Narrowboat Journal

Tuesday 21st to Sunday 26th April 2009

Seeing as how we couldn’t post pictures on the last Blog (poor GPRS signal) I’m including some of them here before we cruise too far from the Vale of Pewsey.

A plaque survives on the road to Pewsey but not everyone interprets the sentiment in the same way because lying next to it was a polythene bag containing a deer’s head. Quite horrible.

This is the fella that we thought was telling us about his boat being the last wooden steam boat on the cut. Pity there wasn’t time to learn more about this one. Bet there’s a story behind it. I wish him well with restoration, can’t be easy when you’re having to live on it at the same time.

Outside the Royal Oak, Wootton Rivers with Mike, V and Jo (Mike is the one with the 5 pint beer glass. Empty you’ll notice).

Tezzer and Claire popped in to see us last Sunday at All Cannings where we exchanged mail for meal.

Leaving AC on Tuesday we came across a personalised narrowboat, quite distinctive in its signwriting, but less clear in its origins.

Contrast that with this one we saw the other day, named Mitakuye Oyasin (Lakota Sioux for All My Relations. It is a prayer of oneness and harmony with all forms of life: other people, animals, birds, insects, etc..)

Returning to Honey Street for diesel (70p) we self declared our own propulsion figures, and took our leave of Mike and Jo while they popped into hospital for a routine X-ray of Jo’s broken arm.

It’s not a million miles from All Cannings to Devizes but we broke the journey into two and spent the night in an vacant one-boat-length of canal bank in the reeds above the deserted fields. Our friends for the night were two helicopters that wouldn’t sit still and a thundering great plane that took delight in skimming the trees. All three played around in the evening skies until well after dark but at bedtime the natural peace of the countryside returned.

Wednesday brought us to Devizes, another place we’d visited by road years ago when we were hungry for canals. Just to keep us on our toes we were tipped sideways three times before we arrived at the wharf. Is it BW’s idea of sleeping policemen or have the locals found somewhere to dispose of their unwanted motor cars now that the Chinese aren’t buying scrap steel?

At this end of the K&A we’ve noticed a higher percentage of young people on boats, far more than we’re used to seeing up north. Some days you feel like you could do without seeing another old timer in his shiny £100k narrowboat and in these parts your eyes get a rest as young-uns hang out on the canals, enjoying the water instead of bricks and mortar.

Signage opposite the wharf was somewhat confusing so we took our guidance from the mooring rings and plopped ourselves right next to the sign that seemed to be telling us we were welcome to stop here and yet we weren’t.

The next blue-shirt that cycled along was hailed and quizzed which brought out his computer and an entry made of our boat name and number. Once we were checked in he told us that part of the sign was missing but we could stop where we were if we wanted. The next sign along the towpath was just the same, something missing. I was tempted to make my own addition to the wooden post but thought better of it and in any case it wouldn’t have helped our relationship with blue-shirt HQ.

We hadn’t been there long when Sarah-Kate arrived, X-rays done and nothing to worry about at least not until cutting-off time in three weeks. Now I know why they gave her a red plaster, those circular saws are a devil to set up for the right cutting depth.

Thursday morning Mike did a shufti and announced that this was market day. Hooray.
Girls went one way, boys went another. We pounced on a café and sat outside with coffees and pastry (I can’t spell croissant) and watched the noise. Had to laugh when we saw grapes, tomatoes and peppers fall to the road and roll into the gutter. Some people picked them up and placed them back on the stalls (yuk), some kicked them to death but one old fella picked up a massive mushroom and popped it in his bag. Yummy.

We toured the open market before looking indoors. The tool stall did us both proud and I made an unusual purchase, I’ve been looking for this for years, something to combat hayfever. Here it is being modelled later in the day as we passed a bonfire behind the towpath hedge.

Mike also made a purchase which he later modelled while waiting for the locks.

But we did even better at Devizes, we signed on fresh crew in the shape of Paul and Christine Balmer who took pity on us and offered to help us through the hundreds of locks in the Caen Hill flight.

Paul is well known as the man behind Waterway Routes, the specialists in making videos of English canals.
Having watched a couple of DVDs I can thoroughly recommend them for viewing before you cruise and as a record of your cruise to look back on in the years to come. The speeded up version is brilliant for a quick view of where you’re planning to go, while the second disk gives the whole journey with music and voice-over to show you just how easy or how difficult the cruise is going to be.
Quality is second to none and assuming Paul can make DVDs to other countries’ standards I reckon that these videos will make valuable purchases for overseas visitors to our canals.
Here’s Paul and Christine on the waters taking the waters.

