Resilience: the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness (OED)

 

Went to bed with the sound of rain falling on the roof (just like camping) and yes, it rained all night and it was still raining in the morning. The modern infrastructure of the south-east apparently didn’t stand up to this extreme weather (sink holes on the M25) but late eighteenth-century and early nineteenth-century engineering did (the Llangollen Canal was built between 1793 and 1806). The boat was still afloat and the canal still flowing.

Mind you, thinking about it, all this rain may have caused a further land slippage on the Staffs and Worcs near Debdale where they’ve had a lot of problems over the past few months, and the water company is in dispute with the highways authority about whose fault it is and so permanent repairs have not yet been undertaken, but the Canal and River Trust have managed to clear a temporary, narrow way through. If there is a slippage and the canal is closed, we’ll have to return to Droitwich via the Wolverhampton Locks and the Birmingham canals which will be a challenge, but we’ve done it before so at least we know what to expect.

The rain wasn’t enough to put us off, and we’re on a tight schedule as usual, so on went the waterproofs and up went the umbrella again and we did an hour’s cruise towards Ellesmere. Well, Ernest stood on the back and did the steering, and I mostly stayed inside and made some bread. Ernest wanted to go up the Ellesmere arm to moor, and I had one of my usual panics about whether we’d go all the way up the arm only to find there wasn’t anywhere to moor (there were lots of boats around, most people sensibly going nowhere in this appalling rain) and it would be difficult to turn… Ernest asked me why I get so anxious in these situations and basically is it shame, ie embarrassment at having to stand on the back deck while he manoeuvres backwards and forwards in a 23-point turn, and I said yes, that is exactly it. So, good to get that clarified then. And of course, we did go up the arm and of course there was a perfect place to turn, and a perfect space for mooring, so he was right again. And there was a big Tesco (they really are everywhere) so we were able to top up with essential supplies, and then walk into the town. I’m sure Ellesmere is a lovely place on a sunny day, there were lots of interesting-looking independent shops, and we were able to buy a couple of pies for lunch from a deli, but not much else was happening today, and the ‘Tuesday market’ in the market hall was a disappointment: a couple of tables selling ‘craft items’ and cards, and a stall selling cheap clothing, and a couple of men selling rather ordinary looking cheese, sausages and pies. Nothing to get excited about. And none of the coffee shops looked tempting either.

Back to the boat then, and onwards and upwards (there is a strong flow on this canal from west to east so we must be gradually gaining height). Again, I mostly stayed inside to finish off the bread. There was no point both of us getting soaked. Some boats were on the move, especially the holiday hire boats who of course had to get value for their money, or were on a schedule to return their boat to their base on time. For a while we followed one boat that was going so slowly, Ernest was in danger of catching up with them even with the engine on tickover. They seemed particularly anxious about the narrow bridge holes, almost coming to a stop. Thankfully, they eventually pulled over to the side and let us go past.

I have to say it’s rather boring being stuck inside the boat on a rainy day like this. I couldn’t see much out of the windows, because they were all steamed up. But I couldn’t settle to my book either, as I was constantly wondering where we were, and wondering why Ernest was speeding up or slowing down. Once the bread was baked, I heated up the pies, ate mine, then took over the steering while Ernest went inside and ate his. But he must have been bored too because he soon reappeared and took over the steering again.

Two locks broke the monotony. We crossed with boats coming down at both locks. A boat following us turned out to have a really novice crew – this would be their first lock. I felt so sorry for them having to tackle their first lock in such rain. I would have liked to have stayed to help, but with another boat coming down, it was better just to get out of the way. Less kindness and generosity today, and more ‘solidarity’ – everyone just shrugging their shoulders and sharing wry smiles or a resigned wave. After the locks, I retreated inside again to put the heating on and start organising the boat for all the drying of clothes and shoes that would need to be done.

Another hour (Ernest said it felt like two hours) and we finally moored- edging perfectly into a 50 foot space between two other boats (our boat is 49.5 feet long) , and right by the Poachers Pocket pub at Gledrid. The radiators were warming up nicely, and we soon had coats, trousers, hats, socks, jumpers, gloves and shoes arranged to drip and dry in various places. More pages of the i newspaper were scrunched into service to help dry the shoes. I treated myself to a hot shower. And we went to the pub for dinner.

No nature notes today, except to say that even the cows looked miserable as they huddled under trees for shelter.

No chance of taking photos either, so instead we offer two of Turner’s evocative paintings which capture something of the atmosphere of today.

 

Tomorrow we cross the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct and we promise to take photos.
2 locks and 11 miles in 4.4 engine hours.

Blessing and blessed

 

We don’t seem to be able to sleep in later than 7.00 a.m., and this morning that was a good thing, as the sun was shining and it was important once again to make hay, especially in light of the awesome weather forecasts. How did you fare today down in the south east? Did the infrastructure stand up to 60mm of rain? I haven’t even had time to check the news yet.

We left our overnight moorings at 8.00a.m. and quickly found ourselves in a slow queue of boats waiting to go up a lock. This was the theme for the morning. If you glance at the end of this blog you’ll see we passed through 10 locks today, but I believe I worked three times that number, since I worked each lock at least three times, for the two boats in front of us as well as ours, and sometimes for a boat coming down too. A couple of the boats going up were single handed, so needed extra help in order to speed up progress. And one of the boats was a holiday hire boat with a very novice and nervous crew of two, who also needed lots of support and encouragement.

