Hemmed In

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.

Two Trips up the Peak Forest

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.

Rescue from the Big City

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.


In an Alien Land


Mental health alert!

Throughout my life I've had a continual struggle with a tendency to depression. Most of the time it's not severe, it just gives me a gloomy and pessimistic slant on reality. Sometimes it gets really bad and I spend some time living in a horrible version of reality where everyone is bad, everybody hates me and nothing good is ever going to happen. That's why I do my best to help others who struggle with depression, particularly by running "Hazel" the well being boat.

It's nearly 30 years since I was last drawn down into the maelstrom of a really bad depression. Partly that's because I can usually spot the signs now, I've learned to, and challenge the pessimistic and self destructive thoughts. Partly it's because I take a couple of St John's Wort tablets each day.

The post below was I think influenced by the fact that I had gone away for over a week and didn't take a supply of St John's Wort with me. I couldn't go home because my wife had caught Covid. I could have bought some more, but I thought I was OK. It sort of creeps up on you.

The post does reflect some of my genuine thoughts and feelings. I never feel at home in cities, I dislike the way that planners see canals as mere features rather than as water highways and I often feel like I'm on a different planet from most people. However, I'd normally express these things more positivel



I never feel at home in the centre of Manchester. "Forget me Not" and "Hazel" are tied opposite the old Dale St Basin, now a car park. The area is now renamed Piccadilly Basin. For some reason those in power like to rename things, like New Islington replacing good old Ancoats. We're tied next to the big black Dakota Hotel. A Darth Vader owned franchise I suspect.

Nothing here is cosy. It's all big and bold and impressive, and the people who constantly drift by also do their best to impress with their stylish clothes, tanned skins and estuary English accents. I feel very little connection with them.

I suppose that it's partly that they're mostly a lot younger than me. As the decades pass by you get less and less impressed by the superficial things like clothes or coolness. It's also that I'm a natural born Hobbit. I like cosy. A simple unpretentious life. I like natural things, woods, fields, water. Here everything is sharp edged. The only concession to nature here is one of those silly floating gardens that CaRT are so fond of.

Of course, in the olden days that I'm so fond of there would be little of nature. The basin would have been packed with flats loading and unloading supplies for the city. The air would have been rich with the sting of coal smoke. Horses would clatter to and fro hauling delivery carts or straining to get a heavy flat moving out of the lock. At least, though, the vessels and carts were made of wood, the buildings largely of stone and the people would have been down to Earth working people.

Our guests are young middle class people from the South. That's fine and they're nice, but I don't have any real point of contact with them, our environments are so different. One carfull was driven here from Brighton by somebody's dad. They're here for a festival.

The only people I feel a connection with are the guy who works in the hotel who came for a chat in his break, the two lads who were thinking about fishing asked asked me to take their picture, and the security man who is paid to patrol the area to discourage trouble.

It seems to me that the role of the canal here is nothing really to do with navigation. It's a sort of handy steampunk feature in the cityscape. We're temporarily enhancing it by bringing a pair of genuine historic boats into the scene for a few days.

Is it just me?


OK, so there's a few trees poking through the concrete. See what I mean about the Darth Vader franchise?

The would be anglers who wanted their photos taken.


Those silly floating gardens.

A Busy Time.

It's been a while since I posted anything. We've been having a busy time and I haven't been taking many photos. About a fortnight ago we took the boats down to Ducie St, Manchester (or Paradise Wharf as it's been renamed) for some airbnbers.

On the return trip we managed to pick up lots of textiles on the blade.

Halfway up the flight the bracket that holds "Forget me Not"s gear change linkage broke. I removed the broken item and cycled with it to Dukinfield where our friends Dixon & Smith (Motor Engineers) welded it back together and added extra metal to make it stronger.

We had to stay where we were overnight

before carrying on up to Ashton in time to get "Hazel" ready for some wellbeing guests who just wanted to stay on board rather than go for a trip.

 Last weekend we had two Marple trips. On the Saturday we took some of Liz's Guiding friends for a trip to Marple and back. 


