Crossings

After a mile or so this morning we passed under the M45, two corridors intersecting but interacting little more than a neutrino with the earth as it passes through.

How many times have I driven over a canal without even realising it was there, let alone what it signified? We left the noise of the traffic behind and made our way to Hillmorton Locks, where there are pairs of narrow locks side by side to enable boats to cross more easily, or a steady stream of one-way traffic to move through more quickly.

We were pleasantly surprised to find volunteer Maurice out helping today.

Narrow lock bottom gates are generally lighter and easier than those on wide locks, but the person working the gates has to cross over to open the second gate. With two operators, it's a doddle!

It was time to empty the unmentionable tank that sits beneath our bed, and I'd rung last night to check that Grantham Bridge Boat Services could do us a pump-out.

Maurice thought they only did such things for their resident clientele, because the yard is in a short and tight arm branching off between two of the locks. However, I managed to squeeze in neatly, and Dave was happy to fulfil the promise he'd made on the phone.

I think he's saying: "We do what it says on the tin"! So, happy with a full clean-water tank and an empty black-water tank, we made our way round the north-east side of Rugby, and moored up in a delightful CRT picnic area.

Claire was coming for the afternoon. We hadn't seen her for about 30 years, since we were colleagues in Brazil, and she used to come and spend the weekends with us in our house in Campo Grande do Rio, but we've kept in touch since with Christmas letters and so on. She'd been surprised (no surprise!) to get our phone call yesterday seeing if we could meet up, and it just fitted nicely into her schedule. So we've had a great (and all-too-short) time catching up. It's nice when a plan comes together.

Long and winding

The first complete day of this new year of my life opened cloudy and cold, and the first thing we encountered was a long, black, twisty tunnel. Hope this isn't all a sign of things to come!

Like a couple of tunnels we've met elsewhere, Braunston tunnel is slightly sinuous. You can see the other end before you enter but, slithering from side to side along its length you regularly lose sight of entrance or exit. Haven't quite worked out the geometry of it yet. We were travelling fairly slowly behind NB Little Egret, and discovered the reason for the pace when we had to pass a 70 foot Coal and Diesel boat half-way through, just where the sidewinding made it hardest. I'd have bought some fuel for the fire from him if we'd met anywhere else, but the middle of Braunston tunnel is probably not the best place for that sort of transaction.

We accompanied Ray, Peter and Rosie on NB Egret down the six locks at Braunston. Wide locks are certainly easier when you've company. Turned out all three are from Beverley in Yorkshire and are folk musicians. Nice to meet you, guys. Thanks for the help with the locks.

Braunston is one of those locations that everyone on the waterways knows about, but nobody else. It's where the Grand Union and the Oxford canals have a junction, and it's a major centre for canal activity, with loads of boats tied up as well. The junction is the only one I've come across where one canal divides neatly to enable boats going in either direction to get round the corner easily.

Mind you, when the boat coming out wants to wind and then back up to a mooring by the chandlers, everything comes to a halt anyway.

So we're on another new canal, coming up the North Oxford towards Rugby. It's open, slightly rolling countryside, with the M45 not too far ahead. It's very quiet, now the boat moored just behind us has turned its engine off and the dog from the boat in front has stopped yapping at me. I thought about varnishing a boat pole but, for the moment, I find a lazy afternoon slightly more appealing. So I tell myself sleepily that there's probably too much damp in the air for effective varnishing.

Autumn's song

Autumn’s song is sung again
     greenleaf shoot is dying back
          bramble bows with succulent black
Life in metamorphosis
     nor thrust of spring
          nor summer buzz

Autumn

Life or death or something else?
     falling leaves tell one tale
          harvesters another
Fruit is ripe but sap is slow
     air is chill, the sun is cold
         rain foreshadows harsher things

Autumn

Ripening will have its price
     fruitfulness will take its toll
          for tree, for leaf, for me…
Autumn is ambiguous
     produce on the bending bough
          back bowed in bearing

Autumn

“But I trust in you, O Lord
     I say, ‘You are my God’
          My times are in your hands”
May every season be fulfilled
     in sweetness, joy and thankfulness
          a task complete, a race well run

Autumn

Yelvertoft

The CanalPlan website said about 4 hours travel per day should see us back to Great Haywood in 10 days. That gives us a few days in hand, but we thought we'd make use of another lovely day for cruising and do the entire stretch they suggested.

The autumn colours were wonderful, even when the sun wasn't shining.

I was just too late with the camera to snap a farmer ploughing (I think) a field, but the marks of the activity covered the slopes to the east of the canal.

We met one boat towing another at one of the most interesting places for such an encounter – at the bend just through a bridge. Concentration levels shot up, so I got the photo only after the event!

The other two boats in plain sight were in front of us, plodding along so slowly I was catching them even on minimum throttle.

But in the end we came to Yelvertoft and tied up. We hung the washing on the whirly-gig, which meant that really only one of us could walk into the village for a loaf of bread. I took the camera, just in case.

Walking past "October House", I wondered how it acquired the name. But that of the next building to catch my eye was straightforward.

The question in mind this time was how a village the size of Yelvertoft comes to have its own reading room.

So, seeing that the lights were on, I pushed the door and went inside.

