2007 Cruise

[Bill Kennedy]

June

 

Today was the perfect day for boating. The sun shone all day and the entire populace seemed to have a smile on their face and a cheery word. We dawdled towards Great Haywood where we will be having the boats serviced on Tuesday and G&H will be inspecting their new marina for their winter moorings. That’s the nice thing about living aboard – you can take your house to a new locale every year.

 

The mooring last night at Willington was quiet with a lovely village feel but in the morning, once the boats started to move by, our mooring pins began to drag free in the soft bank and we knew it was time to go.

 

We were passed by an oncoming boat just before a corner and he told us they were dredging just around the bend. Sure enough, there was the dredge, a tug and two skip barges, one laden to the water line, going at it hammer and tongs (you could tell they were private contractors). Their sign said delays of up to an hour so we pulled over to the bank and just watched the proceedings but the wait was not long and we were soon able to pass. We followed the little tug pushing its heavy load for about a mile to a canalside landfill site. We had planned to do a tour of Marston’s brewery and left a message but the call was never returned, so we took it in turns to have a read and a snooze.

 

We had a trouble free cruise from Burton-upon-Trent to our favourite village of Alrewas next day. To cap it all off we scored moorings at our special spot by bridge 46, opposite the most beautiful thatched cottage. Not every mooring has a view like this from the kitchen window.

 

A couple in a boat nearby told us the vicar’s garden party was on that afternoon from 2-4pm so we thought we’d take a stroll around. The vicar (apparently a Texan) was there in fine form in his colourful waistcoat welcoming us to his tombola stall. Hazel and Lynn won small bottles of soft drink but Graham really scored with a bottle of gin. We bought a couple of nic-nacs from the bric-a-brac stall and stocked up on books at the book stall.

A short walk to the front fence stall of the lady who sells the lovely jams and preserves and we stocked up on her damson, apricot and gooseberry jams.

 

We arrived Fradley Junction at lunchtime the next day and scored the only two remaining moorings and then only by asking a hire boat if they’d be kind enough to move up a bit. It was very hot but the roads and facilities buildings on both sides of the canal prevented us from putting our chairs out under the nearest tree on the towpath so we were somewhat boat bound. Later we went for a walk around the nature reserve that lies beside the canal. We’ve been to Fradley junction several times before but never noticed the reserve. It is well worth a look.

 

We have travelled through some very pretty country the following day with fertile farmland beside us and green upland fields in the near distance. The little town of Armitage has never looked more attractive, along with the approach to Rugely where we topped up provisions at the handy Morrisons.

 

We moored below Haywood Lock in a wood beside the River Trent, almost outside Shugborough Hall. There’s a very pretty iron bridge across the canal and wild rhododendrons in the woods. An ancient stone bridge crosses the river to the Hall and when we arrived some children on camp were having enormous fun fording the river in canoes by the bridge.

 

Well, what an evening last night turned out to be. Just as Lynn was walking back to Nesta to tell G&H what time to come for our planned barbeque, a lady on the boat behind theirs was standing up on the seat in their well deck, talking on her mobile phone. She suddenly stepped back into the void between the seats, which were quite high ones and look a very decent tumble into that void, striking her head as she did so and slicing a nice V into the back of her heel and taking another decent divot out of the undersurface of the heel. She bolted for the inside of her boat, embarrassed about what she’d done but Graham found out later that the gashes would need suturing. So Lynn (who is a retired GP) offered to do it for her to save them the search for a doctor in a strange town. Her husband came down later with a nice bottle of red to say thank you.

 

We were at the Anglo Welch boatyard spot on 9am the next day for our service which was done in no time. Graham’s took somewhat longer as the mechanic had to go into Rugely to buy the right oil filter for their boat. During the wait we walked over to the new marina to see the spot G&H ahve chosen for their winter mooring. The marina should be completed by the end of the month.

 

After a quick lunch we were off. As we headed north on our way to The Potteries we had to pass by the new marina. Hazel thought she’d take a nice video of it and stood up on the seats of their well deck to do so. Unfortunately she was so engrossed in her filming she didn’t see the low bridge coming up and was knocked for a six onto her bottom in the well deck. How she didn’t knock herself out or crack her head we don’t know. We stopped at 4.30 about four miles out of Stone, when we saw good moorings and had drinks on the bank in the sunshine.

