I See No Locks

 

Before leaving Manchester we visited the artisans market just up from the basin. We were among the first to visit so had our choice of the wonderful goodies the sellers had put out to sample. Pity I'd had breakfast as there was plenty to taste. Armed with tasty bacon, delicious sausages and very unusual cheese we returned to Fandango and set off down the Bridgewater Canal for the second time. But this time we would turn left at Waters Meeting to head south.

Opened in 1765 the Bridgewater was probably the first "modern" canal in the British Isles. Built by the Duke of the same name, he employed the soon to be famous James Brindley (he of Brindley Square in Birmingham) who engineered a lock-less contour canal. The coming of the railways did not initially affect this wide waterway and it was bought as a going concern by the Manchester Ship Canal Co in 1885. When we had turned right at Waters Meeting on the section leading to the Leeds and Liverpool Canal we had crossed a Ship Canal Co improvement, the Barton Swing Aqueduct, a steel trough closed by gates at each end that pivoted on an island in the ship canal. It carried commercial traffic until 1974.

How peaceful to navigate 23 miles with no locks. The weather was fine and we took it in turns to helm and relax. Well, I relaxed in the bow and Ros got busy polishing the abundant supply of brass on Fandango - this has become a real mission for the captain. It must be listening to the tales of our chammy tech son who had honed his polishing skills to perfection on his super yacht in the Mediterranean. And how impressed we were with the water quality for we could see the bottom of the canal quite clearly and there was an abundance of lilies and irises on the banks. 

 

Our first stop was Dunham so we could visit Dunham Massey Hall - yes, some of you may groan but yet another National Trust property! An 18th century house once the seat of the Earl of Stamford it had possessed the largest collection of Hugenot silver in Britain until an indebted gambler from the Earl of Warrington line who had inherited disposed of much of it. Still a sumptuous collection though filling a large room in the house, efforts are being made to reacquire long sold treasures. Amazingly, a number of people have donated items back to the Trust when they heard of their attempts to reassemble the collection. But it was the garden that was a treat. Considered one of the north west's finest plantsman's gardens we enjoyed a guided tour with one of the professional gardeners, a statuesque rather scary looking woman with cropped bright orange hair who of course turned out to be a sweetie.

 

Oh for a garden where the deer don't eat everything you try to grow! 

 

Feeling my bike must be lonely now it was the only one aboard I decided to cycle ahead to Lymm, a recommended stop for its attractiveness and good moorings.  Ros was coming into the town when she had her first verbal abuse to "slow down" from a moored boat. Now Ros does not speed and never goes more than at tickover pace past moored boats so this was a bit rich, especially as it was physically impossible to go any slower in gear. When she told me about the incident I went back to check the boat out and what irony, it was a boat I had passed on my cycle and had noted how much wash she was making as she passed a row of live-aboard boats. I resisted telling the woman of her hypocrisy. 

 

 

Lymm was indeed a very affluent, attractive town and although the pub we ate in was dog friendly and very comfortable the food was pretty dire. My risotto was so stiff it almost needed slicing. And being oh so British we didn't make a fuss. Stupid.

 

Passing the outer suburbs of Warrington at Stockton Heath we headed out of town in search of a quiet rural mooring to enjoy the sunny evening. We found one near Moore and were entertained by the horses and riders being schooled in a ring below us in the fields. How excited the other horses got as they whinnied and raced around the field much to Phoebe's consternation. 

 

Speaking of Phoebe, we met more Americans this time on their seventh, yes seventh narrowboat holiday, who came ooohing and aaahing in our direction at the sight of Phoebe. The main couple were on a five week holiday being joined for one week breaks by relatives and friends. Exhausting. 

 

Next day it was my turn to helm for, guess what, another tunnel. Yes, my favourite.  This time it was Preston Brook Tunnel a low, narrow black hole of 1239 yards.  You would have thought that as a seasoned narrow boater by now I would have taken this relative midget in my stride but for some reason I found it really intimidating and difficult to hold my line. I did manage not to hit the walls with precious Fandango but I emerged very stressed and relieved to pass the helm to Ros.  

 

Emerging from Preston Brook we were through a stop lock and into the Trent and Mersey Canal. Designed to stop rival companies stealing each others water it required no effort there being no difference in levels. 

 

Within a few miles it was the captain's turn to take us under. This time the timed entry Saltersford Tunnel, feared as it is crooked and you initially can't see the other end, and then the Barton Tunnel.  But hey, the first was a mere 420 yards and the second 572 yards - easy peasy.

