At Stalybridge there's a lot to be done to get the boatyard up and running again. The last couple of years of pandemics, my own health difficulties and the chronic lack of volunteers that so many charities have been struggling with have left it cluttered and overgrown.
Today Andrea came to help again, with her son James. They attacked the excessive foliage to open up part of the yard that had become almost inaccessible. In the process they built up a huge pile of brash that I hope will be transported away by boat and then incinerated in a Solstice celebration.
In the front garden we cleared some of the weeds and planted some new plants and lots of wild flower seeds.
James and Andrea hard at work
And smiling for the camera.
Fuel for a future Solstice celebration.
Today we ran a trip to Hyde and back, stopping for a while at Jet Amber Fields. The crew was me, Aaron Booth and new recruit Sharon Watson.
Jet Amber Fields.
Leaving Jet Amber.
Sunshine in Dukinfield!
I've been moaning about the state of the front garden at Knowl St Heritage Boatyard for ages, and lamenting the lack of volunteers to look after it. Today Andrea and Philip had a good go at cutting back the jungle. They won't be able to do it all that regularly as Andrea returns to work soon, but it's a start.
I visited my brother in Rugby for the first time post pandemic, travelling by train. After spending a night at Rugby with Merv, Sue and my nephew Graham I went by train to Kenilworth, to see my friend David Lee, with a change at Coventry. From Kenilworth, changing at Coventry on to Nuneaton to catch the Crewe service, and thence by a rattly Welsh class 150 on to Manchester and the tram to Ashton. A really pleasant weekend off. I took a couple of photos.
The Leamington - Coventry train arrives at Kenilworth.
A Cross Country Voyager waits to depart Coventry for Bournemouth as a Pendolino for Euston arrives in the backgound.
A couple of our volunteers have hired a boat from Portland Basin Marina. Their plan was to go up on to the upper Peak Forest and Macclesfield canals. That idea was scuppered because Marple locks closed through lack of water. This is partly because of the lack of rain, but mainly because there are two reservoirs that need repair. They then thought they'd go up the Huddersfield Narrow instead. Lack of water, exacerbated by so many leaky lock gates, caused this to close. Ok, they thought, we'll go down the Ashton and on to the Bridgewater.
They worked down the 18 locks of the Ashton canal, only to find that the Rochdale 9 was closed because of gate problems. they tried to go up the Rochdale instead, only to find that that was closed (lack of water, leaky gates). They headed back up the Ashton but got stuck part way up the locks because of a shopping trolley jammed behind a gate. CRT cleared this the next day and I saw them in Dukinfield where they live. They set off ahead of us to enjoy a few days between Ashton and Marple.
A couple who have supported "Hazel" for many years were given a weekend on "Hazel" as a wedding anniversary present. they wanted to go up the Huddersfield Narrow. Now that it's closed they've postponed until next Spring.
I got an enquiry from a friend who lives in Cumbria. A farmer he knows is retiring and on his bucket list is going through the Anderton Lift. Could we help? I worked out a possible itinerary and cost, which was acceptable. Then we found that the Anderton Lift had closed. https://www.northwichguardian.co.uk/news/20593098.anderton-boat-lift-northwich-closed-notice/
This is very frustrating. Apparently the Rochdale 9 is open again with a restriction to narrow beam boats only. I have a feeling that the network is starting to fall apart. I worry that the Canal & River Trust, who run the canals, are losing interest in navigation. To give them their due, the Ashton flight has improved no-end in recent years. There is, of course, a water supply problem this year, but a single badly leaking lock gate will hugely increase the water demand of a canal.
Rant over!
The only place that we can really go with our "Hazel" guests is along the lower Peak Forest as far as Marple Aqueduct. We've just done a trip for a very pleasant family from mid Cheshire. Patricia, Geraldine, Aaron and me took them yesterday as far as the winding hole at Gee Cross. We came back about half a mile to tie among lovely woods beside Apethorn Wood and Haughton Dale https://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/visiting-woods/woods/haughton-dale/
I stayed aboard "Forget me Not". It rained all night and was a bit chilly so I lit the stove in the morning. Aaron arrived early on his bike.
When Geraldine arrived, by 'bus, we had a brew then set out on the return trip.
Our guests met some friends at Portland Basin and went for a look round the museum. They left a glowing report in "Hazel"s visitors book. A lot of people have been under a lot of stress over the last couple of years. It's nice to feel that you're doing a little bit to help.
