Avast Behind

(author's note: while trying to spell using UK conventions, on occasion I
still miss a few. Mike says there's a few in there, ignore them if you
can.)

After having planned this trip for a year, it seemed hard to believe that we
would finally be making the journey from Manchester to London via
narrowboat. Even though we'd just recently bought our own boat, the
'Mandarin' soon to be renamed 'Cu£tural Confu$usion', we were not going to
take her with us. The owners of the 'All Right Now' had been so generous to
us for the last year and a half that when they asked if we minded taking the
ARN for the shared trip instead of CC, we were happy to do so.

And so,with the prospect of six weeks in a child-free zone of boats and
locks, we set out from work on Friday, merrily zooming along on the way to
the marina. Well, perhaps zooming is a bit of an exaggeration, as one of
the tyres on the car decided to give up the ghost somewhere near Sale. A
short time later and a few somewhat half-hearted laughs at the timing, we
were driving past Claymoore's hireboat base in Preston Brook, and meandering
along the last stretch of road to the marina.

Although we'd hoped to just leap aboard the ARN and head off into the
Cheshire sunshine, the weekend was going to be more of a convoy as we took
both CC and the ARN up to Sale, where we would moor near the Sale Rowing
club's headquarters, a short walk from the home of David and Lesley, the
ARN's owners. It was their 25th wedding anniversary that weekend, and a
large two-day party complete with boat rides was planned. Of course, it
rained. Saturday and Sunday. No matter, we ate far too much at the party,
showed some friends around CC, gave boat rides to the intrepid and planned
last-minute trip details with Lesley.

Sunday afternoon, we left the two-day party still in full swing, untied both
boats and chugged off along the Bridgewater in a small and rain-drenched
procession. We have a lot of love for the Bridgewater, it's where our boat
is licensed and where we spend a lot of time cruising on weekends. Most of
the boats are more familiar to us than the people who own them, as we make
our way along the canal it's common for us to note who is gone on a cruise,
who has had work done or paintwork. After all, they're our neighbours more
than anything else, in the waterway village.

Passing under Broadheath Bridge, we noticed that the large lights have been
refurbished and replaced on the bridge. Past it and once under Seamon's
Moss Bridge, we leave the industrial part of the canal behind, the change is
startling from one side of the bridge to the other. The weather wasn't
exactly wonderful, but we put our heads down and kept chugging along,
through the Bollin Aqueduct and Dunham Massey Hall. Just ahead, there was
room for mooring at the Old No. 3, Mike is on CC, while I follow behind on
ARN. The wind isn't too bad, and the weather looks worse by the minute, so
while Mike brings CC to a halt I wait till he gets the pins in before
bringing the ARN beside her. It's an odd experience to have two boats to
breast up, but with the limited mooring there we wanted to use only one
boat-length if possible. We close everything up and head for the pub, where
we spend some time warming up with pints of bitter and a meal. On the wall
behind our table is an original chart of distances and shipping times for
all the old commercial wharves along the Bridgewater Canal, dating from
sometime in the mid-1800s. We spend some time contemplating names of
commercial landings now non-existent or transformed into such places as
Thorn Marine or Claymoore.

Since we'd agreed on an early start on Monday morning, when Wallace and
Gromit started to chide us for being lazy at 7am, we had a quick breakfast
and headed out into stiff winds and rain. Passing Lymm, Thelwall and the
sharp turn at Grappenhall, we began to finally feel that we were starting
our holiday. We stopped in for a few minutes at Thorn Marine, picked up a
few essentials and then moved on.

We had till the following Sunday to get the boat as far down towards London
as we could. Our plans were tentatively to get down towards Leamington, but
if the weather was going to be nasty all week, we thought we might end in
Birmingham and call it enough. Passing Daresbury and the high-tech
high-security research facility that has a nice lawn going all the way down
to the canal edge, the wind started to become worse and the rain made
driving something less than pleasant. Making the turn into the Runcorn arm
and then into Preston Brook marina wasn't going to be fun. We managed it,
Mike going in first with CC, taking her to her mooring halfway across the
marina as I brought the ARN into her mooring just inside the marina
entrance. I managed it with the same panache usually seen by ducks landing
on ice. Once I brought the ARN into the slot and coaxed her near the pier,
disaster struck, almost. With the centre rope firmly in hand, I stepped
from the stern onto the wooden pier, and slid across on one knee and a
shoulder. The only thing that kept me from going into the water was having
wedged myself halfway off the edge between the boat moored opposite and the
wooden edge of the pier. It seemed to take forever to get free and not go
all the way into the water, and eventually I got up, tied the ARN securely,
before sitting in the bow shaking and crying. Mike found me there a minute
or two later after he'd finished making CC ready to be left for the summer.

An unnerving start to the holiday, but probably the worst thing that would
happen during the whole six weeks. We had a cup of tea, I got my composure
back, and then we headed out of the marina and down the canal. A stop at
Claymoore's for diesel and then off through Preston Brook tunnel, one of our
favourite moments as it signals the start of travel away from the familiar.

