2007 Cruise

[Bill Kennedy]

May

 

York is amazing. All of these wonderful facilities and historical treasures are within a two minute stroll of the boat. In the grounds of the Museum Gardens by which we moored stood the York Museum, a Cistercian Abbey ruin, the ancient Hospitium and beyond it, the Library, King’s Manor and York Art Gallery. Straight up Museum Street was York Minster and all of the old city.

 

We overstayed our 48hr Museum Gardens mooring but things had been quiet so we were not asked to move on. However on the bank holiday weekend one of the locals promised us it would be like the M6 by tomorrow. We decided to walk the medieval walls as far as we could around towards Sainsbury’s but we were thwarted when we tried to climb Bootham Bar at Gillygate - it was barricaded for repairs at Monk’s Bar from May 1-3. We travelled back to Naburn Locks in the afternoon and found a delightful mooring in the sun on the lock “island”.

 

The trip down the R. Ouse was uneventful though you had to keep your eyes open for trees and other debris. We arrived at Selby Lock, G&H first, and the gates were not open for us. Graham gave the keeper three toots on his horn and went downstream to do his turn. By the time we passed the lock going downstream the gates were open, we turned and made our entry against the current. As Graham passed us at the facilities point on exiting the lock he said “I enjoyed that as much as a good dose of syphilis!” We attempted a pump-out at the new BW fee of £12.10 and got a dud card. We are certain the new fees represent a financial disincentive to use the machines, especially considering the lack of thoroughness of the job in the time available. We will be one of the first to bow to this discouragement to use BW machines and intend to go only to boat-yards where possible for our pump-outs in future.

 

After a hasty lunch while the water tank filled we pushed on to Beal Lock where a small cruiser was traversing in the opposite direction. They had had their own little adventure this afternoon, having seen some lambs floundering in the mud on the opposite bank of the Aire. They called the fire brigade and ten firemen came. They then ferried all ten firemen across to the wee animals. Every girl’s dream?

 

At the junction of the River Aire with the Aire and Calder Navigation at Knottingley we headed towards Ferrybridge and Castleford. There is a handsome picture of the towpath at Knottingley in Nicholsons showing both water and residential sides of the path bedecked with English garden flowers. Sadly the gardener no longer tends the project as the plants are overgrown but the intermittent purple and pink irises, daisies, rose and lilac bushes and even a handsome cyclamen peony peeping through the weeds give an indication of how beautiful it must once have been.

 

The A&C Navigation continued through some impressively large scale industry and at Ferrybridge Flood Lock we passed onto the river once again. If ever one needed a project to show what reforestation can do, this is it. The old slag heaps have been planted with trees and at their densest point create a forest to the water that would rival Cliveden Deep on the Thames. Four cruisers snuck up behind us and at Bulholme Lock we learned that 17 of them from the South Yorkshire Cruising Club were out and about for the day.

 

We pushed on, knowing that our visitors would be arriving soon in Leeds and that we had been delayed more at the locks than we had calculated. At Knostrop Fall Lock we were beset by a group of the local 10-12 year old local lads out for an explore by the river. They were full of questions and wanted to look through the boat but we compromised by allowing them a look through the windows. The accents were broad Yorkshire. “Is i a nace bow?”. We were asked where we were from and the usual “ow long dit taak yer ta sail ‘ere in ya bow?” A group of girl Sea Cadets who were there to see the workings of a lock were somewhat better behaved but still a handful for their leader threatening to push one another into this deep lock.

 

Finally we reached Leeds Lock but sadly there was no room for us to moor in the new basin as a large part was closed off because of construction in the area so we had no option but to return back through the lock and take refuge for the night on the 1hr pontoon BW moorings on the weir section of the river. The alternate options above and below the lock involved being at close quarters with a large party boat the “Wyre Lady”. No thanks. We needn’t have taken the party boat too much into consideration as the booming music carried well across the water at 2am and at 3.30am a young couple decided to perform their own toned down version of the mile high club on our roof.

 

Our friends were keen for a taste of boating life and for us to continue on our way then they’d get a taxi back to Leeds to their bus later in the afternoon. So off we went through Leeds centre to River Lock. And locked it was, all paddles securely chained and locked but a handcuff key successfully opened the paddles. Where was the lockkeeper who was supposed to be on duty at 8.15am? Just then said lockkeeper returned, saw the length of G&H’s boat and declared that 60’ was the limit for the locks on the Leeds and Liverpool Canal, which it was our long planned intention to travel. Now Hazel had carefully researched all this on the BW website which said that 62' was the limit (the length of Nesta), Nicholson’s and Pearson’s guides both said 62’. But the keeper said that thanks to workplace health and safety (groan) and fear of litigation, the limits had been revised and they would not allow a boat to go diagonally through a lock. We had come so far through all kinds of perils and weather only to be turned back now. Graham and Hazel were less than pleased but at their suggestion we all returned to the Leeds Lock (that’s four times we’d been through it) for a calm discussion about what to do next. They thought we should proceed alone as planned but we had no intention of letting them go back along tidal rivers without a mate to travel with for mutual support.