And so to one of the waterways iconic feats of engineering - the Anderton Wheel. This amazing piece of machinery was built in 1875 to connect the Trent and Mersey to the flourishing Weaver Navigation 50 feet below. As built, it consisted of of two water filled tanks of 250 tons counterbalancing each other in a vertical slide resting on enormous hydraulic rams.  It suffered numerous problems not least because salt in the water clogged the rams so these were done away with in 1908 to be replaced by electrically driven counter weights. Closed in 1983 due to serious deterioration it was restored after a public appeal and reopened in 2002.

 

We could have used it to travel down to the river and bizarrely, its free if you just turn up but £5 if you book ahead. But such a diversion didn't feature in the spreadsheet so we made do with watching the tourist boat and a narrowboat swop places. Fascinating.

 

We really must visit the Falkirk Wheel.

Crime and Passion in Manchester

 

Being Manchester it was of course raining when we arose. I remember well when involved with the Manchester Commonwealth Games receiving a board report that said Manchester was a drier city than Bristol as some kind of reassurance that all would be well that summer - well it wasn't, and you may recall the closing ceremony being deluged by torrential rain that sorely tested the humour of all concerned.  I learnt later that whilst Manchester does indeed get less total rainfall than Bristol it  "enjoys" many more days of rain as its quite often that fine drizzly stuff that has a remarkable ability to soak you to the skin. 

And that's what we had.

 

Meeting our jolly Canal Trust guide at lock 65, he told us he'd keep going ahead to open the next lock and check there wasn't too much water. 

 

I wonder where all that extra water could have come from?

 

This approach made it a very easy and surprisingly quick descent of the 17 locks past a series of abandoned cotton mills and further on, regenerated mills housing offices and apartments.  Not the most attractive of landscapes but at least the bad weather kept any potential vandals indoors.  At lock 81 we bid farewell to our guide who then had to walk the three miles back to our starting point where his car was parked. 

 

I will own up here that I suffered a bit of a sense of humour failure on this drag down to Manchester and questioned this extended trip on the fabulous Fandango. Poor Ros, coping with another Cossack hat outburst (family joke), resorted to picking canal side marguerites (my favourite daisy) by way of peace offering. 

We had been told about a new marina just before Ancoats at New Islington so we turned sharply through its entrance and into a very attractive basin at the end of which was a live aboard area. It also had excellent laundry facilities and a smart shower that after the confines of dear Fandango felt positively enormous.  

Doing some research before heading into Manchester we had noticed that the Scottish Opera and the Doily Carte were performing the Pirates of Penzance at the opera house so wanting to support our local company we had got ourselves a couple of tickets. Brilliant seats in the centre of the stalls gave us a first class view of this tongue in cheek interpretation of the Gilbert and Sullivan classic. It had some hilarious moments especially those set at sea where the cast in perfect unison rolled from one side of the stage to the other. The cheers of appreciation from the audience were a just reward.

The following day, guess what? Yes, rain, again. 

We asked at the tourist office what we could do with a dog in tow and were initially told we could join the guided walking tour but unfortunately even that was rejected as the tour included entry to museums and libraries. So we took ourselves off to see the Michaels Flags and Angel Meadow area of town which has undergone a massive regeneration having in Victorian times been home to the most overcrowded and diseased area of Britain. It was now home to the new HQ of the Coop, and you do wonder if they hadn't spent so much money on this enormous egg-shaped building if their bank would have got into so much trouble.  

That evening we visited the Royal Exchange theatre where we enjoyed some wonderful blues music from a very talented 20 year old and an acapella choir of 16 to 20 year olds destined to perform at the Edinburgh Festival. Ros hadn't seen the theatre before and was impressed with idea of installing a complete pop up theatre within the old corn exchange without altering any of the exchange's Victorian grandeur.  Heading to Chinatown for dinner, we chose well, noting that our particular restaurant was occupied primarily by Chinese families and the food didn't disappoint. 

As we approached our boat back in the marina a chap from the boat alongside us leapt out and told us one of our bikes had been stolen. He had seen two yoofs of about 17 sitting on a bench around 7pm near our boat and was suspicious. When his back was turned it appears they managed to cut the lock attaching them to the front of the boat and started to offload both bikes. He heard the noise and was out as fast as he could to chase them but they ran off with Ros' bike shouting threats at him as they disappeared into the nearby high rise housing. He had phoned the police but I had to call to give details and register the theft formally. 