Now, in case you’ve been thinking that all my talk of kindness, generosity and co-operation is just too good to be true – you’re absolutely right. Today we encountered the rare exception who proves the rule, ie the rule that boaters are a generous and co-operative species. The problem is that not every boater knows this. I’ll describe the ‘incident’. I failed to notice the boat’s name, which is perhaps just as well. Our long slow queue of boats going upstream was negotiating the three single locks before the 3-Lock staircase at Grindley. As we went up the first lock, there were two boats waiting in the pound above, and 3 or 4 waiting below. The stretch of canal below the lock is very tricky, as it’s on a sharp bend, where visibility and manoeuvrability are both poor. And once again there are fast run-offs (‘by-streams’) making steering a challenge in and out of locks and in the pounds. And it was windy today. Anyway, a boat was coming down the second lock. Obviously he needed to exit that lock so the first of the waiting boats could enter. And Ernest needed to exit the first lock so the down boat could enter that one. It didn’t help that the holiday hire boat with the novice crew had found it difficult to steer out of the first lock and had got themselves in front of the (single-handed) boat that was due to go up next. What I observed (from the second lock) was the down boat exiting, probably too slowly in view of the fast run-off, which pushed him over to the left, at the same time as Ernest was exiting the first lock and swinging over to his right in order to pass on the right, and tuck himself in as best he could behind the waiting boats. The skipper of the down boat waved his hands in some sort of meaningless gesture, then gave a huge shrug of his shoulders as his boat rammed into our boat and pushed Ernest sideways on and into one of the waiting boats. What I didn’t observe but was later told by Ernest was that the skipper of the down boat was extremely rude to Ernest, telling him it was all his fault, and that he (Ernest) shouldn’t have been in the first lock at all. Now we can all have opinions on this, and my opinion is that the down boat should have realised there was a long queue of boats coming up and that it was difficult for those queuing at the foot of the first lock, and that since there were far more boats coming up than going down, then the down boat should have been generous and let another boat up first, which would have eased the pressure. And even if he didn’t realise there was a queue, and so didn’t know it would have been better if he’d waited, in any case he shouldn’t have been rude to Ernest.

Ernest said you could tell what sort of person he was because of all the metal badges of canals there were screwed to the back of his boat. But maybe that’s unfair.

Anyway, we didn’t let this ‘incident’ spoil our morning – at least, not for long.

Once we got into the staircase, our climb proceeded very quickly and smoothly, thanks to a very friendly and efficient lock-keeper and an equally good volunteer.

It still wasn’t raining, so we cruised on (after stopping briefly to empty the loo – yes this does need doing every couple of days at least), and after a failed attempt to turn up into the Whitchurch arm, where we might have moored and done some shopping, but this didn’t happen as our boat was about 6 inches too long to make the manoeuvre, we carried on and moored just before 2.00p.m. for a late lunch of bacon, scrambled egg and tomatoes on toast. By this time we were hungry! And after lunch it still wasn’t raining so we pressed on further, anxiously watching the dense black clouds to the west and east of us. It did rain somewhere, and very heavily too, from what we could see, but somehow we were spared. Maybe it was our reward and blessing for being so kind and generous to others.

Remote gentle countryside. Lots and lots of cows, all presumably playing their part in the production of Cheshire cheese and other dairy products. Pretty birdsong. Very few houses. No cars.

We’ve stopped for the night near Cole Mere, it’s sheltered and extremely quiet.

Baked orzo puttanesca Mark 2 for dinner. I’m beginning to realise that this recipe is as useful as risotto for using random fridge leftovers.
10 locks, 5 lift bridges and 16 miles in 9.2 engine hours.

Fifty Shades of Green

 

The sky cleared last night, and the temperature dropped. We both needed blankets over our duvets. But the morning dawned bright and clear. The sun soon warmed the interior of the boat. A welcome respite, and an opportunity to dry out shoes and clothing. We’d bought a copy of the i yesterday, for news and puzzles, and now the newspaper serves a secondary purpose: screwed up and stuffed into wet shoes to aid the drying process.

A leisurely start to the day, reading and listening to the radio, before heading off to St Mary’s Church Nantwich to celebrate Pentecost. So, a Church Review: the 9.30 a.m. family service was emptying out as we arrived. Excellent! ( I mean excellent that it had happened and excellent that there were other options.) We joined the older and more sedate generation for a sung Eucharist. A good welcome from two ladies at the outer door. We then passed through the second door where sadly the two sidesmen handing out hymnbooks and service books were more interested in their own conversation than with welcoming us. A common fault. I enjoyed the music from a good, large choir. Great to see some youngsters in there. And great to see a good band of teenage girls acting as acolytes and servers and clearly enjoying themselves. I realised how uplifting and at the same time relaxing it was to be in a ‘large church’, ie a congregation of a 100 or so. Our usual experience of Church these days is of small rural congregations that just about get into double figures, and you never know when you might be asked at the last minute to do a reading or lead the intercessions. Also, you have to work harder at singing the hymns and making the spoken responses. No chance to daydream! This morning I could let my mind wander, and it didn’t matter that I didn’t know the music for the Gloria and the Sanctus, I could just listen to others sing. A good, sound, thoughtful and thought-provoking sermon from the vicar, focusing on the Holy Spirit as the Spirit of Truth, and reminding us that there is no hierarchy or ranking in the Trinity, and that we are drawn by the Spirit into the life of God where there is similarly no ‘ranking’ between us and God. A new and liberating idea for me. When it came to the Peace, we just greeted those in the pews immediately in front and behind. Lovely warm smiles, but no one wanted to know who we were. Also quite liberating. As we left the church, and queued to shake the vicar’s hand, I saw a brief moment of panic cloud the vicar’s face. He was obviously thinking “Should I know these people?” (I think he’s fairly new to the parish.) “Don’t worry,” I said quickly, “We’re just visiting.” He had a busy enough day (8.00a.m., 9.30a.m. and 10.45a.m. services, 12.30 baptisms, 3.00p.m. senior members gathering and/or service in another nearby Church, 6.00 p.m. service) without having to engage with us.

