stort_mark

I was told by one of my in-laws that some of the last boats that Walkers built were hire boats. They "went north" apparently. Anyone know where they went and are they still afloat?

1) Designed the Huddersfield Narrow Canal to hold a lot more water. 2) Never let the abandoned canals become abandoned all those years ago.

It came through in a good number of posts from a variety of people....

There was a plan....long, long ago....to link the Stort Navigation at Bishop's Stortford with the River Cam at Clayhithe, but it never got off the ground. I'm interested in learning more about the proposed canal and hope to walk its route. Does anyone know if a book (or article) has ever been written about it?

I'm quite surprised at the venom aimed at the Challenger owners in some of the replies. Seems like mass stereotyping. On our most recent trip - admittedly in 2004 - we found it was impossible to predict who would be friendly and who would be ...errr.... grumpy and arrogant. It's not about the boat, it's about the person.

UPDATE: Funny how the mind plays tricks. After thinking something wasn't quite right I checked some of the details, and seeing a few YouTube videos jogged the memory! I'm sure now that the upper gate paddles are operated hydraulicly....so it wouldn't be the handspike at all. Then I remember that at the time someone had explained that this was a disadvantage of the hydraulic operated paddles...that they can't be closed easily under high water pressure.

It had been a peaceful day for us, if a little energetic. We were more than halfway through our one-way hireboat cruise from Ashton to Sowerby Bridge. Locking down the final few pounds of the Huddersfield Narrow had been the energetic highlight of this long-awaited journey. We had lived in Glossop in the late 1980s and often walked the unrestored Huddersfield canal up to Diggle. Sixteen years as expatriates in far-flung places had kept us away from the canals of England, but in July 2004 we wanted to introduce our young teenage children to the joys of The Cut. Where better to do this than on the canal we had walked and admired all those years ago? The Narrow was easy. My wife and I had first journeyed around the BCN, Grand Union and Oxford Canal as students, and always at the best times of the year - middle of winter, pouring rain, deserted canals and dripping locks; crisp sheets of thin ice crackling as we headed for Stratford, Braunstone or Walsall. Now two decades later we were heading out in peak season, and there were boats everywhere. The last time I stood at this spot in Stalybridge, it had been a car-park: I remember reading of the plans to divert the canal and laughed. Never. Not in my life-time. Now here I was, thanks to the bruised knuckles, sore backs and a thousand Mars Bars of hundreds of volunteers, I was able to lock up towards Diggle and then on down into Yorkshire, the place where God was born according to my father-in-law. The party of seven, the four of us, the in-laws and a young nephew, were truly loving every minute, and ironically the highlight had not been the canal, but striding across Marsden Moor watching the village unfold below us as my father-in-law Bill and I opted to go across the top. There are few finer landscapes in the world than found in England - and having lived in and visited 72 countries now, I am fairly well qualified to judge. A day later, Bill had to leave us and head back for London, while the six of us - three adults and three children, motored on through decreasing amounts of water. By the last pound we were exhausted and navigating a 56 foot boat through less water than the basin of a shower cabin. We were also heartily fed up with the exploits of Harry Potter who was being discussed avidly by the younger party members. "Wouldn't it be good if we could use a Wizard of the Dark Locks to magically fill and open each lock just before we arrive? That would save me all the effort!" my daughter suggested. "And how would we know?" her brother replied unkindly. The Broad Canal was plain sailing apart from one lock with a badly damaged lower lock gate. A solemn-looking lengthsman was inspecting it and sighing. We gingerly eased our way through, but evacuated the boat just to be on the safe side. I wondered if the state of this lock explained the lack of water on the Narrow Canal. We cruised on, marvelling at the wildlife and the decreasing frequency of boats. Our next challenge was the Calder & Hebble. My wife and I had discussed this with some trepidation. Despite our experience down the years we had never actually set out on a river - ever. They just hadn't figured on any of our earlier journeys and although we considered ourselves fairly experienced boaters, it had amused us that despite