Narrowboat Journal

Monday 24th to Sunday 30th August 2009

We’ve had a quiet week, cruising-wise, starting just round the corner from South Bramwith, near Doncaster, on the River Dun and finishing above the lock at Torksey on the Fossdyke Navigation.

The aim this week is to get off the Trent before Wednesday’s hurricane arrives and on to the Fossy where water levels don’t vary with heavy rainfall.

Monday saw us move eastwards under grey skies along the Stainforth and Keadby canal.
We’d only intended going as far as Thorne and sitting tight while the rain passed but after phoning Keadby for lock slots we realised we could be up and off the Trent before the bad weather hit us.
We stopped for engine filters at Thorne having heard the chandlers kept Beta spares but as it happened they only stock Fram filters and I decided against paying an extra £10 for an oil filter.

Just after the last swing bridge on the S&K canal lay a railway bridge that’s just too low to get under. It opens on its own, I guess there’s a man pressing buttons somewhere, and it does something I’ve never seen before, it slides sideways across the canal. Really weird.

Keadby’s lock moorings were plentiful when we arrived in the early afternoon but soon filled up as new arrivals pulled in off the Trent.
For amusement we watched boats fly downstream with the tide and swing back upstream towards the lock. It’s a lot easier doing it from the viewing platform I can tell you, we can see the fast water in the channel 50 feet out but unlike boaters making their manoeuvre we can also see the pool of still water right outside the entrance.
One boat avoided a collision by plenty of hard-astern but there was an almighty ‘boing’ from another as it hit the wall on the upstream side on the way into the lock. I’ve seen locals get it wrong so there’s not much hope for strangers like us. But the trick seems to be to creep very slowly upstream and to remember that the water immediately outside the lock is practically stationary, there’s no tide to fight against so there’s no need to accelerate into the lock.

Of course things weren’t helped by a ship (the Cabrana) mooring right next to the lock entrance.

To finish the day we took icecream from the van at the moorings and nattered to those who’d made it down from Torksey and Cromwell locks.

On Tuesday we were up with the lark. With our penn-down booked for 7.45am we hung around at the road bridge and waited for the nee-nar, nee-nar, which signals bridge opening. Nb.Hot Tub joined us in the descent and when he looked across at me as the gates opened I did the gentlemanly bit and bid him go ahead. I’m not daft.

As he shot out into the incoming tide I watched for any wobbles, swerves or signs of difficulty and seeing nothing untoward I hit the pedal and we shot out after him.

There’s nothing much to do on the way upstream but grit teeth and stare into the distance looking for gravel barges. The occasional cow wanders over and stares at mad Englishmen who, out of boredom take their pictures.

Half way to Torksey we were overtaken by two gin palaces, their skippers sitting two or three decks up in glass cockpits wearing tee shirts while we shivered on an open stern deck wearing winter hats and coats.

Arriving at Torksey in well under four hours we found the cruisers just setting off on the next leg to Cromwell Lock having stopped on the pontoons for lunch. I’m working on an idea for strapping an outboard motor to the stern the next time we do the Trent, that’ll show them.

Not messing about we took a leaf out of the cruiser’s book and called the lock keeper for our penn-up. I can’t stop saying penn-up, penn-down, it reminds me of Hewlett Packard vector drafting machines.

There were some worried looks as we pushed in at the back behind three plastics, sorry, cruisers. If they weren’t so wide we’d have got another narrowboat in at the same time.

As it happened the weather improved as soon as we’d finished cruising, typical. A walk to Torksey village revealed no shops so we bought pickled onions and chutney from the lock keeper’s house.

Sadly we discovered we’d missed Granny Buttons. Andrew caught the same tide as us and was now through Cromwell Lock further up the Trent. We’d missed him by about three hours.

Wednesday, as predicted, was a bad weather day so paperwork got sorted into two piles - files and fire. Bit of a mistake having a fire in the rain because the roof was covered in black soot the next day.

Thursday was much better so V and me took the number 106 bus to Saxilby. The local old people’s home disgorged its contents ten minutes before the bus arrived and as happens in villages everyone knew everyone. We learned from one couple all about the huge portions served at the Wheelhouse restaurant near the moorings so we mentally booked a table one evening this week.

Saxilby Co-op is the grocer, pharmacy and butcher all rolled into one. There may be other shops but we didn’t see them.

A little birdy told us that nb.Seyella might arrive today so after studying the tide tables and calculating earliest arrival at 5.30pm I confirmed with the lock keeper who pointed out there were two tides each day and boats were arriving as we spoke. Oops.

A quick lunch and down to the transit pontoons where we found Geoff and Mags and a load of other boats fresh off the Trent.

The sun came out along with coffee and lager and we caught up on their news and travel plans.
Their neighbour Bob the Gas was a bit of a character and had me fascinated by his navy stories.
I kept getting the nod from V to let him go and to leave Geoff and Mags to get on with their lives, and their lunch as it was approaching 4pm.