Back to the boat, and immediate departure, making hay while the sun shone. I made bacon sandwiches while Ernest steered, and we just about managed to eat them (but not drink our coffee) before we came to the junction with the Llangollen Canal and the 4 Hurleston Locks. Apparently it had been a very busy morning and some boats had had to queue for a couple of hours before entering the locks. We joined the end of the queue and almost immediately  followed the last boat up. Lock-keeper and volunteers oversaw the bottom lock, so I went ahead to assist the boats ahead of us – more simple, ordinary acts of kindness and co-operation. A brief stop to top up with water, then on into the quiet Cheshire (or possibly Shropshire?) countryside.

There was an item on the Radio this morning about ‘forest bathing’ – no, not wild swimming in the forest, but simply getting outdoors and getting close to nature. That is I suppose what we are doing on this trip. Why is ‘nature’ so good for us? Well, for a start, there is something very restful and restorative about the colour green, and it is all very green at the moment. But there are so many shades of green: lime, jade, emerald, apple… The green of newly cut grass is not the same as the green of long grass. The green of horse chestnut leaves is not the same as the green of oak or ash leaves. The green of nettles is not the same as the green of willow. The green of new holly leaves is not the same as the green of old leaves.

I’m beginning to unwind and pay attention: to the trembling of reeds in the wind, to the way in which the pattern and shape of massed plants along the canal bank echo or reflect the shape and pattern of trees on the horizon and of the high clouds in the sky.

I notice the sounds too: waiting for a lock to fill, the sounds are of rushing water through the paddles or down the run-offs, or rain drops on my hood or on the surface of the canal. When the rain stops, birdsong breaks out. And there’s the sound of half a dozen tiny ducklings desperately trying to find their way back to their mother when the passage of our boat has driven them apart. The mother duck remains totally calm through all this.

Rain comes and goes all afternoon. My shoes are soon soaked through. The only comfort is the knowledge that the shoes I wore yesterday are now dry. My waterproof coat is definitely no longer waterproof, despite the waterproofing treatment I gave it earlier this year. Since rain is forecast for the whole of the next week, I need to see if I can buy a cheap, lightweight waterproof to wear underneath the old coat: the latter is already bearing the scars and stains of many locks, so I might as well carry on wearing it for ‘dirty work’.

I enjoy a brief moment of ‘power and responsibility’ when I have to stop the traffic and open the Wrenbury Lift Bridge (see photo).

The sun is shining again (briefly) when we moor for the night near Marbury. I’ve no idea where that is. Cheshire apparently. We’re too late for the ‘Marbury May Days’. Anyway, we’re happily moored in a quiet spot where the only sound is that of birdsong. We don’t need any facilities, not even a pub. Cottage pie for tea (using some of the leftover bolognese). And a glass or two of ‘The King’, a Cabernet Sauvignon.

8 locks, 2 lift bridges and 10 miles in 6 engine hours.

The rain it raineth every day

 

It rained all night and was windy too, and cold. I woke in the middle of the night feeling chilly and had to fumble around in the dark to find a blanket to throw over the duvet – I’d ended up with the thinner of the two duvets. Ernest seemed to be happily and warmly asleep under his thicker one.

Morning dawned grey and damp, the cloud low and persistent. Undaunted, however, we set off before 9.00a.m. to tackle the 15-lock flight down to Audlem. Heavy and fast flowing run-offs above and below the locks made steering ‘interesting’. Things went more smoothly if the next lock down was already set and the gates open before leaving the lock above. Fortunately we crossed with several boats, which helped. Everyone well wrapped up in full waterproofs and hats, and agreeing that ‘we must be mad’.

Moored below Lock 11 and after drying out a little, walked into Audlem for lunch, opting for the Old Priest House Coffee Shop, as recommended in the Nicholson guidebook. A wise decision. Ernest did what a man must do and chose the ‘meat and potato pie’ – home made, a ‘proper pie’ ie with a bottom as well as a top, a generous portion of about a sixth of a 12” or so diameter family pie, with carrots, peas and gravy. The gravy was perhaps a little thin, he said, but he didn’t complain too much. I chose vegetable tortilla wraps, which were delicious, but I rather regretted that I hadn’t gone for the cheese and onion pie when I saw the quality of the pastry. What I really enjoyed was the generous cafetière of hot fresh coffee.

