Bruce
Tunnel was where we parted company as they stopped to have a snack.
"Star" heading towards Bruce Tunnel
We
actually saw bats flying inside the tunnel. Savernake Forest glided gently
past the starboard bow looking both magnificent and foreboding
simultaneously.
The
descent towards Bath starts with the four locks of the Wootton flight,
culminating in the charming village of Wootton Rivers. Every property
is thatched--some like 'The Royal Oak' date from the 1500s. The pub serves
really good food and is the only survivor of twelve pubs originally in the
village. Having sated our hunger, we borrowed the key to St. Andrew's Church
and looked around inside as well as outside where the the clock face
has the legend, 'GLORY BE TO GOD' on it rather than numerals.
St. Andrew's Church, Wooton Rivers
Back to the boat I resumed fishing and caught a bream of about two and a
half pounds. Mobile communication was restored and I was able to talk to Tim
re the boat situation. Back from the pub came Roxanne, one of the most
stunningly pretty girls I've ever seen. She had just missed out on lunch due
to the hour, having got to the pub after we left,shame. If I'd been the
landlord she would have got some food! Roxanne, so it transpires is a
teacher - they weren't like that when I was at school!! She has her own boat
on the Thames, 'Dancing Bear' at Marlow-I'll look out for it!
At
17:00 we set off again along the fifteen mile pound that will take us to the
Caen Hill flight soon after. Pewsey Wharf was our stopover just as the rain
finally arrived - perfick!!!
Pewsey Wharf
07:30
a veritable lie-in! Barry got up as I put the kettle on and we took
advantage of the water point alongside the boat, although the tank was
almost full. Just before we moved off, 'Aldermaston Lock' came through the
bridge and took on water. They had turned back east to make their way home
to Reading Marine. The low water levels continued to show themselves by the
exposed edges of the canal bed and the bleached tide-mark at the base of the
canalside reeds. Progress was consequently quite slow but an enquiry to a
small canal wharf chandlery told us that we had until 14:30 to make
Devizes and the downhill flight. It was only 10:45 so I decided to go for
it. We had some trouble passing a hireboat who didn't realise that, having
let us overtake,then they should then throttle back to allow us clear water.
Instead they kept pace with us as we were halfway along their length,
shouting that if they moved over, they were grounding. I informed them
patiently, although difficult in the circumstances, that if they slowed
down, then we should slide apart and both boats could progress. Eventually
we won their minds but not their hearts. God save me from amateurs!
At
Devizes Wharf we stopped to take on one hundred litres of diesel and for the
alternator to be looked at. It was now we were hit with the treble whammy
of:-
1:- New bracket required, ordering necessary [not today, naturally]
2:- Possible new alternator [won't know this until new bracket is in place]
3:- The cruellest cut of all, no onward passage from Devizes!!! The
flight was closed at 10:30! Another eighteen hour hold up!
Fishing
at Devizes Wharf wasn't as good as back at Great Bedwyn, scene of our last
major delay, therefore we walked into town for a meal in 'The Bell On The
Green' - very acceptable fare. Back to the boat in time for Corrie [Sunita's
come through her op - yippee] and The Bill [June and Jim finally tied the
knot - yesss!]
The
night spent at Devizes Wharf ended at 06:30 with a sense of anticipation of
the day's travail still to come. Barry was in anticipatory mood too. By
07:00 I started the engine in order to heat the water for a shower before
setting off [I've since learnt that the Paloma Gas Heater does this!] I
reasoned quite rightly that there would be no chance once we were descending
the twenty nine locks of the Caen Hill Flight. Mark of Devizes Wharf was
waiting for an 09:00 call from the firm supplying the spares. We left at
07:55 for the top lock, Barry jumped ship just before it to get milk, bacon and
bread at the nearby shops. I moved into the queue as directed by the
lockkeeper and had actually entered the lock when Barry reapppeared with the
shopping.