When the time came to tackle the Caen Hill flight of locks we (Mike and I) did the decent thing and paired up to descend the hillside.

Once or twice we were complimented on our perfect exits and interesting line-dancing at lock approaches.

While Paul chaperoned the ladies with his windlass we slipped calmly beneath the visitors on the wooden bridges above us.

From one of these bridges we were spotted by the owners of nb.Oakfield (under construction) and I have to apologise for missing their greetings which I put down to being drowned out by engine noise or Mike’s singing.

Apparently some of these locks have to be left empty over night. Maybe I’ve stumbled on the cause of that ruling – there are huge caverns behind the brickwork and as usually happens they empty over your feet or worse still into the windows.

We rested up below the main flight and talked the donkey’s hind legs off with Paul, Christine, Mike and Jo. Much of the talk centred on cruising the Bristol Channel which was beginning to present itself as a possibility this time round. Leaving us with a video of Andrew Denny’s 2005 channel cruise he wished us well on what he seemed to think was no more of a procedure than a cruise up the Thames. We shall look out for them on their camera cruises and perhaps accompany them on one of their future assignments. Thank you both for your exertions today and for your encouragement to tackle the Severn Seas like Granny Buttons.

The next couple of days saw us drop another six locks and moor beyond a busy boat hiring centre. Wallowing in favourable weather we took the weekend off and rested our little bodies.
This bit of canal, below Foxhanger’s Wharf is notorious for changes in level. I put it down to the millions of hireboats taking the easy route to the west and emptying the canal one lock-full at a time.

Between bouts of pushing the boat off the side and back into the water I messed with the brass-work and studied the gas mask instructions written in Finnish. There’s a bag that goes with the mask and inside the bag is a bottle of white powder. I’m not sure whether to hide it, sell it or hand it in.

We’ve had a talk with Mike and Jo about throwing our lives away on a cruise to Sharpness and it doesn’t feel right at this time so we’re leaving it to another day. V and I will have another chance when cousin Roger goes full time on nb.Megan. I’ll show him the Granny Buttons video minus the bits where she slams into the waves on her way to Portishead marina and see if we can find a window to combine a K&A cruise with the salty route to Sharpness.

Just to make things interesting I fancy the idea of parking up on the sandbanks outside Avonmouth instead of putting in at the marina. There’s little danger of getting clouted by ships if the water is that shallow and it will give me a chance to practise morse with flags during the day and the torch during the night.

You can see how brave I am when the Editor isn’t looking over my shoulder.

T-Mobile’s internet signal is sporadic and we’ve only just managed to scrape into the lower regions of GPRS on a few occasions. Uploading pictures is out of the question and even text transfers take forever so we’ll be brief with news until things improve.

Monday 13th to Monday 20th April 2009

Monday
Mike has been fraternising with the locals including a very friendly RBOA rep Pete Taylor on The Time Machine (a widebeam boat not a Dr. Who Tardis). Having talked about another forty-something footer turning round to face the other way he reckoned that if he could turn Sarah-Kate in the gap between moored boats then he could do a run back through the lower lock and reach the services for water

Seizing the opportunity of a free ride on a lavender barge I joined Mike and Jo with one of our bulging boater’s briefcases. All went well, very well in fact because I found £1.10 on the ground and salvaged a piece of brass and two strips of planed oak from the skip.

Back at the moorings, feeling rather clever, I climbed onto S-K to retrieve the oak strips and lost my footing. Falling down into the well deck, catching my ribs on the roof edge as I fell, I dropped to my feet but toppled backwards over the side. As I fell backwards I grabbed the gunwale and stopped upside down, inches from the water. However, I was completely unable to do anything except hang on.
Muttering something like “Man almost overboard” I attracted Mike’s attention and requested a pull towards the shore before I disappeared into the murky waters between boat and bank.

As Mike tugged at my shoulders to pull me towards the bank he slipped and we both fell in a heap, my feet still resting on the boat. Now, instead of going head first I was ready to slip feet first into the water and under the boat. Somehow Jo, using her unbroken arm, got my feet onto dry land and seeing the funny side we broke into laughter.
That brought V from Balmaha, whereupon I stood to my feet just in time to get beaten up for taking risks yet again.

