Welcome to Cheshire

Adam noted in response to my last post that only about 10 miles of the Shropshire Union canal are actually in Shropshire. We spent the last two nights in that county, near Goldstone and then Adderley, where there was no mobile broadband signal, so no blog post last night. The journey between them took us through Woodseaves cutting.

It seemed to us that quite a lot of useful maintenance work had been done since we were last here, in terms of strong net fencework on the towpath side, and sandbag edging on the other.

A cutting is still a cutting, however, and when a tree falls down careful manoeuvring is involved.

The five Tyrley locks are easier in this direction, especially with the first one greeting you in its customary picturesque fashion.

Then it was on through Market Drayton and, eventually, down the five Adderley locks to the moorings just below them where the Shroppie shelf relaxes its grip for a moment. Doing those five last night meant we had five fewer today – just the first 13 of the Audlem flight. CRT volunteers were out in force – two of them helping a single boater in a Sea Otter boat the rudder of which had malfunctioned, and the rest a work party busy painting at least one set of lock gates.

Tea and much bonhomie were also in evidence, as well as the paint, and two of them helpfully worked the gates for us. On the way down this flight we crossed with a Tolkien-themed boat not yet on my list – the first new one I've seen in a long time. I'll append the updated list to this post.

So we came down to the Shroppie Fly and filled up with water.

One more lock, and tied up on the 48 hour visitor moorings for the weekend, while the sun shone as it has all day. So many electrons from that solar panel! And now we are definitely in Cheshire.

There has traditionally been a folk session at the Bridge Inn in Audlem on Monday evenings. We rang to check a few days ago, and found that it is now in the Shroppie Fly on Sunday evenings – at least, that's what they said. This is one of our favourite sessions, so we want to take part and I've been getting out the accordion to see whether I can get something up to scratch to play in public. While sitting out in the cratch at Goldstone two nights ago, practising, I was approached by a man who'd heard the music from across the cut in the Wharf Tavern's caravan park. He asked if he could take a video clip on his iPad. What price fame?, I thought, and agreed.

Turned out he runs GingerBreadMedia and for the last year has been making a video about the Shroppie. He thought that a clip of someone playing music on a boat would be a fitting addition. We shall see! Unfortunately the website makes no mention of his name, so he remains incognito unless he leaves a comment.

Finally (it's been a long post!), the updated list of Tolkien-themed boats:

Arwen Evenstar
Aragorn
Bilbo Baggins
Brandywine
Earls of Rohan
Frodo’s Dream
Galadriel
Gandalf
Goldberry
Hobbit
Lord of the Rings
Lóthlórien
Many Meetings
Riddles in the Dark
Rivendell
Shadowfax
Silmaril
Smaug
Strider
The Arkenstone
There and Back Again
Thorin

Gliding through Shropshire

Misty as we came north-west this morning, but it didn't stop me getting the obligatory photo of High Bridge, the first one out of Norbury Junction. The bridge with the non-operational telegraph pole in the middle.

I'd known it was just round the corner and wanted the photo, so was going really slow – which helped in not complicating things with the boater coming the other way. It's the one place on our journey up the Shroppie where the CanalPlan website warns you that, whichever way you're coming, you won't get a clear view through the bridge until you're at it.

For some, the 10 miles we covered today would involve far too little activity. There's not a lock in sight and there are long stretches of on-line moorings which you glide by very slowly. But it runs through some very attractive countryside – sometimes in cuttings and sometimes up on an embankment giving fine views across Shropshire. Those views got better and better as the mist wore off and the September sun began to warm us. Today we encountered a first – a Shroppie heron that didn't fly away as we came past.

They normally twitch nervously, flap 50 yards up the cut and then, apparently possessing little power of foresight, have to do it again as you catch them up. But this one was engrossed by something edible, as shall we be shortly. We've moored up opposite the Wharf tavern, put up the washing line and settled down for a cuppa.

We're deciding whether we should go and explore the menu at the tavern, and run the risk of its being less satisfactory than what we could make ourselves on board.

Sunny September Shroppie

It was longer than I remembered from our overnight mooring to the place from which you can walk into Brewood. The view across the fields as you approach the village has always been impressive.