That turned out to take longer than expected, partly because of the water level being low so we stemmed up a couple of times and collected some impressive bladefuls.

As well as that the winding hole at Marple was clogged up with CRT work boats and it was impossible to wind without moving some. Even then, we could only wind the boats singly rather than as a breasted pair. "Community Spirit 2", which is about 50' long also did a Marple trip and had difficulty winding.

We had to move a couple of the boats. If they'd been tied a little more thoughtfully this wouldn't have been necessary.

On Sunday we took a care worker and her family to Marple, winded, then tied for the night at Chadkirk. That evening I had a meeting with Liz in the Friendship pub in Romiley. Unfortunately it has changed landlord since last time i visited and it's now a noisy sports pub.

Monday afternoon me and Aaron had a lovely uneventful trip returning our guests to Portland Basin.


 I had Tuesday to get jobs done on the boats, then it was a trip down the locks to Manchester where we're tied at Dale St, or Piccadilly Wharf as they've renamed it. There are some Airbnb guests on board now, attending a festival at Trafford Park. I'm staying on "Forget me Not" to keep things safe before we return the boats to Ashton on Monday. I haven't been able to go home as Emuna contracted covid whilst I was away.


Medals?

I just got back from running a 2 day trip for care worker Laura. She has worked through the pandemic looking after elderly people with challenging behaviours. She deserves a break, and, thanks to the National Lottery Awards for All fund, we were able to give her one. Laura brought along her fiance, Philip, and their friend, Steve.

It's sometimes hard to find enough crew on weekdays and unfortunately one crew member dropped out at the last minute because of a headache. This left just me and Aaron to run the trip, though Nessie helped by raising the lift bridge as we set out.

There were no other boats moving, save for "Community Spirit 2" which followed us as far as Hyde.

The weather was intermittently raining as we travelled up the Peak Forest canal. We had to stop once to remove plastic from the propeller. The law of Sod kicked in as we approached Hyde Bank Tunnel. Having met no boats all the way from Ashton, one had just entered the tunnel coming the other way. We had to stop the pair in the shallow water and hold them there until it emerged.

At Marple the winding hole (canal speak for a place where you can turn round) was full of CRT maintenance boats, some of which we had to move in order to wind. Winding completed, we headed back over the aqueduct and tied just before Rose Hill 'tunnel'.


Aaron could have stayed in "Hazel"s back cabin, but he elected to return home by train instead. I retired to "Forget me Not"s cabin to do some much needed cleaning and tidying.

I woke early to lovely spring sunshine. Steve had been up all night fishing.



Hyde Bank tunnel was opened out over 100 years ago but is still known as a tunnel.

Aaron arrived on his bike and we set out for the return trip at the agreed time of 10AM. Steve had expressed an interest in joining us as a volunteer, so Aaron showed him how to steer "Hazel", a task that he took to like a duck to water. Once I was satisfied with Steve's abilities I was able to hand the motor boat over to Aaron and hop off on to the towpath to take some photos,


Back at Portland Basin we stopped on the aqueduct to unload our guests before battling a vicious wind to put the boats back in their place abreast of "Lilith".

Here's what Laura wrote in the visitors book;-
                                                                           "Have had an amazing time on our trip on Hazel. Can't believe how much fun it is being towed by another boat, but what an experience!!!  Chris and all the staff involved with this experience deserve a medal, and they are so attentive, friendly and go out of their way to make sure you enjoy your trip. Definitely would recommend the Well  Being Boat. Top class."

I can't speak for anyone else but I'm not keen on medals. It's enough for me to see people enjoying all the different aspects of what we do, whether it's using "Hazel", working at the boatyard, running the shop, going on recycling trips (if and when we re-start them) or just enjoying watching the boats go by. These boats are special. They, and the activities around them, help people to live better lives. What we need now is more help from the wider waterway community to keep this whole project running.
                                            

2 Nice Well Being Trips in a Day.

Yesterday was a lovely day. It started cold so I lit the stove on "Hazel". Our first guests arrived at 11AM for a trip to Lumb Lane and back, about 2 hours. Two of them couldn't manage the steps so we used the lift to bring them on board. A straightforward trip, no problems. Aaron Booth and Mick Owen were the crew.