Since it was later in the day than we'd planned and the weather was not
improving, we decided to moor up for the night in the last stretch of woods
before the Saltersford Tunnel. This stretch of the T&M is simply lovely,
the views down to the Weaver valley are beautiful at any time of year,
especially on a frosty autumn morning with the mist from the river filling
the valley below. After a quiet night, we woke to reasonable weather and no
interference from Wallace and Gromit, who had been left behind on CC, we
braced ourselves for the tunnels, narrow and low and not exactly friendly.
Having made an early start, we made it to the last bridge before the
Anderton Lift in no time at all, only to have a surprise as the bridge was
hidden by a massive tree that had come down the night before in the storms.
There were several boats on the opposite side of the bridge also stopped by
the obstruction. To give the BW work crew their due, which they certainly
deserve, as soon as they were notified of the blockage they were out and
working on clearing the tree. While we waited, we chatted with several
other boaters, including one who had worked for BW a number of years ago.
One of the other boaters had also worked on the canal, we spent a fascinated
half-hour listening to them compare notes about their past.

Three hours later, the bridge was cleared again, and boats started to make
their way along the canal again, in weather that was by turns sunny and
rainy. Marbury Park was beautiful as usual, but the bottleneck at Wincham
Wharf caused by a large number of boats for sale, breasted up as many as
three wide in what is a narrow place at best. Complicating matters was a
boat sunk at a mooring on the towpath side directly opposite a number of
sale boats. There was room for a single boat to pass, two might just squeak
by. I wonder at what kind of mooring arrangements allow for this, creating
a situation that makes passage less than simple for regular boaters. Once
past Wincham, and through the clanging mess of ICI, we had a nice, easy
cruise up to Big Lock, through the Middlewich locks and then the turn into
the Middlewich branch. We decided to spend the night at one of the most
interesting places along that stretch, the Weaver Aqueduct near Church
Minshull. As we approached the aqueduct, we encountered a group of rather
intrepid boaters, with portable sun-shades set up and a grill smoking away
for a barbecue, all in the rain. The intriguing thing was that they were
all from the Lancaster Canal, and had come down in a group for a trip from
the Rufford Branch to Llangollen and back. We moored near them in our usual
place, right over the Weaver. It's such a strange sensation to be floating
in a canal over a deep valley with a river running through it and under the
canal. The section of the canal is subject to irregular surges of water,
presumably from Minshull Lock. The surges are quite visible in the stretch
of the canal just past the narrowed spot between the lock and aqueduct.

We woke early again, and headed for Minshull lock, the canal seemed quiet
when we started out but by the time we reached the lock there was a line of
boats behind us, a collection of hireboats and the Lancaster boats. Not
much traffic was coming down, waiting at the lock for our turn gave us a
chance to talk to the Lancaster group. We found out that not all of them
crossed the Ribble, one of them had their boat winched out, and hauled over
to the Rufford. Mike wants to travel on the Lancaster but is not sure about
the safety of a narrowboat on the Ribble, so we may end up taking CC across
that way instead, when we plan a trip there.

On through the last two locks and off to Barbridge Junction, where, as we
approached slowly, behind a rather long hireboat a lady on the bridge over
the junction was heavily involved in giving a round of tongue sandwich to
someone she felt had 'barged in and made the turn before her boat;'. It was
a bit of a mess with the hireboat we were following wanting to exit the
junction, the lady's
hireboat at the edge of the turn (moored up of all things) and several boats
behind us all waiting for the hubbub to die down. Once the boat ahead of us
cleared the turn, we saw the boat of the hapless 'bargee' come around. We
gave a short beep on the horn to let him know there were boats waiting, and
got a bit of a lecture from the lady on the bridge about our use of horns.
I informed her that we preferred to let other boats know of our presence in
a blind turn, and once she untied her boat and made it through the turn too,
we'd be happy to proceed along with the boats behind.

Boating is so good for reducing stress, I don't know why more people don't
take it up.

Once the logjam at the junction had cleared, Mike made a perfect turn
without having to back up or stop (it always feels good when you can do that
just right, doesn't it?) and we headed for Nantwich, where I was about to
spend a rather odd and exhausting hour in several different phone booths
trying to phone my daughter in Indiana and wish her a happy 24th birthday.
I called Indiana, New Orleans, New York and Milwaukee before finally
tracking her down at my sister's. It was only 7am there, so her birthday
wishes were a bit early, but at least I found her..... finally. Once that
was settled, and we stopped in at Chatwin's bakery for some sustenance
(recommendation in Pearson's guide noted and approved of) we took advantage
of the reasonable sunshine to set the Shroppie Fly as our target for the
evening. It turned out to be a good idea, as the stretch between Hack Green
and the bottom lock of the Audlem flight was about as inviting and warm as
the Canadian tundra on a bad day. It was so cold and windy that at one
point Mike was sure it was going to snow. We found a mooring between Locks
14 and 13, tied up for the night and headed for the Shroppie Fly for a meal
and a few pints.