That night we ate at the Wheelhouse Restaurant and I can confirm that the plates are big and the helpings enormous. We noticed some people were taking home half of their meals in doggy bags. I’m afraid I stuffed myself silly and I had to quit half way through my ice cream. Now I know why they keep buckets by the tables.

Friday brought another cousin, one I’ve never met before, Dad’s side of the family again.
Sandra and her partner Tony turned up on two Harleys, having motored up from Cornwall to a Harley bash in Sherwood Forest. Of course the photos appeared and stories were told which went some way towards filling in the history of long lost uncles and cousins from Kent.
Had a great time, lovely couple, smashing bikes drool-drool.

Saturday was a boat job day, the sun didn’t make up its mind one way or the other so it was a case of scrape wood, slap on teak-oil and run inside.

Graham (G4LUV) called in the morning to say he’d found an HF rig at a car boot sale near Rugby, which might be just the ticket for me. While I looked up the spec on t’internet he negotiated with the seller and when all looked perfect he did the deal in my absence. So now I’m back on the air, or will be when the kit arrives. There’s just a small matter of fixing a ‘noisy’ inverter and securing an aerial mast somewhere near the bow.

Typical bank holiday, everyone and his dog is out in a boat. It’s mostly plastic in these parts which matches my smiling face because you have to wave, grin and say hello every time they pass. Some hoot as they approach as if to say “Here I am, wave please”.

And finally to Sunday.
Half past seven and everyone’s fast asleep so keeping the side hatches closed I tuned into the amateur band around 3Mhz. There’s a host of old codgers going on about their runner beans and the weather and worries about 400 watt transmitters affecting their pacemakers. One guy went on for five minutes about police looking for someone in his neck of the woods and when he switched over to his mate there followed the sound of snoring. Brilliant.

Then I realised I’m perfectly suited for this wireless hobby, I’m ready to prattle on about canals, boats, weather, towpath grass cutting, or lack of, and how long batteries last when you’re burning 25 amps through a transceiver. And I can tell the world about it because I’ll have every frequency between DC and Daylight (as Graham so nicely puts it).

Can’t wait.

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Wheelhouse Restaurant, Torksey Lock, 01427 718301

Monday 17th to Sunday 23rd August 2009.

Where has all the summer gone?

As we rest alongside the steel sides of the River Dun Navigation on a Sunday morning in sight of the Stainforth & Keadby, under a bright grey sky I wonder whether this year we’ll manage to get an average British summer. I recall many days starting sunny and ending cloudy, breezy and cool. The barbeque has been out of the cratch no more than a dozen and a half times and in contrast to our faces our legs still have a tinge of pink about them.

MiL has returned home c/o T & C who are wonderful and did all the running about in a car but while she was with us we took in the sights of Ferrybridge, Goole and Long Sandall. Of course nobody knows about Long Sandall, it’s a few houses and industrial buildings stuck on the northeast edge of Doncaster but it’s very important to boaters because of its mooring potential for the likes of us.

It’s also home to Julie and Mark with their cats Poppy and Soona on nb.Poppy.

Julie put me right on the tall green thing in Goole docks by passing me the internet link to Goole’s information pages where my curiosity was satisfied on subjects like coal trains (watery ones) and Tom Puddings. Take a look and read the comments from dock workers who relate some of their experiences in the use of ‘green things’ that lifted puddings into the air to tip their contents into ships’ holds.

We popped down to Goole a second time and while Mum guarded the boat, V and I walked through the docks to town and out the other side to the banks of the River Ouse. I stood there fascinated by tankers coming and going between Goole docks and Immingham, the refinery I was well acquainted with in the late 1970s when I messed about with radios on the Pass of Balmaha.
V used to visit me with Kass, our new baby girl, and sometimes stay overnight in our little cabin, quite legally of course. There was no way to do it in secret anyway, K’s constant crying would have put paid to that. Fortunately the generator and cargo pump noises gave us some respite when she whinged at night.

This ship visiting Goole for steel is about the size of the chemical tanker POB and of very similar colouring, keep-away-orange hull with used-to-be-white accomodation steelwork.

Seeing a sailor’s memorial on the river bank I was amazed to see how many local ships had been lost in the 1800 and 1900s.

There were names of barquentines, brigantines, galliots, schooners, ketches, steamships and of course motor vessels (MV) like those we see today.

Right behind the memorial we saw this odd looking house with what looks like the remains of a windmill. Note the obligatory street furniture that pops up in front of every building of interest. I guess it used to be a mill because there’s a millstone outside the garden wall. See, I’m not totally daft.

