Narrowboat Balmaha – Bathampton to Bristol

Monday 18th to Sunday 24th May 2009.
It’s been an exciting week by our standards, plenty of adrenalin and many moments of reflection. The one I’d like to remember occurred on Wednesday, at Bristol, when tide and weather fitted perfectly for a jaunt down the River Avon under the suspension bridge.
The one I’d rather forget occurred on Monday part way down Bath locks where we nearly lost our home by getting caught on the cill.

Leaving Bathampton Monday morning we were pleased to be on the move again. It’s a slow journey from here to Bath but once we were through the tiny tunnel and into Bath locks all the frustrations of the summit were forgotten. In fact everything was forgotten and during one descent I was too busy nattering to Mike on Sarah-Kate to notice the concrete cill emerging under my feet. I put it down to the new notices stuck on the upper lock beams telling us to keep away from the cill. There’s a perfectly good white mark on the walls but they had to go too far and stick up notices and of course it’s only natural for boats to be attracted to them.

Can’t remember what we were talking about but the tiller arm slowly went stiff and as I pondered this my eyes spotted the white line on the wall. Oh dear, we’re in trouble.
Yelling dementedly for the lower paddles to be dropped I watched in horror as Balmaha tilted forward and then sideways and leant on Sarah-Kate for support.

It was all over in minutes, Mike and I were up at the top paddles letting in water as the ladies stopped the vital fluids draining away below us.

She floated again and all that remained was to get the rudder back into its bottom cup on the skeg.

Needless to say there were ‘looks’ from V so I kept my head suitably lowered in a contrite manner until smiles returned.

A week later, after many helpful reminders to pay attention I’m back in form, nattering to Mike and missing dangers by inches instead of miles.

Turning right from Bath’s bottom lock we visited the weir at Pulteney Bridge before calling it a day opposite the flats and offices not far from the station.

Tuesday came with showers every half hour. Undeterred by the weather we cruised downhill through beautiful scenery, across open valleys, between wooded hills, through Hanham lock, past V’s childhood playground (a huge steel sewer pipe beside the river) and into Bristol docks.

The old Fry’s chocolate factory brought back memories of goody bags filled with broken or malformed chocolate bars brought home by the workers. Many Bristolians in the 1960s worked at or knew someone who worked at either Frys or Wills’ ciggy factory and brought home cheap samples. Some worked at the brewery but I don’t recall any similar benefits.

We paid our dues at Netham lock where we found the lock keeper most helpful with advice on where to go and what to do. He told us to treat our boat as a taxi and the whole floating harbour as our home but looked quite disappointed when we said we weren’t going to Sharpness and even offered to take us up the Severn himself.

Bristol was a home-coming for us after 30 years away and what a change!! The place has had a face-lift and a good tidy-up since the post war and post commercial days of our childhood. It was good to see ships, yachts, dinghies and narrowboats and, most of all, plenty of empty moorings.
We passed under bridges that we’d walked or driven across and past concrete office blocks that replaced the derelict stone buildings we left behind in the 70s. Some factory walls have been retained for inclusion in new offices and overall we found the modernisation quite acceptable.

But the biggest surprise was the floating harbour with its new image.
Remnants of dock buildings, railways and cranes have been cleaned, painted and arranged in spaces between new offices and apartments.

The odd working boat can be seen amongst the new cruisers and converted barges but they look strange and out of place on this waterscape dedicated to leisure.

Walking the dock side near the town centre I found it hard to understand the mind of the architect who designed the buildings and paved open spaces with seemingly random objects plopped here and there.

Are these designed to raise questions or provide answers, I wonder.

And are they worth the price that the residents paid?

In contrast it was nice to see some of the old dives near Queens Square left untouched, places like The Old Duke and Llandoger Trow in King Street where you drink as you sway to the music.

It wouldn’t be right to visit Bristol without seeing Bristolians so we hosted Chris and Graham Tuesday evening, doing a mini cruise of the harbour (overtaking the sailing ship “Matthew”) before eating.

V knew Chris from school but I first met Chris at what we called Pigsty Hill Youth Club in Bishopston in the 1960s where Andy, my best man years later, and I did our best to ruin the snooker table.
In fact that was where I first saw V, but that’s another story.

Wednesday brought an unexpected highlight of the week. Enquiries at the Harbour Master’s office led us to believe we could arrange a locking out to sea, covered by the price of our ticket to Bristol City Docks. High tide was at 16.38 and as long as we were back before the tide turned we could take a jolly down the river. So we contacted the Dock Master as he came on watch three hours before high tide and he agreed to let thousands of gallons of water out of the docks just so we could cruise the salty river.

With Mike and Jo aboard as crew, advisers and necessary extra floatation should we sink, we slipped through the massive Entrance Lock onto the River Avon.

Passing beneath Brunel’s Suspension Bridge we pushed against the tide to our half way point at Sea Mills.

Returning with the tide was easier and we were back inside the safety of the lock in just over an hour. Having called the Dock Master as we passed the bridge on the way back upstream we found him waiting with a relieved look that turned into smiles when we reported all had gone according to plan.

I would recommend it to anyone reaching Bristol by boat, providing the tide is at a reasonable time of day. Locking outwards is up to three hours before high water and the last inward locking is 15 minutes before the tide turns. The Dock Master was just as keen for us to go, can’t think why, and was very helpful with advice on what to do and how to do it.
I’m led to believe that opening the lock allows them to scour the mud from the harbour so maybe we’re doing each other a favour.

A visit to Bristol wouldn’t be complete without pictures of the ss.Great Britain and the Matthew, a replica of Cabot’s little sailing boat that crossed oceans many years ago.

If it looks like the sky is about to erupt then that’s just how it was. The weather changed every five minutes so you took your chances when cutting loose from the side.

We felt good paying 55p for diesel at Bristol Marina until we heard the price had dropped to 50p elsewhere. But at least we could declare our own propulsion/power split, there being no pressure to comply with a fixed ratio.

So much happened in those three days down to the city and back that it would take too long to relate but in summary we all agreed it was worth doing. We would have stayed longer and gone back another day if the daily rate was more reasonable and judging by the empty moorings others feel the same.

Thursday and Friday saw us return to Bath and canal life. It had been good to clear the soot from the exhaust but it’s pootling time again.

Fine weather at Bitton’s railway station meant walkies and I mean walkies, it was at least two miles. But I made it back on a hotdog and chips from the station restaurant and the promise of a barbeque beneath the bridge over the river, our first this year.

Something else has been added to my ‘want list’. Actually several things but all under the title wide beam Dutch barge. We saw so many on the river and around Bristol’s city centre that my wants are fast turning into needs. I know it spells doom to cruising the narrow canals up north but just think of the fun on rivers and around the coast. Imagine pulling up on the sand at Weston Super Mare for an icecream.

Friday’s arrival in Bath was marked by fireworks. This presumably was the launch of Bath’s music weekend where everybody and his dog turned out onto the streets to watch live bands and acoustic musicians play for free. Apart from the locals there were representatives from every nation east of Margate, mostly sitting on tour buses or dragging suitcases between hotel and train.

Bank holiday weekend was best spent sitting tight, holding onto a mooring because anyone who wasn’t walking or cycling was floating past our veranda.

A call from Ter to say “it had started” reminded me that today’s itchy eye is tomorrow’s hayfever. Everything went mad when the sun came out, flies popped out of the water into the boat, mostly into the bedroom, and pollen wafted in on the slightest breeze.
I guess winter’s over, summer’s begun and it’s time to look out those shorts and tee shirts.