And all in a very public marina under a CCTV camera (which it subsequently transpired was facing the other way...)

This was a real disappointment reinforcing all the dire warnings about theft and vandalism to passing narrowboats and one of the reasons the Trust provides a guided descent into Manchester.  With that in mind we revised our plans to stay a further day in Islington Basin and agreed to join our public spirited neighbour down the nine locks to Castle Quay at the other side of the city centre and considered far safer.

Before leaving the following morning though we decided to try our luck again with the DIY pump out (some readers have complained at the absence of stories of effluent - hadn't realised it was such a hilarious topic) and much to my surprise it not only worked painlessly it cost a mere £4 in tokens, quite a difference to the £15 charged by boat yards who to be fair, do the business for you. 

In warm sunshine - hurrah, at last - we attacked the nine locks in tandem with our partners in crime. Very keen narrow boaters, we were given much advice and guidance about where to go and what to do next. Not sure the spreadsheet approved of this insistent but well meaning interference.....

 

 

Castle Quay was busy but we managed to squeeze into a lovely spot beside, nay inside, a weeping willow and settled for one more night in Manchester. Ros, missing her gardening was immediately out pruning said willow so it didn't scratch the boat of disturb our slumbers. 

 

Our plan that day was to visit the Royal Northern School of Music who were holding their gold medal competition for senior students. And what a piano concert we enjoyed. Syuzanna Kaszo was from the Ukraine and already an accomplished award winner and mesmerised the audience with a virtuoso performance including Prokofiev's Piano Sonata No 8, a piece I had never heard before but blew me away with its complexity, passion and speed. 

A walk through the city centre back to the basin we encountered the squealing audience of at least 95% females exiting excitedly from a performance of Dirty Dancing at the Palace Theatre.  

I was rather relieved I'd avoided that cultural delight.

Where Has All the Water Gone?

 

Another beautiful day heralded the arrival of our friends Helen and Alan from Cambridge. Before their arrival we wandered round the town and noticed how many of the "alternative" types we saw including a very tough looking lady vicar who climbed into her Land Rover Defender clearly equipped for serious off roading. You've gotta love the CofE.

As a regular reader of my blog (brownie points earned there then), Helen had noted the approval meted out to guests arriving with goodies and was determined not to be dissed in any subsequent blog. So depositing her M&S cool bag on the boat we were treated to lovely wine, biscuits, cake and some bottles of single hop beer from Brouwerij de Molen. Alan does a local radio food programme and has clearly been doing his research so the beer was delicious and unlike anything I'd tasted before.

We set off further up the narrow Pennine valley on this challenging canal with its oh so difficult locks (as our poor guests found out when struggling with the stiff paddles) and arrived at Todmorden where we moored for the night. In search of a pub for an evening meal we weren't having much luck when we passed a very nice restaurant called Hartleys. To our surprise the owner was quite happy to allow well behaved dogs (naturally that meant Phoebe who proceeded to behave impeccably) so we enjoyed one of the best meals out we have had on this trip.  And so reasonable. Todmorden got the thumbs up.

 

Although not as photogenic as gentrified Hebdon Bridge, the town had benefitted greatly from the philanthropy of the Fielden family and boasted some outstanding buildings. These provide a vivid illustration of the concentration of wealth that industrialists of the 19th century accumulated and chose to display in civic and domestic architecture. Most striking was the enormous and elaborate town hall. This Italian renaissance style building with its pedimented front originally sat astride the county boundary between Lancashire and  Yorkshire - sadly moved with local government reorganisation.

With 18 locks to go till we reached the summit it was time to get going. Our first lock had a guillotine electric gate and beyond this was a quarter mile stretch of canal sitting at the foot of the "Great Wall of Todmorden". This enormous brick was towered over the canal and was built to support the railway embankment. The locals claim that more than four million bricks were used in its construction.

Well, we had plenty of time to count them all for, dear reader, this was our first experience of a serious water shortage.  Slowly making our way out of the guillotine lock we gradually ground to a halt as we realised the canal was at least 18 inches below its proper level and Fandango became stuck fast in the muddy bottom . Ros was on the towpath as she had been walking ahead to the next lock so she carried on and tried letting a lock full of water down. It made no difference of course so the three us sat midstream unable to move or reach the bank unless we fancied wading in the muddy waters. Even the gangplank wouldn't reach.
 