But someone wasn’t so bright on Monday night, or maybe they were just unfortunate because the rescue boat was called out three times to pull boats to safety from the Trent and Ouse. One was stranded on the sandbank, a practise I was hoping to do deliberately one day because it’s an option when losing the ‘window’ at Keadby lock.

It’s the wasp season up here in Yorkshire and millions came out to taste V ‘s jelly with summer fruits in the making. Every tin can and yoghurt pot was pressed into service to catch the little blighters and by five o’clock, their bedtime, we’d collected over 70 big-uns.

Doncaster’s visitor moorings were a mixed blessing. On the plus side we managed to get a space for the 72 hour free stay and visited the huge open air market and beautiful modern indoor shopping complex. On the downside it’s 9 out of 10 for street noise. Juggernauts, farm vehicles and motorbikes without silencers roar overhead on the nearby bridge while blood wagon sirens scream day and night. If you wake in the night then the church bells get you every quarter of an hour.

And back to where we started, River Dun north of the extinct power station. We have steel and plastic boats enjoying a Sunday out, cruising past at 5 to 10 mph without causing so much as a creak on our ropes. Isn’t it lovely to be on open waters, we’ll be back before too long I’m sure but for now our sights are on the Trent with an incoming tide and, if there’s time, a penn-up at Torksey and a quick cruise down the Fossdyke and Witham to Boston.
It’s rumoured that Granny Buttons is down that way after crossing the Wash from the southern Fens. I’ve a mind to pick his brains about the sea crossing and I’m hoping he isn’t too insistent about taking a pilot.

Monday 10th to Sunday 16th August 2009.

On Monday we were still in Sheffield’s boat basin at what they call “Victoria Quays”. After yet another peaceful night we walked up the road to do a spot of shopping. Town is only ten minutes away, five of that is waiting at the pedestrian lights unless you do what the locals do and cross where there’s a gap in the dual carriageway barriers.

Thinking the city centre shops were extensive and spread over a large area we caught a free bus (Sheffield’s FreeBee Bus) to the far side of town. We soon discovered why it runs every 7 minutes, it only takes 7 minutes to do the circuit. Sheffield’s centre is relatively small, everyone takes the tram to MeadowHall (Meadow Hell as some call it) where the shops go on for ever.

Back on the water there’s an interesting boat on the visitors’ moorings with its name written in Chinese-ish. Looking at the pictures I see it means Hak Tin Ngaw. Obvious really isn’t it.

I did what the book says and called the lock keepers for the Tinsley lock flight to book our passage down on Thursday. When I asked what time we should start the descent he said 8am, 8.30 latest because this was the busy season.

At first I thought he was having a laugh because we only saw one or two boats move in or out of the basin each day. But when I found out what their job involved I began to appreciate what he meant.

Tuesday.
A little birdie told us that the boat club near the top of Tinsley locks had spaces for rent while their owners were away and having an eye to an early start on Thursday we pottered down the first two locks with Phil on Handley’s Pride. Settled in between two narrowboats we coupled up the power lead and revelled in the luxury of electricity without the engine.

Leaving Sheffield boat basin I marvelled at how few of the old factories and workshops remained. A single wall here and a small brick building there among the trees and shrubs was all that was left.

Once installed on the pontoons we met the couple next door who cruise two months of the year and live in Spain for the rest. Things didn’t start too well as I upset the lady by loosening the sliding mooring ring on the post which suddenly let their boat free from a ten degree port list.

When she finished getting dressed she came out and let me have it with both barrels. Oh dear.
He was gracious about it but I felt I had to continue grovelling whenever his wife caught me outside the boat. He also put me right about the anglers on the lock landings, he said it doesn’t do to upset them because angling is considered a religion in Sheffield.

Dave the lock keeper told us that the shops were only 3 minutes away, through a tunnel and over the bridge. I went with V, to keep out of the way, and we wandered round a small retail park with little to offer a boater. While V looked at card making materials in HobbyCraft I wandered through the aisles looking for painted apples and stuffed birds. Imagine my horror when I bumped into the lady off the next boat. I grovelled some more but I didn’t feel she was quite over it yet.

We ended up at MacDonalds as a special treat for me going on a walk. I ordered the double cheese burger meal with an upgrade to extra large. Slightly more chips and more ice in the coke but the burger was just as tiny as ever. Bit of a swizz, I thought.

We’ve got rellies coming tomorrow (Ter, Claire and mother-in-law) so I tidied up and splashed baby oil on the back of the boat. No point in doing the front half because no one sees it when you’re moored stern first on pontoons. Who’s a lazy boy then?

Wednesday brought T, C and MiL (now in her 90th year) for lunch onboard.

It’s nice when visitors come, we eat better food and I was allowed one of my favourite sandwiches – egg and cress. Yummy, and bigger than MacDonald’s extra large cheese burger.
The mail drop was extra special too, ferrite beads for experiments. I’m hoping they’ll eliminate RF interference from the inverter when I’ve found a place to put them.
V’s ipod docking station arrived too but it also presented niggly problems - mains hum on the audio line to our HiFi system. More messing about needed when I get a spare day.

