive conditions.
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