Journey’s End

Friday morning: we knew it was going to turn into a hot day, so an early start was called for. By 7.30 a.m. we had breakfasted (rather meagrely, as we were running out of supplies by now), made good use of the facilities, and slipped our moorings. I walked round to the first of the narrow staircase locks to get the top lock open, as I knew Ernest would have a difficult manoeuvre, needing to navigate between all the moored boats then make a sharp 90 degree turn towards the lock – and it was windy. Last night the water level in the basin seemed a couple of inches too high and water had been overflowing the top lock gates, but the level had gone down a little overnight and I soon had the gates opened. Ernst came swinging round the corner – no collisions – and we were away. A little help at the bottom staircase from a boater waiting for his boat to be released from the dry dock. On the river by 8.00 a.m.

The River Severn was on ‘amber’, ie water levels slightly raised and flowing fast, but levels were dropping so we were fine. The Lock keeper told us this was rain which had fallen on the Welsh hills a couple of days ago. Yes, we remember that rain.

An uneventful stretch down to Hawford where we made a sharp turn left into Hawford Lock which leads into the Droitwich Canals. Very nice timing – a boat had just left the lock and the skipper opened the gates for us. His crew told us they had had to leave their boat in Droitwich marina for two weeks, as the Severn had been closed to navigation following the extreme rain – the same rain we had encountered in Llangollen. We could see from the deposited mud and debris that the river had indeed been very high.

So, up through 8 locks into the centre of Droitwich. The wide locks of the Droitwich barge canal were hard work after the narrow locks of the Staffs and Worcs and the Shroppie.

Ernest kindly did the heavy and tricky swing bridges in Vines Park, where he encountered a group of 4 police officers  looking for something (weapons? drugs?) in the dog waste and other bins – from a distance, I thought they were were an overmanned waste bin emptying team – it’s so hard to spot a police officer these days,  now they no longer wear those police hats that Dixon of Dock Green always wore.

We paused briefly near Waitrose so I could dash in and grab us a couple of wraps for lunch. Then just 5 more locks, including the 4” barge lock, and the final staircase, which seemed to take ages to get through, by the time you’ve opened the bottom gates, let the boat in, closed the bottom gates, filled the top lock, emptied the top lock into the bottom lock, opened the middle gates, let the boat into the top lock, closed the middle gates, filled the top lock (again), opened the top gates, let the boat out, closed the top gate – and all on a Waitrose wrap, and no coffee or tea since 9.00 a.m.

It was still windy, but Ernest executed a perfect manoeuvre into the marina, and an almost perfect manoeuvre into our mooring slot (just slightly kissing the next boat, which fortunately had no one on board). 2.00 p.m. – and then we worked oh so efficiently as a team to pack, clean, and prep the boat for leaving. As always, the land took some time to stop swaying and rocking, and the road traffic once we got driving seemed unnecessarily fast.

Having called off at Tesco on the way, we arrived home at 5.30 p.m. to find the garden even more rampant, the beans looking thirsty, and the buds off Ernest’s favourite rose devoured – we suspect our resident pheasant.

And to discover a flier for ‘pub and pizza night’ at the Colony Hall (our local community hall) – so that’s dinner sorted then.

Friday’s statistics: 19 Locks, 15.5 miles and 3 swing bridges in 6.4 engine hours.

Our journey this week from Marbury has been 85 Locks and 90 miles in 44.4 engine hours over 5 days.

Total journey, Droitwich to Llangollen and back: 194 Locks, 250 miles, 120.7 engine hours.

 

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