We had added entertainment watching guests arriving for a wedding at the parish church opposite. The usual flimsy dresses, very high heels and enormous hats – lovely but inappropriate for the weather. The bridesmaids arrived in an open top double decker red London bus. No surprise that no one was sitting on the top deck. The four grown-up bridesmaids wore pale blue dresses – backs and shoulders bare. I just hope the reception venue is warm and dry. The bride looked gorgeous of course, but was clearly very anxious about keeping her dress and long veil clean and dry – and was faced with a perilous climb up 20 or so steps through the lych gate and up to the Church door. Later we heard the bells ringing, so presumably the wedding went ok.

After stocking up at the Coop stores – including (hooray!) gin and tonic (£2.10 per can, which was I thought expensive, but £3.50 for two, which seemed a good offer, then the checkout assistant said hadn’t I seen the packs of 4 for £5.25, which was an even better bargain, and how could I refuse?) – it was back to the boat, more locks, a brief pause at a sanitary station, then a long stretch with only two locks to Nantwich. A good mooring. We’ve both had showers and found clean dry clothes. Socks and waterproofs are drying in various places. Dinner (turkey mince bolognese) is simmering away. Soon be time for a G&T.

But before I do, I just want to mention that today we send birthday congratulations to our nephew Adrian, as well as Nancy Sinatra, Tim Berners Lee, and our dear friend Tom Pellaton. Tom would have loved to have all his many friends to celebrate his 75th with him in New York, but as that wasn’t logistically possible, he issued the following invitation:

“With the state of the world and the lack of much civility, I am asking you all, whose friendship and relationships I value very much, to take on a special act of kindness and or generosity in the month of June, the birthday month, perhaps with someone you do not even know and let me know how it went!”

I’ve been thinking about this all week, and have been doing my best to be kind and generous as we cruise along and as we meet other boaters at locks etc. For example, as we went up the Kidderminster locks I realised the crew in front was on his own, so I generously said “Don’t worry, I’ll see you through”, then felt a little foolish as it turned out he is a working boat man, operating a rescue service, and spends all his time going up and down these canals single-handedly. He didn’t need my help at all. But he was friendly enough, and we got chatting at the next lock. He was indeed very kind and generous to me, warning me that the top gate would be difficult to open because the bottom gates were so leaky, showing me how to use a piece of wood (a “wooden windlass”) as a sort of lever to wedge the top gate open a couple of inches to let more water through, and then giving me his piece of wood (“I’ve got plenty more of those on board”), which we did in fact use on several tricky locks that day.

So I’ve been reflecting further on ‘kindness and generosity’ on the Waterways, and have decided that, with very few exceptions, there is a natural tendency here for people to be helpful to others. I was listening to a short item on Radio 4 news yesterday, about Economics, and the way in which mainstream economic theory assumes that human greed and selfishness are the primary driving forces in the economy and society, but new economic thinking challenges that view and suggests that people are in fact much more co-operative and altruistic. This is demonstrated time and again on the canals. Boat crews will always help each other with locks. We don’t ‘steal’ locks from each other – if the lock is set for a boat coming up, and there’s a boat in sight, we let that boat through before going down ourselves. If we’re in a queue, we get stuck in and help with paddles and gates until it’s our turn to go through. This morning, the crew going ahead of us down the Audlem flight made sure they opened one of the top gate paddles before moving on, to help speed up our progress – this meant the lock was usually full by the time we got to it, and we could open the gate straightaway- particularly helpful with those fierce run-offs. And earlier this week, I provided additional help to a novice crew on a hire boat who were struggling with difficult locks in heavy rain – and then had to ask for help from them when my windlass got stuck and we needed to bash it off with a lump hammer. Lots of ‘Thank Yous’ all round.

Oh, and the other positive thing I’ve been doing this week is picking up litter whenever I can: plastic bags, drink cans, plastic bottles. The Canal and River Trust issued a press release recently highlighting the vast quantities of litter and especially plastic in and near our waterways, and suggesting that if every visitor (boaters, joggers, dog walkers, cyclists, sightseers) picked up one piece of litter, the problem would be solved in a year. I’m trying to do my bit – and a bit more.

And finally, of course I say “good morning/afternoon/whatever” to everyone I meet – that happens automatically in the countryside anyway, and with none of the strange looks you’d get in the city, where of course there are too many people and the only way to stay sane is to ignore everyone else. I have to confess I am just the same in London.

OK, really time for a G&T now. Cheers to Tom and to anyone else with a birthday today and to anyone reading this blog.

17 locks and 8 miles in 4.8 engine hours.

Up the Shroppie

After three years silence, it’s time to resurrect this blog. We did go out cruising in 2017: a two-week trip in April, from Droitwich up to Market Drayton and back, and later in the summer a rather complicated journey round to Cropredy, where we left the boat for a couple of weeks while we went off to Essex to stay with Ruth and celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary with family and friends in Ruth’s lovely garden. The complicated bit was making sure the car was where we needed it to be. Ernest had to do some interesting journeys by foot and train.