There sat Jan, Sonia, Felicity and Kath, enjoying each other's company and an afternoon's painting. They made me very welcome, showed me the Victorian school desks and rummaged around to find a leaflet about the origins of the Room – turns out to have been a school for poor children, endowed in 1711. They even allowed me to play the piano! Really nice to meet you, folks! Thank you for helping to give me a delightful afternoon.

I found the shop and bought a loaf. On the way back to base I found the church and went inside for a moment. I sat in a pew and repented of feeling impatient with the two slow boaters earlier!

We lit the fire earlier than usual today, the outside temperature being what it is. We're feeling cosy.

Another arm

We woke to yet one more beautiful autumn morning.

But we stayed in bed longer than we should have done – it was 11˚C in the cabin and I let the diesel central heating warm us up a bit before we emerged.

We started on our journey with only a vague idea of where we would get to. First up was the tunnel at Husbands Bosworth.

Two boats were coming through, and we decided to wait for them to exit, though there would have been room to pass. I discovered that it's nigh on impossible to get near the wall leading up to the entrance where I thought we might hold Erin Mae, because there is so much obstruction just under the surface. Fortunately it was easy enough just to hold her in position on engine and tiller.

After the tunnel we had another look at the map and decided it would be a shame to pass the Welford arm without a visit – at the very least it would be a box ticked. So when we came to the junction we turned left up what seemed very much of a backwater.

It was a delightful meandering cruise, with the sun shining through the trees…

and punctuated by very little except a single lock in a very scenic setting.

None of this prepared us for what we found at the end of the cut. First a marina, with a winding hole opposite its entrance, then a couple of hundred yards with some permanent moorings both sides, and finally a boatyard at the terminus, and a lot more boats moored on jetties.

It was all quite a surprise to find so many boats at the end of this arm. At the winding hole the available moorings were under trees, but we could see sunshine on boats further down. We decided to go on down and see whether there was somewhere to tie up. Nicholson's guide doesn't show a place to wind at the end, so I was faced with the prospect of going down and then having to reverse out – very tricky in a canal this shallow. I decided to wind first and reverse down to the terminus, so that if reversing really was impossible I would find out quickly and be able to simply come out again. Actually it all went rather well, even though another boat needed to pass us on its way out. Down at the terminus there was indeed a good visitor mooring and, at the boatyard, a place where we could probably have winded, though it looks a bit tight.

We hadn't known what we'd find at Welford, but it's a very pleasant spot. We went for a walk into the village, and then out across the fields on a path called "The Jurassic Way". That was a bit tame for a couple who live (during the winter) near the Jurassic Coast in Dorset, but it was very enjoyable and we made our way round to the reservoir which, presumably, feeds the Grand Union via this arm. Coincidentally, we'd had a CRT alert email this morning that the reservoir is suffering from an algal bloom, but we had no intention of getting anywhere near the water. In fact, to do so we'd have had to walk a long way since it looked about 20 feet or more lower than its maximum level.

So – yet another surprise on this adventure. And the nice chap who helped to pull us in and then chatted for a while said that the next section, back along the arm and down to Crick, is absolutely wonderful and must not be hurried. We'll try to follow his advice, though the clock is ticking for us to get back to Great Haywood by the end of the month.

Special days

Nephew Andrew and family live a stone's throw from the canal, so they came to say hello. We cruised down to Bridge 52 to pick them up.

After coffee and an introduction to some knots, Sarah steered most of the way back to Foxton, where we had lunch and a good walk all around the site.

 Anna managed to stop the children falling off the bridges over the locks.

On the way back Sarah started steering, and then both Jacob and Luke tried their hand at the tiller.

They all grasped the principle of "tiller right = boat left" very well, though the concentration required to apply the principle to the task of conveying Erin Mae down the centre of the waterway came, shall we say, in varying degrees!

Meanwhile Will and his father offered helpful advice from the sidelines. Will graciously acknowledged that he might not be tall enough to see to steer the boat, but his father took a turn and got us safely through the last couple of bridges.

We had a brilliant time. The children were great and helped at everything, including mooring up and filling the water tank. It's really special to be able to use Erin Mae to have days like this.

Flying fox

Today it was our turn to take Erin Mae past the swing bridge into the basin…

and up the Foxton flight. The gates always seem enormous as you go up a staircase, because they have to cope with a double height of water – the lower lock empty and the upper one full.

It was quite strange to be back in a narrow lock – the first since Preston Brook in June. These benefit from being generally well maintained, and from having CRT staff and volunteers to supervise everything and help you through.

There were gongoozlers a-plenty, some engaging us in conversation about the goings-on, and some simply watching proceedings. Of particular interest was the way they brought a boat down to the half-way point to cross over with the three of us coming up. Saved them 20 minutes or so.

My best beloved acquired three special attendants: Laurence, Lee…

and Jack.

I didn't see them with a windlass in hand, but they opened and shut the gates with a will. Thank you, guys! Help much appreciated.

Emerging from the last of the ten we pulled over to the water-point, not only to fill the tank but to do something that was well overdue – wash Erin Mae! I got up on the roof and scrubbed it clean, and then did the front area. Meanwhile my best beloved cleaned up the right-side windows, but despaired of doing anything with the floor inside, as we kept tramping grass cuttings in.

The jobs took longer than they might have because it was a day for the world and his wife to come strolling around Foxton, and we found ourselves chatting with most of them. Very enjoyable, and a whole range of questions to answer. But the sides of the boat will have to wait until another time.