Into the Dark

To give you some idea of the slowness of pace that is narrow boating let me explain to you how we solved the conundrum of getting Giles back to his car after he'd spent a morning "cruising" with us and we had travelled to just beyond Lapworth top lock.  

Well, we got onto the towpath and after a leisurely stroll of about half and hour we were magically back at Rowington. Yes, half an hour. Now that should give you a good idea of exactly how leisurely this kind of boating is and why you have to get used to watching ramblers, cyclists and even old people with walking sticks and zimmer frames speed past you as you chug along at a steady 1400 rpm. I swear we'd se more of the country if we walked for 3 months even allowing for blisters and the need for numerous rest stops. 

We next meandered across a flat landscape with no locks as we approached the southern edge of Birmingham. We were surprised to find the outer reaches of the city here bore no resemblance to our map its fields having been completely developed with hundreds of new houses many of which were clearly of the executive variety with their two cars in the driveway - the obligatory BMW 4x4 and a sleek Mercedes - and perfectly manicured gardens.  How fascinating that here the canal had become a real asset and was the frontage for the most expensive houses. The rebirth of the canals we had heard about and mirrored in the smart warehouse conversions we saw as we circumnavigated the city was a reality. 

We left the Stratford-on-Avon canal at the very pretty Kings Norton Junction and joined the Worcester and Birmingham canal. And here we encountered my next pet dislike of this pastime (I'm being honest here) - a tunnel - the long, dark, dank, claustrophobic kind.  Yes, it was time to disappear beneath the ground for the 2492 metres of the Wast Hill tunnel which in my book is just about two and half kilometres or more like a lifetime in the pitch black. One of the longest in the country our Nicholson guide proudly announced. 

I will admit here that I do have an irrational fear of being underground. Indeed I was forced to confront this fear many years ago on one of those Outward Bound type management courses where in the interests of team building and trusting your colleagues I had to do some caving beneath the Kymin near Monmouth. Terror. I still get a churning stomach recalling the "squeeze" we were asked to do under a boulder barely wide enough for my 6'2" frame. Oh, and the added pleasure of this particular bit of caving delight was that you had to hold you breath and submerse yourself under the water that was flowing 2 foot deep beneath your feet.  Madness. Why would anyone class caving as a sport?

Clearly you would accuse me of unacceptable exaggeration if I were to draw any kind of parallel of this experience to the Wast Hill tunnel but I seriously did not like it. 

And so I did the right thing and placed all my trust in my wife to navigate through its 2492 metres.  I went below, put on all the lights (actually part of the drill to help illuminate the walls and thereby avoid contact) and turned my iPod player up to max.  

Amazing how quickly it passed....... for Ros, it was all part of that essential narrow boat experience as she gallantly steered into the black with only the single beam of the boat's tunnel light to guide her and her trusty London 2012 off shore gear to keep her dry from the at times torrential drips. Fortunately we didn't meet any boat coming he other way where you have to focus really hard on the slowly advancing single light desperately trying to judge just how close it and potential impact are. 

And before you start beating me up, I have subsequently done several other tunnels albeit they maxed out at 450 metres! 

As I said all along, this one was Ros' experience. Mine is yet to come.