A shortage of dry socks

Nothing much to report, really, as we return to a more normal routine. The canal is as quiet and peaceful as it should be.

Rain before 7.00, but not fine by 11.00. We togged up anyway – waterproof trousers and jackets and hats – and set off to climb the remaining 11 locks of the 15-Lock Audlem flight. We quickly set into a rhythm of working: after opening the top paddles of one lock, I would walk ahead to open the bottom paddles and gates of the next lock, leaving Ernest to open his top gate, drop the paddles, exit, then close the gate. After doing this once, he decided it would be a good idea to secure the boat with the rear rope when he left it to close the gate, just in case it decided to drift away…

Apparently, I sometimes caused extra problems by opening the bottom paddles of the next lock just as he was trying to close his gate, and the extra flow made his work harder.

It’s at times like this when it would be really good to have an extra pair of hands, or better still, two extra crew. One always going ahead to set the next lock, one always available to finish off the lower lock, one working wherever needed. But in the evenings and overnight, our boat really only has room for two. So the extra crew would have to arrange their own accommodation. Or camp on the roof.

We have in the past had extras (family and friends) ‘camping’ out with us (not on the roof) for short periods – and very welcome they were too (I know they read this blog, and I don’t want them to feel unwanted and unloved). But after a long day in the rain with much lock working, my inner introvert kicks in and demands to be ALONE. So I’d better just get on with working the locks all by myself.

A short respite after the Audlem flight, but then the five locks at Adderley. By this time, heavy persistent rain had tested and found wanting the waterproof coat (yes, the new one) and hat as well as the shoes. I left Ernest under his umbrella and retreated indoors to finish making bread, change some of my clothing, and make coffee, not necessarily in that order.

We moored for lunch in Market Drayton – I confess to bacon sandwiches with freshly made bread rolls – then pressed on, as the rain had stopped and the clouds had lifted. For a short while there was the promise of sun and warmth, but the promise was unfulfilled.

Five more locks at Tyrley – tricky ones with fast run offs, and an especially shallow pound between the bottom two locks where you are likely either to run aground on the towpath side or get pushed sideways by the run off and find yourself stuck against the steep rocky cliff on the other side (the two boats ahead of us kindly demonstrated the dangers for us).

Ernest must be tired because he got grumpy with the skipper of a boat coming down: a young couple, the girl went ahead to set the next lock down (the one Ernest had just left, crossing with a boat going down, so that lock was now empty) – Ernest told the girl not to open the top paddles, as there was a boat coming up. The girl communicated with her skipper on her walker-talkie (I am ambivalent about the value of these walkie-talkies – they seem to take the fun out of narrowboating, since much of the fun results from communication breakdowns) and the skipper obviously told her to open the paddles anyway, so she did. And Ernest was cross because that meant they had ‘stolen’ the lock from the boat coming up. I think the skipper might have been worried about crossing the shallow pound and didn’t want to exit his lock until he could see the next lock down set for him with gates open. But Ernest might be right – this skipper was just rude and inconsiderate.

No further incidents. A long stretch without Locks was somehow both relaxing and tedious. A bit of sunshine would have improved matters. We moored for the night at Norbury Junction ‘where the Newport branch used to lock down from the main line’, but which is now a busy boatyard with cafe, shop, pub and permanent moorings as well as CRT facilities.

We don’t usually moor in such a busy place. Almost metropolitan. Quiet at the moment, but we know it will be full of life in the morning. If we linger for long enough, we might be tempted by the bacon sandwiches in the cafe.

To round off the day, the local fire brigade entertained us with exercises in the cut: it looked as if the youngest recruits were being subjected to some initiation ritual – donning wetsuits and bright yellow helmets, climbing down into the water, walking across the canal and then along it for a few yards, then being dragged, floating, back across the canal and being hauled out by their mates. Everyone seemed to be enjoying it.

Good old Borlotti Bean Goulash and cheese dumplings for dinner.

21 locks and 17 miles in 9.2 engine hours.

The Great Escape

We both slept badly and woke early. Well before 7.00 a.m., there was considerable activity up near the lock. A boat came by, heading for the lock – a boat we had seen moored about a mile further back. This must be the boat who had been told by CRT that they would go through the lock first.

Apparently, this boat had been caught out by the canal collapse and closure, when just above Marbury Lock. CRT said to them, not to worry, they needn’t stay near the lock, they could reverse back up the canal, and CRT had been visiting regularly to bring fresh water and take away their rubbish. I don’t know about their loo! So that boat had waited the week and a half in the same place, whereas other boats had used the time to go back up the Llangollen a bit, or like us, had left their boats and gone home. But the ‘no. 1 boat’ were continuous cruisers and didn’t have a home to go too. So, what would be fair in the circumstances?