We had been placed alongside 'Foxglacier' peopled by Rob and
Jackie who were in turn assisted by Dominic and Margaret along with their
four offspring. All this help meant that Barry and I had little to do for
the next four hours and fifty minutes, save the occasional paddle-wind [I
did one - Barry none!] and beam-push [lots each.] We opened only one bottom
gate, Foxglacier leaving first, with Barry or I becoming human bowthrusters
with the pole, to help speed things along. The weather held fair bar one
rainstorm of high ferocity and strong winds. We had a perfect view of its
approach and twenty minutes later, all was sunshine and fluffy clouds once
more.
Baz
and Lynn Juniper from the canals list hailed us during the height of the
storm - typical!
At
lock 22 we observed the emergency pump that had been brought in to
temporarily replace the broken-down one. Needless to say this one had run
out of diesel overnight and had developed an airlock which had only been
eliminated some five minutes before we passed by.
Caen
Hill Locks
14:25
saw us part company from Foxglacier having expiated the Caen Hill Devil once
and for all. The sun was now very warm indeed and by Sells Green Bridge was
a decaying abandoned wharf just asking to be tied up to and fished from--who
was I to disagree? Barry investigated 'The Three Magpies' some two
hundred yards down the road whilst I drowned maggots totally ineffectively.
The pub didn't sound fantastic and the fishing was crap so we moved on west
to lock 19 at Seend Cleeve and tied up at the bottom of the garden. A girl
sitting on a bench barely two feet from Star's bow, told me we'd struck gold
here as the food and the beer were wonderful - as was the pub. Earlier
we had met Sharon and Jim on a Canaltime boat and we all sat under the
canopy right alongside the water and sank a couple of pints.
I
booked a table for 19:00 and then fished very successfully for ninety
minutes, bagging nothing but bream to one pound or so. The meal was superb,
as were the several types of real ale available - that girl was right!!
Later, in the pitch-darkness the fishing got better and better, finally
making my last cast around 22:30 when I had a final pint--lovely!
Over
the years I've discovered that cows are very good at lowing. This morning I
discovered that the Northern Hemisphere Lowing Champion was ensconced in the
field opposite 'The Barge.' How one bovine can produce enough noise to drown
out a pneumatic drill is beyond me! I think it translated as 'Farmer Palmer,
quick, my udders are full to bursting!' Being the bovine equivalent of
Andrew Davis at The Last Night Of The Proms, soon the whole herd was
ululating in unison. Still, it's all part of the countryside's rich pageant.
I was too busy catching bream to let it bother me unduly. The quality of the
fishing had not deteriorated from last night. Barry got the location shot
from the bridge for me and he videoed the surrounds for himself.
at 08:30 we cast off and once again Jim and Sharon on their Canaltime boat
joined us in the locks and at the swing bridges. However, as we arrived at
Bradford-on-Avon they were nowhere to be seen. Luck was our lady once more
as we filled with water above the lock, the heavens opened for the first
time today--who cares? We were in the dry! Then, with a full tank of water and
the lock in our favour, the rain stopped! Over the Avoncliffe
aqueduct we began our journey along the Avon valley. Soon Nb 'Jessie' came
into view on the starboard bow. Tying alongside and leaving Barry on guard,
I climbed the 1-in-4 hill to call on Dave and Maggie Rix, success! They were
both in and I spent the next hour catching up on all the news since Sheila and
I had had a mini break on Jessie in March 2000. Maggie came down to the boat
to meet Barry and see Star for herself. One hour later Star was tied at the
entrance to The Somersetshire Coal Canal. I fished while Barry busied
himself checking the Dundas Aqueduct. What a spot! I caught two enormous
eels, the larger one weighing some four pounds, numerous bream to one pound and
several decent roach. After I ran out of prepared cheese we moved on through
a couple more swing bridges and a couple of showers, arriving in Bathampton
by 19:20. Corrie watched, we repaired to 'The George' for an excellent
repast. Bath tomorrow!
"The George", Bathampton
Sleeping
the sleep of the just, I awoke at 06:45 and started fishing by 07:00. The
sun was up and already very warm. Bath apparently is populated only by
joggers, such was the veritable stream that passed by, occasionally
interspersed with dog-walkers. The fishing started slowly then improved
immensely. Ironically, the biggest fish was a bream that I didn't even know
was there - I moved the tackle only because a passing cygnet was paying more
attention to his preening than his direction!