And guess what we were sitting opposite? The local micro brewery offering free tasters to passers by - talk about torture.
 

An emergency call to the Canal Trust lead to a promise of assistance. About an hour later we got a call saying help was on its way. After another hour or so we noticed water beginning to flow past us and we were delighted to see the friendly faces of the lock keepers we had met at Sowerby Bridge who had been up to bring water down from four of five locks up the canal. Finally afloat we gingerly made our way to the next lock relieved to leave that towering brick wall behind - and I made it three million nine hundred thousand and eighty six bricks by the way.

 

After a further eight locks we stopped at Walsden to say farewell to Helen and Alan who took a train from the adjacent station back to Hebdon Bridge to collect their car. More happy guests who had survived the squeeze in their "double" bed.

The following morning we took a walk up the hills and onto the moors enjoying the far reaching views back down the valley. We walked the Salter Rake Gate, an ancient stone packhorse track that was once used to transport salt from Cheshire to the Pennines. We met a chap in his garden who was terribly chatty and very amusing about his neighbour who insisted on flying the Yorkshire rose flag even though he was convinced his neighbour's house was actually in Lancashire. Local government boundaries eh?

We set off again but had not gone far when entering lock 35 we were again confronted by an almost empty canal. This was becoming difficult and alarming. Before we had a chance to ring the good old emergency number we saw a Canal Trust worker who had arrived at our lock. He gave us the whole story. 

 

 It appears the guillotine lock at Todmorden was leaking badly and had been draining the system. There was a work party complete with barge en route and he was bringing water down with him meaning we could hopefully make it to the summit. And after a feel scrapes we duly did get to the summit where guess what, there was an abundance of water and the next fifteen locks were all overflowing.  

 

And they said the Rochdale was tough. Respect please.

The next 26 locks and 11 miles were not that inspiring and did not have the attractive open countryside of the eastern side. We passed Rochdale and its smart new canal channel built to accommodate the A627M to moor at a spot recommended as safe before we began the accompanied descent into Manchester the following morning.  The captain had been very efficient and had reserved our place for 9.30 meaning an early start if we were to cover the 3 miles to our meeting point.

We were hoping it would be a drier, more pleasant entry into Manchester than the last time. 

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.

In Search of Spike

 

In warm sunshine we bid farewell to Leeds and took the lock down onto the river to start our journey on the Aire and Calder Navigation - another waterway conquered, but this time a double  whammy of rivers. First made navigable in 1700 this transport route quickly became a huge success taking coal out of the Yorkshire coalfield and bringing back raw wool, corn and agricultural produce. Continued improvements and expansions saw it link ultimately to the North Sea at Goole and Hull. It is capable of carrying boats of up to 600 tons making it a serious big boy that dwarfs little narrow boats. Keep your eyes peeled for any such beasts.

Within minutes we arrived at its first lock and were amazed at its size especially after the what now seemed terribly short canal locks. No windlass needed here. Lovely smart electric consoles operated the huge gates and what must surely be enormous water sluices.   Again the river was so quiet we had the lock to ourselves and Fandango looked SO tiny in the vast stretch of lock making us feel a little guilty that so much water would be needed to lower our tiny sardine can.  

 

Considering how much water was being discharged it was amazing how quickly we were on our way out into open countryside and then through the four locks before Castleford. We had every lock to ourselves so became very adept at operating those push buttons - lovely.

 

At Castleford we had to turn right avoiding the powerful weir dead ahead and remembering not to go left and onward to Sheffield and Hull - definitely not in the spreadsheet. Here the river has been much straightened leaving abandoned oxbow lakes to either side but again lovely mechanised locks. We arrived at Stanley Ferry Aqueducts for a refreshing beer and a look at these amazing constructions. 

The new concrete one was added in 1981 as the 1839 original was thought to be at risk from the large craft that can navigate here now.  Having atypically not read her Nicholson Guide properly the captain was blissfully unaware we were supposed to use the new aqueduct but with no stop signs and a narrow boat parked at its further end for encouragement we crossed this fine structure without incident. Built on the same principle as the Sydney Harbour Bridge (but pre-dating it by nearly a hundred years!) it is a striking landmark supporting the vast iron water trough and using in excess of 1000 tons of cast iron in its construction. It's build quality was tested early on when a freak flood of the Calder below swamped the bridge with water flowing into and across the trough. Hats off to George Lather the engineer responsible.