This might be the right time to open a ‘dunking’ chart to go alongside the ‘broken bones’ chart.

On Tuesday we escaped from Gt.Bedwyn.

Crofton Pumping Station, looking like a castle on the hill, was silent apart from the sounds of sawing wood and a gaggle of ‘blue shirts’ doing things in the lake of weeds next to the lock.

Bruce tunnel didn’t present us with a problem but it may have done for following boats because a widebeam skipper was waiting his chance to dash through without sending someone over the top to stop oncoming traffic. I just don’t understand the logic.

And so we arrived at Wootton Rivers. We moored in a quiet spot before the lock and walked to the village to savour its wares. What lovely wares we savoured too, Mike and Jo insisted on treating us to a sit down meal at the Royal Oak. Yummy. Big, big thank yoooos to Mike and Jo.

Wootton Rivers has a special meaning to V and me, it’s where we came for our first canal-fix in 2003, just after we shook hands on the mad idea of living on a narrowboat. We knew nothing about canals so we drove two hours from the coast to soak up what we could before returning to bricks and mortar and make our plans to sell up.

Nothing has changed since 2003, even the leaky gates are just as we last saw them.

Wednesday
On the way to Pewsey, when the phone signal briefly returned, I checked with our insurers who said we would be covered down to Bristol’s Floating Harbour.
We can go to Sharpness as well if we like, they said, providing we have a VHF, life jackets and two ‘experienced persons’ onboard. The VHF we can do something about but where are we going to get two experienced persons I asked V. Can’t go, she said, we’ll stay with Mike and Jo on the canals. We’ll have to return along the K&A, she said, as the colour returned to her face.

Thursday
With some discomfort I returned to the bed last night. Broken left rib is much improved but bruised right rib is giving me jip. If it wasn’t such a hassle making up the dinette and packing it away in the morning I might have stayed there another week. But I was getting spoilt with the space to stretch out and it isn’t right to let V get used to sleeping diagonally on our bed because she’ll only want to do that when I return for good.

While Mike took Jo to the hospital to have her arm set, V and me walked into Pewsey for a spot of shopping.
But first we called in for a coffee and an ear-wig in the community tea rooms. What a delightful place this is and the locals are so polite and friendly. I could have stayed here longer but we had groceries to get. That’s a word you don’t hear very often – groceries. Can’t remember when I last saw a grocer.

Mike and Jo returned later from Swindon with Jo looking quite plastered. With her left hand raised in a mock salute she looked quite fetching in red plaster of Paris. Apparently all was well and there had been no need to knock her out in order to break and reset her arm. An X-Ray next week might give them another chance to do that.

Feeling up to a move we quit Pewsey and wandered off into the countryside where the canal opens out like a lake.

Boats have become more in evidence now and many are short of a few bob when it comes to repairs and paintwork. Some owners can’t squeeze everything into one boat so they adopt another as an extra bedroom or workshop. Their roofs come in handy for keeping the odd bit of furniture, dinghy, broken plastic toys and tarpaulins.

Friday
We moved again, not far but just round the corner on an empty bit of canal bank.

We waited for a short narrowboat to pass towing a wide wooden boat with poly tunnel roof. Our gaze was caught by the steerer who promptly announced that this was the oldest wooden steam boat still afloat. At least that was what I thought he said and I have no reason to doubt him.

The plan is to be near a road for the weekend so that we can meet up with Claire and Ter who will call in on their way home from MiL’s. It’s all very well deciding these things but we’re closing in on the big cities now and increasingly meeting floating residents in their various forms, noticeably those that cluster at bridges with roads or services.

BW have posted 48 hour signs but they may as well have posted 48 year signs for all the good it does.

Saturday
We’re moving again and have four or five possible moorings for a road bridge before hitting town. They come and they go, each one of them full until we find two spaces within a hundred yards of each other at All Cannings. We’re talking late morning arrival but no one’s giving up their moorings. Oh well, at least we’re on the bank and the vegetation can be hacked if we need to get to the bank.
T-Mobile is pretty hopeless again so all big emails are left on the server and the Blog will be text only. How did we manage with data transfers on the first telephone dial-up systems eh?

People are talking, walking and shopping so I’m keeping my head down. This is perfect weather for a spot of scrape and paint and there’s loads to do inside as well so I have a legit’ excuse for staying home.