all those adventures, we had never once been out on a flowing current in a narrow boat. Helen steered out onto the benign Calder & Hebble, feeling the slight tug of the current across the bow, while I stood in the bow, knees trembling slightly. "Dad! A kingfisher!" a child shouted. I didn't notice it, concentrating on the steer as Helen brought the boat out perfectly into the main stream. Within minutes I felt foolish as we motored on up the river, and reflected on how easy it was. We pushed on through the Kirklees Cut, sailing unimpeded through the upper flood lock. The last stretch to Brighouse was just delightful, with a thick canopy of trees guarding the quiet waters (contrary to the description in the Pearson guide!). The reflective atmosphere and relaxation was about to change though, in an episode that happened so quickly that it left us all shocked, shaking and frightened. I must confess that some of the details are probably wrong here: everything happened in a blur. Helen steered the boat in and I leapt out with the hand-spike. We had felt it to be a curious implement, but had quickly got used to it. The hire-company had warned us of the considerable force of water from the gate-paddles and we had been cautious at Kirklees Low Lock where all had worked smoothly. The boat was eased into the lock - our final of the day as we planned to moor up in Brighouse Basin just above the lock. Alongside the lock were two boats belonging to a Yorkshire family (from Castleford?). Through sloppiness and casual neglect, common towards the very end of days when everything had worked smoothly, I pulled the bow rope to a small post and tied it back loosely. After closing the lower gates, I picked up the hand-spike and wedged it in the cog, then wagged it several times. Nothing. I wagged one more time and was astonished to see a jet of water fire across the lock. It was like the spillway of a big dam. I tried to close it off but nothing happened. The rope whipped off the post and the bow flew across the lock, hitting the other wall with a bang. My heart pounding, I shouted to Helen to get the stern across but the boat had been jammed at the back. My mind was racing and almost paralysed. The children and my mother-in-law were inside the boat, no-one had life rafts on and the water was pumping straight into the bow. The front door was closed but the lock was awash with spray and water. What do I do? I couldn't think straight and my first thought was to open the lower paddles to try to get the boat back out of the lock. I realised later the stupidity and hopelessness of this, but it seemed logical in the frenzy. The owners of one of the boats moored nearby came running with another handspike, shouting "Open the other one!". He worked quickly, the hands of a real expert, and while the fury in the lock got much worse, it was clear within a few seconds that the jet of water was spraying over the bow and into the clear water on my side of the lock. Helen looked shocked, as did I. The children emerged wearing life-jackets, as my mother-in-law had realised that something was seriously wrong. Within a minute, the fury had subsided, and the boat, still rocking, was going to stay afloat. The kind boater who rescued us, then showed me how to tie a quick release knot that we used thereafter. (To my embarrassment, not having been out on a boat again since, I have forgotten how to tie it now) Sadly, the following morning, these boaters departed early back towards Castleford, as I particularly wanted to thank them again for their help and counsel. Maybe they will read this. The final day was uneventful, and we spoke to the yard about the incident. They were extremely busy with changeover though, and said that they had warned us (which they had) of the force of the upper gate paddles on the Calder & Hebble. However, we felt that the practical message of using the hand-spike very slowly **and** wait for a second or too to judge how the water emerges, would be valuable. Furthermore, we didn't realise that once the paddles are raised with these cogs they cannot drop down again so there is "no way back" if you over-open them at first. **That** warning might have made us more cautious. But ultimately, I have no-one to blame but myself: over-confidence, sloppiness and being too casual about the operation of locks at the end of a long day. We had a great holiday, the children are hooked on canals and maybe we did need the Wizard of the Dark Locks on just the one occasion. I'd like to dedicate this first post of mine to the angels of Castleford who dashed to help us, but also to the volunteers who worked hard over the decades to reopen the Huddersfield Narrow Canal: we toasted both sets of people numerous times that week - and since.