 

Along this section of the route we dipped in and out of canal and the river through flood gates all of which were open but were a reminder of how quickly a river can be transformed into a raging torrent as we witnessed on the Severn. Just before Wakefield at the typographically challenged "Fall Ing Lock" we now joined the Calder and Hebble Navigation, another river based waterway built after lengthy controversy in the 1760s. Much anticipated by the captain, this navigation had required the acquisition of a wooden "spike" to operate the gate paddles.

In my desire to catch up I clean forgot to tell the tale of the spike acquisition which actually took place before Leeds at a pretty little town called Rodney. In need of pump out and diesel, we had searched the Nicholson and saw Rodney as a suitable boat yard. Calling ahead the kindly owner agreed to stay open for us (we were running behind spreadsheet schedule) but as we approached we saw no "boatyard" just a row of double and triple parked narrow boats. Unclear what to do Ros leapt off to go ahead and check things out but just as she disappeared from sight I was hailed by a white haired chap who should have been well into retirement who instructed me to gently pull up alongside a small sailing boat and between two other narrow boats in a tiny space he assured me was plenty for our 57 feet. Really?

Now fragile GRP sailing boats and solid steel narrowboats don't exactly mix so I was a trifle terrified of squashing the craft. But gentle manoeuvring and a bit of pushing and shoving from a cheery chap who turned out to be the owners son saw me manage the sensitive berthing. All witnessed by the captain beached on the opposite bank.  Result.

Well the pump out machinery had seen better days and was patched with all sorts of tape and o clips but it just about reached over the parked boats and did its job with some gentle persuasion. The diesel required a move to the opposite bank where it was delivered in ex-army fuel cans in a wheelbarrow. Novel.  

 

We got chatting and on discovering we came from Scotland they enquired about location. Believe it or not they knew it well being regular visitors to Cove and Kilcreggan where they repair engines for local boat owners.  Now clearly our new best friends they responded to Ros' request for information about where to get a "spike" needed for the Calder and Hebble. "Come with me" he said and I joined him in his extraordinary boat yard that bore a striking resemblance to the set of Steptoe and Son but amongst the piles of everything boaty he extracted a three foot piece of wood roughly shaped to do the job. Sorted.

 

Too exhausted to cook after such excitement we lucked in with a take away from a Turkish restaurant that was heaving recently received rave reviews from the Leeds press. Wonderful food and so fresh, I was impressed the captain had persuaded them to do a take away when they were fully booked that night. 

 

So, back to Wakefield.

The regional capital of West Yorkshire, our visit was focused on the Hepworth Gallery and Museum an attractive modern building alongside the weir designed by the same architect who built the Turner gallery in Margate. Full of beautiful Barbara Hepworth sculptures - fascinating story of the evolution of the John Lewis piece on their Oxford Street store - it also had a very weird light and sound installation that basically consisted of an empty room with a few coloured light strips and mindless background noise. 

 

 

Out of Wakefield we made our way to Brighouse through 12 locks. Initially I thought the acquisition of the wooden spike had been in vain as none of the locks required one but then the mechanism began to appear and we encountered the struggle that this primitive form of paddle operation entailed. At times too hard for Ros to make any impression with these quaint museum pieces quickly became a pet hate as I burst my back trying to shift the wretched things. Not helped by meeting a very pleasant chap at one lock who proudly pointed to his five foot purpose designed metal spike "that'll give you some leverage" he boasted. 

 

 

Size clearly did matter in this instance. 

 

 

A Narrow Boaters Ambition is Achieved

Another blog you say and so soon? But I must catch up, so please bear with me and read on.

After some ten miles with no locks and only those wretched swing bridges to contend with (just noticed by the way that the Nicholson Guide refers to them as "prone to intermittent stiffness" - yeah, right) we passed Silsden with its old corn mill dated 1677 and headed towards Keighley. You approach down Airedale, its steep hills wooded with green trees with the distant rows of chimneys, factories and terraced houses across the valley signalling imminent arrival in the town.

I had been looking forward to Keighley as it was from here that we would enjoy an excursion on the Keighley and Worth Valley steam railway. Closed in 1961 the line was saved by enthusiasts who managed to reopen it in 1968 with a regular service of steam trains.  It's terminus is shared with the regular Keighley station but you pass through a time warp as you descend the ramp to its platforms and a perfectly preserved 1950's station complete with original posters, clocks and livery. The volunteers are all dressed in period uniform and costume so you really feel you're entering the set of Brief Encounter.