Sunday and Monday is more of the same except we can stand-down from duties when T & C arrive. A pile of mail arrives along with two faces that we haven’t seen for weeks. Lovely to catch up and exchange news and views.
Mike and Jo left us on Sunday for a Devizes recce and came back Monday with stories of museums, moorings and a really helpful lock keeper at the Caen Hill flight. I’m really looking forward to the adventure later this week when we’ll strap the boats together for most of the journey down.

Making Progress.
Jo’s getting on very well with her arm in plaster but I sense she’s a bit frustrated at not being allowed to carry her ‘windy’ or jump all over the lock gates. My rib is almost fixed and the bruising has all but gone so it’s back to the proper bed every night for me.

The solar panel is doing quite well with 5 amps out of a possible 9 by 10 o’clock on sunny mornings. If this keeps up we will reduce our battery charging costs by a quarter between now and October.

Devizes and Bath are looking distinct possibilities for this trip and I can almost smell the sea west of Bristol. Like Wootton Rivers was last week there will be a home coming for us when we hit Bristol. I can’t wait to see how Bristol has coped after the blitz and V is looking forward to seeing the SS. Great Britain for the first time since she saw her launched.

Tuesday 7th 2009, Kintbury

As if setting the scene for the week Jo’s computer (on Sarah-Kate) refused to switch on. Little LEDs on the front said power was getting to the computer and its battery was charged but nothing happened when the on-off switch was pressed. Oh dear, this is not what we wanted after just having got over the previous disaster involving a computer and a vase of water. But that’s another story.
Want to hear it? OK here we go.

Sarah-Kate (47 ft long) lies next to another far longer boat in an empty lock. Only one ground paddle to fill the lock. Incoming water forces big boat across lock and sandwiches SK into a corner. SK’s gunwale sticks on lock wall, boat tilts, computer draw opens, vase of flowers tips over, water fills drawer, computer is submerged, boat is re-righted. Owner clears up mess, switches on computer, fizz.

So here we are with a new computer refusing to switch on. Supplier says send it back, with the receipt of course. This resulted in Jo holding the fort while Mike caught a train to get the job done.

That was later today while we sat on the 48s at Hungerford.

Getting to Hungerford from Kintbury earlier, was incident free so Jo decided to do her foot in as she pulled Sarah-Kate into the bankside moorings. If it had been me I would have been accused of attention seeking. Anyway the usual things happened, foot swelled and shoe wouldn’t fit. Good job we aren’t cruising tomorrow because we’d be a (wo)man short.

Nothing to do with the above, V spotted a couple of lads in a coracle having fun on the water which gives me an idea for Balmaha’s lifeboat.

Nice place Hungerford, a useful hardware shop, an excellent antiques shop (terribly expensive) with things from yesteryear including full sized man traps for the country estate, and a yet to be opened Tesco store opposite the railway station.
My day was spent trying (and not succeeding) to upload the remaining half of last week’s blog.

Wednesday 8th
Lots of clatter early in the morning meant Hungerford was preparing for its street market. It was Ok if you only wanted pot plants, outdoor padded shirts and birthday cards. I’m sure this market has seen better days.

Mike returned later minus computer and with Easter approaching there’s little chance of it returning inside a couple of weeks.

Last week’s blog was finally finished this evening. T-Mobile isn’t so hot in these parts and I had awful problems uploading pictures through a zero bar GPRS T-Mobile transmitter. I recall reports of similar difficulties on No Problem’s blog last year.

Happy birthday to all those hitting the big 60, particularly Christine in Canada and Tim on the south coast. Not forgetting those reaching 70 (you know who you are Graham).

Thursday 9th
48 hours are up so we’re off like the compliant boaty people we are. Aiming for Great Bedwyn (no, we haven’t a clue where that is either) but progress is slow because our instructions are to empty most locks after we’ve climbed them. Thankfully Jo’s foot is loads better.

Weather was OK-ish, it didn’t pelt down like they said it would but we did have the occasional spit. There’s hardly anyone on the move on the K&A and the countryside is excellent. Primroses looked just as they did 50 years ago on the roadsides when horses were many and cars were few. In those days you could pick a bunch and take them home.

Journey’s end was at Great Bedwyn on the 14 days where we deployed a plank. Butterburs carpet the towpaths here but there are signs of a challenge from the good old stinging nettle. V all but laughs at me when I get the shears out but I can’t stand stingers around the pins although I confess I did get carried away with bramble cutting where last year’s branches make a lunge for your clothes when you sidestep the puddles.