Recently a volunteer asked me to supply a strimmer to tidy up the Heritage Boatyard. He was finding the amount of weed growth there offensive, I said no, which may seem strange to those who like their plants all lined up like soldiers. However, there's method in my madness.
When we took over the site some local residents objected that we would destroy the wildlife (they wanted to turn it into a car park). There was some merit in this argument as, since the demolition of the railway viaduct, it had been allowed to grow wild.
As we've worked on the area we've tried to do our best to provide some niches for wildlife. Around the edges are areas that we're not regularly using, though we have stuff stored there. These have been allowed to grow wild. Consequently, as we're working, we can enjoy the presence of birds, butterflies etc that would have no foothold in a clinically tidy environment.
Yesterday, whilst moving some recently arrived wood, Kim picked up a bucket that I'd been using to grow potatoes. Inside he found 3 toads, a big one and 2 small ones. I moved the bucket to another location and laid it on its side so that they could get out and carry on with their lives.
Strimmers are indiscriminate in their destruction. If toads or other small creatures happen to be in their path they will just become collateral damage.
At the moment we're a bit restricted where we can go. The Marple flight is closed because of water shortage. Two of the reservoirs that feed the summit are in need of repair and so the only water supplying the upper Peak Forest has to be pumped up from the river at Whaley Bridge.
The Huddersfield Narrow canal is, at the time of writing, still open, but this waterway also suffers from water supply issues. A particular problem for us is the long pound between Ashton and Stalybridge, from lock 3 to lock 4. Because lock 3 leaks so badly (and has done for years) this is constantly low. There are also several places on this stretch where rubbish gets dumped into the water, further reducing the depth. We have offered to remove the rubbish but are not allowed to because we might disturb the wildlife (!!!!???). There have been several occasions when we've spent hours working through this pound, dragging the boats laboriously over old bikes, shopping trolleys etc.
We had a booking for a well being trip for a couple who I had met by chance at the museum. The plan was to go up to Marple and, after winding below the locks, spend a night near the aqueduct, then return to Ashton.
It all went fairly smoothly. Our crew consisted of Aaron Booth, Geraldine Buckley and John Lupton. The winding hole at Marple was, for once, fairly clear of CRT boats. There was quite a concentration of boats moored in the area and we couldn't get in at our usual spot between the aqueduct and Rose Hill tunnel, so, after winding, we had to go back through the former tunnel and tie at the end of the line of moored craft.
On the towpath side here there is a steep wooded cliff dropping down to the trickling River Goyt.
On the outside is a field, virtually grazed out by the raucus Canada Geese that now dominate the canal.
I had always wanted to explore the Goyt valley here but never got round to it. In the morning, after a little pottering in the engine 'ole, I walked along the towpath the short distance to Hyde Bank tunnel then, rather than climbing the steep horse path over the top, I plunged into the untrodden ways of the thick, steep woodland. Back in 2020 I prepared a ghost story for a halloween event that never took place because of the pandemic and this marginal land is the home for one of the characters, Old Mags the witch. Perhaps next year!
This woodland is one of the rare places where nature is allowed to take her course. It is too steep and pathless for an easy stroll. Huge trees dominate, but where there is a gap for light to get through there is a dense understorey of nettles, brambles bushes etc. Although the 2022 heat wave had only just got started the woods were already bone dry. I came upon a carpet of wild garlic, all wilted by the drought. Because humans rarely penetrate, dead wood is not removed. The steep slopes are hard to navigate and several times I grabbed hold of a branch to steady myself, only to have it break off in my hand.
I descended via a dried up side valley to the trickling river, following it upstream. There were paths here but they would suddenly disappear into bushes, presumably they were made by foxes rather than humans. The inevitable Himalayan Balsam enjoyed a waterside foothold.
I climbed up again to rejoin the towpath near a huge oak that had fallen but was caught by its sister trees, continuing to grow vertical shoots from the horizontal trunk.
Beside the canal I met an elderly lady briskly walking. She was slim and brightly dressed. By her accent I took her to be German. We praised together the beauty of nature and the amazing efforts of the canal builders before each continuing in our opposite ways.
Aaron arrived on his bike and Geraldine and John made their way down the towpath from the station. We had a pleasant and uneventful trip back to Ashton in the growing heat.
Our guests thoroughly enjoyed the trip. When we got back to Portland Basin we got "Hazel" cleaned and her batteries charged ready for the next outing. This was a two night booking for Jeff, his daughter Sarah and partner Jackie, all enthusiastic punk rockers. We had promised them a trip up the Huddersfield Narrow, but, I checked the water levels and decided that it was unwise.
