The Best Laid Plans!
Having "Southam" and "Lilith" stranded at Scarisbrick has been very inconvenient. At long last the gearbox was ready and me and Frank travelled over there on Tuesday to instal it. Once everything was connected up we gave it a try and, once we were satisfied that it was adjusted properly, I set off with the boats breasted up.
Frank had to head home. I said it was about time he came for a boat trip as he does loads of work but has never actually been out on the boats. He said canal boats are too slow for him. He used to own a powerboat that would do 60 knots! Funnily enough, though speed has its excitement, I think I'd soon get bored with that. Each to their own.
Alan, the very helpful owner of Red Lion Caravans who had kept our batteries charged during the long sojourn at Scarisbrick, gave a parting gift in the form of a little used battery for our bilge pumps.
The only difficulty in taking both boats singlehanded was the swing bridges. It would be hard for me to operate these and handle the boats at the same time. I rang my friend Cookie who lives at Burscough. As the first swing bridge hove into view I spotted a little girl on a pink bike on the towpath. It was Cookie's daughter, Cara. She enjoyed a ride on the bridge as Cookie swung it out of my path, then the two of them whizzed past on their bikes to operate the next bridge.
At Burscough we met Keith and Elsa Williams. Keith, formerly a very active man with a building business, had been struck down with some obscure life threatening illness. After ages in a wheelchair he is now walking again with the aid of a stick, and coming on his first boat trip since his illness.
We tied up next to the boat where Cara, Cookie and her partner Kenny live. I got on my bike and rode back the 4 miles to Scarisbrick to collect the van. I drove back to Ashton to make arrangements to keep the rest of the fleet afloat in my absence. At Portland Basin I met Joe and took him through the various pumps that need to be checked regularly. With that organised I went home and flopped into bed.
Next morning I was up with the lark to feed Captain Kit and check the boats before catching the 7.34 AM train from Ashton station. I was joined by Ian. I had been expecting Bex too, but she rang me later to explain that her dog had had a crisis with his ear and she'd had to take him to the vet.
The crowded train took us straight to Burscough, and a short walk along the main street brought us to the canal. I set to work with the aid of Kenny and Cookie's generator to repair some damage done by an overconfident trainee steerer in Liverpool. We sorted out the food kitty and Elsa went out to stock up on provisions.
It was about 20 to 12 when we set out. Ian steered the butty. He hadn't done this before and was on his own, but he took to it like a duck to water. Some people seem to learn instinctively. Others seem to never learn to steer, however much you try to teach them. Cara enjoyed watching the passing scene from the foredeck under the watchful eyes of Cookie, Keith and Elsa. Cookie took care of the swing bridges again, which involved a lot of running as she was now bikeless. Keith and Elsa kept everyone supplied with sausage butties, cups of tea etc.
It was a beautiful blazing hot day as we chuntered along the wide canal, busy with pleasure boats, walkers and cyclists. I steered "Southam" and listened to the engine note for any trace of the gearbox slipping. Many people asked about the boats, but the noise of the engine made it difficult to hear. I would tell them that the butty was 108 years old as that was the answer to the most frequent question. A cyclist stopped as we approached, took out his camera and videoed our passing.
Sausage butties and brews distributed, Elsa came to take over steering and I just stood on the gunwale and kept an eye on things. We swung round the tight turn at Parbold and followed the canal up the narrowing Douglas valley. The flatlands were now behind us and the outside of the canal became a thickly wooded bank. Below us to the right was the wandering course of the Douglas, once navigable by Mersey Flats, but later superseded by the canal.
The engine revs began to oscillate, a sure sign that the gearbox is slipping. This was not surprising. Frank had said that it may need adjusting again when the clutch plates had bedded in. We breasted up the boats and tied up on the towpath. I removed the gearbox inspection plate and unscrewed the locking bolt on the adjuster. I was afraid of dropping a component and handled the hot pieces of metal very carefully. About a quarter turn on the adjuster was plenty and then I had to screw in the locking bolt again, taking care not to drop it. The bolt had to be tight and Frank had left me a socket to screw it down with, there being no room for a normal spanner. As I went to put the socket on the bolt it slipped out of my fingers and dropped into the gearbox. I put my hand in to look for it, but it was still too hot.
