12 weeks on the cut

[Bill Kennedy]

Chapter 3 – Week 2, Shropshire Union/ Trent and Mersey Canal

 

Saturday May 8

Chester

 

We woke early to positively foul weather - bleak, raining, freezing and we have to take our bodies out in this. Whose clever idea was it to moor outside Chester? I realised as I got into bed last night that we were so tired we had forgotten to have our showers and this morning of course the water is cold. Once the engine has been running for a little while it will heat up again so we’ll shower once we moor in Chester itself before setting off to explore the city. Bill is in charge of the fire and is currently stoking up our little stove. It would be nice to stay here all day and read etc. but one never knows how long the bad weather will go on for.

 

We girded our loins, donned five layers of clothing each and made our way into Chester. We met a group from Brisbane at the one of the locks who were leaving the city, having been thwarted in their attempts to get up to Ellesmere Port to the canal museum. They told us the locks exiting Chester to the North were padlocked. Being the weekend of course, we have had no opportunity to phone British Waterways to verify this so, this afternoon, we walked up to the locks. There are dual paddle mechanisms on each lock but only one is padlocked so in the morning we will give it a try.

 

On our way into the town this morning Bill thought I looked weary and he decided I should hold the boat in the pound and he’d go and open the lock. I awarded him 7/10 as he only wound up the top paddles and opened the gates. Didn’t put the paddles back down, close the gates, open the front paddles and gates or restore them. He smirked a lot when I rubbished him about it. Mind you, I’ve yet to steer the boat in and out of a lock so I can’t be too critical. I hope to manage it before the journey is over - it will have to be a very wide lock with no wind in the pound to blow us into a broadside - the ultimate humiliation.

 

Chester is deserted of narrow boats. We went to the area recommended in the Pearsons guide as the best area to moor and we are the only boat there. It is very close to the centre of town and we stocked our larder at Tescos 50 yards away, wheeled the trolley down to the boat then Bill took it back again and retrieved our ₤1 deposit - all before I could unpack the bags and store the contents. Then off to explore the city. I couldn’t talk Bill into a Mendel and Bach harpsichord concert at the cathedral tonight – classical music is just not his thing.

 

We arrived back from our expedition to find a big patch of water on our bed from a crescentic crack in the skylight. Our first thought was vandalism but it’s very thick glass and the culprit would need to be carrying a weapon to achieve this. So we decided the there must have been a flaw in the glass and it was a coefficient of expansion thingy. However tonight a group of tipsy girls staggered past and one of them jumped up on the bow of the boat and later another lad walked along the side and banged on the roof so now we’re not so sure what caused the crack.

 

They may have given the skylight a belt with the grappling hook so we have brought all the gear in from on the roof with the exception of the plank. Bill has bought some sealant and in morning will make some temporary repairs. In the meantime it’s a tea towel, plastic bag held on with a rubber band. Got the bed dry with the hairdryer after teasings about who was having the wet patch. Bill thought he might smear the edges of the boat with grease so the little buggers would slip off into the drink but I pointed out that I would probably be the victim tomorrow if he did that. We have just returned from a very pleasant Indian evening meal, a nice foil for the disgusting weather we’ve been putting up with all day.

 

Sunday May 9

What a Day....

 

Dear reader, it is essential for you to understand that I have had two schooners of Chivas after what can only be described as an interesting day. Today was the day for us to brave the allegedly padlocked winches of the Northgate locks and proceed in orderly fashion to the canal museum at Ellesmere Port. All began well. Bill took us to the locks, where, fortuitously we met a nice young man employed by British Waterways who was just doing his early morning rounds checking that the vandals hadn’t put Omo in the locks or suchlike. He very kindly helped us down the staircase locks by doing all the hard winding and we thought, “this is a breeze”.