Opinions differed!

By the time Ernest had finished brushing his teeth and had rushed up to the lock to see what was what, there was a full slanging match going on between various skippers and the skipper of the ‘no. 1 boat’. I’m sad to say that the skipper of the boat with the ‘Boaters Christians Fellowship’ sticker (which happened to be the boat that we discovered had manoeuvred itself into pole position by the lock last night) did not cover himself with glory and did nothing to commend the Christian faith to others. To call the man on the ‘no. 1 boat’ selfish and a liar, but then to say, ‘but I forgive you’ – well, I wonder, what sort of God does that ‘Christian’ believe in? Presumably a God who is constantly angry with us, but nevertheless says ‘I forgive you’ in a way that makes none of us feel or behave any better.

I only heard all this second hand from Ernest. I’m pleased to say that Ernest was brave enough to call various people out on their unreasonable and unpleasant behaviour and language.

Meanwhile, the really Good News was that the CRT lock keeper had appeared, and the lock was unlocked. The bad news was that we were initially told only perhaps 6 boats would go through. More would be allowed through at the end of the afternoon. Since by this time we were 13th in the queue (because of the various bits of queue jumping), we were beginning to resign ourselves to being delayed until tomorrow.

But, alleluia – an amazing team of windlass winders and gate pushers sprang into action. Whether CRT wanted it or not, it was taking less than five minutes to get each  boat through the lock. I’d already started pulling our boat forwards, as movement ahead began – actually, the lovely man on the boat in front, Mick I think his name was, tied my front rope to his stern, and pulled us both slowly along. But then we needed to pass a holiday hire boat that was empty and still moored and not moving. I ran to get Ernest – he had loned his windlass to a holiday hire company man who was working the bottom gates with extreme energy (presumably hoping to get his two boats, nearly at the end of the queue, through if at all possible) – Ernest ran back to our boat, threw me another windlass, and I ran back to the lock to start helping too. Unbelievably, it looked as if we would go through. The lock keeper was in radio contact with his boss down at the stoppage site, and I was sure that the message would soon come ‘no more boats’ – but Mick went through, and then it was us – no stopping us now.

Twenty minutes later (8.50 a.m.) we came to the stoppage site – and followed instructions, ie go slowly, cut our engine when we came to the bit where they’d put tarpaulin across the collapsed bank and down into the canal (to protect it from further collapse) and let the flow carry us through – a couple of boat lengths – then we were away again.

We later learned that CRT had, wisely in my view, bowed under the pressure and let the whole queue through.

Now if only they had said at the beginning that they would do that, it would have avoided a lot of aggro and unpleasantness, and maybe fewer people would be having guilty feelings tonight (I hope some of them are feeling guilty).

Drama over, the rest of the day was relatively uneventful. Slow progress to begin with, as there were several lift bridges and locks to deal with, and when you’ve got a whole convoy of boats close behind each other, it’s bound to be slow. But gradually, one by one, boats dropped out of the convoy, including the Boaters Christian Fellowship boat which only went about half a mile beyond the stoppage until it came to a winding hole, where it turned round and WENT BACK UP THROUGH THE STOPPAGE AND THROUGH THE LOCK! So why oh why hadn’t it done what other boats did when the canal was first closed, which was to accept help from CRT in reversing back through the Grindley Locks where it could then have turned round and gone on its merry way up the Llangollen.

Oh well…

We cruised on, taking lunch and drinks on the move. The heavy clouds that had threatened rain cleared away, and the sun reappeared. It grew hot and humid. We pressed on, down the Hurleston Locks and, hooray, we had escaped the Llangollen (or the Golli as the in crowd call it). Smooth passage past Nantwich (where more escapees we’re making good use of the sanitary facilities) and on towards Audlem. Began to encounter holiday hire boats again, some more confident and proficient than others. Onwards and upwards for us, past the charming community garden/allotment at Audlem bottom lock, pausing briefly at Audlem sanitary station and water point, which is right by the Shroppie Fly pub, where too many people were enjoying their cool pints of beer

and finally to our overnight mooring above Audlem Lock 12. Refreshing showers for both of us, clean clothes, and Charlie Bingham pies for dinner.

16 Locks, 3 lift bridges and 16 miles in 9.6 engine hours.

PS For an alternative perspective on the day’s events, and a view of Babushka’s and Ernest’s rear end, please see another boater’s blog: http://vivatek.co.uk