Being the first train of the day the steam engines weren't yet awake so we took a 1960s generation diesel pulled train up the five miles of valley to Oxenhope. After a quick look round we jumped on a vintage bus to go over the top of the moors to Haworth, home of the Bronte sisters. This gave us a perfect view of the bleakness that can be the moors and so well captured in Wuthering Heights.

Very touristy but still a lovely village, we saw the Bronte family home (the former vicarage) which for some reason was heaving with French students and descended the steep cobbled main street back to the station. Here we peaked in one of the train sheds and met a volunteer cleaner who offered to show us the Pullman carriages they had. What a treat. Immaculate in their magnificence they were 1930s vintage and oozed the luxury that must have been Pullman travel. Only thing missing was Hercule Poirot. 

Our return journey was with a proper steam engine and even Ros got a bit excited as she realised this was the line used in the Railway Children and she stuck her head out of the window (remember when you could do that on trains?) only to get bits of soot in her eyes. Ah, memories. 

To complete our cultural education we paid a visit to the canal-side NT property of East Riddleston Hall, a Tudor House with romantic ruins of  former glory originally developed by the wonderfully named Murgatroyd family - heavens.

Back on the boat I could feel the excitement mounting in the captain. The day before she had booked our passage down the biggest and only 5 lock staircase in the entire waterway system. The Bingley Five-Rise staircase lock is one of those must see/must do experiences for all narrow boat groupies and here were we about to do it.  

I may have educated you before about staircase locks but here's a quick refresher. The locks are all joined together rather than being separated by pounds of neutral water. The top gates of the lowest lock are the bottom gates of the lock above and so on. This means its not possible to empty a lock unless the one below is itself empty. You climb, or in our case descend, an alarming amount in an incredibly short distance.

Being fairly complicated, the locks are manned by a professional who manages the descent. This day he was supported by two volunteers who were real keenies and most put out by me wanting to play my part in opening paddles and gates rather than leave it all to them. They didn't get off to such a good start however for as we were about to leave the first lock the keeper noticed one of them had left a paddle open necessitating an emergency closure and reopening of the top lock to let in more water. I resisted any comment. 

With her badge and certificate in place the captain took us on to a more minor but equally enjoyable three rise staircase where again a full time keeper ensured no mistakes.  

The view from the top of the Bingley Five-Rise and been very impressive looking down through the wooded swath of the canal to Bingley where the giant chimney and impressive brick factory of Damart dominated the landscape. Never one to miss checking out a bargain Ros wanted to visit the factory shop and see if any thermal underwear was on offer. Be reassured dear reader this wasn't a precaution for Fandango nights, merely thinking ahead to a skiing trip.  No such luck though, just endless racks of seriously unattractive ladies wear.

We had let the lock keeper know we would be continuing our journey to Leeds the following day so he had alerted the keeper at the next three-rise (they really go in for these groupie delights on this canal you know). This meant he had held back another boat to join us on our descent through the next three and two-rise staircases and naturally you get chatting. Well, who would believe it but the occupants were Americans from San Francisco which dear reader is where we go a week after completing this adventure to watch Giles in the America's Cup. They were full of advice and guidance and we've ended up with an invitation to visit. They are narrow boat enthusiasts too, this being their fourth holiday. Guess what we'll be talking about when we meet up?

We had been warned about the risks of the final stretch into Leeds but it passed without incident and we arrived at the smart and beautifully restored Granary Wharf and moored outside the Hilton hotel. Yes, a convenient spot for the captain to enjoy a few hours in their gym and spa and ease the stress and strain of nautical responsibility. 

Having not been in Leeds since the 1980s I was pleased to see how much regeneration had gone on and how important the river and canal had become with tastefully restored warehouses and factories and some very interesting new build. With nothing on at the theatre and no concerts to see we opted for a tapas meal surrounded by affluent looking bright young things and served by the most charming moonlighting university lecturer. 

The two sides of the recession?

Catching Up

Oh dear, how time flies when you're having fun!

 I fear I must be going native as the enjoyment level has increased (along with the fine weather to be fair) and I've not had the time to blog.  So here I am rather behind in my travelogue and in need of a quick fire catch up if I am ever to complete the journey with any semblance of proper chronology. 

So be warned, there may be several blogs winging your way.