And as if that wasn’t enough the water pump started coughing again this morning. I’d just soaped my head when it started and I thought, oh great, here I am covered in soap suds when the water pump packs up.
I managed to rinse myself alright in the end but I didn’t want to worry V so didn’t tell her until after she’d showered.

Having put MiL in the bedroom we slept on the dinette Wednesday night. It’s always a poor night’s sleep the first time in a strange bed. Tomorrow night we’ll sleep like logs, it always happens.

Thursday is moving day and we’re up and about before 8.30am.
The lock keepers are cycling here and there preparing the locks but I can’t get my card out of the electricity post. Try a pin says someone so I poked it but it refused to budge. There’s 24 thingies left on it, enough to last a fortnight I’m told so there’s no way I’m leaving it behind.

In the end the lockie brought his tools and pulled the card reader out of its housing to free my card. Thanks, and here’s a donation for the boat club says I waving a note.
Don’t give that to me, he says, and promptly goes off knocking on all the boats to find someone willing to take it.

It’s a lovely place, slightly chaotic but very funny and everso helpful no matter what you need.

As we started down the locks I watched our blue shirt (Derek) buzz about like a spider racing to get its web made before the last fly disappeared.
Once unlocked we (V and lockie) worked the paddles while I did my best not to remove the cratch on the walkway or get caught on the cill behind me.

The work of a Tinsley lock keeper isn’t just about boat numbers but more to do with timing, concentration and physical effort required to shift them from one end of the Tinsley flight to the other without delaying boats coming back up the other way.

We only saw two lock keepers who shared the work of balancing water levels, unlocking paddles, guiding boats through, making them aware of the hazards, helping with heavy gates and balancing water needs for a return journey. With our sixty footer in a sixty one foot lock it takes a fair bit of supervision to avoid overhanging walkways and protruding ironwork that could rip your boat in half.

When you consider what they have to do and their interest in boater’s welfare while at the Sheffield end of the canal I think they deserve their pay and our praise.

And if it wasn’t for their introduction we wouldn’t have known about the boat club moorings between locks two and three. Free for the first night and at miniscule cost thereafter you get the benefit of pontoon moorings with water and electricity, whenever spaces are available.

Once down the flight I felt totally at home on the river again. Wide open water with the depth and quality of the river Thames, we cruised without interruption through Rotherham to Sprotborough. Now there’s a funny name – Sprotborough.

We walked to the village and bought icecreams to eat in the churchyard while we looked for relatives who had fallen asleep.

Have you noticed that, no matter what lovely building you want to photograph, there’s always a telegraph pole or dog poo bin or bus stop in the way. This time it was a street light.

After dinner we relaxed to the sound of water and the screams of children playing ‘watch me’ on the slippery top step of the weir.
At bedtime we relaxed to the sound of the local trip boat cruising up and down past our portholes blasting out seventies pop mingled with the yells of sozzled party revellers.
It reminded me of V’s Christmas parties in Bournemouth where her school teacher friends sang, danced and fell over to Spanish holiday music.

In its favour I have to say these parts are rather attractive with their trees down to the water’s edge, wide open waters and few walkers even in the holiday season. On the other hand we did see a couple of groups of children at the nature reserves messing about on the river bank. One group of young teens stood to attention and looked sheepish as we came round the corner and latched eyes on them. A plop in the water behind us told me someone had found a stone lying around and thought of an improper use for it.

Friday saw us first away from Sprotborough’s offside moorings in the company of Phil on his blue narrow boat.

Our first lock was barred to us because Mr. Whitaker was moving one of his tankers upstream. You don’t argue with one of these, neither do you try to hold the boat’s rope in your hand.

We had intended stopping at Doncaster to look at the town before going further but the moorings were full again. It seems this is the end of some people’s travels and after a day’s stop and shop they turn back to the north.

Turning our backs on Doncaster we motored on and nearly got the boat washed for free by the fire service.

Water was sucked up from the canal and then squirted back at high pressure, no explanation given, they just do it from time to time.

And finally we said our goodbyes to Phil as he turned right at the junction with the Keadby & Stainforth Canal.

Our day ended at Pollington on the Aire & Calder just before the Rix Phoenix tanker set the water a-wobbling. Listening to the skipper’s conversation with the lock keeper on the VHF we were sure he wouldn’t be back until after the weekend so we could sleep soundly in our beds tonight.

Saturday took us as far as Ferrybridge where we will stay for the weekend. Late enough to enjoy a cooked breakfast but early enough to catch an empty mooring we set our sights on the secure moorings upstream of the power station chimney and downstream of the flood lock.