 

The canal to Ellesmere Port (which once employed 75.000 people) is now in a state of neglect with weed growth, silting and flotsam and jetsam and the weather was cold, wet and miserable so the journey was slower than anticipated. Our Pearson’s guide said the approach to the Port was “not pretty” and that was quite accurate. Close to the Port the canal was lined with factories right to the water’s edge. There were massive overhead power lines, numerous enough to give you health concerns if you lived near them. Huge silos stood beside giant chimneys that belched smoke into the air and at one point you could smell the petrol in the air and there was a fine technicolour slick on the water. The yards of these factories were littered with all manner of metallic and wooden debris, in various states of rust and decay. Just as I was thinking “no birds on this stretch”, we rounded a corner and there, in a sheltered V, formed by two great buildings, a pair of swans was nesting. It gives one heart. I had a little steer and we arrived at the museum which has the potential to be spectacular but at the moment is run mostly by volunteers. One day I can see it as a wonderful working museum like Sovereign Hill in Ballarat, Victoria. All the hard structural stuff has been done; it just needs someone with vision to take it further. It appears most of the patrons come by road and not by boat hence the absence of a need to maintain the canal which is a great pity. We had a most pleasant day looking at all the exhibits and a nice lunch at the cafeteria. We had some minor glitches topping up our water tank and should have realised the water gremlin was aboard.

 

In our great wisdom we decided not to go back into Chester because of the vandalism risk (other people in the lower basin had their life buoy thrown in the canal and we found it in the lock outlet) but moor out in the countryside. 1st Mistake - too shallow at the edge and we ran aground. Only one thing for it – push off from the back with pole (Bill) and the front with grappling hook (me). Next thing, balanced on the side of the boat, I heard a crash, a splash and then a loud expletive and Bill was emerging, spluttering from the canal. If I had reached for the camera at that moment I’d have been a dead woman. Now the boy did it well - the Pringle wool jumper, the Rockports, the new thermal jacket, the Donegal tweed cap and the gold watch. I was not permitted to laugh though I have to tell you that it was very difficult not to. It became my baptism of fire with the steering as I had to take over the tiller while Bill had a shower and that meant traveling under bridges, dodging weed and shopping trolleys and slowing for fishermen. Little did I know that the payback water gremlin was waiting for his turn at me. We decided, stuff it, we’ll head back to Chester and moor in the basin before the locks with the other boats where there’s at least safety in numbers but, alas no moorings leaving only one thing for it - climb those locks.

 

Now the Northgate locks are a staircase of three where the front gates of one are the back gates of the next etc. The lower one is of normal depth but the middle and top locks have chambers twice as deep as the lower one. So, going up, you must fill the top two locks and empty the lowest one before proceeding. I did this but thought I could get Bill into the lower lock before the top two filled. 2nd Mistake - as he entered the bottom lock this huge flood of water came cascading over the gates, forcing the boat back out of the lock. I raced up the incline brandishing my windlass to shut the paddles of the top two locks. To my great shame I did not do this fully and water kept cascading down and the locks would not equalize but I didn’t realize this until much later. It was only by the now assembled hordes enquiring why the lower basin was being flooded that I discovered the problem. I don’t think I did good things for the reputation of Australian intellect today. After the problems were remedied and we skulked back at 9pm to our mooring of the night before that I noted that the water level in the mighty Shropshire Union Canal was six inches lower than the day before but I’ll bet all the detritus of mankind floating in the canal below Chester has been swept out to sea in a well overdue purge.

 

Monday May 10

Reflections

 

A splendid day with time to think about the past week and especially the last day as we sit here at 6.30pm, moored in the gloaming in the Cheshire countryside, ever so slightly inebriated from one chardonnay at the nearby pub. On the rise above Friesian cows are grazing and it’s still light with a pale blue sky - not our sort of brilliant blue - but a soft blue peeping out through masses of white cloud.

 

We survived our second night in Chester central with only what we initially thought was an attempt to set fire to our plastic fender. We learned later today that one of the favourite tricks of the vandals is to cut boats adrift and also to pull the boats curtains out through the upper window vent, set fire to them and then push them back into the interior of the boat. We are very happy to be away from any big city. We subsequently discovered that the fender was probably burnt by the heater exhaust.