I went forward for a cup of tea to wait for the heat to dissipate. On my return I found that the temperature was now bearable and plunged my hand into the warm oil. Though I was now able to get it deep into the machinery, there was still no way I could reach down into the sump to retrieve the socket. I decided that it was too heavy and compact to become a literal spanner in the works, so I abandoned it to its oily fate. This left the problem of how to tighten the locking bolt. I rooted through the toolbox and made a lucky discovery of a bicycle spanner that fitted perfectly and was short enough to turn inside the gearbox.
With the locking bolt tightened and lid re-fitted I started the engine and we carried on, staying breasted as it was only a short distance to Apperley lock, a huge deep chasm of a lock with badly leaking top gates that flooded "Lilith"s stern on the way down.
This time there was less of a Niagara, largely because the level above the lock was about 2 feet down. Some of Cookies friends on one of those big wide steel boats that are now so popular round here had tied up next to the lock in the entrance to the abandoned locks that used to run parrallel. We worked up and gingerly pushed forward into the half empty waterway, singled out once again. All was well as long as I kept "Southam" right in the middle. The waves that our passage created at the sides betrayed the shallowness of the water.
A good crew seems to work by ESP, everyone knowing what is required and just going ahead and doing it. It takes ages to reach that stage though, and, in the meantime, there is manifold scope for things to go wrong through misunderstandings. Verbal communication is difficult over 140 feet of boat with the steerer standing next to a noisy engine. A series of misunderstandings led to the arrival at Dean Lock being a little embarrasing.
Between the village of Apperley Bridge and the lock I remembered that there were some swing bridges locked open out of use. These would make excellent places for Cookie to get off and run ahead to set the lock. As we approached the second of these I made sure that it would be easy for her to get off, but she made no move to do so. Assuming that there was a third bridge, Cookie knows this canal better than me, I carried on, only to see the locks come into view with no handy narrows. I gingerly moved "Southam" towards the bank and Cookie jumped off with her windlass. As I started to ease the motor away from the bank, thankful that she had not stemmed up, I began to wonder why Ian had the tiller pushed hard over on the butty. "Other way" I bellowed. In reply he indicated the abandoned lock that we were passing. As at Apperley, in the 1890s traffic on this canal was so heavy that they doubled the locks. The second, parrallel, set were abandoned years ago but are still complete, though unusable. Ian didn't know this and couldn't understand why we were passing the lock.
As we approached the operational Dean Lock, Cookie was still preparing it. I tried to breast up the boats to wait, but got "Southam" into shallow water. As I tried to get her into the channel again, and breast up the butty at the same time, things got worse as we drifted into the shallow entrance to the arm that hundreds of years ago connected with the River Douglas. The boats came to an ignonimous stop as "Southam"s stem impacted the copings.
After much thrashing about in black silty water we got the pair into the lock. As it filled I remembered that we should have stopped in the tail of the lock to fill the water tank. "It doesn't matter", I thought, "we can fill up later today in Wigan".
Above the active lock there is a wide channel leading to the abandoned lock. In this was a small fibreglass cruiser with two men aboard. They asked for a jump start as their battery was flat. I asked them to move their boat alongside the head of the lock and, as "Southam"s engine room drew level with their boat, I stopped the pair and set up jump leads. The two sets that were on board combined just managed to span the distance to the little boat and soon its little engine was whirring away again.
Above Dean Lock the M6 motorway crosses the valley on a high viaduct, its constant roar the only detriment to the peacefulness of a winding, wooded, tranquil waterway. We chugged through a stone hump backed bridge and were hailed by the inhabitants of a moored pleasure boat. They told us that the next lock was closed through lack of water and it would be best to stay here. I agreed as the next lock I knew to be in a slightly grim location. I signalled Ian to breast up and we brought the boats into the towpath. Cookie said that it was a common problem of vandals draining the canal in an area known as Hells Meadow.
It was a pleasant spot where the canal is bordered on both sides by young woodland. Opposite a marshy area in the woodland indicates the mouth of a small stream, perhaps the reason why this pound remains full of water while all around are empty. When I first travelled this way in 1977 we spent a night in this spot. At that time a spindly wooden viaduct spanned the canal and river. It carried a narrow gauge railway that transported the products of an explosives works to the station for transhipment and onward travel by rail. Now the works is gone and wagonload rail freight a thing of the past.