 It was the first canal trip for some of them and they loved it.

 As we came round the turn from Walk Bridge and breasted up I saw that a boat had taken our mooring. This wouldn't be a problem normally as we had another trip to do. However, if we're using the wheelchair lift we need to have "Hazel"s bow at a specific place on the wharf.

As we approached I gave a series of long blasts on the hooter but nobody emerged from the open doors of the boat until our bows were actually lying against it. The man came out and explained indignantly that they were taking water. Portland Basin wharf is not an official water point but there's a tap with a long hose that reaches to any part of the wharf.

When I explained about the need to unload disabled guests they became co-operative and moved off. We tied up and the other boat came in behind us to continue watering.

Mick had to leave so it was just me and Aaron for the afternoon trip. We just had time for a brew before they arrived. This time we were headed up the Peak Forest canal, so we had to negotiate the lift bridge. Normally we would send somebody ahead to do this but there was no-one available. As we approached I brought the butty up close and stopped with the bows in the narrows. I tied to the handy bollard and lifted the bridge. Returning to the boat I drove the pair through the bridge and stopped them with "Hazel"s stern just clear of the bridge. Aaron tied it then lowered the bridge. We set off again.

Between Dukinfield and Hyde the canal runs past a series of industrial estates, and yet they hardly intrude beyond the sylvan ribbon that borders the waterway. When I first came this way in 1977 we navigated past a huge and smelly landfill site with bulldozers heaping up the rubbish. That same place is now magical woodland.

We passed through Hyde and out into countryside bordering Haughton Vale, swinging the boats confidently round the tortuous bends as the canal follows the contours of the valley side.

The winding hole near the derelict Gee Cross mill was unusable until last year. It had become too silted with lack of use since "Maria" stopped doing horse drawn trips. CRT dredged in 2021 and we are now able to wind there again.

An angler sat staring at his float right opposite the hole. I explained that we had no choice but to disturb his fishing. He calmly dismantled his rod and sat watching us as we thrashed about in the muddy water, gradually turning the boats.

Aaron and me swapped boats when we set off and I enjoyed an hour or so of butty steering. I love steering the butty. It's a gentle tranquil experience but I don't often get the opportunity. The only incident on the trip was some difficulty getting past a moored boat that had come adrift. 

At the M67 bridge in Hyde I jumped on to the towpath to run forward and get on to the motor. Aaron chose to get back to steering the butty by crawling along its roof rather than using the towpath. Each to their own!  The boats couldn't go far out of line during this procedure as the canal here is a narrow concrete trough.

After working the lift bridge again we arrived at Portland Basin, stopping on the aqueduct to unload our guests, who were delighted with the experience. I went to move "Lilith" back on to the wharf as she had spent the day lying alongside the flats, then we moved the pair forward, breasted up and swung them round to tie alongside "Lilith".


The end of a wonderful days boating.

The following day I met one of the guests from the morning trip in the charity shop. She was once more full of praise for the experience and explained some of the hardships that some of them had been through.


Thank you Christine Dinsdale for the best of the photos.

Canal Cleanup

To celebrate the 50th anniversary of Ashtac, the Inland Waterways Association organised a working party to clean up part of the Ashton Canal on 21st/22nd March 2022. Ashtac was the codename for the huge 'big dig' on the Ashton canal in 1972, when over 1000 volunteers from around the country came to clear rubbish from the derelict waterway. They even laid an industrial monorail in the bed of the drained canal to transport the rubbish.

I think it's a great omission in Portland Basin Museum that there's nothing about this on display. It was a major event in getting the waterway restoration movement started.

The 2022 effort was rather less ambitious. It mostly consisted of litter picking and scrub bashing at Eli Whalley's, or Donkey Stone Wharf as it seems to be known nowadays.

In fact it's proper name is Ashton Old Wharf. It's the original terminus of the Ashton Canal. It ceased to be a terminus when the Huddersfield Narrow canal was built. It's role as Ashton's main wharf was later lost to Portland Basin.