I’m told to take a rest and get over my rib problem so I consider light duties are in order. Plans are to grovel about under the bath and clear the pipes in and out of the pump. The pump makes the same screaming noise as usual but the water takes too long to disappear.

Good Friday
Entertainment is down to watching canoes and kayaks whiz past us on their way from Devizes to Westminster in the world’s longest non-stop canoe race.

As they tip out at the lock and run to the other side they are stuffed with food and drink without a minute being wasted.

When we’re not watching young people torture their sodden bodies on the water we walk the short distance to the village to see what everyone’s talking about down at the Post Office.
I’ve never seen a P.O. quite like this, it’s covered in gravestones, carvings and prehistoric animal footprints, a really interesting sight.

Next door is probably the source of the decoration as we find a working stonemason’s yard with an invitation to look around. Fascinating stuff.

One highly decorated stone outside the Post Office has written upon it:-
Peace to thy gentle shade thy soul is free
Death’s but the gate to immortality.

Another records the changes at the Lion public house:-

Still another stone records a WW2 death in a somewhat expensive way:-

The baker’s shop sells fresh bread, made round the back I’m told, as well as newspapers. Of course it wouldn’t have been right not to sample hotcross buns, Cornish pasties and lardy cake. Yummy.

Saturday 11th
While some of us (Mike and Jo) walked the couple of miles to see the Crofton steam engine the rest carried on with light duties or did some serious resting or just watched the canoe race. Mike sent a message to say Olympic Gold medallist James Cracknell was floating our way but thanks to 02’s poor signal in this area we heard too late. Though I do recall some shouting coming from the lock area where contestants jump out, run down the slope and throw themselves back in the water.

Grateful that a water leak under the bath was fixed after messing with the pipes today, I dried the floor, put away the spanners and settled down with a good book.

I’ll finish this book in two nights, I said to V, but hadn’t reckoned on disasters happening next door. Come and have a look at this, said Mike as he peered through our rear hatch. I could use some help, he said.

Not content with a broken computer and a twisted foot Jo had taken a dive in the boat and broken her fall with her left hand. Ouch, now it’s a case of a broken wrist or forearm.
Lying flat on her back, clutching her wrist she was obviously in a lot of pain so the ambulance was summoned. While Mike made sure she stayed awake, V went to the village to meet the blue lights and I did things like fit a couple of planks on the bow and drink tea.

V called me on the phone just as the ‘medics arrived and I overheard the opening conversation.

Where’s the boat with the casualty? It’s only ten minutes away. Ten minutes? Isn’t there another way? The other way means a trip through the graveyard, over the railway line across a stile and then around a lock onto the towpath. Maybe it’s only five minutes not ten. OK lead on.

After what seemed like an hour since Mike’s original phone call we saw hi-vis jackets heading our way on the towpath from two locks down.

A little while later, the verdict – a broken arm.

You’ll have to come with us to Swindon’s A&E. It’s a Saturday so there might be a wait.

And so it happened that Mike and Jo finally got to bed in the early hours.

Easter Sunday 12th April 2009
This morning was spent catching up on news and trying to make sense of our cruise plans now that we had a challenged ability crew.

Talking of news, I’d love to tell you the stories of what Mike and Jo saw while they waited for treatment at the hospital but you probably wouldn’t believe me. In any case I’d be too graphic.

Conclusion.
This convoy is fast getting a name for itself and anyone with bones or computers is advised to keep clear. Open and close locks for us by all means but don’t mess with the Balmaha/Sarah-Kate pair if you want to go home in one piece.

Oh, and Happy Easter to you all.

Monday 30th March to Monday 6th April 2009 (PART 1)

Mon 30th Thrupp to Oxford.
Just into the minus degrees C last night so we’re glad of the fire this morning.
In company with Sarah-Kate we put Thrupp behind us with its pubs, linear moorings and friendly boaters and set off towards the Thames.

Grateful for the warnings of delays at the A34 crossing we sat and watched the hydraulic chisels smashing concrete and wondered how long we’d have to wait at the temporary bridge before it opened and let us through. After what seemed like many minutes we decided that the Stop-Go signs facing us were for construction traffic and not boats and proceeded, keeping an eye on the Hi-Vis’ jacket wearers just in case we were being too presumptuous. We slid beneath the steel bridge with inches to spare.