When I left you we were moving into yet another tunnel, this time the 1640 yard Foulridge tunnel. What a perfect name for it I thought as I (yes me again) navigated its dingy depths - you all know my dislike of the wretched things. But a smooth passage saw us safely through and on our way past picturesque Barnoldswick into the rolling North Yorkshire countryside. We were in no hurry as we needed to slow our progress so that our upcoming visitors would have lovely countryside and some locks to enjoy.

Mooring at a very pretty little village called East Marton with its village green pub, smart stables and exercise rings alongside a quaint coffee shop we decided to take a walk across country to Gargrave.  Relying on the Nicholson Guide map proved a rather vain hope for whilst it may well have all the necessary signposting for a narrow boat, it certainly doesn't give the detail necessary to tramp across open countryside in search of poorly waymarked footpaths. Much debate ensued between us as to which direction we should be going and my bonhomie was sorely stretched when blustery showers passed through. Even a local farmer resplendent on his massive EU subsidised tractor (sorry farmer friends, prejudiced I know!) who Ros halted for consultation had no idea where the supposedly very adjacent Pennines Way was. Only when we spied some rambler types in the distance with their practical footwear and proper OS maps did we locate the footpath and get to our destination.

Fortunately Gargrave had a dog friendly cafe serving good coffee and great soup so refreshed we tramped back along the towpath to our boat. A 6 mile stroll had turned out to be more like a 9 or 10 mile trek but at least the dog was well exercised even if my feet hurt like hell.

We ate supper at the Cross Keys pub in East Marton where Ros met a fellow narrow boater who she joined to pick his brains. He gave her invaluable advice about upcoming hazards and route options which even necessitated changes to the spreadsheet.  Introducing him to me I remarked on his optimism at the weather being bedecked in shorts. "Ah, they go in May and don't come off till October" he said proudly. And they say narrow boaters aren't a little odd?

The WHs (remember them from the early days?) arrived in the morning after a luxurious night at the Hilton excited at the prospect of sharing a weekend with us as we descended into Skipton.  Perfect house guests, Sian and Andrew arrived with cake,  flapjacks, wine and a welcome bottle of fizz to mark my surviving till half point of this great endeavour and to christen their first canal experience.  Lucky them, the weather was glorious and they were meandering through some of the most beautiful countryside we had seen so far as this section of the Leeds and Liverpool canal grips the contours of the Pennines and snakes alarmingly back and forth giving you the impression of meeting yourself coming back!  I fear they got an exaggeratedly rosy picture of narrow boating. With all the oohs and aahs from Sian I wonder if a holiday booking is in the offing?

 

 

Into a packed Skipton, we weren't disappointed with the town which had a real buzz to it thanks in part to its busy market, medieval castle and thriving pie shops! Yes, lots of award winning pie shops here which may help to explain some of the wider girths we encountered down the high street. And yes, I did have one.

 

 

Having said our farewells to the WHs, we decided to stay another night so we could enjoy the much heralded Plaza cinema, one of those independent old fashioned picture houses lovingly restored to its '50's glory. Climbing the steps into the lavish red foyer we bought our tickets from the original pokey ticket office where a machine disgorges your green old Route Master bus type ticket with a reassuring kerplunk. We sat upstairs in the balcony to enjoy the Great Gatsby. Worry not, no review coming here, suffice to say it was OK. Did enjoy the ice cream lady though with her tray of goodies who appeared in the so called "intermission" which was really just a break after all the ads and forthcoming attractions. 

I must be honest here and admit that one of the great advantages of a narrow boat is that you can moor in the centre of a town and within minutes be at the cinema, theatre, restaurant or shops and having completed your excursion be back tucked up in bed (ok, a small bed) after a short, gentle stroll. Such a well located hotel would cost a fortune.

Having delved into the marvellous Aylesbury Canal Society Guide another convenient laundrette leapt off its pages and the captain completed a refreshing wash of our various bits and pieces. Once stored away we continued south down the Leeds and Liverpool. 

This section of the canal was littered with swing bridges. Don't you find that a rather romantic sounding description? Well I did and  had visions of gently pushing old wooden bridges aside to allow the sedate progress of Fandango. How wrong can you be? Many of them were heavy old steel bridges with the toughest locks you can imagine. Without the assistance of the odd helpful passer by some of them may have never been opened. 

 

 

Some though were used by cars and so justified an electric operation. Push a button and hey presto - you've got to love progress!