In 2018 we were busy house hunting and then moving house. We did use the boat as a useful base while we looked for a new home in Worcestershire, Herefordshire and later Gloucestershire- but all that is not very interesting to those who want to hear about narrowboat and canals. Once the house move was complete and we’d recovered our energy, we managed a week’s cruise up through Stourport to Whitwick and back. The major incident on that trip was the water pump springing a leak, so we had to turn the water off at the ‘mains’ (ie the stop cock hidden away under the front deck) and only turned it back on briefly once a day so we could wash up. We didn’t bother much with washing ourselves and discovered or remembered that it is possible to go a whole week without a shower. Useful practice for the low carbon lifestyle that will be essential for all of us if we are to stand any chance of avoiding catastrophic climate disruption.

And so to 2019 – we got away in March for a short spring trip up the Tardebigge flight and round to the Stratford Canal. Couldn’t get all the way down to Stratford because of stoppages, but had a good trip anyway despite the cold weather. Thankfully, the heating system worked well.

And now summer is here and we have left the garden to its own devices (and the kind attention of good neighbours who have promised to water – but not to weed…), having kept 4 weeks clear in our diaries. Our plan is to go as far as Llangollen, and, depending on progress, return via Chester, the Middlewich branch and the Trent and Mersey. If all goes well…

We set off last Sunday, but it’s only today (Thursday) that I’ve summoned up the energy and found the time for a blog post. Are there any readers out there? Am I whistling in the wind?

I can promise statistics, Church and pub reviews (not necessarily in that order), recipe suggestions, wine recommendations, honest descriptions of the joys and sorrows of narrowboating, and occasional anecdotes of mayhem and disaster – depending on the number of stag party boats we encounter.

The battery on my iPad is running low, so I’d better press on and give a quick summary of progress so far:

Sunday 2 June
Took all morning to pack and sort the house and garden, in readiness for our departure, then drove up to Droitwich Marina in the afternoon, calling off at Tesco on the way to complete food supplies. I’d already packed a few shopping bags with stuff from the store cupboards: tinned tomatoes, tinned pulses, flour, teabags, coffee, herbs and spices, etc. Living now out in the countryside, our store cupboards are always well stocked – just in case we get snowed in or a No Deal Brexit threatens.

Oops, this is supposed to be a Brexit-free blog. Following the recent superb example of Rayne Whitemouse Tours, anyone (that includes me as well as posters of comments) who mentions the B word will be fined £1 per offence, to be donated to a charity of their choice, or preferably ClicSergeant.

Anyway, arrived at the marina mid afternoon and by 6.00 p.m. were all shipshape and ready to depart, so as the weather was good we slipped anchor (more accurately, slipped our moorings), exited the marina, and negotiated the five locks and three swing bridges down into Droitwich. It’s always a relief to find we fit snugly but safely through the culvert under the M5 without damage to roof or heads. I worked the first four locks then handed over to Ernest for the fifth (the shallow lock from the river back on to the canal) and the swing bridges through the park- I got the better deal, I think: those swing bridges in particular are a b….r. Plenty of space in the visitor moorings. 5 Locks, 3 swing bridges and 1.5 miles in 1.7 engine hours. Baked orzo puttanesca for dinner.

Monday 3 June.
A bright and sunny day and an early (8.15 a.m.) departure. A trouble free ride down to Hawford Top Lock, navigation much improved now they have reinstated regular cutting of the reeds. Lunch, then through the two locks on to the River Severn, and upstream to Stourport. Again, no problems through the several locks in the basin. Moored above York Street Lock. 15 Locks and 14 miles in 6.9 engine hours and Fish Pie for dinner. Yesterday Ernest had opened a bottle of red wine, but it quickly emerged that it was a bottle of ‘cheap and cheerful’ wine intended for use in cooking. Tonight I insisted on something better – Eden something or other from Laithwaites. The bottle has now been recycled so I can’t check.

Tuesday 4 June
A cloudier day and showers were forecast. Stopped at Tesco in Kidderminster for all the things we’d forgotten to bring or buy on Sunday, including Marmite – how could I forget the Marmite?!
Three young schoolgirls – Year 11, they claimed to have done an exam that morning, GCSE English, and had the rest of the day off – ‘helped’ us through Kidderminster Lock. They seemed genuinely interested in how locks worked and at least one of them said they wanted to be an engineer when they left school. Later I had just left the boat to get some steps in walking the towpath when what I thought was a short shower turned into a persistent downpour. I hadn’t planned for this and was wearing a fleece, not waterproofs. By the time I’d worked the next couple of locks, my hat, fleece, trousers, socks and trainers were soaked through. The rain had definitely set in, so I changed into dry clothes and waterproofs and headed out again for the final couple of miles and locks. Ernest remained cosy and dry under his trusty umbrella. The fleece took two days to dry out. It’s amazing how much water a fleece can absorb… Moored for the night below Stewpony Bridge, about a mile north of Kinver. 9 locks and 12 miles in 6.9 engine hours. Veg curry for dinner (sweet potato, red pepper, chick peas and spinach in a roghan josh sauce).