 

It’s been interesting to observe the effects of an increased populace on the canals. If you throw bread to a duck and ducklings in the wild, they fly away from you. Near the cities, the mother duck brings her chicks out to meet you and quacks at you to produce the bread. In the country, the people are very friendly and helpful but in the city they are antisocial and sometimes hostile, the converse of the animals.

 

There is another interesting breed of people in the country - fishermen. It is well known hereabouts that there is no love lost between boaters and fishermen. They sit, always alone (unless it’s a father who his teaching his son the mysteries of this recreation) under enormous, always dark green umbrellas, in the cold and the rain, on folding stools (never with a back support), surrounded by their paraphernalia. This usually consists of three rods, a long segmented collapsible mesh holding net for their catch, a small bag containing thermos and food and a small bucket of maggots. The rods are black, don’t have reels or runners, and are instantly collapsible down into segments. They are laid obliquely in parallel on the bank in an ever so slightly obsessional manner. The rods are so long that they reach to the other side of the canal. The holding net dangles down into the water so you never see their catch, and they never offer to show you. One occasionally sees them drinking something but never eating - would you if you’d been handling maggots? The maggots, interestingly, are multicoloured, dyed, I’m told. So strange to look in a bucket and see a writhing mass of gaily coloured red, orange and yellow maggots.

 

The fishermen seem to indulge in a curious competition with the boaters. They can obviously see and hear us coming but they pretend not to so they leave their lines in the water, their rods bridging the entire canal width and then, just as they hear you slow for them when you are almost upon them, they quickly draw back their rods under their arm, collapsing them as they do so. All the while they make no eye contact nor give any sign of acknowledgement of ones presence. One character we met at a boat yard said “and do yer see the way they talk to their maggots as you go past?”. He added “I feel like saying to them, if you want to fish on that side of the canal, why the hell don’t you go there?” I have my own strategy – I give them my biggest cheeriest smile and hello, ask them how they’re going and whether they catching anything - a grunt scores 1, an “orright” or “not much” 2 and “great weather for it” 3. So far, the score is not high.

 

Tuesday May 11

Heading South

 

We moored early last night after the red light on our flash, flushing toilet told us it was time for the, as yet mysterious, ritual of a “pump out”. This was undertaken at the yard at which we shared our impressions of fishermen with the two fellows who ran it and built boats for their living. They were cards. We should have known the pump out was almost due as the holding tank is boxed in under the head of our bed and as it filled we began to list more and more to starboard (Bill told me I’m not to say to the right) but we didn’t appreciate the reason at first. This became marked enough for me to think my right leg was shortening but finally when I woke one night with my dinner in my mouth from the head down tilt, I finally knew why, and so I turned around and slept with my head facing the foot of the bed which was slightly higher. Bill woke to a surprise greeting from my feet.

 

We woke to a crisp but fine morning with frosty breath outdoors. Friesian cows said good morning to me over their fence as we set off early. I found the first lock a bit of a chore and thought I should give driving into the locks a go, especially as in Cheshire they are all wide locks and at 7.30 am there’s no bugger around to see you make a fool of yourself. After the first three went well I have now declared myself the driver into locks, at least into wide locks with no other boats in the road and no gongoozlers.

 

Today we have passed through some beautiful high grazing country with surprise green copses and embankments, the river Weaver often sighted below us to our left. To enter the Middlewich branch of the Shropshire Union canal we had to turn hard left at a T-junction called Barbridge Junction. Watching another boat enter the same turn from the south with consummate ease, we were optimistic we’d breeze around but as we are not the experienced boaters we’d like to be, alas we had to do a three point turn - shucks.

 

A little excitement this afternoon. Came to our last lock on the approach to Middlewich where we will moor for the night. Bill got out to open the gate as the lock was nicely set for us. To our consternation the gate opened only to 75%. We probed the cill for obstacles but could not be sure what we were feeling. Bill put in a call to British Waterways (and two hours later we were still waiting for their promised return call - in fact they never did call back). Fortunately in the meantime another boat came along and the chap on board probed the cill some more with his pole which allowed the gate open a little more but still not enough to let the boat in. Bill took over and voila - the last little bit of effort did the trick and we were able to proceed. Each boat in turn saw the next safely through and both boats that were behind us have since passed us at our mooring for the night. Such is the camaraderie on the canals.