 

We pulled out of the night moorings ahead of G&H so we could get to Stone in time to find the library. To our amazement we scored one of the very few moorings in the pound above the Star Inn and found the library again after a bit of a wander about. When you visit so many places over the years you find out where each library is - the problem occurs when you return a year or so later and can’t remember where it is.

 

G&H arrived after lunch and just missed a mooring behind us that had become vacant. They had to make do with a less appealing mooring by a car park on the opposite side of the canal. By the time shopping was done it was about 2.30pm and we made an executive decision to stay the night.

 

We pulled out of Stone right on 9am and pushed on through 13 locks but were slowed by having to remove rubbish from the prop. At one lock, as we pulled up, you could hear and feel the prop pick up something and suddenly there was no steering. Once out of the lock we pulled up and opened the weed hatch and found half a wheelbarrow tyre, split around the circumference, which had spun onto the prop. Finally we arrived at our planned mooring at Westport Lake that is a birdlife reserve and is quite beautiful.

 

Graham had himself in a slightly anxious state when we arose next morning to face the challenge of our day – the Harecastle Tunnel. Tunnels are definitely not his favourite thing. At the entrance to the tunnel we met an ex Pom, now New Zealander, who with his wife, has been spending six months of each of the past eleven years on their narrowboat.

 

The keeper gave us the list of safety rules, took our boat names and licence numbers and counted us in (Harvey included), and we were off, Kiwis first then us and then Nesta. The Kiwis were singing and laughing up ahead and it was echoing back to us. For those who haven’t done it the inside of the Harecastle is fascinating. The water is bright orange from the heavy concentration of iron oxide in the water that oozes from the earth. In moist areas there are stalactites. In other areas the exudates is a crystalline white. The tunnel narrows progressively and the narrowing of the tunnel and lowering of the roof are marked by white painted areas so you don’t bang your head.

 

We were all glad to see the light of day and proceeded immediately to the turnoff to the Macclesfield canal. The first impressions of this historic canal were of a rural idyll of bracken and dog roses which became prettier as we ventured further. The countryside is farmland, alternating with woodland and the Pennines seem never far away. We moored for the evening on a lovely shaded stretch some distance from the foot of the locks and took over the tow path for pre-dinner drinks.

 

The next day was magnificent and we were all in short sleeves by the time the first lock was done. The locks were not the easiest to wind but we were fortunate in that we both met boats coming the other way which meant that we didn’t have to set them. We moored with about ten other boats at Gurnett and had tea at Ye Olde Kings Head pub below the canal.

 

We could remember from primary school social studies that Macclesfield was the centre of the silk industry in the north and had read that there are three silk museums in the town, one at the Heritage Centre and one called Paradise Mill where ex-workers in the industry demonstrate the machinery. After mooring in Macclesfield we trudged up the steep cobble stoned hill and finally found the Heritage Centre at about 11am and, you guessed it, open only 1-5 on Sundays. On we went in search of Paradise Mill which just happened to be at the southern foot of the very hill whose east face we’d trudged up. Yep, closed on Sundays. Seeing as we were back at the bottom of the hill we thought we’d go to Tescos which was only ten minutes walk away, but first we planned to pop into the public conveniences. Right again – closed on Sundays! Shopping done we cabbed it back to the boat and shouted ourselves Sunday lunch at the pub outside which we were moored.

 

 

The Macclesfield, Marple, Peak Forest area is steeped in canal history. We felt we couldn’t be this close and not go to see the southern terminus of the Peak Forest Canal at Bugsworth Basin so next morning we set off, prepared for some beautiful upland scenery, punctuated by only two swing and two lift bridges. As we approached the basin we all had the curious sensation of travelling downhill. We know this isn’t possible but it sure feels that way.

 

The basin has been 40 years in restoration and preservation. It is a shell of its former self, many of the buildings and the massive lime kilns having been dismantled for their stone when it closed in 1927. For a hundred years it was a centre for the production of burnt lime, used in building, farming, the potteries, textiles and tanning and was one of the biggest inland ports created on the canal system. We were two of five boats moored there and our evening was a peaceful one.