Wednesday 5 June
An earlyish (8.35 a.m.) departure, with a brief pause to take on water above Stewpony Lock. Steady cruising all morning, with enough locks to provide interest without exhausting us. A brief stop for lunch near Wombourne, then up through The Bratch: a fascinating 3-Lock staircase with a full-time Lock-keeper supported by volunteers who are supposed to ensure a smooth and safe passage. Unfortunately, one of the volunteers seemed more interested in talking to friends on his mobile phone and chatting to boaters about his knee problems than in playing his part and opening paddles or monitoring water levels. In addition, a community boat (a most worthwhile enterprise, offering boat trips to community groups – today it was a group of elderly folk who’d enjoyed a trip and a pub lunch) had a crew of less than competent volunteers. We were behind the community boat, having kindly offered them our place in the queue so they could get their old folk back to their bus in time. I was up on the locks helping as best I could. But it was definitely not my fault that things went awry! The lock-keeper suddenly appeared above us, very cross – why had the blue gate been opened? Why weren’t the red paddles open? Wasn’t anyone watching the water levels? The skipper of the community boat should have known better! And what were the Lock volunteers doing? Could everyone please concentrate! Happily, our passage went more smoothly. I had certainly learned by observing the mistakes of others.
It took just an hour for us from joining the queue at the bottom of The Bratch to leaving the top lock with a cheerful and grateful wave to the long-suffering Lock-keeper.

Moored for the night just south of Wightwick. 16 locks and 9 miles in 6.6 engine hours. Paella for dinner, with a new wine: 19 Crimes, from South Eastern Australia. The label notes: “Nineteen crimes turned criminals into colonists. Upon conviction, these men, guilty of at least one of the 19 crimes, were sentenced to live in Australia, rather than death. This ‘punishment by transportation’ began in 1788 and many of the lawless died at sea. For the rough-hewn men who made it to shore, a new world awaited. As pioneers in a frontier colony, they forged a new country and new lives, brick by brick. This wine honours the history they wrote and the culture they built.” And from the cork in our bottle tonight: “10. Stealing fish from a pond or river.” The wine was perfectly acceptable.

Thursday 6 June
A sunny day and a day for dealing with necessary domestic duties: topped up with water, emptied the loo, offloaded some recycling, and filled up with diesel. And made rapid progress up the Shropshire Union – wide and straight and very few locks.
Not much else to say about this day’s cruising, so a few brief comments about the natural world. June is really a lovely month in which to be out. The cow parsley has gone over, to be replaced by wild carrot, Angelica, campions, endless buttercups, foxgloves. Elderflowers have taken over from hawthorn in the hedgerows. The waterfowl are busy with their young: mallards with up to 10 tiny ducklings – Nature is so profligate, sadly the wastage rate is high. Who devours these minuscule balls of fluff? Coots seem to prefer just one or two offspring, and perhaps are better at protecting them from predators- they are certainly better at hiding among the overhanging grasses and reeds along the bank, whereas the little mallards chase about in full view right across the canal, inviting attack. The deeply wooded cuttings along the Shroppie are noisy with birdsong- we can identify blackbirds and chaffinches and perhaps bluetits, but many others are beyond our knowledge. We’ve spotted several jays, some of them raiding bird tables, along with the squirrels. Loads of grumpy looking herons of course (herons always look sad, but especially so in the rain). Ernest has seen a couple of kingfishers, but I’ve missed them so far. The midges are out, but haven’t menaced us – yet. Arable fields are full of winter wheat, already tall, or newly planted sweet corn (maize). But as we head deeper into Cheshire, there is more livestock than grain: black and white cattle, and sheep with well grown lambs, fleeces sodden in the rain – I know how they feel.

Moored for the night at Gnossal. 5 locks and 17 miles in 7 engine hours. Chicken paprika for dinner, with the remains of 19 Crimes. Watched another episode of Game of Thrones – series 7 (we’re a bit behind the rest of the world). The battle scenes got a bit too much for me, so I escaped to make the bed and get ready for an early night. Rain imminent.

Friday 7 June
An early start: 7.45 a.m. departure, with the aim of beating the rain. Pleased to see the shop at Norbury Junction was open, so were able to buy milk and cake. No gin and tonic though, which was also on my wish list.

I spent much of the morning inside the boat, making bread and preparing lunch, but donned waterproofs to work the 5 Tyrley Locks down towards Market Drayton. Rested for a couple of hours over lunch while the rain beat down, then boredom drove us out again. On went the waterproofs, up went the umbrella, and we pressed onwards through the peaceful remote countryside of Cheshire: cows and sheep, ducks and ducklings, swans with 9 cygnets – is that a record? The rain eased a little as we came down the 5 Adderley Locks, but started again in earnest just after we stopped and moored. Adderley appears to be in the middle of nowhere and the internet connection is nil, so I’ll have to wait yet another day before attempting to post this blog.

10 Locks and 17.5 miles in 7.3 engine hours. Various pairs of socks now hung up to dry out, along with waterproof trousers and coats and hats. Just about warm enough in the boat. In the absence of gin and tonic, I’ve indulged in a small tot of Jura Whisky, while Ernest had a Stroud Brewery Stout. And we’ll probably open another bottle of wine to accompany the leftover veg curry followed by leftover rhubarb crumble and custard. Ernest has just said he fancies a steak and ale pie. Dream on, Sunshine!

In parliament, environmentalists still seem like a minority

Very interesting post about ‘mainstreaming’ green issues, policies and practice.

Inside track

This post is by Richard Benwell, head of government affairs at the Wildfowl & Wetlands Trust.

In his blog for Green Alliance last week, Lord Deben argued that environmentalists must mature into the mainstream, set aside fringe tactics and speak with a constructive voice. He is surely right that we need to offer credible solutions to the threats of climate change, biodiversity loss and pollution. 

