Narrowboat Journal

Monday 21st to Sunday 27th September 2009.

Monday
Ought to have been tired this morning after a late-ish night in the company of Steve and Diane off Festina Lente but managed to keep to schedule as we slipped away from Holme Lock at half nine.
A lovely couple, Steve and Diane are easy to get on with and, like V, are able to laugh once again after careers in teaching. It will be lovely to see them again but our cruising paths for next year probably won’t overlap.

Nottingham was our next stop, alongside Sainsbury’s and a short walk from town. Ropes went through rings and feet hit the pavement running (almost) as there was plenty to do. The shopping list was short but tricky, something to wear for a wedding and bits for my hobbies. Both mutually exclusive and somehow to be blended with Nottingham’s cultural bits.

I managed two shirts but V threw a wobbly when I pointed her at the kind of clothes I’d like to see her wearing. She changed her mind and so plan B came into effect and we finished up walking miles out of town to Meadow Lane down by the County Ground which we’d passed on the boat this morning.
Anchor Supplies had everything I could possibly need. It’s full of ex MOD equipment and every bin, bucket and shelf had to be thoroughly examined for things that are must-haves for the boat or my hobbies. The guy running the tools department soon twigged where we were from and proceeded to interest us in his developing chandlery section. It turned out he had his own boat at Sawley and we could tell he’d rather be sailing than selling. I could have spent more than my four pounds but baulked at the £395 they wanted for the pneumatic 20 metre telescopic mast.

Tuesday was a little better. Aching legs or not, we managed Maplins on the northeast side of town before checking out The Victoria Centre with its millions of shops and then the Broadmarsh Centre with its hundreds of shops.

But the best bits lay several feet below us - the famous Nottingham caves.
After coughing up a tenner (one standard plus one concession) we donned hats and carried speaking boxes down to the subterranean caverns.

These caves have served as pottery kilns, a tannery, slum dwellings, railway tunnel, air raid shelters, and in recent years as the foundations for Broadmarsh shopping centre.

Carved out of a softish sandstone they served the residents above for drinking water, cess pits, hiding places for outlaws and if rumours are to be believed, temporary accommodation for Robin Hood.
Many of the caves have been re-equipped and fitted with dummies to illustrate some of the occupations carried on inside them.

1940s air raid warden.

16th century tannery.

Just about worth the money I’d say, providing you make use of the speaking thing that you can hang round your neck. We tried synchronising two of them but gave up when we had to stop and restart at each new section of tunnel. I could hear V’s machine chundering along at least two rooms away so how it would sound with several parties walking together I can’t imagine.

Above ground, wars and revolutions destroyed the castle and for some reason we didn’t feel inclined to do the big museum tour but preferred to walk downhill to the free museum below. The sandstone tump under the castle wall, however, is quite impressive with its shuttered cave entrances which, according to the book, are still to be explored.

The Brewhouse Yard Museum is free to locals or £3.50 to visitors, so it was a good job we were local at the time.

This place is fascinating, and well equipped with shops we used to know and love.
Also fascinating was the conversation between one old boy in his nineties and a not so old lady with whom he recalled his work on the very first computer, naming colleagues I’m certain I’ve seen in technology history books. Born in 1915 I think he said.

Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem pub didn’t get a visit either I’m afraid, we’ll save that for next time. It claims to be the oldest pub in England but I thought the oldest continually licensed premises was in Norton St Philip near Bristol. Perhaps the two things aren’t the same.

Nottingham has trams too and they are terribly smart in appearance but my impressions were that they’re too infrequent and spend too long waiting at traffic lights.

Not far from Sainsbury’s a wet looking ratty sat by the towpath. Nothing seemed to scare him so I’m assuming he’s eaten something he shouldn’t have and was on his way into the canal.

Wednesday by contrast was a quiet day cruising the remainder of the Nottingham and Beeston Canal and the short section of the Trent to its junction with the Soar.

I don’t know if boaters feed the cat off the boat nearest to the Beeston lock services but it ain’t half noisy. As soon as we tied up it jumped off the boat and came running towards us yelling for attention. Pity I didn’t bring ratty with me.

For those of us interested in mason’s marks there are a few faint ones in the stonework of Cranfleet Lock. Mostly T shapes, butterflies and arrows they appear in fairly recent stonework so there’s a good chance the mason who did it is still around. I’ll spare you the photos.

