Stuck on the Shroppie

They warned us about the Shroppie. The beautiful, idyllic, captivating, treacherous Shroppie. Roger in particular said get a couple of beer crates as fenders to stop Erin Mae banging against the underwater ledge all night. But nobody told us what would happen if you tried to moor up between Gnosall and Norbury junction. We didn't fancy the dark forest that overhangs the Gnosall visitor moorings, and wanted to ensure we tied up south of Norbury, so that we could easily pull in for diesel in the morning. So we picked a spot with a wonderful view and edged in, only to discover that we couldn't quite get close enough. So we tried again a bit further on, and found ourselves well and truly stuck on the bottom. Concrete shelf we had anticipated, underwater superglue we had not.

I used the long pole to free the front, which then hung out in the most ungainly fashion across the cut. Nothing would budge the back. We tried rocking and revving and transferring weight (now I know why so many boaters find it valuable to have a BMI in excess of 25). Stuck – even though it seemed to be only the last couple of feet of the left-hand side (apologies to my sea-faring relatives for the use of inland terms). I put down the plank to get ashore with the pole, and get my weight off the boat. Still nothing.

Fortunately Tim and Chris on NB Dudley Nº 3, with about 100 years of boating experience between them, came up from Gnosall. Chris got on the gunwale on the off-side while I shoved from the bank. Slowly Erin Mae swung round and freed herself. I was able to come back across the plank, bring it on board, and reverse away from the peril.

Great to have a helping hand when you need it. We came up to Norbury Junction and found plenty of room on the visitor moorings. So the whole thing had been completely unnecessary! Except that in the great scheme of things, an event today provides invaluable experiene for tomorrow.

Hedging

Lovely sunny evening – we moored up short of Brewood. Opposite us a tractor came down the field, hedging. That is to say, it had a huge flat blade it ran vertically along the hedge, cutting off all the bits that stuck out.

A friend and colleague once commented on the difference between this and the older art of hedging, in which you take the bits that stick out and bind them back in, constructing something strong and beautiful. He likened it to two types of theology. If something in life doesn't fit your system, you can cut it off, ignore it. Or you can take it, think it through, incorporate it, work out how it fits into the whole.

Today I read a student's dissertation about the persecution suffered by Christians in Bulgaria during the Communist period, and how they responded to it. That they survived was because they had a faith that could incorporate severe suffering without creating an untenable dichotomy. They wove their experience into their belief system, in a way that was beautiful and strong.

Hedging is a dying art.

Penkridge pastries – again

This is the third time we've come through Penkridge. We really only needed to go to the Co-op for some lacto-free milk. But Jaspers was just a few yards down the hill … well, such a good local emporium deserves your custom. So – some proper nourishment for lunch, and a couple of decidedly unbalanced items (hardly a smidgen of protein and distinctly lacking in vitamins) to go with our coffee  – though we did split them in half so there was some left to have tonight.

Some of the boating blogs I read record journeys that the blogger has undertaken previously – sometimes often. These few days will take us through places we've been before, and it will be interesting to see how we respond to the experience. Today we met a couple on a hire boat from Middlewich doing the Four Counties ring, in a week. They've done quite a bit of boating, but had some friends along for whom it is all new. I asked about the pressures and the long days, and she said it was about recognising the limits of a week's hire, and setting yourself a challenge. But she was also relishing the thought of eventually retiring to live on a boat and having the time to stop and explore the places they currently hurry through.

Although part of the joy with Erin Mae is doing the unexpected, I think we may also want to plan our stops a bit differently second time around, making sure we give some attention to spots we simply passed through last time.

The moment's spur

Woke up this morning with two things on my mind. First was to see our friend Rich about repairing the paintwork under the (now fixed) leaky window. Second was to work out what on earth is happening with our TV reception. There's an omnidirectional aerial on Erin Mae's roof. Very cool-looking, and very convenient because you don't have to re-set it whenever you moor up, even if it is less efficient than normal aerials. Following a wet spell on Friday, partly due to a downpour and partly to me washing tons of avian poo off the roof, we noticed that (a) the indicator light on the aerial had gone out and (b) we weren't getting any TV. I did lots of diagnostics and came up with nothing. I refashioned the aerial end of the cable, just to be sure, and on Saturday evening the indicator light was on again, though we still had no TV. Sunday we got some TV, though very few of the regulation (if largely useless) 110 channels. The signal amplifier in the boat was the chief suspect, but appeared to be working.

