Narrowboat Balmaha – R. Nene to Grand Union Canal

Tuesday 30th September to Sunday 5th October 2008

It is with some sadness that we turn our backs on the Fens with its pretty rivers, villages and towns and its own peculiar mooring rules and retreat to the canals for the winter. The river Nene is a good half way house for our journey and helps with re-adjustment by giving us clean water and beautiful scenery with one hand and with the other threatening to wipe the smile off our faces by sweeping us away in its unpredictability.

One thing common to Nene and Fens that we won’t miss is the chains, the dreaded chains that line the lock walls from Northampton to Bedford, chains that do your paintwork terrible damage and catch you unawares, tipping the boat sideways as they catch under the top rubbing strake.

But for all that we are grateful for the eight weeks we were in the company of like minded boaters, stunning scenery, peace and quiet and innumerable fish we could actually see.

Another reason for loving the southern Fens is its closeness to the coast. Watching the tides at Denver, smelling the salt air on a north wind at Wiggenhall St.Mary Magdalen and seeing the tall buildings of Kings Lynn in the distance gets the adventure juices running and revives a call to the sea.

Looking first across the valley in the direction of Oundle and Fotheringhay with its church and castle remains, we say goodbye to Chas on Moore 2 Life and set off south towards Thrapston and make its outskirts just before the rain fell.

Tinkle, tinkle, slap, slap all night reminded us that we were close to the sailing club and every bit of sailing tackle that could make a noise, did.

Bit shocked to see two patches of floating pennywort upstream of Titchmarsh Lock and another clump just downstream of the Thrapston/Islip bridge. This stuff grows so quickly and can be expensive to remove once it gets a hold on the river.

It was Wednesday’s cruising that nearly crippled me, nine and a half hours at the tiller before we reached Cogenhoe (Cook-no). That was 16 locks and 18 miles I’m told, not a bad effort.

Almost had an incident along the way, one of our batteries started cooking. Spitting acid gases that caught the throat and getting hotter by the minute I had to take action so pulled a connector off the terminals and left it out of circuit. After six hours of cruising the charging rate was still 45 amps but after disconnecting the offending battery the charge immediately reduced to 12 amps, normal on this boat. I wonder what would have happened if it hadn’t been spotted?

The following day we awoke to a port list. I guess someone is tinkering with the weirs again in view of the forecast of heavy rain in the next two days. It took a few minutes to refloat our home and get on our way. Seven hours later (including an hour’s shop at Northampton) we were on the canal at Gayton, tied up and fire going just as the rain hit.

We’ve only been away a couple of months but what a shock to find boats passing so close to us and in some places we couldn’t have passed if we’d wanted to.
Compare the Nene just downstream of Northampton with the Northampton Arm Canal linking it to the Grand Union Canal.

Half way up the Northampton Arm we bumped into a couple of technicians poking about in the electronics boxes at a lock. Laptop connected to one box while a screwdriver pulled spiders out of the other.

Lock emptyings and height of water over the side-weir get passed by radio to HQ so that (maybe) ‘office suits’ can decide whether it’s worth pulling the weeds out and dredging the canal next year (his facts, my conclusions).

By Friday we were moored on the canal at a quiet spot, or so we thought, between Gayton Junction and Weedon.

A few privateers have joined the hoards of hire boats in Saturday’s fine weather and together they provided me with plenty of amusement as I attempted an engine oil change and topped up the battery cells with yet more distilled water.

It still makes me chuckle when I see this sign nailed to a tree beside the canal so excuse me mentioning it again.

Sunday brought the rain, it started sometime during the night because I lay there listening to the torrent on our roof, recalling a week in a caravan at Flagg, near Buxton, reputed to be the wettest town in England. No.1 daughter might remember sleeping in the awning while the rain filled the canvas over her head. We laughed it off at the time but I was secretly dreading another night of rain and the awning splitting under the weight of water and soaking everything below.

We’ve a couple of days to gather our thoughts before motoring north towards Weedon and a meeting with Penny and Graham before they return to Brisbane and then for us a meander up the G.U. perhaps as far as Rugby.
I guess it’s good old Leicestershire that will host our winter wanderings this year, at least while the “stoppages” are in force, but rivers permitting we shall have another attempt on the Kennet and Avon in the Spring.