Thinking our feet had healed we tried walking up the Erewash Canal but gave up after a mile and returned home just as it got dark. The Erewash looks quite pretty at this end so we thought we might give it a try if there’s time before the winter stoppages. Someone told me diesel was cheaper too so there’s another reason to go.

We said our goodbyes to the Trent and poked the bows at the Soar early on Thursday morning.
Calling at Kegworth Marine for diesel and gas we took on gas. Seeing the diesel price of 59p we couldn’t sail past but we soon discovered that the owner only sells it on a 60:40 split.
I didn’t argue but he must have seen my look of disbelief and proceeded to give me a jolly good talking to about an impending Customs & Revenue investigation into why they haven’t received the extra duty they’d expected.
Apparently HMRC have stated that are “happy with 60:40” meaning that they will leave compliant boatyards alone and not put them through an expensive (£1000) tax investigation when they come to see who has been fiddling their declarations.

I sympathised with his concerns and departed without filling the tank. I think he told me his diesel revenue was down 60% since derogation. I also think he told me that boaters could turn up by car and buy 100 litres at 59p if they claimed it was for a generator. No questions and no forms to fill in.

And so we entered PC (Pennywort County). V reckoned she’d seen a statement somewhere saying the Soar was sprayed in July to eradicate floating pennywort but I laughed because the distribution and size of the floating rafts of pennywort tell another story. Anyway, I’ve named this Pennywort County and perhaps we should take pride in our achievements in turning a rare, foreign aquatic plant into a common or native species on England’s rivers.

And I see that the canals are getting in on the act too; in the shadow of the Uni’s student accommodation the boat basin at Loughborough has its own thriving clump of pennywort. Every boat that stirs the waters sends the clump on its travels in a circular motion around the basin, along the walls and under the pontoons.
How wonderful, soon the students will have something to camouflage their fag packets and lager cans. Everything has its uses.

After fighting our way through the packs of Freshers roaming the streets and hanging round the drink shelves in supermarkets we camped below their windows, just where we were advised not to stay overnight.

Friday
Last night was quiet, not a mouse stirred, not a drinks can could be heard hitting the water. We’d survived a night in Fresher’s week at Loughbro’.
Taking water and doing a dump in the boat basin wasn’t easy but we got through the railings obstacle course and after chatting to the cleaning lady made our way though the back streets towards the river.

An interesting cruise up river round the corners and around the pennywort clumps brought us to Barrow on Soar and to an empty spot on the designated moorings above the lock.

Crumbs, what a busy place this is. Boats by the hundreds in all directions, even canoes, some of which I was forced to shout at when they wouldn’t stop chiselling green paint off the boat with their ragged paddles.
But not all canoeists are horrible, one Maggie from nb.Forever Young stopped to natter as she paddled back to her boat. I’d quite forgotten she’d moved down this way from Crick. We’ll see if we can spot FY in the marina as we head up to Sileby after the weekend.

Sticking my 25 foot aerial into the air brought some comments from walkers. Most wait until they’re out of earshot before making a comment but there’s always one little’un who can’t resist shouting “What’s that for Mummy?”

My aerial matching unit experiment wasn’t an immediate success but after three or four ‘tinkerings’ it did a reasonable job and all that remains to be done is try it on a long wire between 30 foot masts. But how time flies when you’re enjoying yourself and before I knew it the day was gone.
Being back in Pennywort County has its advantages. V’s sister and my brother just happened to be playing badminton near Barrow so she popped along and took a mail delivery. No TV tonight we’re opening letters, whoopee.

Saturday and Sunday were more of the same, V cooking, ironing and reducing the washing pile, me playing with electronics. You have to get your priorities right I always say.

I must say I was quite impressed by the village of Barrow with its various shops and the friendliness of the locals as they stand and chat on the street. The bakers impressed me too with their perfect chocolate éclairs.

From here we shall go to Sileby Mill for a good old bottom blacking. While she’s out of the water I shall mostly be tarting up Balmaha’s stern bands and getting her ready for her first boat safety examination.
I’m reasonably confident, having tested the gas system with a home made manometer (isn’t that a device for checking men?), removed draught excluders (and spider’s webs) from vents and made covers for the batteries (what a waste of time).

Unless one end of the boat fills with water during the dragging out process or she falls off her supports I don’t imagine there will be much of a blog next weekend. But we’ll see.

Monday 14th to Sunday 20th September 2009

Monday
Just to give you an idea of the size of things here’s a narrowboat arriving at Cromwell lock on the low side. Although the chamber is huge it’s only the top end that gets used by the likes of us but the lower end is great for de-acceleration after steaming flat out up the Trent and against the overflow from the weir.