Not long after our arrival the plastic gin palaces came looking for somewhere to stop and spill out their fishing rods and barbeques. Too late mate, we’re here and we’re staying, I said under my breath. They probably wouldn’t be happy here anyway, too many wasps.

V did the walking/shopping thing while me and MiL sat back waiting to be fed.

With the wind picking up and drizzle setting in there was plenty to do watching those poor cruisers attempting to line themselves up with the floodlock without clouting the concrete walls.

Sunday saw the sun come out again and with it more plastic boats. I don’t want to give the impression that there’s lots of them about, it’s the same ones, a dozen at most and without them the canal would be too quiet. A handful of narrowboats chug through on their way to foreign places (Leeds?) and a few widebeams which don’t look out of place on a canal of this size. Whatever they are they hammer through at 5mph++ without disturbing anyone, the waves burble a bit as they squeeze between moored boats and the steel bank sides and the depth of water below us means we never surge back and forth like we do on canals down south. There’s another big plus point for the navigations around here, no hireboats.

If the weather holds up we’ll most likely call in at Goole this week so that I can get my ship fix. There are ice creams there and a chandler or two so plenty to keep me busy.

From there we plan to drop MiL somewhere on a road and head off towards the Trent and Newark. The summer up here is drawing to a close and we don’t want to be caught by the perma frost this side of Leicester.

Monday 3rd to Sunday 9th August 2009.

Monday morning we quit town and waved goodbye to the Ferrybridge chimneys. While V walked to the shop for groceries I set sail for our next meeting place at Kings Mill Bridge.
It must have looked a funny place for a boat to hang around because a local dog walker engaged me in conversation, throwing questions at me until V arrived and we set off.

On the way across country what looked like a chemical works was getting the demolition treatment. While twisted steel and wire reinforcement went one way, brick and concrete blocks went the way of a crushing machine.

I sent V down below as clouds of coloured dust and assorted bitter smells drifted our way from the clearing operation and I wondered just what nasties they had uncovered and sent into the air.

Instead of turning right down the New Junction Canal which had brought us to Ferrybridge, we continued straight on to Goole and its docks, boat yards and sea going boats.

There’s space for three-ish 60 footers on the BW visitor moorings next to Goole Boathouse’s diesel pump (50p/Ltr self declare) and we replaced the last boat leaving.

Boat names like Selby Libra and Selby Doris remind us of yesterday’s waterways trade while Farndale-H and Fossdale-H point to those that hope trade doesn’t get worse.

One can’t do anything boaty without someone joining for a natter and while the diesel went in I learnt about taking the tide down to Trent Falls to do a spot of bottom blacking and anode changing. No matter how hard I studied the tide tables I couldn’t get us out of Goole docks and back in again during the hours of daylight. Pity because I’d love to sit on the sand in the sunshine and give the boat a good looking over below the waterline. We’re deciding whether to go for a bottom blacking this winter or delay another year. Beaching at Trent Falls would help with decision making.

The local canal museum was quite interesting and free. The icecreams took us outside where we came upon Tom Puddings. We’d only just learned all about Tom Puddings and here were watching three of them being restored. These little beauties were linked together, filled with coal and towed to power stations where they were lifted and tipped to empty them. A bump at one end fitted into a hollow on the next one so that they hinged and gave the appearance of a snake as they rounded corners on the canal.

The next day, still curious about what went on in Goole docks, I pointed the boat towards the sea.
Something like a lighthouse and a loading machine sat on one empty wharf. Whether this is still in use or not I couldn’t tell you but it is very well preserved.

There was more to see but V wouldn’t have it and quoting the book and hinting at dire consequences if we trespassed on ABP’s territory I was persuaded to turn round and head back to inland waters. I could see a ship beyond the swing bridge but decided it was too early in the day to incur V’s wrath. I’m sure Associated British Ports would have understood.

Leaving Goole by the ‘safe’ route we cruised what seemed an endless waterway to the turning down to Keadby and Sheffield. And who should we bump into but Ivy-May a narrowboat we recognised from the Fens in 2006. And what’s even more remarkable they recognised us.

We didn’t stop and after what seemed liked ages, through locks and lift bridges, we arrived back at the Stainforth & Keadby Canal junction. This time, pointing towards Sheffield, we mounted the River Dun Navigation. Yes, I thought it was the Don but that’s further down, here it’s the Dun, don’t ask me why.

Yet another power station came and went only this time it was quiet, no smoke, no steam, no staff.

Rounding the back sides of factories, some silent, some being stripped and flattened we caught sight of ultra modern buildings and the town of Doncaster. Its few visitor moorings were full so being adaptable we tied to rings in the wall beneath the overhanging loading chute of a derelict wharfside building.
It rained (as usual) and the night passed quietly if you don’t count the gurgling of pipes sticking out of the wall that poured something wet onto our gunwales.