We had to make another foray out to Marple instead.
Aaron was unable to join us for this trip as he was on dogsitting duties. Geraldine and John steered the butty while new recruit Steve Shipley made a good job of steering the motor while I sat on the deck supervising.
The rising heat was baking us as we went along. The canal was in many places matt green with a surface scum of algae brought out by the relentless sun. The winding hole at Marple was completely free of CRT boats as the last one, the 'josher' motor "Gailey", had moved to Dukinfield where the team were tracing leaks in the embankment. This time we were able to tie in our preferred spot near to the aqueduct.
Our guests all have mobility issues and were a bit disappointed that there were no pubs or restaurants within easy walking distance. By the time I learned that it was too late to move as our crew were all heading off for the station. I suggested we make a short trip to Romiley the following day, where there are hospitality venues a plenty.
Crewing was a problem as none of the first day's crew were available. I spent the evening on the 'phone and the laptop trying to round up a crew. Luckily Patricia Ekaete was able to join us from Ashton and Mike Heap from Marple. Neither had crewed for some time so it was nice to see them. I was showing Patricia the aqueduct when Mike arrived. He was involved it the efforts to save the structure, and the canal, back in the 1960s.
We had a pleasant journey through the tunnel and past the lovely gardens and woodland of Chadkirk to tie near the main road bridge at Romiley. Having arrived by train Patricia elected to walk home along the towpath.
Our guests went out for a meal at 'Platform One' next to Romiley station. They don't recommend it. I spent most of another evening rounding up the next day's crew. This consisted of Kim Tranter and Dave Evans. Navigating the tortuous bends through Gee Cross in the sweltering heat we were glad of the shade from the mature woodland. We arrived back at the basin mid afternoon, bade farewell to our guests and crew, then put the boats away for the night, ready for another trip, as far as Gee Cross, the next day.
We're gradually getting back to the routine of working at the Heritage Boatyard. There's lots to do as post pandemic it's an overgrown mess. This is not helped by the fact that just pre pandemic someone volunteered to get all our stores re-organised. He spread stuff all over the yard then disappeared.
A few days ago I was at Hyde Reclamation's yard buying wood for renewing "Forget me Not"s deck boards when I spotted a stack of 1" mahogany. The price was not extreme (and unlikely to get any less) so I bought it. Today we stacked it and covered it to keep the weather off it.
Dave and Kim worked on improving part of "Forget me Not"s gear change mechanism. I'm hoping that persons within the normal range of arm strength will now be able to get her out of reverse gear! Kim assembled a couple of new deck boards. Gradually we're getting back on our feet!
One of the ways that we've been able to subsidise well being trips on "Hazel" has been by offering her as accommodation via Airbnb. Now the Canal & River Trust say we can't do this, but that's another story. We've been offering her in various locations, one of the most lucrative being Central Manchester. This comes with a £200 surcharge for taking the boat there and bringing her back, but is still a good deal for up to 8 people compared to hotel prices.
As noted in the previous post, we recently had a group of young festival goers staying in Manchester. I stayed aboard "Forget me Not" to keep the boats safe.
When the time came to return to Ashton I arranged for a group of volunteers to work the pair up the 18 locks of the Ashton canal. They all arrived on time and I went to start the engine. Although it had been working fine when we arrived, this time only one cylinder would fire. A little investigation showed that the problem lay in the injector pump. I'd been planning to take this off for overhaul in the Autumn as it is the only remaining part of the Albin AD2 engine that has not been renovated since it was installed about 10 years ago. It had decided not to give me the luxury of having it seen to while things are quiet.
On a diesel engine the injector pump is the most sophisticated and complex part of the machinery. It pressurises the fuel and delivers precise amounts of it at the correct time to the injectors, which spray it into the cylinders for combustion. Repairing it involves specialist knowledge, a scrupulously clean environment and special tools. It's not the sort of thing that your average engine bodger can fix.
Luckily one member of our crew was the amazing Aaron Booth. Aaron claims to be an alien visiting Earth from a far away planet with a greatly advanced civilisation. Rumour has it that he is nuclear powered, for no physical challenge seems to tire him.
With Aaron as motive power, "Hazel" set off up the locks while I started stripping away all the pipes and other encumbrances that surround the injector pump. When it came to the actual removal of the pump I needed a special 2 legged gear puller. Albin Engines in Sweden will sell you one for lots of kroner, but, luckily, our friends at Dixon & Smith (Motor Engineers) have just such a tool. I mounted my trusty bike and cycled to Dukinfield to borrow it.