The Weed Hatch Revisited

The observant of you may have noticed that I managed to upload a couple of photos in the last blog. Many of you had requested pics but its taken me this long to work out the absolute basics of inserting a pic. Why is it so hard? Anyway, enjoy.

 The first stop the next day was Chorley for one of Ros' launderette finds from the Aylesbury Canal Society guide (another of those oh-so-useful pre-trip purchases researched and sourced from the web by the captain) and what fun she had in there. Dressed in her Hilda Ogden gingham apron the manageress happily dispatched me with detailed directions to the market in her broad Lancashire accent and then got Ros all excited about day trips to Blackpool so easily accessed from the local railway station. 

Was a quick days ballroom dancing on the cards? Ros had surreptitiously packed our dancing shoes after all. But what to do with the dog? Logistics and logic intervened and the dream was dashed. Only a promise from me of a future return to the Tower Ballroom consoled a distraught captain. 

Full of ladies who admitted they preferred to use the launderette than their own machines because it was "so social" I do wonder what they all made of Ros and me. 

One of Chorley's famous children was Sir Henry Tate, founder of the Tate Gallery and an ex employee of a local grocery store before making his fortune in sugar. It's other notable heritage was its ancient market (founded 1498) but it wasn't very impressive so as soon as the laundry was done we headed further up the canal to Withnell Fold, a small estate village built to house workers at the now demolished canalside paper mill. Grouped around three sides of a spacious square, the symmetrical stone terraced cottages present an intimately united front looking out on the fourth side of the square with its set of old wooden stocks. Now gentrified, they are desirable homes for commuters to Blackburn. 

It's rather splendid "Reading Room" provided by the patriarchal mill owner for the workers improvement, contained an upstairs entertainment hall where the late Kathleen Ferrier had performed, we assume because she was doing a favour for her future husband who came from the village. 

We then had a couple of very long days as wanted to get through some of the uninteresting landscape around Blackburn and Burnley. Which brings me to one of my least favourite aspects of narrow boating and one I have resisted saying too much about, but the disgusting state of the canal waters especially around Burnley leave me no option. 

Yes, the dreaded weed hatch. 

I have skirted over this daily ritual as I didn't want to appear a grump, but it is one of those chores that just has to be done and as I have previously informed you all can only be done by me as Ros' arms are too short to reach the propellors and prop shaft. Removing the four screws that hold the metal cover in place, you use a specially shaped blade to pull what resembles a small  but heavy square weight lifting bar on the platform at the stern (rear to you lot) to reveal the murky waters below. You then lie on your stomach and reach as far down as you can to check that nothing has tangled itself around the propellors. 

Called a weed hatch, that really is a complete misnomer as I can honestly say that in the many weeks we have now been boating I have only once removed something resembling a piece of flora, let alone been green. And so to the glories of Burnley and its use of the canal as the local rubbish tip.  

You realise all is not well when the rudder starts shaking or you begin to lose way. With its very tight curves and right angled bends the Burnley section is not easy to navigate without grounding at the sides so you can imagine my humour when five, yes five times we had to stop and I had to go through the whole faff of removing the weed hatch to fumble about in the dirty opaque water only to discover an assortment of unpleasantries. Mostly every conceivable type of soiled plastic but also king size underwear (dispel quickly from your thoughts, it was gross), shredded boots, fishing nets, miscellaneous clothing and bedding. 

Why doesn't my wife have longer arms I fumed to myself. A real groupie has to experience this joy of narrow boating surely?

You can imagine my delight at escaping from these troubled waters and back into open countryside. But even there not all was to go smoothly for at the Barrowfield flight of 7 locks we passed a wide beam barge who had carelessly left a paddle open and unbeknownst to us had succeeded in draining the pond between the second and third from top locks. Grounded, Ros was on lock duty and so rushed ahead to see what could be done. Fortunately, she met some Canal Trust workers just about to depart for the day who quickly sorted the situation and drained a whole lot of water from the top through the intervening locks.  It took nearly half an hour before we floated again so you have some idea of the amount of water needed to rebalance the system. 

 

With relief we reached the summit of the canal and moored for the night in glorious sunshine. Behind us the trail of industrial towns, ahead the distant mountains of Yorkshire. We unloaded our bikes and cycled to the mouth of the Foulridge Tunnel, controlled by traffic lights our turn would come tomorrow after a much needed rest.

With a welcome glass of wine in hand, isn't it amazing how quickly a bit of sun and a great view dispels the horrors of journeys past.