 

Bill has just been busy up on the roof and therein lies a tale. One of the two wits at the pump out station told us our chimney stack was facing the wrong way. He told us if the hook and handle are facing forward, the skipper “doesn’t know which way the wind is blowing”. Bill has been studiously observing all the boats we pass “just to make sure he wasn’t taking the piss”. I assume the canal legend must be true as our chimney hook and handle now face backwards. What a pity, the hook was quite useful for attaching my clothesline to, but I daren’t turn it around again. Another interesting piece of canal trivia is that if your chimney has a red band around it (ours does), it means that the Salvation Army are welcome to call. Considering the poverty that existed on the canals in the 18th and 19th century this is not surprising.

 

Wednesday May 12

What is it about locks and coffee?

 

Tonight we are moored at a place called Rode Heath. We have just been to the pub as we did last night. Last night we ate at “The Narrow Boat” after a drink. Tonight a drink at “The Broughton Arms” then back to our boat for a home cooked Thai red curry. This trip is beginning to sound a little like a pub crawl. We are half way up the 250ft climb of “heartbreak hill”. There are 26 locks in 7 miles and Bill has done all but one of them. I am beginning to like my new job as “driver into locks” as it gets me out of those sometimes very tough winches to raise the paddles. Bill says he has “gone in the legs” from pushing open the lock gates which one does by walking backwards and pushing with ones lumbo-sacral spine area. It gives new meaning to the expression “get your back into it, girl.” Jokes aside we are beginning to get some teamwork going on this locks business so much so that this afternoon when there were four to go before mooring for the night, Bill said “ bring ‘em on.”

 

Throughout the day we have been in the habit of having a coffee every few hours but today, with 13 locks, it seemed as though every time the kettle boiled we would round a corner and there would be another lock. It got so that I would boil the kettle, wait for the lock, then reboil it briefly and make the coffee before the next one.

 

At one lock, Bill, who was driving, pulled to the side so I could leap off (amongst the nettles) and, with the middle rope, bring the boat to a standstill while he opened the lock. I couldn’t make out why he hadn’t cut he engine as I was having trouble stopping 15 tons of boat. When I asked what he was doing engine he replied he wasn’t silly, he wasn’t getting off in the nettles.

 

Our plans for the next two days are to make our way back to the boatyard at Brewood for a service, pump out, refuel, fresh linen and, doubtless an inspection of the boat to be certain we are allowed to continue using it for the rest of our proposed journey.

 

Thursday May 13

Locks, more locks and a very long tunnel

 

We spent Thursday climbing the rest of “heartbreak hill”. For a couple of locks we fell in with a group of four chaps on a boat who had a very good system of one going ahead and setting the locks, one driving the boat and two closing. Their advance fellow helped us speedily though two locks then we realized we’d slow them down and told them to go past us when we came to a paired lock. Arrived at Etruria Junction, reported in the books as a desirable mooring as the pottery towns all have their outlets there but the canal sides were very high and built with a ledge that jutted out and the boat kept catching under it. As we had no extra ropes to use the fenders to stop this from happening we decided to move on and make a dash before nightfall for a spot about four hours away.

 

We traveled through the most amazing contrasts in the canal today. In the big cities, in this case Newcastle-under-Lyme, the canal is a cesspit, a dumping ground for every crisp packet, soft drink bottle, shopping trolley, brick pallet etc. Graffiti adorns all the cuttings, culverts and even ancient bridges. Factories are old and built to the water’s edge and their yards are ill-kempt. By contrast, in the pretty village of Hem Heath, the canal is embraced by people who build colourful gardens to its edge and plant willows and other trees to give shade on its banks. Debris and graffiti are absent and wildlife abounds.