A boat passed towing our friends who we had jump started. They had now run out of petrol.
The nearby station of Gathurst makes this an ideal spot for people to join and leave the boats and I was soon on the 'phone making arrangements. After an excursion with Keith and Elsa to the pub at nearby Crooke,Cookie and Cara caught a train home. At various times through the evening Ian's partner Lesley (Lel)and Bex arrived separately by train and Russell Evans arrived by bike, having cycled the towpath from Manchester. Bex brought her dog Satan. The name is ironic,a less satanic hound would be hard to imagine.
Elsa cooked us all an excellent meal which we enjoyed on "Southam"s fore end in the evening sunshine. A discordant note spoiled the evening a little. What I took to be friendly banter as we sorted out the food kitty suddenly turned into a noisy confrontation between two people. I hate it when my friends fall out, especially on a boat trip. I recall a trip back from the potteries many years ago when I had to do my best to keep two people 140 feet apart! Luckily, in this case, both parties realised that it was important to minimise the acrimony, though I had to spend the evening walking on a carpet of eggshells.
As we approached the operational Dean Lock, Cookie was still preparing it. I tried to breast up the boats to wait, but got "Southam" into shallow water. As I tried to get her into the channel again, and breast up the butty at the same time, things got worse as we drifted into the shallow entrance to the arm that hundreds of years ago connected with the River Douglas. The boats came to an ignonimous stop as "Southam"s stem impacted the copings.
After much thrashing about in black silty water we got the pair into the lock. As it filled I remembered that we should have stopped in the tail of the lock to fill the water tank. "It doesn't matter", I thought, "we can fill up later today in Wigan".
Above the active lock there is a wide channel leading to the abandoned lock. In this was a small fibreglass cruiser with two men aboard. They asked for a jump start as their battery was flat. I asked them to move their boat alongside the head of the lock and, as "Southam"s engine room drew level with their boat, I stopped the pair and set up jump leads. The two sets that were on board combined just managed to span the distance to the little boat and soon its little engine was whirring away again.
Above Dean Lock the M6 motorway crosses the valley on a high viaduct, its constant roar the only detriment to the peacefulness of a winding, wooded, tranquil waterway. We chugged through a stone hump backed bridge and were hailed by the inhabitants of a moored pleasure boat. They told us that the next lock was closed through lack of water and it would be best to stay here. I agreed as the next lock I knew to be in a slightly grim location. I signalled Ian to breast up and we brought the boats into the towpath. Cookie said that it was a common problem of vandals draining the canal in an area known as Hells Meadow.
It was a pleasant spot where the canal is bordered on both sides by young woodland. Opposite a marshy area in the woodland indicates the mouth of a small stream, perhaps the reason why this pound remains full of water while all around are empty. When I first travelled this way in 1977 we spent a night in this spot. At that time a spindly wooden viaduct spanned the canal and river. It carried a narrow gauge railway that transported the products of an explosives works to the station for transhipment and onward travel by rail. Now the works is gone and wagonload rail freight a thing of the past.
A boat passed towing our friends who we had jump started. They had now run out of petrol.
The nearby station of Gathurst makes this an ideal spot for people to join and leave the boats and I was soon on the 'phone making arrangements. After an excursion with Keith and Elsa to the pub at nearby Crooke,Cookie and Cara caught a train home. At various times through the evening Ian's partner Lesley (Lel)and Bex arrived separately by train and Russell Evans arrived by bike, having cycled the towpath from Manchester. Bex brought her dog Satan. The name is ironic,a less satanic hound would be hard to imagine.
Elsa cooked us all an excellent meal which we enjoyed on "Southam"s fore end in the evening sunshine. A discordant note spoiled the evening a little. What I took to be friendly banter as we sorted out the food kitty suddenly turned into a noisy confrontation between two people. I hate it when my friends fall out, especially on a boat trip. I recall a trip back from the potteries many years ago when I had to do my best to keep two people 140 feet apart! Luckily, in this case, both parties realised that it was important to minimise the acrimony, though I had to spend the evening walking on a carpet of eggshells.