 

We backed out of the basin and made our way back to Marple at the junction of the Peak Forest Canal and the Macclesfield Canal. There are 16 locks carrying the canal down the mountain and most are bordered by beautiful stone mills and cottages, all now enviable residences or offices, set as they are in a rain forest like environment. The descent was a trifle tedious as the pounds were shallow (ran aground a couple of times) and the paddle mechanisms very stiff.

 

We passed by the beautiful Marple Aqueduct soaring a hundred foot over the wooded ravine of the River Goyt. We didn’t reach the bottom until mid afternoon. Two tunnels and some less spectacular scenery later and we found a (hopefully safe) night mooring in a wooded area by the river Tame. Tomorrow we will be making for Castlefield Junction in Manchester City Basin where apparently good safe moorings are to be had.

 

We estimated that it would take us three hours to get to the top of the Ashton locks and so we made a very early start at 7am and duly began the first lock right on 10am. We’d all been intimidated by the horror stories in the guide books of this area but it must really have cleaned up its act. The only people we saw were grandparents and mothers taking their kids out for a walk, people exercising or walking their dogs, people going to work and a couple of old drunks sheltering under a railway bridge who just wanted to chat. At lock 6 an upcoming boat had difficulty filling the lock to exit it and BW had to be called. They were there within ten minutes and cleared the cill and we were all on our way, unfortunately, by then, in the rain. Finally we finished the eighteen locks to the outskirts of Manchester and just had the “Rochdale Nine” to go to take us down to Castlefield Basin.

 

What a nine they were! We arrived at the first of them after winding a circuitous route through apartments at Piccadilly and then to the Ducie Street Junction, the site of even more high rise development. At that point the canal seemed to be disappearing underground, taking a lovely Victorian castellated bridge with it. We exited the lock into what seemed like a drowned underground car park. Such fun steering a 58ft narrowboat between building pylons. This subterranean adventure continued until we emerged into the Gay Village where the towpath, and almost the lock, was swallowed by the nearby road and there was nowhere to set down crew except onto the top gates. There was so much extra water in the system with the rain that the locks looked like horizon pools and in places the towpath was actually under water. The rain was heavier than ever and at 7.30pm, after 27 rain sodden locks, a mooring called.

 

We descended into the Basin at last. And what a magnificent basin it is. But where was the signage? Where were the visitor moorings? To the left we could see only a swing bridge barring the way, to the far right, only permanent moorings, straight ahead, a new development at Potato Wharf and the Bridgewater Canal. We had a mid water consultation until finally we caught sight of the bow of a narrowboat and we headed towards it. Curving around to the extreme left was a lovely stretch of visitor moorings and at 8.10pm, 13 hours from when we had set out we were moored up, soaked to the skin in squelchy boots but so pleased to be here at last.

 

The original plan had been just to get here and then spend the day getting everything ship shape for the arrival of our two daughters and grand-daughter. We had his fantasy that the boat would be all polished up, pumped out (we’d been leaving it to the very last thing), dieseled up and full of water. Sadly the boatyard advertised in the guide that was to have provided pump out and diesel was no more. The girls landed right on time at 5pm and a taxi dropped them on the other side of the basin and we scurried out to meet them in a brief respite from the rain.

 

A lady on the canals once told us that when people are talking about boats that sooner or later the discussion comes around to toilets. By now it was all we could think about, with a fresh reminder of overwhelming methane reflux every time it was flushed. It would have been nice to stay and see something of Manchester and could have if there’d been some decent boater facilities in the basin. However we had to push on in our search and didn’t find the Holy Grail until we reached Stockton Heath and even then we had to go to the nearest winding hole and turn to put the outlet on the boatyard side. We filled with diesel and did a necessities shop at the Sainsburys Local so now were ready to travel and only needed to get ourselves pointing in the right direction but that was a job for the next morning.

 

We planned to drop down onto the river Weaver on the Anderton Lift and made a bee-line for a mooring as near to it as we can get at Barnton. In the morning school was in and Peta and Georgia sat and worked through Maths homework. In the afternoon we walked from our mooring up to the lift and made a booking for a descent at 11am. It rained on and off all day but wasn’t cool enough to light the stove. Georgia has been as happy as Larry all day with her pink fishing net and a huge bag of expiring cheap bread for the ducks that we bought for her at the shops yesterday. She has fed every duck within coo-ee and has ambitiously but unsuccessfully tried to scoop up the small fish she sees coming up for the bread leftovers.