'Cookham
' the duck came out from his self-imposed purdah and sat on the hatch all
day, attracting several complimentary comments as we made the majestic
entry into Bath--well it would have been if I'd turned the right way! As
it was, still amazed by the depth of the lock before last, 19 feet 5 inches
[ ! ]
Bath deep lock
I turned left towards Bristol. We passed through a grim industrialised
area before the trees and greenery reasserted themselves. After Weston Lock
we soon found Newbridge Marina where we were due to finish our trip
tomorrow, so we turned about swiftly and passed back upstream past the
entrance to The Kennet and Avon Canal and finally made our way into Bath at
Pulteney Weir, a magnificent three-level structure with a radial gate
alongside it to put the ones on the River Nene to shame.
Pulteney Weir
This gate is left
down until Bath is threatened by flooding when it can be raised if
necessary---probably causing a tidal bore of Severn proportions. I took Star
right up to the apex of the weir, feeling very daring until I saw that
every boat does the same! Allowing the current to wind her, we tied opposite
Abbey Gardens. I fished while Barry wandered round the glorious city
buildings - all consisting of a warm, pale yellow sandstone. I urge you to
visit the place for yourselves.
"Cookham
" takes the waters at Bath
19:00
saw the munchies much in evidence and we forayed into the city seeking a
curry house. We found one and sat in the window watching the girls
arrive from every direction to patronise the RSVP club next door. One
stretched limo went past with a girl mooning from the rear window!!
Later, Barry's shout of 'Look at those two!' brought the curry house to a
stop and me to fits of laughter. In his defence, I can honestly say, I've
never seen so many good-looking women in one place.
What
with the women outside and the prawn madras inside, it was no wonder that
Barry was dripping with excitement! A slow walk back to the boat, taking in
the floodlit Abbey and the famous Roman Baths was enough to cool things
down though.
Apart
from some drunken yob running along the roof soon after 'lights out,' the
rest of the night was peaceful and it wasn't until the Abbey bells struck
seven times that Bath knew my bleary gaze. Having tea'd up I tried fishing
to no avail so, by the time the Abbey found an eighth bell in its
repertoire, Star was gliding smoothly towards Bristol down the Avon.
Unusually, Barry showered before me but all cleansing operations were
finished before Nicholson's guide ably demonstrated its uncanny ability
to be completely wrong by showing a water point at Weston Lock. I didn't
notice it yesterday and subsequently found out from a passing boater that
there never has been one! He usefully told us however, that
Newbridge Marina had a water point that was free to boaters. We duly filled
up and pottered on downriver, mooring against a dumb-barge under some trees.
Barry excelled himself as usual with a classic fry-up. Only a boater, dear
reader, can tell you just how good such a meal tastes, miles from anywhere,
food of the Gods! The boat being on an outside bend, the water
was very deep, more than ten feet and fast-flowing. I've always struggled
when fishing these spots and today was no different. So. after brekky, on we
went, through Kelston Lock and finally in the environs of Kelston Round
Hill, the Western adventure had run its course. Trying ledgering for a
change, I caught another thumping great eel on cheese. By 14:00 it was time
to untie and make our way slowly back up stream to Newbridge, save for a
very pleasant pint, just before our destination, at 'The Boat.'
John
Boswell rang from Bath Spa station, we pottered the last five hundred yards and
were unloading when John climbed aboard.
I
appraised John of the alternator situation and recommended 'The George' at
Bathampton, where we had moored on Friday night, as the best place to meet
his group tomorrow. Then John began his great Eastern trek. As Star glided
out of sight upstream, there was an end-of-term feeling to the day. The car
was still to be loaded and 120 miles later Cookham the duck was happily
settling into his new life, guarding Sheila's fish pond!
He
had one more ace to play, however. As I reached into Barry's car outside
Sheila's place and tucked him under my arm, a woman passing by, stopped
dead, and announced, 'I thought he was real!!!'
The Two Barrys - Going West!