As we approached the operational Dean Lock, Cookie was still preparing it. I tried to breast up the boats to wait, but got "Southam" into shallow water. As I tried to get her into the channel again, and breast up the butty at the same time, things got worse as we drifted into the shallow entrance to the arm that hundreds of years ago connected with the River Douglas. The boats came to an ignonimous stop as "Southam"s stem impacted the copings.
After much thrashing about in black silty water we got the pair into the lock. As it filled I remembered that we should have stopped in the tail of the lock to fill the water tank. "It doesn't matter", I thought, "we can fill up later today in Wigan".
Above the active lock there is a wide channel leading to the abandoned lock. In this was a small fibreglass cruiser with two men aboard. They asked for a jump start as their battery was flat. I asked them to move their boat alongside the head of the lock and, as "Southam"s engine room drew level with their boat, I stopped the pair and set up jump leads. The two sets that were on board combined just managed to span the distance to the little boat and soon its little engine was whirring away again.
Above Dean Lock the M6 motorway crosses the valley on a high viaduct, its constant roar the only detriment to the peacefulness of a winding, wooded, tranquil waterway. We chugged through a stone hump backed bridge and were hailed by the inhabitants of a moored pleasure boat. They told us that the next lock was closed through lack of water and it would be best to stay here. I agreed as the next lock I knew to be in a slightly grim location. I signalled Ian to breast up and we brought the boats into the towpath. Cookie said that it was a common problem of vandals draining the canal in an area known as Hells Meadow.
It was a pleasant spot where the canal is bordered on both sides by young woodland. Opposite a marshy area in the woodland indicates the mouth of a small stream, perhaps the reason why this pound remains full of water while all around are empty. When I first travelled this way in 1977 we spent a night in this spot. At that time a spindly wooden viaduct spanned the canal and river. It carried a narrow gauge railway that transported the products of an explosives works to the station for transhipment and onward travel by rail. Now the works is gone and wagonload rail freight a thing of the past.
A boat passed towing our friends who we had jump started. They had now run out of petrol.
The nearby station of Gathurst makes this an ideal spot for people to join and leave the boats and I was soon on the 'phone making arrangements. After an excursion with Keith and Elsa to the pub at nearby Crooke,Cookie and Cara caught a train home. At various times through the evening Ian's partner Lesley (Lel)and Bex arrived separately by train and Russell Evans arrived by bike, having cycled the towpath from Manchester. Bex brought her dog Satan. The name is ironic,a less satanic hound would be hard to imagine.
Elsa cooked us all an excellent meal which we enjoyed on "Southam"s fore end in the evening sunshine. A discordant note spoiled the evening a little. What I took to be friendly banter as we sorted out the food kitty suddenly turned into a noisy confrontation between two people. I hate it when my friends fall out, especially on a boat trip. I recall a trip back from the potteries many years ago when I had to do my best to keep two people 140 feet apart! Luckily, in this case, both parties realised that it was important to minimise the acrimony, though I had to spend the evening walking on a carpet of eggshells.
As we approached the operational Dean Lock, Cookie was still preparing it. I tried to breast up the boats to wait, but got "Southam" into shallow water. As I tried to get her into the channel again, and breast up the butty at the same time, things got worse as we drifted into the shallow entrance to the arm that hundreds of years ago connected with the River Douglas. The boats came to an ignonimous stop as "Southam"s stem impacted the copings.
After much thrashing about in black silty water we got the pair into the lock. As it filled I remembered that we should have stopped in the tail of the lock to fill the water tank. "It doesn't matter", I thought, "we can fill up later today in Wigan".
Above the active lock there is a wide channel leading to the abandoned lock. In this was a small fibreglass cruiser with two men aboard. They asked for a jump start as their battery was flat. I asked them to move their boat alongside the head of the lock and, as "Southam"s engine room drew level with their boat, I stopped the pair and set up jump leads. The two sets that were on board combined just managed to span the distance to the little boat and soon its little engine was whirring away again.
Above Dean Lock the M6 motorway crosses the valley on a high viaduct, its constant roar the only detriment to the peacefulness of a winding, wooded, tranquil waterway. We chugged through a stone hump backed bridge and were hailed by the inhabitants of a moored pleasure boat. They told us that the next lock was closed through lack of water and it would be best to stay here. I agreed as the next lock I knew to be in a slightly grim location. I signalled Ian to breast up and we brought the boats into the towpath. Cookie said that it was a common problem of vandals draining the canal in an area known as Hells Meadow.