For those who get here first there are pontoon moorings with electricity but we always seem to get the ‘wall’ with its slippery ladder set into the concrete and massive bollards set ten feet back from the edge, just out of sight. Not being a local boater one isn’t sure what the river is going to do so it seemed prudent to leave plenty of slack rope because, as the advert states, things can go up or down. Having said that we hung about another day and when boats started leaving we snuck onto the pontoons and found a working power point, and set to with the washing machine.

Tuesday 15th
The pontoons are full again this morning. Got talking to the couple on nb.Brand New Start and discovered they were Mr and Mrs ‘Best of Mates’ who we’d last seen in June at Wistow when they were travelling with nb.Grumpy Git. This wasn’t a cruise but a boat move because BNS is going for sale on the T&M. I wish we’d paid more attention to the boat spec’ as friends Pam and Terry are looking for a new home afloat.

We followed BST to Newark and moored in front of Sioux, a widebeam that keeps popping up on the Trent. Again, we’re on the ‘wall’ because the pontoons are over subscribed, but it’s only two minutes to town, the castle and a museum so can’t grumble.

Newark town centre is interesting-ish with a couple of very old buildings (preserved) and several old buildings boarded up ready for Semtex. Connections with the Civil War abound and buildings like this 1400s merchant’s house pre dating the war by one or two centuries pop up between offices and shops.

For those of us having time to explore Newark I must recommend the museum inside the old Trent Navigation Company warehouse at the water side. Themed displays covering domestic, industrial and farming life take place on several floors and whisk you through your childhood years (if you’re as old as me), back as far as the 1800s. There’s stuff I remember when I was a nipper and unfortunately there were exhibits that I can still lay my hands on today. And the whole thing is free, which is nice.

The castle was a bit of a let-down because there’s so little of it left, just two walls. Thank you Oliver Cromwell and the thieving locals that removed the stones.

By way of illustration here is the outside of one wall

and here is the inside.

Wednesday 16th
After a quick visit to a well stocked Morrisons and a flit around the outdoor market we pushed off up river in the company of a narrowboat whose name I can not pronounce. It looks something like Eridinor and when I get a chance I’ll see if Google can tell me something about it.

Not a bad day for cruising but the light did funny things to the eyes.

We gave in at Hazelford lock and moored on the wall on the low side.
I’m getting into the swing of chatting to lock keepers, they seem to appreciate a call on the VHF if you want to pen-up and even if you don’t want to. But occasionally it all goes pear shaped and I forget to finish with an “over” or conduct a conversation when he’s not listening. Give me morse code any day.
Temperatures are dropping noticeably and it won’t be long before V wants the fire lit in the evenings. I thought I was prepared but pulling the chimney out of its bag up for’d I discovered the moths had been at work. The chimney scrubbed up reasonably well and took to paint without any problem but the china man’s hat was full of holes and accidentally ‘slipped’ overboard. Cousin Roger’s centurion hat will survive for another year but we’ll have to do something about the other one.

For anyone who doesn’t know Hazelford lock it’s a contender for the best lawn competition. Not only does someone manicure the lawns by the lock but also the paths and BBQ areas down river and around by the weir. Paths criss-cross the mini headland between banks of wild flowers and huge blackberry bushes. I got that information first hand because V made me walk it.

Thursday 17th
We left it to well after 9am before calling the lockie but couldn’t coax him into talking to us so V made her way up to the lock to work it manually.
We were doing alright with opening and shutting gates when two blue shirts arrived, at 9.30 on the dot. As is the custom they noted boat name and number and asked where we were going before letting us go. It’s all very well this note taking but we get weekly checks from roving employees too. We’ve been ‘done’ every week since we got onto the Trent so what with the lock checks someone must be running a book on us.

Just up the road at Gunthorpe we were hit again. This time I had my say and moaned about the broken services near the lock. Our blue shirt explained that they were waiting for a new septic tank and despite getting financial approval there was no date agreed for repairs. Telling me they have the money but not the go ahead is the same as saying it’s not going to happen isn’t it?
Someone’s been watching too much parliament on the tele.
Good job we have a spade. Now where’s that lovely lawn?

Friday 18th
The next day I was out cleaning the brass when a helicopter landed down at the lock. A blood wagon arrived soon after and in minutes they were back on the road, slow and quiet. Too lazy to go and see what it was about I can only presume they weren’t impressed with the broken toilet block.

