Blog

Quite soon after deciding that we will not be taking the teenager on the boat again unless she begs, we found ourselves with a few free days. Usurprisingly, we loaded my car with random food stuffs and lots of wine, put Betty in the boot and went to the boat. Under clear blue skies, assisted by Betty and approximately a million midges, we trudge food and drink from the car to the boat. As it’s only us and we were here a week ago, we manage it in a single trip. Plonking everything on the grass by the boat, Keith climbs onto the stern to open up as a posh shiny boat comes past going a touch over tickover. Our boat shifts in the water, sparking a change in the elevator music tinkling in Betty’s head. She decides that this is the exact moment to help Keith and takes an arthritic leap onto the stern, just as the passing boat realises that another boat is coming in the opposite direction. The passing boat puts himself into hard reverse and, all of a sudden, we have several problems. Firstly, the waves created by the first boat as he tries to remedy the problem he has made for himself, and, despite the lines being sprung we still have a bit of movement. Secondly, the other boat is really quite close to us, clearly having only seen our boat and the oncoming boat when coming around the blind corner leading to our mooring, has added to the wash. Thirdly, batty dog. Now in the canal. Between our boat and the bank. At least the bank isn’t moving. Thankfully, as I’ve mentioned, we spring our lines. So while we do have movement it is not as violent as it could be. Keith now has one foot on the boat and the other on the bank trying to keep the boat from squishing Betty while I have my arm in the canal trying to keep hold of a panicking struggling dog. I manage to grab her collar and haul her out, finding when I have her front legs above water that it’s a bit loose and she slips out, splashing back into the canal to return to frantic paddling that’s getting her nowhere and leaving me with a soggy collar. I give in and just haul her out by the scruff the back of her neck, suddenly we are both on the bank, me soggier that when we started, Betty looking at me reproachfully with her big brown doleful eyes. Betty then realises that she is cool for the first time in days, bounces around like a puppy and gives herself a good shake. All over me.

We wandered down to Willington to fill the water tank and turn at the winding hole, returning past our mooring and continuing south. We come under the concrete twister that is the A38 Clay Mills junction and pass under the large willow draping itself over the canal, maliciously and completely obliterating any view of either the bridge immediately behind it or any oncoming boats. A cheeky tree hiding behind the willow takes our chimney cover off and sweeps it up the roof towards me. I’m pootling along when a chap on a passing boat tells us there is a terrapin sunbathing on the side of the canal. Great excitement ensues with lots of encouragement from me for Keith to take a photo. I don’t have my phone as I’m on boat driving duties and have no idea when or where I saw it last. I spot the aforementioned reptile and gesticulate wildly at Keith who takes a photo. Or tries to at any rate. We are already travelling so slowly elderly ladies walking even older dogs are overtaking us and I drift past the drowsy creature awaiting the photo of the year. But no. Apparently, I was going too fast for a clear shot…

Approaching the lock below Barton Marina there is a long line of boats on the left, all moored before the lock landing. There is a field followed by trees on my right with permanent moorings after the trees. Looking forwards I can see the moored boats on my left, the trees on my right and a boat on the lock landing about 400 metres in front of us. I slow from tickover to just floating along with tiny adjustments using forward gear when I need to maintain our position. I am drifting close to the boats on the left and waiting for a boat to come down the lock – this is all assumption due to the boat on the lock landing, if there is no boat coming down then we will have a quick chat about mooring etiquette! I am about a foot away from a moored boat on my left when a face appears over its roof. It is a face that has seen quite a lot of life and it has had time to grow a long ZZTop type beard, not full and luxurious with an area for small animals to live in like Radagast The Brown, but rather an impressive demonstration of grown out facial hair. He shouts at me over the roof and for a moment I think I’m in trouble. Again. ‘Can you show all the others how to do it properly?’ ‘What? Hold on, I’ll turn the music down.’ (Yes, I’m noisy, you will always hear me coming) ’Can you teach the rest of them? They come speeding past with no thought!’ Well, as we are now literally moored up next to them, we have a chat about the dreadful behaviour of some boaters nowadays, the complete lack of respect for other boaters, the failure of people to think about passing moored boats and the fact that despite being on a canal in a narrowboat, people still want to do everything as fast as is possible.

Finally, the boat in front moves into the lock and we move up to the lock landing. I am bringing the bow into the landing and trying to gently squeeze my bum in front of a boat moored immediately before it. There is a bit of a current to the water as the lock is emptyed and it is enough to nudge me, so I am having to concentrate to bring my boat to the landing without bumping the boat I am passing. Suddenly, Keith leans in front of me and shouts at the guy in the boat we are just avoiding. Standing directly in front of me, he proceeds to have a shouted conversation with the boat behind us. I shoo him away and instead of actually moving he leans over the left side of the boat to continue to conversation, meaning all I can see is his torso instead of the side of the lock landing. And the desperately vital information requiring immediate and rapid dissemination during the manouevering of a 68ft narrowboat at a popular and busy lock? What type of guitar the was guy playing? Was it a [insert make of guitar here] and how did he find it?

We continued up to Fradley, planning to go to the junction and turn around. I’m a bit wary of this as Fradley is a popular place where the Trent and Mersey meets the Coventry canal. There are usually a lot of people milling around, visiting the tea rooms or sitting outside the pub. So, after fortifying ourselves with croissants for breakfast, we leave Alrewas and make our way up the locks leading to the junction. The volunteer lock-keepers are out in force which means we move through the locks quite quickly. We tell the lock keeper at the first lock that we will be winding at the junction and coming back down, he informs the keeper on the junction lock that this is what we will be doing. With no drama but increasing trepidation I approach the junction lock. The day is overcast and so the number of gongoozlers is relatively low, thus directly increasing my chances of performing a perfect 360degree turn. As long as the few that are around are looking in the opposite direction, of course. The lock keeper graciously tells me he will look away while we turn. I exit the lock bearing left and as my stern leaves the mouth of the lock turn hard to left and increase the throttle. Helpfully, there are no boats waiting from either the lock in front of us or from the Coventry canal on the left. My bow swings round and I drop into neutral for a second before reversing. Once my bow begins to straighten up I go back into forwards and move the tiller fully over to the right, forcing the bow to continue left with minimal forwards movement. One more reverse brings our bow away from the bank and I swing her back into the lock I have just left. I am waiting for the impending disaster. My steering will go. The gear cable will break and I will hit the lock gates (again!). One of the crocodiles from the lock will snatch Betty from the stern. A coach of gongoozlers will come past causing me to bounce the boat inelegantly into the lock and we will sink…

Reeling from the unusual feeling of a total lack of embarrassment in my boat handling skills we see an amble of walkers standing on the towpath. Just milling around, unusual for walkers, they generally tend to be moving purposely forwards. As we approach, a swans nest becomes visible in the reeds. A family of swans has decided to have a siesta on the towpath, clearly not anticipating the arrival of humans followed by yet more humans. The parents are standing on either side of the bevy of cygnets, vigorously defending their babies; the impasse has resulted in a complete stop of towpath traffic. Helpful as ever we drift past and enjoy the swan babies, while a boat moored directly opposite breaks the standoff by banging a food tin. She must feed them regularly as the offer of a treat soon has the whole family interested.

On a side note, a chap offered to paint our boat for £3500 as we went past him in Shobnall. What’s he trying to say?