It was a pleasant spot where the canal is bordered on both sides by young woodland. Opposite a marshy area in the woodland indicates the mouth of a small stream, perhaps the reason why this pound remains full of water while all around are empty. When I first travelled this way in 1977 we spent a night in this spot. At that time a spindly wooden viaduct spanned the canal and river. It carried a narrow gauge railway that transported the products of an explosives works to the station for transhipment and onward travel by rail. Now the works is gone and wagonload rail freight a thing of the past.
A boat passed towing our friends who we had jump started. They had now run out of petrol.
The nearby station of Gathurst makes this an ideal spot for people to join and leave the boats and I was soon on the 'phone making arrangements. After an excursion with Keith and Elsa to the pub at nearby Crooke,Cookie and Cara caught a train home. At various times through the evening Ian's partner Lesley (Lel)and Bex arrived separately by train and Russell Evans arrived by bike, having cycled the towpath from Manchester. Bex brought her dog Satan. The name is ironic,a less satanic hound would be hard to imagine.
Elsa cooked us all an excellent meal which we enjoyed on "Southam"s fore end in the evening sunshine. A discordant note spoiled the evening a little. What I took to be friendly banter as we sorted out the food kitty suddenly turned into a noisy confrontation between two people. I hate it when my friends fall out, especially on a boat trip. I recall a trip back from the potteries many years ago when I had to do my best to keep two people 140 feet apart! Luckily, in this case, both parties realised that it was important to minimise the acrimony, though I had to spend the evening walking on a carpet of eggshells.
As dusk approached I decided to try to take an arty photograph of the canal. A couple walking their dogs turned up at just the right time to animate the scene, but, when she saw the camera, the female party started to antic about, rather spoiling the image that I was trying to create. http://www.care2.com/c2c/photos/view/186/483743566/Liverpool_trip_April_2010/Gathurst%20evening%202%206%2010%20pixie.JPG.html
She was a small lively woman with a cheeky freckly face and a barmy hat. Everything about her spoke of a rejection of convention. She insisted on being photographed with her poodle. http://www.care2.com/c2c/photos/view/186/483743566/Liverpool_trip_April_2010/Gathurst%20menagerie%20woman%20poodle%202%206%2010%20pixie.JPG.html
As her partner hung about looking embarrassed, the woman took great interest in our boats and suggested that we should leave them there so that she could live on them. After some discussion of the idea she concluded that it would be impractical as she and her partner had a huge menagerie, including a massive tank full of fish. They walked on, but shortly afterwards returned asking if we had seen one of her dogs. Russell said that it had run down the towpath. She left me in charge of the huge bunch of keys to her private zoo to facilitate an olympic sprint in pursuit of the canine, shortly afterwards returning with the offending animal in tow.
Next morning dawned bright and shiny. I hauled myself out of "Lilith"s little forecabin and went for a walk to explore the area a little. I was particularly interested in the old Douglas Navigation, abandoned in about 1780, but little is to be seen of the old navigation works as the river has been improved for flood prevention in recent decades.
I decided to cycle up to have a look at the waterless stretch of
canal. The area is well named as it is a bleak stretch of post
industrial wasteland, now encroached upon by the ugly new buildings
of a football stadium and retail park. The canal was certainly well
down. I could climb down the copings and stand on the bottom in
places without getting my feet wet.
http://www.care2.com/c2c/photos/view/186/483743566/Liverpool_trip_April_2010/Empty%20canal%20Wigan%203%206%2010%20pixie.JPG.html
I
carried on to find a huge branch of Asda where I stocked up on
provisions. On the way back I chatted with boaters stuck at the lock.
They said that something was going to happen at 1 PM.
After an excellent cooked breakfast I once more cycled into Wigan. This time my aim was to visit the British Waterways offices. As I waited in reception I could overhear a conversation between the manager and a representative of boats mooring below the locks, now restricted to 30 miles or so of canal between Apperley and Liverpool.