Pat and John were working on their latest project, a 1950s Ford Prefect.
They willingly rooted out the necessary item and, with that in my coat pocket, I headed for Manchester again. At Clayton I left the Ashton New Road for the towpath and I met "Hazel" with her cheerful crew at lock 8 beside Alan Turing Way. They had 10 locks to go.
I hurried on, racing against time to get the pump to the diesel specialists that day. I lost that race for it was gone five by the time I had the pump off. I loaded it into multiple 'bags for life' which I hung on my handlebar and set off again up the Ashton towpath.
When I caught her up "Hazel" was at lock 15 in Openshaw, 3 locks left. Aaron was still going strong so I settled into drawing paddles, opening gates etc. A hire boat full of young university graduates was breathing down our neck and jockeying to pass, an unfriendly act on a flight of locks but these people were new to the ways of the cut and had an unrealistic ambition to reach Marple that night. At the summit, Fairfield Junction, our crew dispersed and Aaron tied up. As a gesture of goodwill I helped the hirers to work through the top lock, and gave them some advice about controlling their boat below a lock that is being emptied.
Before heading for home I asked around Droylsden Marina in the hope that I could secure a tow for "Hazel"s next trip in a couple of days as it seemed unlikely that "Forget me Not" would be operational by then. I was unsuccessful and unfortunately the trip had to be postponed.
My go to place for anything to do with diesel fuel injection is R Wilkinson in Stockport. They've always been very helpful. https://directory.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/company/504556489912320
I woke early and breakfasted, then slung my bags containing the pump over my handlebars and enjoyed a pleasant ride, mostly using car free routes, to their little industrial unit. As expected, the man looked at the oil stained item with much sucking of teeth and muttering about being very busy, difficult to get parts for such an old unit etc. Nevertheless, he took it in, saying it would be a few days before he could look at it.
My next concern was keeping "Forget me Not" safe. Staying on board at Dale St had shown me that all manner of people would hang out there of an evening. There are security guards that patrol the area and I had an assurance that they would keep an eye on the boat, but I really didn't want to risk it for an extended period. My main concern was that one of Manchester's many homeless people might break into her for shelter.
While I regard it as a disgrace that there are so many without homes in such a wealthy country, and I have great sympathy for those who find themselves in that situation (there but for the grace of God) experience has shown that having homeless people on board unsupervised is asking for trouble.
A young homeless man with a severe alcohol problem once broke into "Forget me Not" at Portland Basin. He tried to light a fire in the range but used the oven rather than the firebox. He broke the oil lamp and poured paraffin everywhere. It's lucky he didn't set fire to the boat.
I stayed on "Forget me Not" that night and in the morning started looking for a safer spot. There are some stagings at the start of the Ashton canal that used to be accessible with a BW key. They're now overgrown and there is no access save balancing along the outside copings, which are sometimes under water, under the Ducie St bridge. While that spot looked relatively safe I didn't like the idea of balancing along there carrying expensive engine parts and, anyway, the only other people who might be driven to try it were precisely the scallies that I wished to keep out.
Opposite to 'Paradise Wharf' on the Ashton is a modern block of fancy flats with a big "Private, No Mooring" notice. I wondered if I might be able to plead my case. The electric gate at the entrance was open so I walked in. I noticed a french window facing the canal was slightly open, so I knocked on it. My knock was answered by an elderly gentleman of Chinese heritage. He told me in limited English that he had no objection to me mooring there. This was nice, but not good enough. I needed to speak to the management, but he didn't have their contact information. I rejected the site anyway as the only thing to tie to were some flower boxes and I didn't think that driving in pins would be appreciated.
Store St is crossed by an old stone aqueduct. On the other side are more upmarket residences known as Picadilly Village. They have private moorings. I found the road entrance but it is guarded by an electric gate for which I didn't have the code. The 'phone number of the caretaker was displayed so I rang it. I got a recorded message to say that he had retired and it gave me another number to ring for the management team. I rang this one, but the number was non existent.
As I stood wondering what to do the gate opened to allow a cyclist to exit. I took my opportunity and dodged in.
I examined the moorings and found that there were rings to tie to. A notice stated that visiting boats could stay for 24 hours only and no-one was allowed to give visiting boaters the access code.
I started ringing the doorbells of adjacent houses. At the third one I got an answer from a friendly, helpful man. He wrote down the number of the management team for me. I rang this one and got through to a woman. I had expected my plea to be rejected out of hand, fobbed off, buck passed etc, but no! I explained my case, that it was a historic charity boat broken down that needed a temporary safe haven etc. She said it was OK as long as CRT didn't object. I didn't see why they would.