Tying up by Bridge 14,

you walk up to the Bridge Inn, which now proudly proclaims that it offers a launderette service. Our own laundry had actually been out in the front of Erin Mae, drying in the bright sunshine as we cruised. Best to put it inside while we walked into the village!

It's a pleasant, friendly place with a signpost to places near and nearer, and a range of eating places near the centre.

Not entirely sure the owners knew what they were doing when they named this establishment – it doesn't look to have any sort of military character. Apart from this, there are several pubs to suit different tastes and pockets. However, we bought a couple of excellent ham, cheese and salad granary rolls, made to order, from the baker's shop, and ate them sitting on a wooden bench conveniently provided by the council. Then it was back to Erin Mae to continue our journey to Gnosall, enjoying the other items we just happened to see in the baker's shop as we drank our coffee.

The Shroppie has been almost too hot for boating today, and there wasn't a lot of traffic. Some of it, inevitably, was encountered at awkward spots but, as here at the short aqueduct over Watling Street, it was usually clearer than in last Friday's incident who was going to arrive at the obstacle first.

Distractions

I was going to get on with some varnishing or painting today. But, as I was finishing my coffee and my chapter and just thinking about it while the sun blazed down, Orph Mable rang from Oxley Marine with a price for a new tachometer (rev counter). They'd charge me £10 to fit it (they are good people). But the supplier would charge £250 + VAT for the meter itself. Orph thought it ought to stay on the shelf, and I agreed.

So I happily got distracted from painting, looking for alternatives. Nigel of King's Lock Chandlers in Middlewich (my co-favourite boatyard) told me their supplier would charge about the same, and that unfortunately they wouldn't be able to fit one I sourced myself. An internet searched turned up some much cheaper varieties, with just a few comments on Amazon saying what rubbish they were. But I did find a marine supplier in Portsmouth offering what looks like the modern version of the one currently fitted, for a much more reasonable price. The bloke on the phone was very helpful in commenting about how easy or complicated it might be to fit it.

Well, if I do go down this route it looks as thought I'll be fitting it myself, which would be a cheaper and interesting experience. But I don't think I'd be attempting it while out cruising. You never know what might happen during DIY operations, but you can be pretty sure something will. So I'll think about doing it when we're finally back at Great Haywood, and that will give me the opportunity for some pleasurable procrastination over the decision as to whether I go ahead and, if so, which meter I buy.

Meanwhile, as all this was going on, the hottest September day since I don't know when was turning into a cacophony of large, very close, rather frightening thunderstorms. The washing whirligig came in from the towpath and the varnishing never got a look-in.

1000 hour service

Not the longest religious ceremony on record, but attending to the needs of Erin Mae's engine. We motored down to Oxley Marine just past Autherley junction and Philip was on hand to do the job.



It seems to be a pre-requisite for working at this yard that you have a large white beard – Philip does, Orph Maple (oops! sorry, Orph) Mable the owner does, and Dave (who was working on another boat) also does. Philip's was positively trim this morning by the regular standards. His appetite for cups of tea and my best beloved's coconut crunch, on the other hand, remained undiminished as he got on with fitting new filters.



Oil came out and oil went in, and tappets needed no adjustment whatsoever.



I'd asked him to look at what might have caused the ignition warning buzzer and the tachometer (rev counter) to stop working, and that involved getting in behind the control panel.



A loose connection had probably caused the buzzer to fail, and that now seems to be sorted.



The tachometer, on the other hand, seems to have died, and that's annoying. Tachometers are extremely expensive (when compared to warning buzzers). They are also not stock items, so I shall have to wait for a couple of days to learn what the damage to my wallet would be. We've been getting along fine without the tachometer for the last couple of days, but it's not something I would want to be without permanently, especially when we're next on a sizeable river.

For the moment we've turned up the Shroppie and moored just south of Brewood.



It's a lovely neck of the woods. If the sun comes out tomorrow as promised we might just stay, let the solar panel do its job, and do a little varnishing, or even (dare I utter the word?) painting.