The next day we had Rotherham in mind. Thinking we were in England’s industrial heartland I was shocked to find ourselves completely surrounded by countryside. Trees as far as we could see and the occasional bridge or bunch of bridges far above us kept noise to a minimum. No buildings housing steel forges, no chimneys belching out smoke, no thump-thump of hammers and hardly a soul to be seen.

Even standing on tiptoe we saw little of Conisbrough castle. This was one occasion when we could have done without the trees.

Mr. Waddington seems to have been a popular figure, he had a fleet of boats and a lock named after him. His boats now line the pounds between locks waiting for trade to return to the waterways. As they are in such good condition I wondered if anyone had thought of turning them into floating homes. Perhaps we’ll dispense with ideas of a Dutch barge and go straight to one of these monsters.

Today’s locks, far inland and miles from the sea are still enormous, dwarfing many of the Thames locks. Here’s one rebuilt to 700 tonne standard and opened in 1982 by Victor Waddington, chairman of, you guessed it, Ernest Waddington Ltd.

For those thinking of visiting, here’s a lock gate control box for when the lock keeper is away from his office (which is most of the time). There is absolutely no need to get bored, there are plenty of buttons to press and lights to watch and sequences to get hopelessly wrong.

On those rare occasions that we see office buildings along the river I get the feeling that there’s no particular attraction to the water. Whether that’s to do with leisure craft not being too plentiful or the constant sight of commercial craft I’m not sure.

We were reminded that building close to the water’s edge isn’t without its dangers.

Rotherham lock in the middle of town had a surprise for us. Several black mink ran around the lock walls, tame enough to run between your legs as they playfully chased each other. This lock reminds us there’s a length restriction on boats from here to Sheffield. We just managed to get in the lock without fouling the gate behind us. Fortunately for us top gates weren’t overly leaky and most of the time we weren’t in danger of sinking at the bow.

Ahhaa, spotted a couple of clumps of dreaded floating pennywort, but it’s not the worst weed for grabbing your propeller, this stuff is.

Both angler and boater keep to a narrow open channel and sometimes it draws the odd sarcastic comment from the canal owners, I refer of course to the anglers. Most are cheery enough but the sour ones won’t acknowledge your how-dos, preferring to look down at their feet even when you shout it a second time.

Very occasionally you run across rubbish, especially at weirs but thankfully there’s very little pollution on this scale, I’ve seen worse in Leicester.

The book says we must call a lock keeper at the Tinsley flight. He has a key that he won’t share so we can’t wander up when we want to and I suppose it stops naughty boys letting all the water out. Our booking was for 10 o’clock and our ‘escort’ duly arrived and showed us the ropes, giving us plenty of warning of the dangers and making the transit as pleasant as possible.
Something really funny happened that V won’t let me tell you about but needless to say we enjoyed our cruise upwards and were set free onto the summit with as much help and kindness as one could wish for.

Close to the summit we were set upon by walkers and anglers. Having seen hardly anyone for days it comes as a bit of a shock to see people thronging the locks. Like many canal tourist spots they stand and stare, most never uttering a word, just a glazed expression on their faces.

Near the summit the lock landings take on another meaning, this is the angler’s domain. Fortunately we don’t need them, the locks are all prepared by our lockie and as we leave one we enter another but what would happen if you pulled over to the side? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

And finally we arrive at Sheffield’s boat basin as the sun almost came out.

Sheffield boat basin – first impressions.
A quiet, well laid out terminus or quay, if that’s what you want to call it, without pubs, clubs or bars. Surrounded by dual carriageways it’s not on a walking route to anywhere, yet it is only five minutes into town.

I couldn’t put my finger on it at first but after a day it dawned on me, it lacks vegetation, ducks, swans and perhaps an identity. It has fish because there are No Fishing notices everywhere and they are huge, typical marina carp, big and lazy. There are buildings on three sides, including a Hilton Hotel but apart from wedding parties out for photographs there are no signs of working or home living souls.
But we were glad of the peace and tranquillity and the occasional security presence and the absence of yoof in the early hours.

Sheffield’s city – first impressions
The cathedral is pretty central and to save building one they adopted the parish church in 1914. After WW1, presumably because objectors didn’t make it back, the place was turned round 90 degrees and increased in size by adding a tower, spire, sanctuary, chancel and nave. Further alterations planned for the end of WW2 were shelved, presumably objectors made it back this time.

Before we’d finished crossing the nave we were approached by a most helpful fella who conducted us about the place pointing out the crypt with its only WW2 damaged window, its Norman stones stuck randomly in walls, an indoor sundial (what?), Masonic heraldry and stained glass windows. I appreciated the windows and, of course, the conducted tour.

I didn’t mind the tram rides either, very efficient, whizzing about over four main routes of which we did a couple before lunch at the price of a £3 day ticket for V. Kids like me go free.