Such was the weather that everyone was outside relaxing or cleaning something and that’s how we met our neighbours Diane and Steve on Festina Lente. Probably not the FL that we’d seen down south as this is quite a popular narrowboat name.
Both ex teachers they had plenty in common with V and all three agreed they were glad to be out of it. You never hear merchant navy sparkies talk like that, I’d return like a shot. I think it’s safe to say that now that we’ve got no navy.

Saturday 19th
Another smashing day, in fact the whole weekend was smashing wasn’t it? We pottered up to Holme Lock and found a space alongside a low wall, low enough to step off this time.
Not being used to delays at locks I was in for a shock when we had to tread water for half an hour. This is not the place to rush through on a sunny weekend. There’s a sign above the lock, that says
“This stretch of river is extremely congested. Great care should be exercised at all times”.

We can see why. The weekend, the sunshine and the water is like a magnet to dozens of little darlings in canoes. Some pass on the left, some on the right, nobody looking where they’re going.

Being right next to a National Water Sports Centre & Country Park the navigation is bound to clog up when hundreds of medal winning hopefuls spill out onto the water to show off. How we didn’t squash some I do not know.

If I’d had a pair of those milk-bottle-bottom glasses from the joke shop then I would have gladly worn them and zigzagged my way towards the lock. That would have had them scattering.

Anyway, this was an ideal day for boat jobs so I set about sanding and varnishing bits of floor and oiling bits of the roof.
Didn’t get very far because the guy on the next boat, being a bit of a character, kept me listening for an hour or so. He’d been around, done a few things and wasn’t afraid of telling people a thing or two, particularly where waterways developer’s ideas were concerned.

Not the quietest of moorings, we had loudspeaker overspill from the canoe slalom events on one side and boat fit-out noises from the other. On the one hand I could satisfy my curiosity by peeping over the river bank at the canoes but on the other it was most frustrating not seeing what was going on inside the boat.

Today is special for a couple of reasons, one is our daughter’s engagement to Joe and the other is Mike and Jo’s 22nd wedding anniversary. Congratulations and best wishes to you.

It just so happened that my worst case of VHF garble happened straight after the engagement news. I didn’t know whether to Over or Out and eventually settled for both, which is frowned upon.

Sunday before 9.30am is the best time to move unlicensed boats through the Trent locks, I discovered this morning.
Our lock keeper missed an interesting couple of boats owned by collectors. Collectors of tree branches, plastic toys, bikes, cans, bottles, you name it, if it goes on the roof then it must be collectable.
There was a gap of half an hour when all went quiet and then it started in earnest. Boats of every shape and size, made of steel, wood or plastic poured downstream in the morning and upstream in the afternoon. We heard them on the VHF radio. “Good morning Holm Lock, this is Morning Mist about to leave the marina and requesting pen-down at your convenience”.

I liked the old couple on the narrowboat that followed a plastic down to the lock at a respectable distance. The lock re-opened to let them in but the old fella didn’t so much as turn his head as he pulled over to the water tap and proceeded to tie up. VHF, what’s that for?

But he was most definitely not amused when the tap refused to give up its water. That rang alarm bells for us because we were counting on filling our empty tank tonight ready for our stay on the County Hall steps in Nottingham tomorrow.

I can’t see the council letting me run a hose pipe up the steps to their kitchen somehow. So now we’re on rations.

V says no showers until we find water, so things aren’t so bad after all.

Monday 7th to Sunday 13th September 2009.

Before we talk about Monday look at this naughty boy or should I say challenging boy if I’m pc. Sunday evening he climbed the un-climbable fence, stripped down to his underwear, wet himself, then ran along the pontoon when he saw me brandishing the camera and dived into the river.

This clever lad, egged on by the girls who watched him from the road, then completely stripped, dressed again and climbed the fence back to the road. Blinking marvellous when you consider how much has been spent on stopping him doing what he just did.

Back to Monday and it’s time for us to settle up with the guy in the office. I took the meter readings to him and he looked puzzled. Shouldn’t be that much he said, looks wrong to me, you can’t have used several pounds worth of electricity without an enormous, greedy immersion heater. Have you noted the decimal point, he asked. No, well then that’s where we’ve gone wrong. Those meters have a decimal point that you can’t read in the sunlight. Instead of pounds we spent pennies over those three days so we were well pleased.

I got it in the ear when I asked how many narrowboats crossed the Wash. He’s not a fan by any means and had plenty to say on the matter including predicting the day when insurance companies won’t cover the sea transit between Kings Lynn and Boston, not for love nor money.