The
great Western adventure was already becoming a distant memory when I
received an invitation from Ian Maclachlan, the H.N.A. chairman, to join him
at Reading and help John Boswell return Star to Harefield. I hesitated but
for an instant before accepting with alacrity. That alacrity accompanies me
often! I hadn't intended to jot up this trip at all - and indeed
I didn't. However, one noteworthy day was worth committing to print:-
As
we were well on our way to Teddington and the tidal Thames in glorious
sunshine with occasional high cloud, I reasoned that there was no particular
reason to turn off the Thames at Brentford and suggested to John Boswell
that this would be an ideal opportunity to travel on down through
London and leave the Thames at Limehouse. We were in no particular hurry
after all. John was 'up for it' and he high-tailed up to the bow where Ian
was videoing for England. Ian came to the stern saying that it was fine by
him.
O.K.,
the scene was set. at Teddington the lockkeeper made a sharp intake of
breath when I announced our intentions. 'Did you book?' was his mantra. I
told him I would be phoning ahead once we were on the tideway. He pre-empted
this by phoning his colleague at Limehouse there and then. He then announced
that as it was 14:45, it would take us three and a half hours to make the
journey [18:15] and the Limehouse Lockkeeper went off duty at 18:00 then we
wouldn't make it. I announced that if necessary we would wait on the pontoon
at Limehouse and that seemed to satisfy him.
Out
on the tideway we decided to go for it as we were convinced it wouldn't take
as long as predicted. Ian and I were on the bow with John at the helm when
the engine cut its revs. John announced that we were boiling up from a large
cloud of steam. This was patently obvious to me as I could only see his top
half! Drifting dangerously along on the ebbing tide we had just shot
under Hammersmith Bridge. A large trip boat, 'Queen Elizabeth' [gawd bless
'er] slowed alongside us to check that we were O.K. then called the RNLI on
their radio!
Help
from the R.N.L.I.
Within four minutes they were alongside us - they must have
been waiting in the wings! Happily, after a cooling off period and a
generous helping of Adam's ale, Star continued her journey through Central
London as though nothing had happened. Her temperature gauge now read 60'
instead of 95'!
The
RNLI reckoned, even now, that we would make Limehouse by 18:00. We pushed
on, keeping a close eye on the temperature gauge. By the time we reached
Waterloo Bridge the trip boats were out in force and the waves were
something to contend with! Ian got almost as excited as Barry when he saw
the Lancaster Bomber, as the waves crashed over the bow as we passed under
the final few bridges towards Limehouse.
waves
at the camera!
I phoned the Limehouse Lockkeeper
to inform him of our impending arrival as we glided under Tower Bridge. Cue
consternation! He had no idea that we were coming and moaned that I should
have phoned to book a passage! I pointed out that the lockkeeper at
Teddington had done this only for him to reply that he was told we wouldn't
be making the passage that day - typical! Anyway, Ian spotted the gap
between the buildings on the port side that delineated the Limehouse Marina and
I aimed for it in choppy waters with a wind churning the surface besides the
trip boats. It was like trying to stay on a bucking bronco. My mate Robin
chose that moment to ring - I gave him short shrift! With Star's nose into
the approach to the lock I throttled back expecting to be thrown towards the
downstream wall - instead of which the upstream wall came rushing to meet
me! Probably my hairiest moment on a narrowboat but it concentrated the mind
wonderfully! Suddenly, all was serene and we ascended into Limehouse Marina
without further incident.
Limehouse Marina Lock
The time was 17:58 - so much for not making it!
That was including the twenty-five minute water replenishment.
Later
that evening, having moored above Old Ford Lock, Ian and I went for a drink
in Hackney. Coming back to the boat we took a short cut across Victoria Park
which looked very mysterious in the strong moonlight. All was well as we
traversed the green, right up until we reached the impressive wrought-iron
ceremonial gates on the far side of the park only to find them locked and
chained! Anyone passing would have seen the spectacle of two
overweight suspicious characters, old enough to know better, scaling the
heights in order to escape.
As
Gene Kelly said in 'Singin' in the rain'
"Dignity,
always dignity!"
"Spirit" outside The Swan Hotel, Staines
Barry and the Bream
