A Case of Canal Rage?

 

Our next "must get there" was Sowerby Bridge where Fandango had a date with a man for an engine service.  Negotiating the three Salterhebble locks took a little longer than expected as we lingered at this attractive spot admiring the lovingly cared for old lock keeper's house with its beautiful garden. I'm rather missing a garden as that's something a narrow boat struggles to offer no matter how many pots you you assemble on your roof.

 

 

This delay meant we were a bit late arriving at the boatyard but we had been advised where to moor so weren't worried. I was at the helm and seeing where we were expected to put the boat I was somewhat alarmed to see the late working manager appear to witness my manoeuvring efforts. It was very windy that evening, the worst conditions for a narrow boat, and I was expected to reverse into our allotted spot alongside a row of rental craft avoiding boats moored on the opposite bank. Oh how I hate reversing.

Suffice to say it wasn't my greatest moment of nautical endeavour and it was only thanks to the said manager taking the stern line and hauling us into place that we finally made it. Philosophical arching of the eyebrows from the captain.

 

Sowerby Bridge is where the Calder and Hebble ends and the Rochdale Canal begins its climb across the Pennines. The basin where we were moored is a classic example of the functional tradition in industrial architecture and has been beautifully restored with its mix of eateries, offices and apartments. We ate in the pub converted from the salt mill and enjoyed the evening sun.

 

Up early so Fandango's overhaul could begin we explored the town. It had an interesting array of shops including an old fashioned clock shop full of restored and unrestored time pieces of every shape and size. I spotted an Edwardian arts and crafts wall clock perfect for our kitchen back home and with an enthusiastic yes from the captain a deal was sealed. How we'll fit into the car going back however is another matter.

Because the Rochdale and the Calder & Hebble canals had different lock lengths (72' and 60' respectively) Sowerby Bridge became a major centre as all goods had to be transshipped  here to continue their journey. Proud of this canal heritage the town boasted an evocative sculpture of a boatman and son duly captured on film being graced by our own trusty boatwoman.

 

 

This is also the location of the deepest lock on the whole British waterways system. To go through it you have to book a passage and it is controlled by two professional  lock keepers.  We were booked for noon so with Fandango given a clean bill of health we joined a lovely older couple on their aptly named One Day at a Time boat for our supervised ascent. Entering the 19' 9" deep lock is quite a sight and it is seriously impressive to see those massive wooden gates close behind you.  

 

 

Our new acquaintances kindly waited for us above the Edward Kilner lock and helped with our passage as due to subsistence this particular lock was too narrow to accommodate us both. It was here we had our first and hopefully only encounter with boorish rude behaviour from another boat. 

 

Waiting to come down the lock, the crazy helm decided to overtake the moored One Day at a Time and approach the entrance to the lock even though I wasn't yet out and past him. Canals are quite narrow you know so trying to squeeze through I was quickly grounded in the shallow water and an impasse ensued.

 

 

Much unnecessary shouting from the idiot including calling our new mate a senile old fool (he may have been 71 but he could leap up on the roof of his boat like a man half his age) didn't help matters. Only after Ros rushed ahead to empty the next lock and get more water down were we able to extract our new friends from the bank where they too were grounded did we mange to get a space big enough for Fandango to pass. Why he couldn't have just waited patiently further back I'll never know. This has to be canal rage don't you think?
 

And so into Hebdon Bridge which was packed with boats. With no moorings in the popular spot alongside the gardens we locked up one more and found a deserted place alongside a converted warehouse where we were greeted with a "welcome to our new neighbours" from two friendly ladies supping wine outside their waterside apartment. Didn't offer us a glass of wine however.

 

We had been told Hebdon Bridge was attractive and it certainly was. The impression was undoubtedly enhanced by the beautiful weather we were having and  whilst there we understood why it has apparently been voted the best place to live in England. Walking the dog, who constantly attracts comment from female admirers who accuse us of giving her highlights by the way , I met some very friendly people one of whom was telling me what a great place it was to live with so much going on and every conceivable interest catered for. I also learnt it was the lesbian capital of the UK.  You learn something every day.

We were to wait here for more visitors so settled down to enjoy the town and all it had to offer.  Wandering along the towpath we ran into the two boats we had met at Droylsden that morning we endured the soaking descent down those awful locks into Manchester. Chatting some more we discovered Michelle and Jez were actually a couple but with their own boats and that they were musicians with a gig that night at a local pub. Entertainment sorted.

We also learnt Michelle was a talented artist specialising in animal portraits. After looking at her work it wont come as a surprise what happened next then. Yes, we agreed we would get a portrait done of Phoebe and the effort to get the perfect photo for her to use began. Oh, I can hear my sons groaning at how spoilt that dog is.

Nestling at the foot of the rolling hills of West Yorkshire there were plenty of walks on offer and Ros took herself off up the crags to do a two valley trek while I discovered a lovely cafe in the park where they had high speed internet. And who should be serving but the extremely attractive young woman who had sung at the pub gig we went to the previous evening. She had provided a bluesy, Alison Moyet like contrast to the other folky artists singing 1940 and 1950's classics with a twist. A very talented lady.

 

The town also had retained its splendid old fashioned cinema so we again went back in time to enjoy the latest Star Trek film. Excellent, and what a great baddie Benedict Cumberbatch makes. My only regret was that we were one week too early to watch a live broadcast from the National Theatre in London of Helen Mirren in The Audience.

We relaxed and awaited our friends, blissfully unaware of what the Rochdale was about to bring.