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“A day without an argument is like an egg without salt” (Angela Carter)

It rained all evening and much of the night, but this morning the sky had cleared. A warm, sunny day. Extra layers needed first thing, but quickly discarded later. We followed the winding Barge Canal in towards the salt rich town of Droitwich. Surprisingly rural, with tall reeds on both sides of the waterway (Common Reed – Phragmites australis), hiding the towpath, and narrowing the channel. Fortunately, we did not meet many boats, though there were a couple of exciting encounters at bridges and bends.

We took it in turns to work the locks, as the gear and the gates were heavy and difficult. It took all morning (three and a half hours) to cover the 5.5 miles and 6 locks into the town centre. At one of the several swing bridges in Vines Park, a boat coming the other way warned that they had not been able to get through the tunnel under the M5**: their front end (cratch cover) was too high. They’d had to turn round and were going back towards the Severn. Oh dear, just as we thought our journey was nearly over (the marina lies less than a mile beyond the M5). Well, we’d have to give it a try. And if we couldn’t get through, we’d have to turn round too, and spend two days getting to our marina via the Severn (more Zen cruising), Worcester and the Worcester and Birmingham Canal.

[**The M5, of course, was built when the canal was out of use. Before the canal could be reopened for navigation, it had to be diverted through a very low culvert under the motorway.]

After some lively discussion between skipper and crew about where to moor for lunch, we managed to tie up under some shady trees opposite Vines Park (disturbing the ducks). Very handy for Waitrose, I made use of the ‘facilities’ (our onboard loo was rather full) and assuaged my guilt by buying a bunch of bananas and some mini pork pies (just in case we needed extra supplies for a two day journey to the marina).

We locked down through the Barge Lock (4 inches) – the junction of the Barge Canal and the Junction Canal. A couple of bridges and another lock (up 7.5 feet) and ahead of us was the tunnel/culvert, with lots of warning signs, and a hanging board to check for clearance. We passed through safely, with about six inches to spare. Good! Three more locks, including a double ‘staircase’, and round a bend, and there at last was our new home, Droitwich Spa Marina. It was certainly a relief not to have to do an extra two days. We were more than ready to come to a halt.

So now we’re safely moored. This is where Babushka will stay for probably the next year. We can use this as a base to do short and longer cruises: the Worcester ring (21 miles), a longer ring through Birmingham and back, up the ‘Shroppie’ and on to Chester or the Llangollen, an exploration of the many Birmingham canals. So many possibilities!

And we can also use the boat as a base for exploring by car: Worcestershire, Herefordshire, the Welsh Borders, the Malverns – so many of our favourite places.

Today: 7 miles and 11 locks in 5 engine hours.
Total for this trip: 121 miles and 130 locks in 62.3 hours. That’s a lot of locks! No wonder my muscles (such as they are) ache so much…

Zen and the art of canal cruising

Last night’s mooring was dark as well as quiet: no street lights, or any other lights, apart from the small green light on the fridge.

A misty, moisty morning, the river flat and calm. Just the occasional small explosion as a fish jumped for a fly. As I drank my morning tea at the front end, I realised I could hear the traffic on the M5 just a few miles away. Is there anywhere in the UK that is totally silent? Perhaps a Scottish mountain?

Departed our moorings before 8.00 a.m. and cruised on downstream, through elegant 16th century Eckington Bridge (the moorings there were full, so we were glad we’d stopped at the Swan’s Neck).

On to Tewkesbury, where the friendly Lock keeper ensured we understood about avoiding the sand spit at the mouth of the Avon, and warned of 5 inches of ‘fresh water’ on the Severn. So our progress was going to be slow.

The Zen-like trance we’d been experiencing on the Avon felt even deeper on the Severn. Even with the engine revved up to 1700, we only made 3 miles an hour against the strong current. We saw herons and kingfishers, but there was nothing much else to see, the fields and water meadows hidden by high banks, any farms and villages well away from this flood prone waterway. I felt squeezed between the low grey sky and the dark river.

Before lunch, I entertained myself by making a loaf of bread and preparing a lamb curry for the evening. We’d hoped to stop at Upton on Severn, but there were no moorings – actually, there was one space on the inside of the floating pontoon, but by the time we’d realised that, we’d gone past, and a following boat grabbed it instead. No alternative but to cruise on, taking it in turns to steer. When I wasn’t steering, I stayed inside and read 2/3 of Max Porter’s ‘Grief is the Thing with Feathers’ (a most interesting book which I will have to read again), or practised Ruzzle.

It rained on and off all afternoon. We saw very few boats going downstream. A quiet waterway. Why? Most of the time we had very little idea where we were. So few landmarks. I don’t remember the Trent being as featureless as this. It felt more like an endurance test than a holiday cruise.

At last, the Diglis Locks, and Worcester Cathedral loomed out of the mist.

But there were no moorings at Worcester either, unless we paid £4, which we resented doing, especially as it would mean tying up on a muddy, uneven, overgrown bank. Hardly welcoming. Does Worcester not want boaters? On we cruised (fortified by tea and scones with jam – almost the last of Roman’s blackcurrant). Phoned ahead to check that Bevere Lock would still be open. Yes it would. Another half an hour to reach the lock, where we had to wait while a boat locked down. It was a large cruiser, all gleaming white with many fenders. As it exited, Ernest kept Babushka safely over to the right, but the cruiser’s skipper couldn’t manage a smile. Did he think narrowboats shouldn’t be allowed? Did we look like a massive metal torpedo heading for his shiny plastic hull?