Oxford almost saw us moored beneath the new flats but the ladies came back with news that Osney Bridge moorings were empty so we lifted anchor, sailed on and came to a halt on the Thames.

Feeling very clever with our forward planning I revelled in the knowledge that the nearest Thames lock keeper was off duty and we were on his river without a licence.

But pride comes before a fall and within a couple of hours I had fallen. After tea I wandered down to the lock to check it was electrified and not relying on a hand winder for out of hours passage. Within sight of the lock I tripped on a tree root, fell onto the grass at the edge of the river (Thames) and having the presence of mind to do a sideways roll on the way towards the dirt I hit the ground with my wrist against my chest. Ouch, I recognised that stab of pain and the dull ache that followed, I’d broken a rib.
How do you know, I hear you say. This is the fifth or sixth time it has happened and I knew I had three weeks to look forward to before I could cough, laugh or sneeze without pain.
Previous rib breakages were lower down but this one was high up on my rib cage and although I could breathe without much bother I found the worst thing to do was hiccup, it was like a knife going in.

So here we are at the start of our cruise and I’m already damaged.

“You’ll still have to do the ropes” V said, “I can’t do everything”.

Remembering that one gets a few hours of muscle spasm before the stabbing pain cuts in, I tried to grab my last good night’s sleep.
But it wasn’t to be. Guess who couldn’t lie down in bed. Guess who slept in a chair.

Tues 31st Oxford to Beale Park
Thinking our first lockie would start work about 9am we crept through at 8.30 and charged off down the Thames towards Iffley Lock. Confessing our lack of paperwork I coughed up £35 for a one day pass on this trunk road to the Kennet & Avon.
And oh, wasn’t it lovely being back on the Thames, wide open water with miles of countryside and hardly a boat about and a grin on my face, when I wasn’t hiccupping.

Having missed the Boat Race on TV the other day it was comforting to be given a re-run this morning. Alright, it was only a tugboat versus Sarah-Kate and Balmaha but it was just as exciting.

Always a sucker for bridges with something going over I was chuffed to see a train approach as we lined up for one of the arches.

The sun has to take the credit for this next picture taken somewhere near Beale Park. A gorgeous day after a grey start and likely to be a clear night so perhaps we’ll get a light frost early tomorrow morning.

Up at 8 and on the go,
a full day’s cruising with the flow.
Lock after lock came and went,
until we found ourselves all spent.
Stopping before the day went dark,
We moored on grass outside Beale Park.

Captain’s drinks aboard Sarah-Kate were very welcome and such was my thirst that I inadvertently emptied my host’s gin bottle before returning to Balmaha. I had hoped that enough anaesthetic had been taken to dull the pain during the night. But for me it was strictly sitting position on the dinette and I’m told that V got a good night’s sleep in the captain’s cot. Great. Not all bad news then.

And here's the rest.......

PART 2

Wed 1st Beale Park to Fobney Lock
Beale Park looked lovely in the morning mist but any thoughts of staying to enjoy the scenery were quickly dispelled by the incessant honking from hoards of courting Canada geese.
Titchmarsh Lock wasn’t manned as we’d expected it to be so the ladies kindly spun wheels until the sluices and gates lowered us to the river below, I would have helped but you know how it is.

Reading’s Tesco moorings came into view late morning and marked the end of 35 quid’s worth of Thames licence. Stocked up, we set off again and spun the bows into the K&A in the shadow of the gas works.

Here at the entrance to the new river everything gets a coat of paint, even the brickwork, with what one presumes is the local expression for “Welcome to Reading”.

But there’s no time to mess about between bridge buttresses as the Kennet’s current hits us hard and progress is reduced to a crawl. ‘Decreasing Strong Stream’ notices tell us that we shan’t have it easy and those crafty little side weirs could catch us out.

Reading centre’s shops looked busy in the sunshine, shoppers hardly noticed us

and traditional bridge spitters were conspicuous by their absence.

The river’s traffic lights put us at ease through the narrows and we emerged unscathed the other end ready for our tour of the back gardens.

Crawling gradually up hill we turned this way and that and happened upon a duck fighting a crow for possession of a small white egg on the towpath. It took a couple of minutes to pass them and even as we turned the corner out of sight there was still no clear winner.

Another long day ended at the outskirts of town above Fobney lock. Nothing to report other than kids on motorbikes hairing up and down the towpath. That was until the camera came out and then they walked their bikes towards the high rise apartments on the fringes of Reading.