The final industrial use of the wharf was as Eli Whalley's donkey stone works. Donkey stones were blocks of reconstituted stone that , were used for polishing the stone steps of houses. They were often distributed by rag and bone men in exchange for, well, rags and bones.

https://www.tameside.gov.uk/blueplaque/eliwhalley 

Some years ago British Waterways did some landscaping work on the wharf, including erecting three sculptures of flying geese. More recently I understand it has been let on a long lease to somebody and has become derelict. Latterly its been haunt for fly tippers, anglers, drinkers and the occasional homeless person's tent.

Our original plan was to take "Forget me Not" along but her gearbox problem prevented this. Instead we took "Lilith",towed on the outward trip by the Ashton Packet Boat Co's "Joel", another wooden boat. Our depleted volunteer reserves meant that there were only four participants from our group, me, Kim Tranter, Daniel Stocks and Nessie.

We laid "Lilith" alongside the foliage that was aggressively invading the canal from the wharf then, using implements provided by CRT, we proceeded to remove that foliage.

There were lots of young workers there from a scheme that was something to do with the Princes Trust and the Fire Service.

A good day was had by all. I still bear the bramble scars to prove it. Many people were involved in litter picking and I did my best to get the aluminium cans and bits of scrap iron loaded on to "Lilith" so that they could be recycled.


At the end of the day we winded "Lilith" and got a tow back to the basin with the trip boat "Still Waters".

On the Tuesday we left "Lilith" at the basin. I couldn't see much need for her as most of the recyclables had already been collected. People went on tree lopping and bramble bashing but, to be honest, I didn't really like what was being done. People like tidy and neat, but wildlife doesn't. We'd cleared the foliage that was obstructing the waters edge. To go further, I felt, was reducing the wildlife value of a piece of unused land.
CRT had supplied us with brand new bowsaws that were very hard to use as, though sharp, they had hardly any set on the teeth. I busied myself making these more usable, then went above the lock to deal with some overhanging vegetation at the entrance to Whitelands 'tunnel', one of 3 short tunnels in the area that was opened out over 100 years ago but is still known as a tunnel.

In the afternoon I had to head for home to organise paying for the gearbox parts that we are buying from Sweden.

I hope we'll have some WCBS working parties later in the year.

If it's not one thing------

Over the past few weeks we've had to cancel or postpone trip after trip on "Hazel" for various reasons, mostly weather related but health problems of guests have figured too. Today I thought at last we had it right. The weather was nice and we had guests on board for an overnight trip. It was a bit windy but nothing like we have experienced lately. Everything was readt so me and Aaron started to back the pair, breasted, into the basin ready to swing round and head off up the Peak Forest canal. All of a sudden the engine stalled. I restarted it but, as soon as I engaged reverse gear it stalled again. I had a look inside  the gearbox to discover that it was jammed in forward gear. The gear change mechanism was working correctly but the forward gear clutch simply wouldn't disengage, so, when you put it into reverse it's trying to go forward and backwards at the same time. This means I'm going to have to take the gearbox out and get it professionally looked at. How long this will take and what it will cost I know not.

Our guests seemed to have a nice afternoon chatting and exchanging life experiences. One is staying tonight and another has asked if she can come and stay on board with her dog sometime, which, of course, she can.


Here's a couple of photos of me and Aaron reversing the boats just before it all went wrong. Photographer Cheryl Louise Dinsdale.

Dudley and Eunice

I'm disappointed! I was promised something that would

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's moulds, an germens spill at once,
That make ingrateful man!

What's actually happening is that it's a bit breezy and it's raining on and off. A sort of normal
winter day in Ashton really.I actually postponed a trip because of the weather warnings.

This, it seems, is Storm Eunice. She was supposed to be far worse
than Storm Dudley. I was at the Knowl St boatyard with Cheryl Dinsdale when Dudley struck on
Thursday. He at least got us soaked and blew things about a bit. When I got back to Portland Basin
I found that "Lilith"s cloths had blown off. Nessie has since put them back on.

I haven't taken any photos for a while, so, here's a nice picture of
"Lilith" on a sunny day. Photo by Jay Jengba.