Only a little further, and there was Hawford Junction, on to the Droitwich Canals. Hawford Bottom Lock and Hawford Top Lock were apparently two of the best locks engineered by James Brindley, the famous canal pioneer. I failed to appreciate them. I found them hard and heavy. Maybe it was the end of a long tiring day.

Fortunately, there was a good mooring at the top of the second lock. Definitely time to stop. Ten hours continuous cruising. I’m so glad I prepared the curry earlier.

It’s still raining. But at least I’m indoors now, and sitting down.

29 miles and 6 locks in 10 engine hours

Pershore Purples

A reasonable night’s sleep, despite the heat, the bright street lights, the noise from Evesham’s youth making the most of a summer evening, and the heavy burden of pub fish and chips. Probably not the healthiest meal we’ve had this trip.

Cooler but still sunny weather today, making for more pleasant cruising. Fewer locks too. Time to sit at the front end and gaze at the banks (more willows, reeds, watermint, purple loosestrife, and the occasional buzzard or heron) or simply think: about our return to Keswick for the autumn, jobs that need doing, decisions to be made about what clubs and activities to join. I will take Ernest’s advice and only do those things that I really enjoy. What’s the point of opting for the freedom of retirement if I end up letting my daily routine be determined by ‘oughts’ and ‘shoulds’.

I made use of the long gap between locks to make some fruit scones. This was something I wanted to do. Not a chore.

By lunchtime we were moored up at Pershore (having made good use of the water point and sanitary station). We felt we were ahead of schedule, so could take a proper break. After lunch, I walked up into the town (Ernest stayed on board to finish the line drawing of Evesham Abbey bell tower that he began last night).

I found Pershore to be a more attractive and more interesting town than Evesham. Brief visit to the Abbey church – so much history, but also a living church. Will probably visit again, once I’ve read the guide book (Droitwich won’t be far away).

Good shops. Lots of independents. Including an excellent fruit and veg store selling local produce: plums of several varieties (I bought some Pershore Purples), broad beans, runner and French beans, peas, courgettes, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots – all from local growers and producers . I could have bought a truck load, but we don’t have much storage room on the boat, and things won’t survive long in this heat. Why don’t our big supermarkets stock more local produce? Why are all the ‘fine beans’ from Kenya?

Another couple of hours in the afternoon, looping west, south, east, south and west again, with Bredon Hill always in view. The Nicholson’s guide says that the village of Nafford (by Nafford Lock) was swept away by a landslide from the Hill 300 years ago. I’ve tried to find out more about this (Wikipedia etc) but no luck. Is it a myth?

This half drowned narrowboat at Nafford Lock was a warning sign to those boaters who ignore the weir warning signs:

Moored for the night at possibly the quietest spot on the river: Swans Neck (Birlingham Wharf) – just us on the moorings, nearest village half a mile away, no roads or railway. We’re in for a peaceful (and dark) night.

But we seem to have excellent Internet. Perfect for Bake Off!

16 miles and 5 locks in 5.7 engine hours.

“I would give all my fame for a pot of ale”

No fridge noises in the night. Woke to a bright, sunny morning. By 9.00 a.m. we were locking down from Stratford Basin into the River Avon, full of swans and rowing boats, and with loads of tourists, even at this early hour, watching from the bank. Cruised past the Theatre and Holy Trinity Church, thinking, of course, of Will Shakspr (who spelt his name many different ways). The first few locks were all set for us, with top gate open, as the rule on the Avon is to leave exit gates open. That saves some effort, but getting on and off the boat is not always straightforward. There’s often a bit of a jump up on to the bank or the lock side, and a similar jump down after leaving the lock. I wobble a couple of times, but manage not to fall in the water, and more importantly manage not to bang my leg against hard objects, so no more bruises (for now).

Although I know that I’ve cruised down this waterway before (with the Robertsons, all those years ago), I find I have absolutely no specific memories. Nothing seems at all familiar: the locks, the lock gear, the bridges and houses. Did I spend the whole time indoors with the young children? Was it raining – or perhaps snowing? Did Peter R (Big Peter) steer us down in the middle of the night, while I was asleep?

So it all feels new, and particularly beautiful today: sun dancing on the water, willows and reeds swaying in the wind, swans and ducks of course, and a heron or two, fine houses and gardens, the ancient bridge at Bidford. There’s not much river traffic. We are alone through all but one lock. But the moorings at Bidford are full, so we have to cruise on and take lunch on the go. I begin to feel light-headed. Is it the sun? The effort of working the locks? Low blood sugar! Dehydration? At last there are some moorings, in the shade, at Harvington Lock, and I collapse on to the bed for a twenty minute ‘power nap’, followed by a cup of tea. Slightly revived, we continue for another hour or so to Evesham, where there are plenty of moorings.

I’ve rather run out of ingredients and inspiration for meals, so we’re planning to head into town to find a good pub.

Temperature inside the boat currently 30.3 degrees C.

17 miles and 11 locks in 6.6 engine hours.