Monday isn’t a busy day, plastic owners have gone back home and it’s just us motoring up the Witham in the direction of Lincoln. There’s not a lot to see, yet I still find it beautiful, a bit like the southern Fens. Cows pop their heads over the river bank to see who’s daft enough to cruise these waters.

A solitary postman kept us company where the road followed the river, delivering to remote farms and dodging tractors carrying hay cutting and turning machinery.

The journey to Washingborough took six hours so this was a longish day for us and though the sun broke through occasionally the wind still got us despite the high river banks and tree cover.

I am starting to appreciate the odd bit of river art in the form of flames, cornstalks and metal cows. It breaks the monotony.
While not wishing to appeal only to the farmers here’s a real cow alongside its iron copy.

The RAF is very much in evidence at Washingbro’. While I studied a pizza delivery plane high above the clouds another pizza or pancake plane roared overhead. Most fittingly V found Nicholson’s description for this section of river “Overhead AWACS fly lazily away on missions, having taken off from nearby Waddington airfield”. I counted five of these beasties clipping our hedges so someone isn’t flying off on a mission.

Tuesday
Washingbro’s moorings are within sight of Lincoln and within the hour we were tied up right outside the shops.

A hop, skip and a jump later we were up the hill and in the cathedral. Actually we couldn’t do the grand tour as Uni graduation was under way.

While a voice droned on in the nave us commoners crept about the numerous side rooms admiring the silver, the wood carvings and paintings. As for me I was looking high and low for stone mason’s marks and peering through gaps in doors that obviously led to secret passages.

Rapturous applause signalled time to leave, it wouldn’t be long before cloaked and hatted graduates flooded the cobbled yards in front of the exits. The castle beckoned next and we did the walk up to the stone thingy on the pimple.

The Victorian prison would have been interesting but our timing was wrong, the grounds had been turned over to the university bun fight and the castle grounds were fast filling up.

We stopped on the way down the hill to take late elevenses in one of those front room tea shops. While half the customers chatting excitedly about life in halls of residence the other half, whilst pretending to be otherwise occupied, listened intently to what the student population got up to in term time.
Outside, a pavement artist roped off a square and worked his magic with silver sand. I imagine he’s waited weeks for weather without wind or rain.

To do it justice we should have given Lincoln a couple of days of our time but our current schedule says no. I’m growing strangely attracted to Lincolnshire and the chances are we’ll be back for a proper tour of the city.

Saxilby just managed to squeeze us in under the trees by the road bridge. I wasn’t bothered about the trees until I saw what the birds had been eating. Bushes laden with juicy black berries were miraculously stripped of their fruit and the digested remains were transported to the boat paintwork. Someone once said that Britain had invented the strongest glue in the world but I suspect they didn’t mean superglue or two part epoxy. First choice has to be dried Ready Brek on a breakfast cereal bowl but a close runner up must be Saxilby bird poo. Even after a thorough soaking I still had to use a chisel.

Wednesday and Thursday were lazy days at Saxilby. By biding our time we managed to get prime position on the moorings next to the footbridge and in wall to wall sunshine. V pointed out that by walking I would discover that there was more to the town than Mr Tong’s hardware store. There were hairdressers, one is never enough in a village, and a shop that does most things that you can eat or read. There was even a post office, and of course the Co-op if you’re prepared to walk a little further.

More sun meant more barbeques, yes in September in Lincolnshire. We had to be done by 6 o’clock when the moon came out but it was a welcome warm spell after a couple of weeks of wind and dull skies.

It’s almost four years since we stepped onto a brand new boat and time hasn’t been kind to the stern deck boards. Cuts and scratches in the textured plastic coating, ragged board edges and severe colour fading were starting to bother me but it was the crumbling plywood edges that concerned me most.

During the last 12 months I’ve tried applying various things like car polish, baby oil and engine oil. Engine oil was the funniest because the next day, after rain, we couldn’t walk on it for fear of skidding and falling over the side. We had to endure newspapers on the deck until the slipperiness had gone. Mind you the finish was beautiful and the deck looked like new but it didn’t last more than a couple of weeks.

This time I thought I’d try teak oil. It has saved my bacon many times on the side door wooden inserts where the varnish cracks and water gets into the wood. As soon as I see the wood go a shade darker I scratch the varnish and apply teak oil. It doesn’t exactly match the satin finish of the varnish but it saves having to keep the doors closed when it rains.