 

And so, after a quick look through the gates at the Royal Armories jousting display, a dash uptown to have a look at the centre of Leeds, we returned so our visitors could get to the bus station for their 4.45pm return journey to London. By then we had had enough of Leeds and wanted only some peaceful country air so we hightailed it about 5.30pm and secured, by good fortune, a mooring outside the historic Thwaite Mills, two miles out of town. That damn party boat travels all the way to Woodlesford Lock so the throbbing music pulsed past at midnight, 3.30am and again at 7.30am.

 

As history was at our doorstep in the form of the Thwaite Mills and because of its positive write-up in Pearson’s, we decided to do the tour at 10.15am and spent a delightful 1 ¾ hours with an excellent guide who has worked there for 17 years. We decided that if we must be deprived of our journey on the Leeds and Liverpool Canal then we would poke our nose into every two bit side canal while we are up this way. At Castleford Flood Lock we branched off down the River Calder, came off the river at Woodnook Lock and moored in some disused permanent cruiser moorings at the site of the defunct Altofts Lock. The wind was blowing strongly and we weren’t looking forward to backing out in the morning however we settled in for what we hoped was a quiet evening.

 

We woke to a windy morning that became a gusting day with the odd little rain squall. Only one thing for it on such a day and that’s to light a cosy fire and find a good book, break out the arts and crafts or have a cook up.

 

Finally we woke to a relatively calm morning and decided to reverse out of our peaceful backwater while the going was good. The countryside was very pretty and awash with white flowering May, Pink Campion and even some Bluebells. The BW men were working at Birkwood Lock and saw us through. At Stanley Ferry we passed the large BW workshops making gates for large locks all over the country. We took on water from a very slow tap and information from a very fast talking lady on a nearby nb about the journey forth from here, in particular, the lock length restrictions for Nesta. It would appear we wouldn’t be able to go much further than Wakefield before we’d run out of spots to turn a 62’ boat. In need of a good shop, Wakefield became our target. Just outside Stanley Ferry we made a mental note of the pleasant moorings on either side of a straight section of “cut” in an avenue of May.

 

At the impressive Broadreach Flood Lock a sign proclaimed the start of the Calder and Hebble Canal and we were on river for a short time once more. Fortunately the navigation skirts Wakefield and the countryside was unexpectedly pretty. However by the time we’d reached Fall Ing Lock there were enough signs of urban feralcy (debris, graffiti and vandalism) for us to decide to make this as close as we wanted to get. Graham decided to stay with the boats and the rest of us headed on foot for the local Sainsburys. As we crossed over the river we passed the exquisitely proportioned Chantry Chapel on the bridge, one of only five remaining in Britain.

 

The shopping expedition completed, we cabbed it back to as near to the moorings as possible. The area to turn at the lock was in doubt so we took the boats down backwards and then did wheelies on the river below. After our foray into civilization we hightailed it back to the May lined avenue, moored in the wind and rain, had a stiff drink onboard Nesta and took up Graham’s suggestion of a pub tea at the nearby Ship Inn.

 

The forecast for the county was for a blustery day with wind gusts up to 50mph. That was enough for us. We filled in a pleasant day at these delightful moorings.

 

We woke to the sound of rain on the roof. If it’s not the wind it’s the rain! No one was too keen on driving in the wet so we had a good excuse to snuggle up under the covers with the next book. Finally it eased and we decided to brave the elements and head off to our planned mooring for the evening on the other side of Knottingley at the Jolly Miller.

 

The raindrops were there again when we woke next morning and as soon as they had cleared, despite the odd wind gust, we were off again. Graham was not pleased and looked forlornly at every water point we passed and asked “Do you want water?” Hazel’s solution was to offer to take the tiller. We were really enjoying the straight run on the New Junction Canal (despite all the lift and swing bridges today when, at about 3pm the weather rolled in and the wind had us moving crabwise along the canal. Then the skies opened and all of a sudden it wasn’t too much fun any more. We decided to call it a day and stopped at Low Bridge Swing Bridge for the night. We have decided to make the trip down the South Yorkshire and R Dun Navigation towards Sheffield in the next couple of days so that Hazel’s brother who lives near Chesterfield can come and visit them on board.