Thurs 2nd Fobney Lock to Old Woolhampton Lock
The sun was hidden for most of the day but at least it was warm. We’ve kept the fire in each day not just in case things turned cold but to help with the cooking. V is trying her hand at slow cooking and it seems to be working. Veggies might get done separately, unless it’s a casserole, and it all tastes just like it does from an oven.

The girls managed a filthy great lift bridge along the way, stopping 40 cars, 4 lorries and a police bike. To celebrate the achievement Jo bought us icecreams, yummy.

Garston Lock was a curiosity with its turf sides. Looks as though someone got fed up and left half way through building it. There’s another one further along the river and together with scalloped shaped sides and steel pile sided locks it adds to the interest of the Kennet and Avon.

A quiet meander through the woods to Froud’s Bridge didn’t exactly prepare us for Woolhampton Lock. Everyone we’d spoken to warned us about getting it wrong at the swing bridge and lock so it was no surprise that we approached gingerly and with utmost caution so as not to clout the moored boat with its wadge of protective tyres.

Once through I studied following boats to see how they managed but didn’t see anything worth bothering an insurance company about.
Spectators were in evidence but they wandered off home when they realised that the experts had arrived. Best say no more because I’ve had one fall already and I’ve heard that the return journey is just as perilous.
Captain’s drinks and a slap-up meal aboard Sarah-Kate completed a brilliant day. The weather and company have been shiny examples of boating at its best, Everything seems to have gone swimmingly today.

Friday 3rd static
This could be a busy time for visitors as No.1 daughter calls in tonight and a south-coast cousin might be up our way over the weekend. This means I lose the dinette tonight and try the lying down type sleeping in the bedroom with V. She doesn’t know it but she’s in for a disturbed night if the past few days are anything to go by.

Some of the crew went for walkies but I made use of what limited mobility I still had to wash one side of the boat. Not being a complete slouch I walked into the village to post a letter. It was one of those places where the local gossip is just as important as buying the stamps. I was third in the queue and by the time I left the queue went round the block twice.
I managed not to trip on both journeys so my confidence was boosted somewhat.

Those nice lads from the hireboat behind us, returning to their hireboat base, saw me scraping the chimney and taking pity on us old fogies offered us the remains of their coal, charcoal and wood. We split the haul with Mike and Jo and marvelled at the decency of young people these days.

Sat 4th Old Woolhampton Lock to Thatcham
No.1 daughter left us mid morning-ish so we still had time for a fair day’s cruise.

Lift bridges down this way foxed V for a while but now she’s managed to get the blighters open before I plough into their sides. Seems you have to lift something, turn something and then push the bridge round (hope that’s not too technical).

Progress was hampered by broken paddle gear. There’s a shortage of ground paddles on the top gates and when half those that are present don’t work then it’s noticeably slow going. There’s no point trying to set a world record on this waterway.

Thatcham’s moorings were a bit on the busy side and at first we had to breast up. But hire boats being what they are most of them set off again before evening and we had the place to ourselves.

These moorings are close to the railway station with a level crossing and a claxon which took some ‘tuning–out’ before the brain let the eyelids rest in peace.
This would have been an ideal place to meet house dwellers because the station car park offered spaces at £1.20 a day after 11am, but completely free just now because the meter was out of order. Southern cousin couldn’t make it this weekend so we thought about moving off on the morrow rather than hang around with nothing but trains for company.

Sun 5th Thatcham to Bridge 66
The weather forecast told us to expect a sunny day followed by several rainy ones so we all agreed to move on and make the most of what we had.

Just to prove it’s not all work and no play, when Mike discovered an abandoned golf club he quickly cleared a couple of stones from the rough before moving Sarah-Kate into the waiting lock.

Progress was slow due to lock problems but we eventually made Newbury and the diesel pump (66p) at Bev and Geoff’s Pitstop. What a smashing place this is, emptying a cassette was akin to using your grandmother’s loo, everything clean, shiny and perfectly in place.
The boss let on that he’s not been managing the site very long and I had to tell him what I thought of it. He’s also running his own chandlery which had enough to keep me occupied for several minutes.
And, I have to admit, it was a relief to have our diesel figures accepted without argument. Last month’s figures showed an 80/20 split and that’s exactly what I signed for.

The welcome was unusual too. Space was limited and the boat in front called us alongside with the greeting “You must be Mo and Vanessa”. Well V was tickled pink and I immediately pulled a camera to capture his happy face. He reads blogs, probably all of them so look out for Mike on nb.Globetrotter if you’re passing.

