Several times a year, aligned to the full moon, the Thames sees some particularly high tides. Sometimes, after particularly heavy spells of rain, much more water comes down the Thames than usual. And when these two events coincide various paths, piers and embankments that don't normally succumb to the river get overtopped and there can be consequences. Particularly out west.
The stretch of waterfront just upstream of Putney Bridge is probably the most tidally susceptible in the capital. Most of the time it's just a nice embankment to walk along and the ideal spot to locate umpteen boathouses, but monthly spring tides often see the Embankment overtopped. Property isn't generally affected but the roadway can be submerged, much to the surprise of drivers who parked their cars here without reading the signs. I'd seen the signs but never seen it happen, and now I have.
I turned up an hour before high tide yesterday, having heard that strong flow often causes the peak to arrive prematurely. The river hadn't yet overtopped but when I stepped out onto Putney Pier I could see it was only a couple of inches below the top of the wall. Have I missed it, I thought, given that the pavement was a bit muddy in a post-inundation way. Spoilers - that was Sunday's muck. So on I walked, and as I did so the Thames got incrementally higher and within two minutes was starting to lap gently across my path.
The river had already made serious inroads by the boathouse slipway and started to fill the cambered roadway where several cars were parked. This left me walking a narrow path between a deep puddle and the Embankment's railings, through which the encroaching water was starting to become more pronounced. I walked far enough to meet ripples advancing as if I were at the seaside, and decided that continuing to the boathouses wouldn't be wise, not in my absorbent footwear. Turning back I then realised that the overtopping was becoming more significant, this in barely the space of a minute, so sped up lest I be forced to exit through that deep puddle. I was never at serious risk but was taking no chances, hence passers-by on the safer side got to enjoy the minor spectacle of a grown man suddenly making a run for it.
I then got to enjoy the sight of a gentleman returning to his Ford Fiesta, made all the better by the fact he was in a suit and tie. I particularly liked how he prioritised feeding the parking payment machine, which was just on the edge of the flood, before stepping gingerly across the spreading puddle and into the safety of his vehicle. BBC London News later reported that several car owners upstream in Mortlake hadn't been so fortunate. And by the time I got back to Putney Pier it too was underwater, or at least the entrance was, as further ripples washed out across the widened Thames. Checking the timestamps on my photos, it's amazing how fast things can change in just seven minutes.
I didn't stay to see what happened next because I wanted to experience high tide elsewhere and had a train to catch. And it was hardly a major disaster, just a natural phenomenon taking advantage of lower-than-normal river defences. But it was quite an experience, another thing I can now say I've ticked off the London Must-See List. And it might just happen again today, perhaps to a lesser extent, so keep an eye on dates and times and tide heights here if you're interested.
Five miles upstream, just beyond the limit of the annual Boat Race, lies Strand-on-the-Green. It sits on the edge of Chiswick, it used to be a medieval fishing village and it's now a highly desirable suburb. The oldest and most characterful properties are in a long quaint block along the waterfront, bisected midway by Kew Railway Bridge (so you might well have seen it from a District line train). Here the Thames Path normally follows the edge of a gently sloping muddybeach (or strand), or at high tide directly abuts the edge of the river. But at spring tides it often floods, and at turbo-charged spring tides quarter of a mile of promenade just disappears under the water.
This time I arrived three-quarters of an hour before high tide to find that the parklet closest to Kew Bridge was just starting to succumb to the water. A small fountain was bubbling up from a drain cover and helping to fill the space around the foot of the benches, which at this point were still behind a foot of riverwall. It wouldn't be enough, the Thames would eventually conceal the top of the wall inviting swans and ducks to go swimming across grass they'd more usually waddle on. Local residents stood by the second line of defence and watched with fascination.
At the other end of the disruption, by the drinking fountain, the broad sweep of a new waterfront could be seen. A dog dashed round the corner ahead of its owner and stopped dead in front of the flood as if trying to work out where the onward path had gone. Boats you can usually reach on foot lay out of reach offshore. Walking further wouldn't have been wise without wellies, and even then best avoided because you'd essentially be entering a flood-swelled Thames. An elderly lady turned to me and said "I've never seen it this bad before", which might have been genuinely noteworthy or might just be because to see it this bad you have to turn up during the right half hour.
The riverfront properties are of course fully prepared for all this - some of them for centuries - with boards to block doorways, solid foundations and impermeable window frames. This is especially true of the The Bulls Head, one of three pubs on this stretch, where punters can sit inside supping pints while brown water laps menacingly against the glass. None of the intermediate alleyways down to the Thames Path were accessible either, they all ended at a line of encroaching water, and I can only imagine what a few people's gardens might have temporarily looked like.
I think the phenomenon peaked about 20 minutes before the official time of high tide, because that was when a widening damp patch above the water line started to appear. Following different amounts of rain that time interval would duly vary. And again this was no physical calamity, just a tidal fluctuation that years of practice have made perfect. But it is perhaps a calamity-in-waiting, as rising sea levels inexorably nudge our spring tides higher, and then it won't just be a few spots in West London facing a temporary flood.