The wheel did its best to dominate the landscape while the Peace Gardens, Millenium Galleries and Winter Garden occupied a few minutes while I looked for a place serving elevenses.

The indoor market promised much and delivered little but to be fair we weren’t looking for mobile phone covers, cramped pavement cafés, wet fish, raw meat and foreign veg.

All in all we found the centre of Sheffield to be clean with very little graffiti or any sign of vandalism.
Given a pack of Stella and a pair of garden shears I could have done some real damage on Friday night.

Either the paint sprayers up here don’t go out much or the council cleaners are on to it the very next day. Even the canal structures along the way were scrubbed to perfection.

I’m glad we made it to Sheffield, it has been an eye opener for one such as me with expectations of derelict factories, tall chimneys, polluted water and ‘school-holiday’ hassles.
We saw two factory walls, half a dozen towpath walkers and a near perfect canal threading its way along a wide corridor of green trees. I could count on one hand the car tyres, poly bags and footballs floating in the canal, and I didn’t see a single coconut.

We can stay up to nine days if we want, so the nice BW man told us, but we’ll move out of the boat basin sometime during the week because we shall have the pleasure of MiL’s company and I’m sure she’d appreciate a cruise.
I wonder where we’ll go next.

Monday 27th July to Sunday 2nd August 2009.

On Monday we left Kirkhouse Green and shared the locks and lift bridges with a single handed boater from Boston who was out doing the Leeds & Liverpool ring. Brave fella.

The lift bridges are a bit on the large side but they’re fast in operation and we’re through and on our way in under five minutes.

Completing our journey north along New Junction Canal we turned left onto the Aire & Calder Navigation. We thought the earlier canals were big but this one is huge, possibly 150 feet wide and deep enough to handle loaded gravel and oil boats drawing 2.3 metres.

Pollington Lock appeared as the weather improved so we quit for the day. V went to look for a shop and discovered Yorkshire hospitality when a farm shop owner gave her a frozen loaf from his own freezer to save her going without. The farm’s beans and courgettes tasted so much better that night than the tinned variety we’re often reduced to eating.

Keeping an eye on the clouds we did a short walk around the lock and took an early dinner outside in front of the BBQ.

Now that the locks and bridges are automated it makes for easy travel but it’s good to be reminded of how it used to be when we encounter the remains of chain winches turned by hand to open old swing bridges.

That night a whopper of a Lafarge barge returning to Goole swept downstream, oblivious of our presence at the canal side where we gripped the bollards as if our life depended on it.

We usually get plenty of warning because the water surges and boils well ahead of these canal monsters but lying in bed after midnight there’s little you can do except grip the mattress and wait the five minutes or so until everything returns to normal.

Tuesday started sunny but warnings of nasty weather got us out of bed and on the move. Whitley Lock near Eggborough with its long empty moorings was a short cruise and we grabbed a couple of giant bollards, pulling ourselves tight to the bank.
The wind turned fresh and the waves crested so outside boat jobs were cut short and we battened down.

Wednesday was forecast bad and bad it certainly was with wind straight off the Yorkshire prairies. Battened down all day V turned to knitting shawls for promised twins from a niece while I reluctantly started filing a years worth of paperwork. Fortunately there were no unanswered letters or unpaid bills in the “pending” folder.

The need to sand and varnish something gave a welcome distraction but I discovered I had bought water based varnish for the bow doors which can literally ‘run’ with damp during the winter. I just hope all the work isn’t undone after a damp cold spell in January.

BW use large tug boats on large canals and they all seem to be employed around Whitley Lock. We get the usual warning signs when they’re approaching and a jolly good battering as they pass by which sounds worse than it is because we’re moored above a concrete cill that clouts the baseplate every time we leap up and down in the water.

Both Messrs LaFarge and Rix displayed their stone and oil tankers today and put us in a mind to move as soon as the weather improved. Twice I went out to check the boat for damage after punishing spells on the concrete below us.

I can see why they post notices warning boaters not to moor on pins but to only tie ropes to rings and bollards. The last thing you’d want is to break free during a working barge’s night cruise.

Thursday’s forecast looked better so we moved off only to get caught in a deluge. V thought it funny enough to take photographs of me in misery at the tiller.
At least she joins me when the rain has gone and reads the Nicholson Guide notes so I know something about the places we pass through. We mistook the first flour mill as Allinson’s, the people that make the bake-it-yourself-bread flour, but it turned out to be someone else’s, possibly King’s Mill bread seeing as it was situated at Kings Mill Bridge.

At Ferrybridge we came across an unmanned, closed flood lock. There were electricians tinkering with the gubbins under the lock keepers room so after explaining our position they offered to work the lock for us.