 

We were at the lift at 10.30am sharp and went through the safety instructions with the keeper before being allowed into the caisson. It was all a new experience for H&G. By 11.30am we were on the river and heading north towards the Manchester Ship Canal.

 

 

It was Fathers Day in Britain (1st Sunday in September in Australia so two for me each year) and we thought it might be nice to take the two fathers for Sunday Lunch at the pub at Acton Bridge. We were lucky to secure a mooring outside the pub and a table inside. So busy were they that initially we were told they had no inside tables available until 6pm! It is a very popular pub that offers two for one on their mains menu. We rolled (from the food) back to the boats around 4pm and headed north once more to find a tranquil countryside mooring. We had planned on stopping at Devil’s Garden but there were campers there with noisy motorbikes so gave that a miss and found our own spot further on. We were initially unsuccessful in finding a spot with a stable bank for us to get out and stretch our legs and we turned back to find a good night mooring closer to the lock. Nesta went on to the end because Graham had an urge to see the Manchester Ship Canal and as it’s still light until about 9.30pm, they could be up there and back to us in an hour or so.

 

We moved back to Northwich next morning to the Town Bridge moorings as it was market day. We needn’t have bothered - the markets were seriously underwhelming. We decided to explore the other end of the Weaver after lunch and journeyed up to the Winsford Flash. The Flash is not navigable to narrowboats but is a popular sailing and fishing spot. We paused in Winsford at the riverside pub, the Red Lion, for a look about but had been warned by the Lockkeeper not to moor there overnight. We returned to Vale Royal Locks to moor above the lock overnight. This is a very pretty stretch of the river with small riverside lakes with birdlife abounding and walks through the copses by the river. The river rose during the night putting some tension on our ropes and giving us a current to sweep us back to Northwich and the Anderton Lift.

 

Until now the girls had only confronted the stop lock before Preston Brook. Now, as we entered Middlewich, they had a taste of a broad lock and a series of narrow locks. To make life interesting, the rain decided to come down with a vengeance so the girls had a taste of locking in the rain. Finally we turned into the Middlewich arm and found pleasant moorings on a pleasant stretch of the canal bordered by well tended gardens and a hearty duck population to keep Georgia amused. Georgia spent the rest of the afternoon ingratiating herself with the local duck population.

 

The weather remained foul for our next day’s journey, granting us a respite for our necessary stop for pump-out, diesel and rubbish disposal at Venetian Marina which, combined with the adjacent lock, was as busy as Piccadilly Circus and quite entertaining. We watched a hirer doing his first reverse into the pump-out bay, another strip off to his singlet and jocks to wade into the canal to clear something from his prop and another have an altercation with a boat owner who ran into his bikes on a stern bike beak. Voices were raised and photographs of the damage taken - scary urban stuff.

 

We finally arrived at Barbridge Junction and took on water at the second slowest water point on the system, not helped by the fact that we all decided to shower while the tank was filling. The skies were really threatening and we decided to make for the nearest mooring, only to pick up something in our prop as we did so. No sooner were we moored than we discovered that there was a submerged concrete shelf running all along that stretch of canal and that every boat that passed in either direction sent us into the shelf with a bang. Rather than confront the weed hatch and move we decided to tolerate it until the boats stopped. Even dinner had to be finished off in the microwave as the gas bottle gave out half-way. Somehow all these setbacks are more tolerable when the sun is shining. I forced myself to connect the new gas bottle in the rain after dinner as the thought of the early morning without a cuppa was just not an option.

 

Next morning we removed a chewed up soccer ball from the prop and we were on our way. We’d decided to make the short journey to Hurleston Junction and if the four locks were in our favour, to climb them, moor and then walk back to the foot of the flight to help G&H come up. This all worked out well for us but by the time G&H arrived, several more boats were wanting to go up and down and the resultant delays meant they took about an hour to get to the top. The lady lockkeeper that we met last year was there again and had it all under control. She walked up and down the flight endlessly, helping and directing people and keeping it all running smoothly. To our delight the sun showed its face as we went up the five locks to Wrenbury. We decided to splurge on a pub tea and scored the last table at the Cotton Arms.