The next day we started out..... yup, early, after filling up with water at
the point outside the 'Fly'. Some of the Audlem Locks leak a bit, but none
of them really presented much of a problem, and eventually we emerged at the
top of the flight, none the worse for the wear. The five Adderly Locks were
a bit worse, they seemed to be leaking quite a bit, and at Lock 4, a boat
emerged and headed for lock 5, whose gate we'd left open for them. Imagine
my surprise that before I could walk from 5 to 4 I saw the lock gates he'd
nicely left open for us begin to close and the sound of
paddles being raised. I admit that I was fairly displeased as when I
appeared from under the bridge and called that there was a boat coming up, I
was ignored and the person began to open the second paddle. It turned out
that the person operating the lock was a beginner, the man who was on the
boat came down and apologised for the error, saying he was showing them how
to handle a boat and would make it clear that checking for boats coming up
was part of the routine. It's amazing how much difference it makes when
someone takes the time to explain, everyone has to learn sometime and is
entitled to a mistake. Once they were clear, we locked up and continued on
our way, through the Tyrley Locks which are hard to work and hard to get to,
as the towpath always seems like a morass and underwater projections make it
hard to get a boat to the side. Once we were clear of them, the rest of the
day was full of some wonderful and varied terrain, from Woodseaves and Grub
Street cuttings, along the Shelmore Embankment, through Wheaton Aston
(diesel 12.9p per litre, shame we didn't stop there) and on to Brewood, the
last place we think is safe to reasonably moor for the night before tackling
Wolverhampton in the morning.

And on, to the junction that Mike fondly refers to as the 'handbrake turn'
after his performance last year when Aldersley Junction came up on us rather
sooner than we expected. This time we were expecting it and made the turn
in nicely past a boat just leaving the bottom lock.

Unfortunately, Wolverhampton tackled me, I think. Normally, I am careful to
use my windlass at arm's length when possible, I always leave the ratchet
lock on when winding a paddle up, but for once when I began to wind a paddle
up, the ratchet slipped and the next thing I knew the lock handle had pulled
free from my hands and whirred back, missing my jaw by little and coming up
with one very nasty whack on my forearm. The bruise lasted for weeks and
gave me an even more healthy respect for those bits of metal. We met enough
boats going the other way down the flight to make it a reasonable trip,
although one woman who wanted to open the top gate paddles before Mike gave
me the nod was told very firmly that I appreciated her help, but only on the
terms on which we do every lock. I don't open a paddle till I am signalled
to do so. Nor do I open a paddle for another boat until I ask them if it's
all right. She thought we were a bit ..... cautious, but better safe than
sorry is our attitude. And so, once we reached the summit of the flight we
decided to take the old Brindley level as we both felt it was quieter and
less prone to attack from overhead bricks and rocks.

At Factory Junction we turned into the Brindley canal, passing the entrance
to the Black Country Museum (we stopped there last year for a wonderful
visit and trip on the electric boat through the tunnel, well worth the visit
if you have not yet been there) and on along past junctions, abandoned
entrances to old arms or loading bays, and past Spon Lane Junction where it
seems you have far too many choices of where to go. Last year, on our first
trip through, we were completely confused, this year I spent most of my time
memorising our Pearson's, and trying to navigate through all the various
alternatives without getting us utterly lost and ending up in Stratford.
Locking down through Smethwick Locks this time was far easier than locking
up through them last summer, when we were grounded in two of the pounds and
had quite a lot of work getting free of the muck. We made it down through
the three locks in good time, and were feeling very pleased with ourselves
until we approached a bridge that was fairly high up. Such bridges always
make me nervous, and we watch them carefully. Unfortunately, not carefully
enough as two fairly young boys chucked some sizeable pieces of rock at us,
one of them barely missing me and banging against the side of the boat near
my feet, hitting hard enough that the water splashing up was high enough to
get my head wet. As the bridge was quite high and no towpath led up, they
knew they were safe from any sort of response. It's an unfortunate facet of
boating, but what can you do other than be as alert as possible?

Fortunately, Gas Street Basin was not far away, and although it was only
Friday and we'd be on the boat till Sunday, we decided to moor up near the
'Fiddle and Bone', treat ourselves to a meal and a few pints of Theakston's,
and call it a day. Saturday was spent touring the area on foot, including
the museum and art gallery (well worth it for their collection of
pre-Raphaelite paintings). On Sunday, we turned the boat over to David and
Lesley for their two week stint on it that would end up in Lime Street
Basin.

We headed back to Preston Brook and took CC out for a conciliatory trip for
a week, back to the Middlewich branch, where we passed the boat at Wincham
Wharf, still sunk and no sign of anything being done. Otherwise, we had
wonderful weather and a few days out, just relaxing along the T&M.

Next (oh God, there's more?) London-Manchester, via the Ashby Canal