Relieved, I returned to the boat and shafted her through the complicated twists and turns that connect the Ashton and Rochdale canals, former trans Pennine competitors. As I was tying up the same helpful man came out to warn me that some residents were in the habit of complaining if anyone overstayed the prescribed 24 hours. As a precaution I wrote a summary of the situation ,and the fact that we had permission from the management office, on a series of leaflets, then posted them through nearby letterboxes.
I gathered up my belongings and prepared to set off on my bike. Another person, who shall remain unidentified, had been very interested in the boat. I handed over a leaflet and, in return, was given the access code for the various gates.
I was anticipating about a week before I would hear from Wilkinsons again but, having dropped it off on Tuesday morning, it was only Wednesday afternoon that they rang up to say that it was ready. Thursday was to be taken up by preparing for some weekend guests, so it had to be Friday morning that I took another pleasant ride across Fairfield golf course and through Reddish to collect the pump and hand over lots of notes. The injector repairing man, perhaps 40 years old, was surprised that this 69 year old man was going to cycle the 5 miles to Ashton with a heavy injector pump slung from the handlebars. So many people seem to believe that life is impossible without a car.
Saturday morning my bike had a puncture so I boarded a tram to New Islington (Ancoats in old money) then walked down the towpath and across the ornate bridge, keying in my surreptitiously obtained access code, into the secure community.
Fitting an injector pump is not easy. To do it properly you need a special tool that we don't have. It involves getting various marks on different rotating components to all line up with each other at precisely the stage in the pump's cycle that it is firing a burst of fuel towards the no1 cylinder which must be at the top of its stroke at the same time. That's a lot of bits of engine to co-ordinate.
A few years ago I had the injector pump off, I don't remember why now. I set the timing basically by trial and error. At the fourth attempt I got it right and the engine fired up.
This time I thought I'd done better. At my second attempt I got the engine to start. Access to the injector pump drive gear involves dismantling part of the cooling system so I couldn't give the engine an extended run until I'd put this all back together again. With this done I started the engine again. It ticked over nicely, though with a bit of a knock. When I put it into forward gear it faded and died, Back to the drawing board!
Sunday was spent in fruitless trial and error attempts to get everything timed correctly. After each attempt I had to use the gear puller to remove the drive gear. Getting tired and frustrated I used this clumsily and did minor damage to the threads on the end of the shaft. When I tried to put the nut back on I managed to drop it. I spent the next hour or so cleaning out the drip tray and thrusting a magnet into every oily nook and cranny in the vain hope of recovering it. I took the tram home, thoroughly dispirited.
Monday morning's first task was to call at Roy Turnbull Fasteners in Dukinfield. https://www.royturnbullfasteners.com/ These helpful people soon found me a 1/2" UNF nut to replace the one that I'd lost. I had to spend a few hours at the heritage boatyard as Monday is volunteer day there, then I caught the train, with my bike, from Stalybridge to Picadilly. In my pocket was a needle file for cleaning up the damaged thread.
I soon had the nut on and carried on with my fruitless attempts to time the pump. I was beginning to worry about overstaying my welcome. Did the person who said it was OK have the authority to do so? As I was packing up for the day this concern was re-inforced. Another elderly Chinese man approached along the canal side. This one was short and wide with a strange slow mechanical gait. I smiled and said hello but he ignored me, raised his right arm, extended a finger and said in an admonitory voice, "24 hours only". I tried to explain the situation but he carried on past me like an automaton, intermittently raising his arm and repeating his mantra until he turned and descended the steps at the end of the houses.
On Tuesday I had a full day available to work on the problem. I was getting concerned about how much power might be left in the batteries with so many starting attempts having been made. I decided to get more scientific in my attempts. I stopped the pump at the point where it was squirting fuel from the correct orifice. I removed the drive gear and carefully lined up all the timing marks on the rest of the engine before putting it all together again. First time it didn't work, but examination showed that I'd got the gears a couple of teeth out from the correct position. I put that right, pressed the button and the engine burst into life.
It was now 4pm. By the time I'd re-assembled the cooling system and tidied my tools it was 5. I rang some possible voluntary assistants but they were all busy. Wednesday was spoken for as far as my time was concerned so if I delayed I wouldn't be able to move the boat until Thursday. There was nothing for it but to set out and boat late into the night.