 

We made good time to Grindley Brook next day and to our great surprise we were the only boat going up the staircase. The locks were even set for us! Next day the rain came so we stayed put. When we tuned into the weather report we learned that there was significant flooding in the North West with massive hold-ups on the roads. Later we learned that today had been the wettest day for 50 years and that it has been the wettest June on record.

 

Sunshine greeted us next morning and we were pleased to be mobile once more. The canal took us past Whitchurch, where we rented a narrowboat for the first time for a week in 2001 and our passion for boating began. This stretch of the system will always have special significance for us as so many vivid memories were made back then. We passed the beautiful Cole Mere in which purple wild rhododendrons were reflected last year but we are a little late for them this time. We arrived at last at Ellesmere. G&H had received a call from their friends on (the other) Quiddidtch who told them there were no moorings left in the arm and the message came down the line to us so we moored up outside of the town.

 

Sunshine and cloudy but blue skies greeted us next morning and were so welcome. We pulled into Chirk around 4pm and to our delight the moorings before Monk’s Bridge were vacant. It seems that most of the hire boats have turned around and are on their way home.

 

Our early morning crossing of Chirk aqueduct provided an exciting start to the day, followed immediately by passage through the 459yard Chirk tunnel. We were somewhat amused by the lady on the boat in front of us who walked across the footpath beside the aqueduct, holding the boat’s middle rope. We couldn’t for the life of us figure out why.

 

Following the line of Offa’s Dyke we approached to the piece de resistance of this canal, the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct. After a right angled turn at Trevor we began the delightful journey through the exquisitely beautiful Welsh countryside to Llangollen. We stopped and paid our £10 mooring fee for the basin for two days and were surprised when the BW chap said he remembered us from last year.

 

The sun, by this time, was making a rare appearance and we persuaded the girls that we should take a train ride up into the mountains while they were not shrouded in mist. So we trekked to the train station, boarded our little steam train and off we went. We followed the course of the Dee up into the mountains as far as Carrog where the line now terminates. We had a cup of railway station tea (the same the world over) at the station tea room, were amused at the sign at the exit of the Gents that says “Gentlmen, adjust your dress”, had a look around the station and chuffed back down the mountain. The countryside is quite beautiful with very green hedgerowed fields, high conifer covered mountains and little white or stone farm cottages scattered about. Luckily we made it back before the rains came again.

 

It was still raining when we woke next morning but to our great delight fined up mid morning so we set out to explore the town. We had lunch at the Corn Mill. This lovely stone building with its enclosed mill wheel is now a three storey restaurant and projects out over the river Dee which runs through the centre of the town. Because of the fresh water in the Dee the river was roaring down past the mill and the wheel stopped to protect it. The girls were returning to London by National Express bus early in the morning (7.45am) and so it was an early night for all and a setting of three mobile alarms.

 

Of course all the grown ups woke before the alarm and we were up and doing and away on time, unfortunately, still in drizzle. We saw the girls onto the bus, sad but reassured by the fact we’ll see them in a fortnight. We couldn’t help regretting that their time here hadn’t been favoured by the weather and that they’d come all this way to have to spend their fortnight caged up on the boat. After we’d waved them off we called by Somerfields to pick up a couple of things and then returned to our empty nest. The rain became more oppressive and we missed the girls immediately.

 

Graham had been down the town and purchased the local version of a Cornish pasty, called an Oggie, or rather he had purchased four of them and we were invited to lunch on Nesta. When we were in the town yesterday Bill had seen a sign in the deli saying “Oggie, oggie, oggie; Oi, oi, oi”, apparently a favoured cry at Welsh Rugby games. So that’s where it came from!

 

We walked up to ask the BW chap if we could stay until the following morning because of the rain and because the basin was one third empty. Unfortunately the answer was no. The 48 hour rule is a strict one as a local resident on the hill above the basin makes it his business to see no one transgresses the town by-law (sad git). So we pulled up the hill and moored just before the first narrows.