So more out of desperation than woodmanship I wiped the stern deck with teak oil and waited for the morning. Results looked good, the original dark brown colour returned and water ran straight off instead of soaking into the scratches. But best of all the plywood edges are sealed against water ingress and the aging process has slowed. There are other things that need the aging process slowing down but for now we’ll concentrate on the boat and leave V out of it.

On Friday we pottered on up to Torksey and settled down furthest from the others so we could run the engine and play aerials.
Anyone who knows Saxilby will know about the apple trees between the road and the water’s edge. Everything within arms reach had gone by the time we arrived but on the way to Torksey there’s a single tree full of big red-uns so out came the fishing net and in came a pound of eaters. These were eaters with a sharp edge so V picked the last of the blackberries and made blackberry and apple in pancakes, yummy.

The warm evening sun brought out the weekend boats, mostly plastic, and although I had plenty of sanding and varnishing to do the unexpected fine weather had put me in holiday mood.

It had been so warm that caps and jackets had been dispensed with and the captain had ordered shorts and tee shirts once we’d finished with engines.
Cook was pleased when the galley was closed and orders came through for crew to assemble shore-side for a barbeque.

Saturday was very much like Friday with smashing weather and plenty to see as boats came and went. One skipper pointed at a pike on the other side of the canal, describing it as six feet long, at least. It’ll just have to stay there because I’m not fishing this year, haven’t even renewed my licence, besides he’s over sixty feet away.

Graham (G8LUV) called to say he was going to the Loughborough Ham Fest with his cousin Malcolm (G3NUB ) and the event’s description had me drooling and desperately needing to go. But, as much as I’d like to be there I can’t but I’ll certainly try to add it to next year’s cruising plans.

Sunday was quite a day. The tides are neaps not springs so there’s little rise and fall and we’d decided to go down through Torksey lock to sit on the pontoon moorings until Monday afternoon’s tide. We wandered down to the lock to get instructions while filling the water tank and emptying the ‘other’ tank but no one came on duty until midday. When we eventually found the lockkeeper he didn’t look hopeful on a pre-tide lock transit because the electronics box says only 720mm of water over the cill. I must have looked desperate so he said get in the lock fast and he’d have a go at shifting us even if it meant flushing us through from behind. This I wanted to see.

Down we went and with inches to spare on the gauge we watched the gates open and the water rush out. Engaging forward gear nothing happened, we were six inches out of the water, the stern was stuck to the bottom and no amount of flushing was going to shift us onto a falling tide.

You can’t always trust those water gauges.

Three hours later as the clouds replaced the sun we were joined by three other boats and we made a more dignified exit on a rising tide.

Someone must be having an air show down Boston way because the Red Arrows and a Vulcan flew overhead from over that way.

We appeared to be cruising quite fast until we were overtaken by water skiers. It was quite exciting having waves go down the side, hit the fenders and splash the decks. There was a moment, as we rolled over their bow wave, that I thought we were going to lose all our crockery but there was no harm done, no beer spilt as they say.

What took us two and a half hours going downstream took us three going up and we made it to Cromwell lock a couple of minutes after the first plastic of the day. Not bad going on a neap tide I’d say, mind you I had to put a bungee strap on the throttle to hold it at 2000 rpm all the way up.

It was getting dark when we arrived and we were glad to find a bit of wall to tie up to. Tomorrow, as boats move off to Newark, we’ll grab a pontoon mooring and test our new cards in one of those electricity posts. Luxury.

Monday 3rd to Sunday 6th September 2009
We started the week at Torksey and with permission stayed slightly longer than the regulation period.
The poor guy behind us thought he was going to stay too when a ‘something wrong’ alarm sounded every time he started his engine. The boat he had been travelling with left him on the bank to sort things out so I went over to see if I could help. A Vetus engine in a trad stern are two things I know little about so I checked the bits I could get at and gave my opinion. The charging system for his engine starting battery was letting him down but he’d got tons of energy left in his battery so I advised him to carry on to Newark where he could get help. A call to RCR told him the same thing so he set off towards the lock in time for the morning tide.

Two things keep coming to mind at this time of the year, tax returns and porthole varnishing. I had put off both for long enough so made a start on the paperwork whilst waiting for varnish to dry. Why I have to declare my non income at this time of life is completely beyond me and why after all these years we haven’t solved the problem of water getting under varnish and turning the wood black is another mystery.

Someone tell me how to put an end to both, please.

