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!