As headed for lock 1 I was pleased to see that a boat was just tying up after descending the locks. This meant that many of them would be ready for me and I wouldn't have to empty them before entering. The first three locks however were not quite like that. A small head of water had already built up against the bottom gates, presumably because of leaking top gates or paddles.
My technique was to place the bows against the bottom gates then put the boat into forward gear to push them open (warning anyone on the lockside to keep clear of the swinging balance beams). If the gates wouldn't open because of water pressure behind them I would leave the boat in forward gear while I drew the bottom paddles. I returned to the boat and when a level was achieved, pushed the gates open and entered the lock. With the bows placed against the top sill (just kiss the sill as I often say to trainees) I engage forward gear and climb the lock ladder with my windlass and anti vandal key. Bottom paddles are dropped and locked, bottom gates closed then top paddles unlocked and drawn.
One problem that we increasingly find now that gates are not so carefully balanced is that the bottom gates will not stay closed. The way to deal with this is to draw about a third of a top paddle. Enough to start a flow but not enough to flush the boat backwards. You then go to the bottom gates and close them. The little bit of extra water in the lock will keep them shut and the top paddles can be fully opened.
When top level is reached the boat helps to push the top gate open and slowly moves forward as the top paddles are closed and locked. I jump on to the boat and stop her clear of the gate to hop off with a line (so that she can't drift out of reach) to close the top gate.
There have been problems recently with the long pound between locks 3 and 4 being low. This time it was just on weir, but, nevertheless, we bounced over miscellaneous debris in this notoriously shallow stretch.
it was a very pleasant sunny evening as I worked lock after lock. Towpath walkers, many with dogs, runners and cyclists were out in force and I exchanged friendly greetings with those who would acknowledge me. Those who wouldn't mostly had music plugged directly into their ears. Though I like to listen to music I've never understood why so many people choose to blot out their human and environmental surroundings with intravenous pop.
I must say that the Canal & River Trust have improved this flight over the last few years. Not so long ago I would have had to contend with empty pounds, but replacing leaky gates has improved the situation no end. There was just enough water all the way up. It was flowing over the weirs but as each lock filled the water was diverted into lock filling and the level would drop to an inch or two below weir. Enough water but very little running to waste. Well done CRT!
I had no food left on board and I was getting peckish. At lock 9 in industrial Clayton,
halfway up the flight,I examined the cupboards for nutrition, but found only a third of a litre of mango juice. I enjoyed that and carried on, stomach rumbling. Most of the locks were for me but occasionally I would come across one that had filled up since the last boat passed. This included the deepest one, number ten. Surely a candidate for regating soon.
Above lock 11 is the junction with the former Stockport branch. As I closed the top gates I could see a bunch of teenagers hanging out around lock 12 and was a little apprehensive. Though things have improved over time there can still be a problem of boaters being harassed and robbed around here and being singlehanded I was vulnerable. A few years ago we had a very expensive bike stolen from the boat here.
As I left lock 11 I was pleased to see the group move away from number 12. As I passed they were heading under the junction bridge and up the filled in branch. The air was heavy with the tang of cannabis.
I looked down the flight, locks lined up in the evening light as the summer sun set over the distant city. All was going well and I was confident of getting to the summit before dark.
Leaving lock 14 the propeller made crunching noises as it dealt with solid floating debris. Various pieces of wood flew out from under the counter, followed by a plastic road cone. As I carefully approached number 15, where gate leaks showed me that the lock was full, the engine started to labour. I engaged stern gear in order to throw off whatever she had picked up on the blade, but the engine stalled. With no means of stopping, the bow impacted the bottom gates with a great bang. I used the cabin shaft to feel under the counter. The little bit of insulation that I pulled off confirmed my fear that it was a duvet.
I tied the boat forward to prevent her being carried away by the flush of water, then emptied the lock and hauled the disabled boat in. With the boat at top level I was able to work on the duvet. It took me the best part of an hour to remove the offending item, by which time it was dark.
I carried on. At lock 17 a gongoozler told me that he'd never seen anyone work through the lock so quickly. Finally I reached the summit lock, 18. It was full. A passing cyclist stopped and warned me to take care as working locks at night was dangerous. He's right, it is.
At last I was leaving the top lock. I checked the time, it was just after 11. it had taken 6 hours to work the 18 locks. That's 3 locks an hour or 20 minutes a lock. Not a record, but then, it did include that hour of removing the duvet.
It was about midnight by the time I was tied up. The Land Rover was parked nearby so I drove home and flopped into bed.