I believe this is a special day in the calendar - Merchant Navy Day. If nobody tells me otherwise then I’ll assume it is and remember those thousands of merch' sailors that lost their lives in the wars.

I have a red duster that lives in the sock drawer, an old tatty one and rather too large for this boat and because we weren’t moving I didn’t bother hanging it on the stern. I don’t remember which ship ‘donated’ it but I like to think it was the Pass of Balmaha our last tanker which, being coastal trade, suffered ripped and mucky flags through frequent visits to the filthiest British, Belgian and French refineries. Oh the good old days.

Tuesday
It’s moving day again, hooray, it’s good to be cruising in the sunshine.
Saxilby is only an hour away and with plenty of mooring spaces we picked a quiet one right at the end furthest from the other boats. Mistake, goods trains run overhead. I thought all the railways round here were defunct but we’ve parked up under the noisiest line in Lincolnshire. No wonder all the boats were down the other end of the moorings, I never learn.

But it hardly mattered because we were out most of the day. Graham (G8LUV) came up from down south with my new HF rig which is about the size of a car radio and can easily be hidden behind a dinette cushion so it shouldn’t bother V when I’m tinkering with it. Not only did we get treated to a new toy but Graham took us to Lincoln to replenish our empty food cupboards.

And there was another treat in store when I was introduced to Birkett’s radio shop on the hill going up to the cathedral. Like a small boy in a sweet shop I had to see everything and sample the goodies. Apologies to Sue because I made her husband miss an appointment.

Wednesday
Another cruising day, this time under grey skies. We reached the end of the Fossdyke at Lincoln and joined the River Witham, hardly any wider than the Fossy and nothing noticeable in way of flow. If this had been the River Soar I would have expected yesterday’s heavy rain to put the river into ‘red’ but this water was terribly well behaved.
I’m glad we did Lincoln yesterday on foot because it can be a little bewildering coming into the wide open marina in town, or Brayford Pool as it’s called, and seeing no obvious way out. There’s a narrow channel called the Glory Hole that passes under an old timber building, built on a stone bridge over the navigation.

From here we pass between shops, under ornate bridges and through crowds of onlookers all wanting a smile and a wave.
V with her sharp eyes spotted The Witch & Wardrobe, the pub featured on the Nicholson’s Waterways Guide No.6.

The well known Stamp End district follows with its Napier Turbochargers (Siemens) and a guillotine gated lock.

Lincoln is an attractive place, both from the streets and the waterways, rather busy in terms of teens and twenties but not very well represented by the old fogies of which I might be considered a new member.

We couldn’t do the place justice on this visit so we’ve pencilled in a stop next time through to check out the history and perhaps make one last visit to Birketts. The owner, by the way, has plenty to interest those interested in WW2 aeroplane electrics, including aircraft landing lights, airspeed indicators, radar and a variety of dial indicators. His shop would make an ideal meeting place for RAF electronics types, particularly those who served their time on Lincolnshire airbases between the 1940s and 1970s.

Enough of Lincoln, we left the glitter behind us and cruised on under darkening skies passing the odd bit of art stuck on the river bank to amuse travellers.
A couple of rusty steel cows, a stone flame pointing at the sky and these giant corn stalks. I presume it tells us what is growing in the fields because we haven’t a hope of seeing over the high river banks.

After a half day’s cruising we arrived at Bardney Lock with its floating pontoons and electricity.

I tried my one and only BW card, the one I last used on a pump-out at Long Sandall, but it came up empty on the display. Ne’er mind, there’s big gaps between boats so we can run our engine without upsetting anyone.

They seem a friendly lot down here, a community of boats, mostly plastic, locked behind steel fences, many of their owners were out on the grass nattering as we walked down to the services building.
As sometimes happens they were waiting for a tanker to empty the holding tank so we had to keep our legs crossed until Boston.
Don’t let the cats in flower baskets put you off your guard, they aren’t the only animals belonging to the house next to the lock.

As I stopped to stroke the cat I was aware of something creeping up behind the fence on my left. Then came a long, deep growl which got my attention, this was followed by what I can only describe as a menacing doggy grin – hundreds of long white pointed teeth inches away from my hand.

Thursday was a nothing day. It rained and blew so we kept our heads down. I was torn between paperwork and the wireless, needless to say which one made me smile.

Friday looked better so we hit the road again and with the wind behind us completed the last leg of our journey to Boston.