 

Next day we arrived in Doncaster just as the rain was coming. The visitor moorings are on the opposite side of a pontoon from the permanent moorers and a local boater was out to greet us and help us tie up. He recommended The Red Lion for lunch and told us the route to the nearby supermarket. So in our rain jackets we went exploring the town. At the pub we had the Sunday roast special which arrived on a platter and then staggered back to the boat, shopping on the way. It rained fairly heavily all afternoon, always a good time to light a fire, and so here we’ve sat, reading and playing Scrabble.

 

The forecast said that the showers would clear from the east tomorrow and that there would be sunshine in the afternoon. The welcoming committee gentleman at Doncaster told us that the 45minute cruise to nearby Sprotborough was a rural delight and that The Boat Inn there was the cherry on the cake.

 

The rain had added some fresh to the Dun and our 45min trip took a little longer against the flow. At the first lock in Doncaster we deliberately didn’t tell Graham that the water level was on orange and we certainly didn’t tell him when we reached the idyllic lock at Sprotborough that the level had almost reached red. We persuaded him to proceed to the sheltered moorings on the lock cut but he wasn’t happy until we told him why. Then he was content to stay until the river levels had fallen. The sun came out, we broke out the deck chairs and decided to visit The Boat Inn for tea.

 

Sprotborough is a charmer, high on a gloriously wooded hill above the river, obviously full of old money and with a recorded history from C12. The pub we ate in last night has been alternately a farmhouse and hotel for centuries and is reputedly the place where Sir Walter Scott wrote “Sir Ivanhoe”. The Old Rectory was the childhood home of Douglas Bader. As our next moorings are eight miles away Hazel decided to ask her brother and his wife to visit them here and there can’t be a nicer place to entertain visitors on your boat.

 

When we arrived yesterday at Sprotborough Lock we were dismayed to see the old Clyde Ferry “Wyre Lady” moored above the lock. This is the party boat that disturbed our sleep at regular intervals in and around Leeds. We were even more dismayed tonight to see it pull up opposite us to take on people for a river cruise tonight. The crew remembered us from Leeds and called out greetings. Across the water we asked them jokingly if they were following us. Their reply was “Are you following us?” They volunteered that things wouldn’t be so noisy tonight and from the look of their guests they are a more sedate crowd. They were back before we’d even finished the last game of cards and despite the light rain the night was peaceful. This morning looked more promising and we decided we’d better stir ourselves into action and tear ourselves away.

 

We had determined to travel along this Sheffield and South Yorkshire Navigation as far as Rotherham outside Sheffield but lost heart at Swinton when the earlier delightful countryside gave way to previously impressive Victorian factory ruins awaiting apartment conversion and evidence of mankind’s detritus increased. To add to the negativity the rain made its presence felt constantly. At Mexborough lock we picked up some heavy duty plastic around the prop while in the lock which was full of rubbish. There’s nothing like a journey down the weed hatch in the rain but fortunately it unwound easily and we were on our way again.

 

The one stunning mark of mankind in the midst of nature’s glory was the tall railway bridge across the valley. By the time we’d arrived at Swinton Lock and surveyed the landscape we asked ourselves what we were doing this for. The guide books warned that the closer you get to Sheffield the less desirable the environment and the more important the finding of secure moorings. We had a discussion over lunch at the lock and decided to hightail it back whence we had come. As we approached Sprotborough again the countryside became truly delightful and thankfully our original moorings were vacant. This mooring has to be up there in the top ten on the canal and river system of the UK

 

At 9.30 am next morning we tore ourselves away from Sprotborough and were treated to effortless passage through the lock as the Lockkeeper was on duty, the only manned one we struck for the rest of the day. The Don was carrying a fair bit of rubbish and even though you tried to avoid bits of timber you’d frequently hear the clunk, clunk, clunk as a piece passed along the hull. We cruised by Doncaster and then passed through the pretty Long Sandall Lock.

 

At Barnby Dun we had lunch and strolled up to the farm shop which was something of a disappointment. While we three went into the village Graham incurred the wrath of the local drivers by letting a boat through the lift bridge and stopping about sixty cars for a time – there is a T junction at the bridge entrance so it’s not hard. Then we began the very pretty canal entry into Thorne, a true green corridor, culminating at the short lock with its road swing bridge across the lock. As we pulled into our moorings at Thorne, two swans were sitting on the bank, along with a Greylag couple and their three babies.