We have discovered that lock lights often don’t mean what the book says, in fact you have to take any light with a pinch of salt.
For example, when the lock is unmanned and available for boater operation it should display an amber light and if the river is running in the ‘red’ then we’re to see a flashing red.
But sometimes they’re all off, showing neither red, amber or green, sometimes the river is in the ‘green’ but the light flashes red.
We were naturally cautious at first but we’ve learnt from others that no one takes any notice and boats continue whatever lights are showing.

And so under the control of the contract electricians and the gaze of the power station cooling towers we rose two inches and entered the river section of the Aire & Calder.

From here our journey was limited by the river flow.
The book tells us to give plenty of room to barges on tight bends. It also suggests passing them on the ‘wrong’ side when this happens so I made use of the new rule by cutting my own corners on the way upstream. We met nothing and no one, the journey up to Castleford went like a dream through a river valley with greenery down to the water’s edge. Monkeys, elephants and lions wouldn’t have surprised us, here we have a very pleasant green oasis in a landscape of worked out coal fields.

Don’t get the wrong idea from the Ferrybridge power station picture, the power station isn’t the ugly scar I’d expected it to be, all is well maintained and the grassy slopes down to the river would grace any golf course.
However, the nearby town lacks signs of care with its affordable housing surrounding a handful of small shops, some with painted over windows, centred on a tenants and residents association meeting place.

An hour away lies Castleford with a short straight section of canal parallel to the river. This has its attractions in a yesterdays wharf packed with inactive Hargreaves tugs and remnants of Hargreaves’ oil industry. BW’s yard lies behind spiked metal fencing near the end of a narrow lane which terminates in bushes littered with discarded carpets, poly-bags and food wrappers.

We were told not to leave things out at night in case light fingered needle users pay a visit to the canal. But during daylight hours this place has a certain charm about it and being close enough to Wakefield I hoped to meet a long lost cousin from those parts.

Got chatting to a couple on the boat behind us while my dinner got cold on the table. David and Joy live on nb.Jemima at Market Rasen, Lincolnshire and keep themselves busy as storytellers and community artist. Joy was adding the final touches to a couple of swans on the boat’s side but had I read the brochure earlier I would have asked many more questions.
David’s background is navy at fifteen, salmon fishing in the Pacific, puppeteer in Holland, peach picking in the Pyrenees, teaching murderers in a Chinese prison and a semi-professional basketball player. He is now a forester, chainsaw sculptor as well as community artist and play worker. Phew!!
If you are down that way why not look them up or find out more on the web at “Tales From The Heartwood”.

Friday brought said cousin and several goodies in the shape of a bag of Yorkshire’s best comestibles and a lifetime’s worth of photographs. Eating parkin and sipping Yorkshire tea we shared family experiences plucked from the fifty odd years that we were oblivious to the existence of each other.

While commitments put Sue back on the road during the afternoon we, being mindful of the changing weather, set off back to Ferrybridge before the heavens opened again.

Flying down the river we arrived back in half the time and found the place as we’d left it.

Not knowing what the night life was like in these parts we prayed for safety and were rewarded with rain. Whilst rain is the best deterrent for two legged creatures it positively encourages omnipeds and multipeds. Snails trail up and down the bank looking for plant stems that reach across to the boat while earwigs quickly discover rope highways onto bow and stern decks and are drawn to door cracks which open into our living space.
Many’s the time I’ve pulled back the stern hatch and they’ve fallen on my head, yuk.

Saturday was a wash out, not just for us but for most parts of the country.
I resisted playing with the water pump when it started coughing instead of pumping and decided to leave it alone until it failed big time, like during V’s morning shower.
But the varnish brush made its appearance again and during the drying cycle we walked through town via the lock and the flour mill.

If you approach the lock on a boat going upstream you’ll find locked gates and barbed wire covered fences preventing your access to the lock itself. But stop the boat and walk away from the canal 20 yards to where the fence ends and you can walk along a path back to the lock with its various electrics and winding mechanisms. Visiting boaters don’t know that but the locals do and the lock has become a public footpath to grown ups and children alike. Even tinies in pushchairs get to see inside the lock chambers as they pass the places that boaters are forbidden to go.

Sunday 2nd August 2009.
The weather wasn’t sure what it was doing until long after breakfast but eventually turned out nice.
Breakfast on a Sunday is becoming a lengthy affair comprising fried egg, bacon and a wireless set.
Ever since Graham introduced me to the Radio Society of GB News on 3.650MHz (stop yawning) I’ve tried to keep the 9am Sunday appointment with its general QSOs before and after the news. Today ‘s broadcast made me jump out of my skin when Graham contacted the announcer and mentioned my predicament on a narrowboat which triggered his official ‘bonjour’ over the airwaves.
V was half listening three rooms away and her only comment was “do you think he’ll play your favourite record?”
Can you tell that she doesn’t share my enthusiasm?
But what do girls know, eh.