Coping with the unexpected

I haven't worried about Erin Mae's batteries since the end of June. The combined effect of the solar panel and what I refer to as "twelvoltification" was to keep their state of charge (SOC) well up in the safety zone, without ever needing to run the engine just to charge them. That is, until a few days ago. I do regular mental calculations that include my guesstimates of how much current the various devices are using and what the solar panel delivers, and compare the result with what the SmartGauge tells me (but without worrying, you understand). A few days ago, the batteries seemed to be discharging more than usual overnight – an unexpected phenomenon. Not enough to get seriously down into the red, but enough to suggest that we might not be able to stay in one place for more than one day.

Now this all coincided with having stayed immobile for a few days at Fazeley, cloudy days at the beginning of September, and both the audible ignition warning buzzer and the tachometer deciding to malfunction. I've decided that the last of these is probably irrelevant, and anyway we'll get them looked at tomorrow during the engine service. I suspect that the SmartGauge over-estimates the SOC during charging while cruising, so the readout in the evening is higher than the true value, while the readout in the morning is more accurate. With only an hour and a half of travel yesterday, the SmartGauge read 86% last night and 74% this morning. A 12% drop is still more than I would have calculated, but perhaps has something to do with the condition of the batteries. Today we've stayed put, but the sun has been shining. The SmartGauge is trying to make sense of the input of electrons from the solar panel, but I suspect is gently grumbling away to itself until it can get a nice period of discharge to make sense of everything.

Today we joined with St Paul's church in Pendeford for Sunday worship. They share a building with the local primary school, meeting in the hall. The table at the front had a nice quilted, appliqué tapestry over it, depicting Pendeford sitting in the angle of the Staffs & Worcs and the Shroppie, with some boats on the canals. This was an all-age service, based around the stories in Luke's gospel of the lost sheep and the lost coins, with the children hunting for coins, and all of us learning British Sign Language for "lost", "found" and "rejoice"! Everyone was very friendly and welcoming, and we've got used to meeting with all sorts of different churches on Sundays. What I wasn't expecting in this service was that moment where they all give each other a "sign of peace". I (obviously mistakenly) thought this was only part of Anglican communion services. But the invitation to give each other the sign of peace is the signal for everybody to get up, leave their place, and go around shaking hands with everybody else, saying "Peace be with you", plus whatever else seems desirable and appropriate. It's a really nice part of the Anglican tradition. While it usually strikes me as completely at odds with the formality of the remainder of the service, I'm long enough in the tooth to cope with most things on a Sunday morning. But I wonder what would have been the response of somebody who just happened to walk in from the large 70s/80s housing estate that comprises most of Pendeford. They could probably have got through the rest – it was clear when to sit and when to stand, and the things we were to say and sing were projected on the screen. But it could perhaps be rather scary to suddenly have a large number of complete strangers and a few neighbours shaking you by the hand and saying "Peace be with you", and obviously expecting you to return in kind!

Tree

Knowing it would rain for most of the morning, we stayed put until lunch-time and had some more of my best beloved's excellent soup to warm us. When the precipitation finally ceased we got under way. I was just stowing the mooring lines when another boat came round the corner, so we had to follow them all the way to Cross Green. They were uncertain steerers and going rather slow, which was frustrating as the alternators don't produce as many electrons at tickover speeds, and there hadn't been much sun for the solar panel. Ah well, lackaday, as they say. Hardly an unfortunate couple, are we, able to spend a Saturday cruising a canal on our own boat!

So we came through the narrows to Pendeford and tied up where the Armco makes an edge, even if it's obscured with grass and nettles.

Being a suburb, I suppose, of Wolverhampton, it seems it shouldn't be too secure, but we've always found it a peaceful spot, with just a few shrieking teenage girls to offer disturbance this afternoon.

Right opposite our stern is this splendid tree.

The last time we were here I found that TV signals find it almost impenetrable. If we want to watch the box, a matter of a few yards makes a big difference. So I was careful to position Erin Mae appropriately as we drew in to the mooring. Tonight, after all, is the last night of the Proms. And then there's the Manchester derby in MOTD. And, if we're still here tomorrow, a bit of Victoria and a smidgeon of Poldark. Not that we're tele-addicts or anything. But you've got to think ahead, you see.