 

The following day was to have been our day of preparation for the six hour river journey up the tidal Trent. We had filled our water tanks the night before and planned refueling, pump-outs and restocking the larder for the morning. Perhaps we were a little too leisurely about the whole thing and about 10am the wind started to come up. Even backing into the nearby boatyard was a little tricky, the wind threatening to blow us into the stern of a large Dutch barge nearby.

 

However we thought we’d better make a move on the 10 mile trip to Keadby Lock. But we hadn’t reckoned on that wind. The town pedestrian swing bridge was somewhat protected and not too difficult but the second more so. At the next swing bridge which was G&H’s turn to do, we rounded a corner and found them nosed onto the bridge itself and on the opposite bank from the one they’d tried to stop on. Hastily we tied up with two ropes on the other side, dodging the carcass of a drowned deer being swept along in the wind created current. We all decided to lie low tonight. We may miss our lock release at 6.15am unless we are up with the sun and will have to go the next day, but battling this wind is no fun.

 

The morning didn’t improve and at times worsened. Every time we thought we’d attempt to open the swing bridge and make a run for it, the wind would gust and we’d give up on that idea. After lunch a small narrowboat approached the swing bridge from our intended direction, the female crew member attempted to open the bridge but the entire operation froze when it was only one third open. They were able to get through but she couldn’t get the bridge to move and couldn’t remove her BW key from the control panel. She then shouted above the wind that it was literally a matter of life and death and that their skipper’s wife was in hospital with only hours to live and that she couldn’t wait around. We told her to go and we’d take care of it but try as we might the bridge wouldn’t budge. The cars that wanted to cross the canal were not too pleased about it either. We let BW know but thought that before their engineers come and possibly close it for repairs that we’d better dash through, wind or no wind.

 

But the adventures of the afternoon were not yet over, with four more swing bridges to go and storm cells building in the distance. The first was upon us quickly and brought pelting rain aimed directly at our stern. It produced a strange pink glow on the water as it passed us and forged ahead. The second brought hail and for the first time ever we had to close the back hatch and doors and stand on the counter to stop water driving into the back of the boat. Tragically we counted the carcasses of 13 drowned deer that had apparently fallen in and then couldn’t get out of the canal. The weather cleared just before we arrived in Keadby.

 

We were up bright and early next morning but the lock keeper wasn’t. The poor man had slept in and was full of apologies on his late arrival. We finally exited the lock at 8.10am an hour late. The quantity of debris was no where near what it was on the R Ouse but you still had to keep a sharp lookout. Finally, after 44 miles and eight hours solid driving, when we’d all had enough (and Harvey’s bladder must have been at bursting point), Cromwell’s giant weir and the lock came into view. We breasted up at the only pontoon mooring available and headed up onto the grassy picnic banks with refreshments for all.

 

We travelled only five miles the next day through rural areas and luckily scored the two end moorings on the pontoon in Newark, minutes before a big Dutch barge rounded the corner of the river and took the last one.

 

We left Newark after a late lunch the following day, our moorings taken by two arriving boats before the churn from our departing props had even settled. The going was slow against the current which fairly nipped along but the scenery was blissfully rural and we moored up at the moorings of the Bromley Arms pub at Fiskerton. The sign said Moorings For Patrons Only and we decided “Well, that’s tea, then”.

 

We woke to a lovely day, one for short sleeves and were away at 10am, passing through beautiful forested cuttings of up to 200ft high on one side and with river meadows on the opposite bank. We moored at Holme Pierpont again. Next morning we woke to rain and decided to delay our move into Nottingham until the next day. The weather didn’t improve over the next few days so we stayed put and explored a bit more of Nottingham including a visit to the 1129 “Trip to Jerusalem” pub (reputedly the oldest hotel in the UK) which is also caved into the sandstone cliff on which the castle stands.

 

Finally, we were away. The Trent was carrying a fair bit of fresh water and we pushed against a decent current. The River Soar, which joins the Trent below Trent Lock was already closed to navigation because of its water levels. We’d planned to refuel at Sawley, a protected stretch of cut with a marina, that runs parallel to the Trent, but noticed that the flood gate at its far end was shut (but not locked). If they were planning to prevent entry onto the last short stretch of the Trent we thought we’d better keep going until we were off the river.

 

We passed through the flood lock and onto river again then made our accelerated run across the swift current flowing out of the R Derwent. Once through Derwent Mouth Lock we were safely on the canal again and settled for the first decent mooring, which happened to be opposite a sewerage plant. There was no malodour so we just elected not to look out of that side of the boat while we ate tea.