 

The excitement for the day was traversing the Harecastle tunnel, built by Telford in 1827 (and thankfully restored where necessary between 1973 and 1977). It takes 45 minutes to traverse at four miles an hour, the roof is only about three feet above your head and water drips down so you must wear a mac. A man records your boat details, number of people (and pets) on entry and another on exit - makes you wonder what’s in there. Traffic alternates in each direction every hour and boats go through in groups of three or four. We met an experienced boater and his wife on nb Suzi Q at the entrance who were very friendly and filled us in on a little of what to expect. All I can say is you wouldn’t want to suffer from claustrophobia.

 

At night after a long and tiring eleven hour day we reached our desired mooring at Barlaston only to find that food was off at the pub because the cooks were both ill. We consoled ourselves with a pint of ale and a bucket of Chardonnay respectively them returned to the boat to concoct a pasta dish with broccoli, bacon, red curry paste and vegetable soup mix. By that stage the alcohol hit my brain and I slouched in the chair (did I snore?), vaguely aware that Bill was washing up somewhere in the background. Tomorrow is a “rest day” when we will visit the village market in Stone and see if we can get a bus to the Wedgewood factory and other Pottery Towns delights.

 

Friday May 14

Tranquil Stone

 

We left our peaceful moorings early and headed for Stone on the advice of a couple we met at the pub in Barlaston. They were locals and apologetic that we couldn’t get food there and seemed more concerned than we were. On our approach to Stone we noted new canalside elegant house developments, built in a modern interpretation of the ancient houses in the area. The whole project was very tastefully done, with private moorings an integral part, showing a whole new respect for the canal.

 

The second last lock into Stone, the Newcastle lock, provided some interest. As I was opening the front gates (the lock chamber, fortunately, was full), I noticed a tiny duckling, a new hatchling, swimming at the entrance all by itself - no sign of mum anywhere. To my consternation, as I opened the gates it swam into the lock chamber ahead of the boat. My fears were firstly that it would be crushed between the side of the boat and the lock wall and secondly, that if I opened the paddles, it would certainly be sucked into the mysterious chambers and passages beneath the earth, emerging in the holding pound as a slick of feathers. I shouted all this to Bill above the noise of the engine and the water and he watched quietly as, cheeky as you like, it swam back out of the lock chamber on the current created by the closure of the lock gates - whew. The second point of interest at this lock was a horse tunnel under a stone road bridge along the tow path. You could feel the history of it as you walked through.

 

We arrived at Stone about 11am and headed off for the market. Stone was granted its market charter in 1251and is full of history which has been treasured by the locals. It has been a brewing town since the establishment of the Joules Brewery in 1881and has several famous sons. Its boatyard dates to the late eighteenth century.

 

We had a pleasant chat with the chap from the boat next to us who is headed in the morning whence we’ve come. He has persuaded us to go into Little Venice in London and travel down the Thames. A chap at the tunnel yesterday told us it’s all too frenetic with water taxis creating washes etc. so we will need to canvass more opinion between now and when we have to make the crucial decision.

 

We headed off at happy hour to the local, the Star Inn, which has existed since the sixteenth century and predates the canal. We sat out in the garden in our polar fleeces and woolly jumpers with the locals in their short sleeves - we have not yet acclimatised. We decided, on the recommendation of our neighbour to visit the local Indian eatery, a curious blend of fleur-de-lys wallpaper, dado rails, internal Victorian street lamp-posts, tropical bamboo shades and modern art - but good food.

 

 

Progress

This week Distance (miles) 74 Locks 66

Total Distance (miles) 131.5 Locks 107

 

The journey continues

[Jon]

Many thanks for your continued contributions! They are much appreciated.

[DHutch]

Wow, that was a long post!!

 

- Great read, thanks!

[Trelawney]

So just how big is a Schooner of Chivas?

[Bill Kennedy]

So just how big is a Schooner of Chivas?

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

 

A schooner is 15oz so there might be a little exageration here.