I rang the manufacturer and they said the best thing was to send them the aerial and the amplifier for testing. That's great, except for having to rig something to cover the hole in the roof. But at least I could see a possible Next Step. Meanwhile, it appeared that Rich was off on holiday, boating somewhere, and would be back at the end of the month. So the window will have to wait.

That left us, at about 4 p.m. this afternoon, wondering what to do. Drive home and do some database work on site, where it's much easier. Or go boating. Quick check of the weather forecast settled it – we go boating. There's time for us to get to Norbury junction before any real rain, where we can fill up the diesel tank and still be in pocket. So, replenishing the larder from the farm shop, we set off about 5.30.

Tranquil it was. Any sensible person had already moored up for the night. Lots of reflections in the water as we drifted through Tixall Wide, past our friends Dave and Jenny on NB Misty, and Paul and Lynne on NB Piston Broke. Down to Bridge 101 on the Staffs and Worcs (still haven't worked out how to say it) where the canal bends sufficiently away from the railway for us to have a wonderfully peaceful evening.

Does anyone know what the "spur" in "spur of the moment" actually is?

Encounters

One of the things we've appreciated about boating is the chance encounter. You come across an extraordinary range of people, in the marina, at the locks, where you moor up for the night. They are normally uncomplicated meetings, with little hanging on them, but they often have more substance than a friendly chat with the supermarket till-operator. Time is the significant factor. Usually nobody's in a particular hurry, and you can't do much about the rate at which a lock fills.

Either side of Erin Mae's berth at Great Haywood are a couple of spaces they use for visiting boats. So we got to know Steve and Sue on NB Pitch while they were here from Ripon for a while. This weekend, after our dash back from Alrewas, we found Ray and Val in NB Holly's Wander, down from the Leeds and Liverpool. Ray came out while I was gently playing my guitar as evening fell, and we talked first about music and then about scouting, which has clearly been a life-long enthusiasm of his. Guitars around a camp-fire evoke particular memories for him, and for me, though I was never a scout.

They've gone away and left their boat here for a week, and then their son and family will be taking her out for a while – all in all it's unlikely we'll see them again. But it's been good to meet and to share more than just the fleeting moment which is all that busy lives so often allow. One thing I shan't forget in a hurry is that they grow lettuce on the roof of the boat and had some, freshly cut, for tea last night!

Elephant's ears

That's what I call them, anyway. They come in large clumps along the bank, but they're nowhere as invasive (or attractive, depending on your taste) as the Himalayan balsam.

My best beloved thinks that the name I've chosen belongs to something different. She has several books that identify fauna and flora along the cut, but unfortunately they have neither this particular plant, nor anything else that owns the name. So for the moment, "elephant's ears" they are.

Does anyone know what they actually are?

Fresh at Fradley

The Brazilians must be the cleanest nation on earth. When we went to work there I wasn't looking forward to all the B.O. in the crowded buses, given the heat. It was a non-issue. I soon learned that even the poorest rural Brazilian, with no access to running water, will rig up a perforated can so he can have a shower at the end of the day. After we'd been there six months, the 12 year-old daughter of our neighbours plucked up the courage to ask me: "Martin, is it true that in England  people don't shower every day?" (remember – this was 1980). Somewhat embarrassed, I  talked about the difference in climate and this and that, and probably left her very confused. But, in Brazil, my ablutions became Brazilian – at the end of the day, when you come home, shower and change your clothes before you do anything else. Eating your evening meal before you shower is anathema! Showering again in the morning is optional, but preferred. Any time you get too hot, have a shower! When we returned to the UK, the principle was ingrained, though the pattern changed a bit. No day had really started until I'd had my shower. As for putting on again any garment I'd worn the previous day – ugh! And so it remained for 25 years.

But then we started boating. Parked in the marina – fine. The showers are great. Out on the cut – good if you've been boating into the afternoon. There will still be some hot or at least warm water the following morning. But if you've been stationary since lunch-time yesterday, and especially if you want to make a quick and early start, it's a cold shower or nothing. At my time of life, that's a nothing. But it cuts violently across the habits of half a lifetime.

This morning we set out quick and early from Alrewas. I was unwashed and had yesterday's clothes on – it was disgusting! However, by the time we'd made it to Fradley, the water had heated and it was time for a break. My best beloved wandered down to look at the sights. I got in the shower. Wonderful! The relief was almost as great as the cleanliness.

Fradley was fresh in other ways today – wind and rain competing. During a reasonably dry spell we thought we'd make a run for it. The run continued … and continued. Lunch on the hoof. We'll make it to Rugeley, we thought … Wolseley Bridge. In the end we made it all the way to Great Haywood. Some day's boating! It's amazing what a good shower can do for you.