The overheard conversation answered most of my questions. There was a severe water shortage exascerbated by leaking lock gates and vandalism. Water was being pumped into the canal from the river but it would not be open today and there was no date set for it's re-opening. I had a talk with the manager, which confirmed all this, then cycled back down the towpath. I spoke to the boaters who were held up at the lock. One of them played the part of a self important middle class **** by getting all aereated because the manager had not come down to personally apologise individually to each boater. I imagine she's too busy trying to solve the problem. Though I am often irritated by British Waterways bureacracy, bungling and arrogance, I really do sympathise with their task in dealing with so many boaters who think themselves the centre of the universe.
As we talked a BW pickup arrived and I recognised the driver. Robert is the brother of my friend Tony who set up the timber deal. He had been sent to rack the gates. This involves throwing sawdust or ash into the water above the gates. The flow of water through any leaks will draw in the particles and so block them up. Robert got an earful of moans about his bosses from the boaters, which only served to delay his task of reducing leakage to aid their passage up the lock.
Back at the boats we discussed the situation. It was now Thursday, but it seemed unlikely that we would be moving before Saturday. On Sunday I had to run a recycling trip, but there was now no way that "Southam" would be back in time to provide a tow. This meant that I would need to arrange a tow for "Forget me Not", which meant that I needed to get back and start begging. We decided to leave the boats at Gathurst. Bex and Russell would stay overnight while Keith and Elsa popped home to Bolton. The following day Bex and Russell would go home and Keith and Elsa would return to mind the boats until Tuesday when we would attempt again to get through Wigan. Elsa expressed concern about water supplies, so we decided to go back to Dean Lock to top up the tank.
Leaving "Lilith" behind, we set off towards Crooke, where it is possible to wind in the entrance to an arm. Elsa steered us round the meanderings of the waterway under low flying tree branches. Approaching Crooke we passed the long shortboats "Ambush" and "Viktoria", originally built to serve Ainscoughs flour mill at Burscough but now used for retail coal. As we passed the moorings there was some human activity around one of the wide steel boats. Elsa wanted to hand over to me for winding, but I insisted that she do it. I talked her through the procedure which she accomplished faultlessly, though needlessly panicking when our stern came within 6 feet of a moored cruiser.
With the boat facing back towards Gathurst I shouted in Elsa's ear "forward gear and wind some power on". At that moment the wide beam craft, low in the water like some early monitor, slid into view with barely 6 feet to spare between it and the moored craft. "Reverse?" asked Elsa. "No" I replied, and took over. In sterngear (reverse) "Southam" lurches to the left, which would take her right into the path of the leviathan. I carefully pushed the bow forward into the tiny gap which semed to widen as we moved into it. Though the boats touched slightly there was no damage and no crisis.
We plodded back down the winding canal followed by a green Dawncraft cruiser. Passing "Lilith" we went on through the hump backed bridge towards the motorway viaduct. There is a winding hole above the lock but it was partially blocked by a wide beam maintenance craft. I asked Bex to take a line on to this and take a turn on one of its forward bollards. This sprung the boat round across the canal. Elsa and I on the stern end were plunged into substantial foliage on the outside of the canal. I asked Bex to give the line some slack. She did this and our bow slid forward up to the coping stones, which just gave enough room to get the stern end round. I drew the paddles to fill the lock as the green cruiser, shortly after followed by the huge wide boat that had caused such consternation at Crooke, slid behind us into the channel that once led to the other lock, joining other pleasure craft already moored there.
My plan had been to work "Southam" down the lock, back out to the tap, fill up then work back up. As Elsa backed the boat into the lock I noticed that the pleasure boats beside the lock had rigged up an extended hose. I asked if we could use it and permission was readily granted. The tank took ages to fill, which suggested that this little jaunt was a wise move. http://www.care2.com/c2c/photos/view/186/483743566/Liverpool_trip_April_2010/Southam%20watering%20Dean%20Lock%203%206%2010.JPG.html
With the tank eventually refilled we chugged back up the valley to tie just behind "Lilith", which we then handballed back on to the outside of "Southam". Though it is conventional to breast up with the butty on the inside, this arrangement would make it easier for Keith, who had struggled to climb over "Lilith"s forecabin.
I organised my possessions, locked my cabin and walked to the station. The train was crammed with returning seasiders and I struggled to get my bike in. As it was going to Picadilly I decided to use the connection from there to Guide Bridge, then ride the short distance to Portland Basin to check on the boats before going home. All was well and I enjoyed having tea with Emuna.