We drifted right down to the last lock on the non tidal river, past BW and marina moorings looking for the services, in particular a loo dump. Nothing, no signpost, no likely buildings and no one to ask so we cruised back up to the moorings and reversed to the bank alongside a twenty foot pontoon.

If it hadn’t been for another narrowboat on these moorings we would have panicked because we stuck right out into the channel, almost touching boats on the other side. Feeling very uncomfortable about our ‘loose end’ dangling so far out from the bank and having no way of securing the pointy end to stop us swinging with every boat that passed I dug out the Christmas fairy lights and hung them in the cratch as a visible warning to those cruising after dark. As it happened high tide brought boats from the Wash well after dusk and I slept a little easier knowing our bow was illuminated by 120 flickering LEDs. It didn’t help my nerves having a couple of trip boats squeeze past us as they ran up and down the river running drinking and shouting competitions.

But we were still afloat in the morning.

Saturday’s weather was good, windy but sunny-ish so we wandered down town and practised our foreign languages in the marketplace. Why they are attracted to Boston I’ve no idea but they are, and in no small number.

To be fair to V she offered to go up St Botolph’s Church tower on her own so I couldn’t complain when my legs gave up before we reached the top. And even the top was only two thirds of the way up so it looked bad when I halted a second time and then a third time.

Once onto the viewing gallery one’s breathing slowed enough to give a toothy grin, a fair impression of the Bardney Lock dog.

The views were amazing, the market place, the windmill, our moorings and the river snaking its way down to the sea all laid out before us. Well worth the agony of that climb I’d say. Well worth the three quid to get onto the stairs in the first place. The lady in the shop opens the door with one of those huge iron keys that only castles and churches have and once you are on the stairs she shuts and locks the door again. There’s only one way to go and that’s up.

The climb back down to earth was a pleasure, no problems there but a developing cough was giving me jip so we popped into Boots the Chemist for something in a bottle.

You’d have thought I was a hospital case by the questions I got when I asked the medicines lady for the right stuff to stop me coughing. I was quite red and my pulse rate was high by the time she told me she needed to consult with a specialist before giving me what I wanted. Back she came with more questions and then finally she took pity and told me that out of three types of cough mixture she would only let me have one.
V said it was my age and something to do with where the pain was. A likely heart attack victim she thought. Tsccch, I’ve just climbed Boston Stump, surely that says I’m fit for cough medicine.

I suppose I should have sat on the park bench with the others before taking a swig from my bottle in its brown paper bag but I couldn’t wait and once out of the chemists the top was off and two tablespoonfuls were on their way down.

Feeling better we walked across town to the windmill. I turned down the chance of climbing seven floors to the top and settled for coffee and carrot cake on the first floor.

The Maud Foster windmill was built in 1819 for the Reckitt family, famous for Blue laundry whitener, Brasso and Dettol, so the booklet says. It cost £1826 10s 6d to build, was Boston’s 15th and last windmill and worked until 1948. It’s now back in working order, grinding flour for a living.

Generally speaking, in the words of someone else, Boston hasn’t much to recommend it. The old bits that could have been preserved alongside the river look shabby with numerous broken windows. In contrast St Botolph’s Church, or Boston Stump as it is known, is quite attractive and seems well used and integrated into the community. The market place isn’t particularly small and though useful for vegetables and stationery lacks variety.

Uninspiring and could do better would be my summary.

However, the water side of things has much to offer. There are dozens of finger pontoon moorings, electricity posts and a relaxed attitude from the BW office.

We found the loo dump eventually, it’s hidden from view if you come on a boat but in your face if you’re walking from town. We’ll have to moor on the lock landing to do the necessary and hope we don’t get in anyone’s way.

The rule round here seems to be to pick an empty mooring on arrival, connect a shore line, enjoy the view up and down the river and when its time to leave visit the lockkeeper and own up to electricity and the nights spent in town.
Here’s our view of town.

ASDA is ten minutes walk whilst town with shops, banks and market (we only saw Saturday’s) about fifteen minutes away.

Sunday was a repeat of Saturday without the going out. V did the ASDA bit while I tinkered with the aerials and radio. There’s more work to be done on the power cables before I can fire this thing up in full power and if the weather holds then I’ll stick my head down the engine hole and waggle a couple of wires over the battery terminals to crack that problem.

Yesterday, using a double whip dipole at twenty feet I managed to contact Leicester but not Shropshire but that was during the worst part of the day on 80 metres. On Friday evening I managed to grab the attention of a German station but he didn’t want Europeans, I know just how he feels.