The Voyage Begins

I suspect you're wondering if we are ever going to leave the security of that Warwickshire marina and if I'll catch up with real time in this blog. You know, I know that you know we are already in day 5 of our adventure but hey, this is an unfolding story not a BBC news update.

Odd concept that, real time. 

Already my appreciation of time and its passing has slowed just being in the confines of my good looking sardine can. I struggle to remember what day it is and definitely have lost track of the date.  I must come back to this philosophical thought however, when my familiarisation with this sedentary life is more advanced as its one of the qualities of narrow boating many speak about. 

Well, after a return visit from MN (keep up, read the previous blog) for final handover and introduction to the joys of the weed trap, greasing the stern gland, refuelling, filling with fresh not canal water and that magnificent piece of technological advancement, the Pump Out, we were signed off for departure.  

But I can't mention the Pump Out without digressing a bit into this vital but not-in-front-of-the-children necessity.  Life aboard would be a far more challenging experience without the inclusion of a near as damn it proper toilet.  Can't put it any more subtly, but lets face it we've moved a long way from a bush, a bucket, a hole in the ground  (latrines to the scouts and guides among you), a chemical toilet and all those even more basic solutions employed by campers. So having a flushing toilet that doesn't require any other more complex intervention than attaching a machine resembling a gigantic industrial vacuum to a hole in the gunnels of the boat is a blessing for us reluctant sardines. 

 So that's what we learned to do - plug in, press the button and suck. Can't say I enjoyed the inspection window in the pipe but all part of the monitoring process to determine when you're empty

Thus prepared for every eventuality we bravely ventured from the security of the Wigrams Turn marina into the wilds of the Grand Union canal, set our compass bearing for due west and set off towards Leamington Spa.

Now the first thing you learn about steering narrow boats is that they are long, heavy and very cumbersome.  This means they are not the quickest of beasts to react to your instructions through the tiller. Thus, at first, despite being a highly qualified RYA Inland Waterways Helm (and I have the photo ID certificate to prove it) I found myself weaving wildly up the first mile of fortunately quite wide canal trying desperately to calm Fandango to a gentle straight line. And a mile was all I had as that was how far it was to our first set of locks at Calcutt.  Only three, but our first and therefore very precious to us - a moment to treasure, a coming of age perhaps - or a taste of the hundreds of muscle aching paddles we will have to raise and lower as we "grind" releasing thousands of gallons of a canal's lifeblood, its water, lifting or lowering our precious Fandango to the next stretch of flat water. 

And thus began the latest competition with my wonderful wife. 

Who can enter the lock without touching, nay even kissing, the gates or walls at any point of Fandango's sleek 57 foot hull?  At least our skills are beyond the numbing crunch the scars of the bruised bricks and wooden gates suggest is not uncommon with other less serious helms.

A stretch of 10 miles with the Stockton Flight of 8 locks lay ahead before our first city at Leamington Spa.  

But we were ready.