Newbury was interesting with its narrow channel, bridges lined with people and a water flow strong enough to limit passage to a crawl. Bridge spitters turned out to be flashers, the camera type, which was nice.

A lifting swing bridge with no instructions baffled V until a BW Yale lock was spotted on the side of the control box. The public were just as ignorant as we were and made comments like “We know it opens but can’t tell you how”.

Our out of town moorings were in a lovely quiet spot, if you don’t count trains, with woods of newly budding trees, the odd duck and moorhen and the very occasional towpath walker. The plank came in useful for getting ashore and we developed a list when the lower lock was emptied but it was fun and the perfect place for a restful night.

Mon 6th middle of nowhere to Kintbury.
Today’s cruising was much like yesterday’s. Lovely countryside, not bad weather until the clouds filled in the gaps during the afternoon and it was my first sighting of this year’s ducklings. Mike counted 16 in all but by the time I got there only one said hello to me before it ran for cover as the boat stole their water leaving their bramble bush covering high and dry on the mud.

And finally to Kintbury.
Now here’s a pretty place with a few shops including an interior designer. Wonder what they’d make of a narrowboat commission. Mooring notices tell you to be considerate of residents (1/4 of a mile away from the canal) when running engines and I got the feeling they’d rather we moved somewhere else.
I watched the crows gathering twigs for their nests and it amused me to see a couple of them tearing someone’s leafy plant to pieces to get at the best nest lining material.

We hadn’t been tied up more than half an hour before an angler settled between our boats and poked his stick across the canal. Much splashing brought me out of my slumbers as a trout thrashed its way to the landing net. Three pound something in weight, he offered it up and was relieved of his catch by Jo who received instructions on gutting and cooking. “It’s a pleasure to catch one for you” I think he said. Not your common angler I thought, this must be Kintbury.

Another steam train belted down the line towards Frome, full of smiling faces, hardly having time to glimpse Kintbury before they were whisked back into the countryside, along private streams in private woods lined with barbed wire fences. The locals seem to know when the trains are due because they stand on the bridges waiting patiently, cameras at the ready. I’m getting to know the signs now, if I see two or more people idly hanging around then there’s going to be an event in the next ten minutes. And the trick is, as Jo noticed, to use a proper camera which goes clickety, clickety, click instead of look, measure, think, clunck. Their cameras take several pictures, I only get one shot.

We can tell summer is on its way, the solar panel is already delivering 6 amps. Usually at the wrong time of day but shouldn’t complain.

Thoughts on the Kennet & Avon so far?

Not bad for those of us Eye-Spy-ers who enjoy nothing more than spotting England’s old treasures of brick, concrete and steel. The K&A is in no way lacking WW2 pillboxes and enjoys more than its fair share of steam trains. I’ve seen more steam trains on the Paddington to Frome line in the past two days than I’ve seen up country in the last ten years.

Scenery is marvellous and so far nothing between us and it, very few boats line the banks. Plenty of locks for those who like that sort of thing but I’m told we will get a respite when we cross between the Kennet bit and the Avon bit.

Sufficient water taps but not over-served by diesel pumps and I have yet to see a coal boat. There may be a very good reason why coal boats are scarce – loose wood is in good supply if you’re prepared to do the locks to get it.
Towpaths are mostly in very, very good condition. One wonders why so much has been spent on gravelling these when there are so many near breaches and plenty of defective paddles to repair. We’ve seen a handful of blue shirts out and about, two in a canoe taking boat details, three on a widebeam workboat and two walking along with spy computers.

Apart from around Reading and Newbury there are very few walkers. We saw a gaggle of back-packers one day thoroughly engaged in conversation and striding along with ski sticks. I stepped between them to ask what they carried in those enormous rucksacks and instead of the expected tents, wet weather clothes and spare shoes I was told “FOOD”. And all their little faces lit up when she said ‘food’. Made me chuckle.

One could say that walking is as healthy a life style as boating but I’m afraid my walking days are over. A busted rib is no fun and as I write this in week two I’m still in as much pain as the day it broke. Every exertion has to be done while holding one’s breath, every cough and sneeze has to be stifled, not that it helps very much, and a hiccup is like being murdered. Two hiccups and I have to lie down. Alright, I exaggerate somewhat but how else will I get sympathy.