The thoughts, fantasies and random ramblings of Ashton Boatman Chris Leah, largely, but not exclusively, connected with his work for the Wooden Canal Boat Society, restoring historic wooden canal boats and putting them to work doing good deeds for the community and the planet.
When we first publicised our project for care and NHS workers last Autumn we got an enquiry from a couple in South Wales who wanted to book the boat for several nights holiday. This was slightly beyond the scope of what was on offer, but we agreed a reduced price rather than a totally free trip and booked them in for Easter.
The repaired gearbox for "Forget me Not" arrived a couple of days before the trip and I fitted it on Thursday. The Albin gearbox shares its oil with the engine. The problem had been that the oil feed from the engine had got blocked, causing excessive wear to various components. Our friends pulled out all the stops to get it repaired and back to us as soon as possible. The main delay was getting the parts from Sweden.
I tried turning the gearbox by hand and it worked fine. Once fitted I started the engine. It ran happily in forward gear but when I put it into reverse the engine started to labour. I thought it just needed adjusting, so I took the lid off and screwed the clutch adjustment back a bit, re-tightened the locking bolt and started the engine with the gearbox lid off.
Once again, it ran fine in forward but as soon as I changed to reverse the clutch adjuster started to turn, in spite of the locking bolt being in. This tightened the clutch, causing it to try to run in forward and reverse at the same time, thus stalling the engine. Drat!!!
I'm not blaming our friendly gearbox menders, who did a fine job. Like I said, if turned by hand the problem didn't show up.
After studying the difficulty I came up with a possible solution to fix it temporarily. On Good Friday morning I got up early to work on it. After several hours of effort I realised that my bodge wasn't going to work. There was nothing for it but to jam it into forward gear and do the trip with no neutral or reverse. I wasn't going to disappoint our guests. it would just mean that I would have to steer the motor boat all the way and not do any training.
Getting volunteer crew at Easter is difficult. I can usually rely on the amazing Aaron Booth but he had a positive covid test. He claimed that this was a false positive caused by drinking milk shakes (!?!!) and would have been happy to come along. There's no way I was going to allow this. Luckily I'd just met a couple of new volunteers, Jason and his partner Claire. Jason was working Friday and Saturday but Claire was free so she agreed to come along for a crash course in butty steering. The faithful Nessie came as butty steering coach and Daniel Stocks joined us to work the lift bridge and generally help out.
The original plan had been for a trip to Bugsworth and back but this was stymied by the closure of Marple locks on Easter Saturday. Instead I had suggested a return trip to Marple followed by a foray up the Huddersfield Narrow Canal. Our guests were happy with this.
I was filthy, covered in oil, with just a couple of hours to go before our guests arrived. I headed home for a shower and to change into my boatman garb. Nessie fetched "Hazel" back from her battery charging point and got her ready.
With guests on board and crew assembled we set out. The lack of manoeuvring ability meant that we had to shaft "Forget me Not" on to the Tame Aqueduct then bring "Hazel" round behind her and connect the towline before starting the engine. Almost immediately she picked up something on the blade. With no reverse I could not perform a 'chuck back', a brief engagement of stern gear to reverse the propeller and throw the rubbish off it.
We stopped to clean some rope and plastic bags off the blade whilst Daniel waited at the lift bridge wondering what had become of us. In the narrows of the lift bridge we picked up another load of crap and had to stop once again. Black smoke and slow progress became a theme of the trip.
Claire turned out to be a natural at butty steering. At Manchester Road bridge in Hyde we stopped for yet another blade cleaning operation. "Forget me Not"s cabin shaft wasn't in its proper place. I expressed my concern that I may have left it on the towpath at the last blade cleaning location. Nessie offered to go and look and unthinkingly I said OK. If I'd thought about it I would have said no as I knew he was suffering with blistered feet. He'd not been gone long when I realised that I'd put the shaft inside the cabin. I rang him and listened to his 'phone chirruping in his coat in the cabin.
With the blade clean we set off again, concerned about how far Nessie might have to walk to catch us up. It seemed an age before he did so.
At the old Joseph Adamson works in Hyde there used to be a man called Bryn who lived on the canal side in a caravan. He had a menagerie of animals and birds in cages on the bank. Bryn used to live on a boat but when he had it craned out for repairs it broke in half. On recent trips I'd noticed that the menagerie was diminishing but saw a flicker of TV from the caravan. Clearly age was creeping up on him. This time the caravan was all shut up, half the cages had gone and a younger bearded man, with a look of DH Lawrence, was working there, apparently clearing the site. I said hello then, when it was too late, kicked myself for not asking about Bryn. Presumably he's either gone into a home or died.
After Captain Clarkes bridge the canal follows a lovely wooded winding course along the edge of Haughton Dale. Bladefuls of rubbish became less frequent but I began to worry about excessive noise from under the cabin floor. I got Daniel to steer while I investigated.
About 10 years ago we replaced the thrust bearing that supports the prop shaft and transfers the push from the propeller to the structure of the boat. I was surprised that all that secured it to the shaft was two tiny grub screws. Nevertheless, it had given no trouble, until now. For some reason the grub screws had loosened, allowing the shaft to move forward until one of the couplings started rubbing on a floor bearer. Reluctant to get my clothes dirty I decided to carry on regardless.
Daniel had to leave us but Jason, Claire's partner, turned up on his bike, having finished his work shift.
By the time we reached Romiley the abrasion between shaft coupling and floor bearer was producing smoke and sparks. I had cooled it a few times with a handbowl full of water, but it was obvious that I would have to stop and crawl into the oily black void under the counter, clean clothes notwithstanding. Soon I had hammered the shaft back to its proper position and re-tightened the grub screws. Nessie headed for home and we carried on our way, with the engine labouring a lot less.
We tied for the night at Chadkirk, one of my favourite spots, in the concrete trough that was installed about 30 years ago when the canal started to slip down the hillside. Opposite are very nice gardens and on the towpath side the ground drops away into a wooded valley. A short walk away is a holy well, a mediaeval chapel and lovely gardens. In the other direction are the shops, pubs and restaurants of Romiley.
Claire and Jason got on their bikes to ride home. Our guests went food shopping and, after tidying "Forget me Not"s cabin I rode my bike into Romiley and purchased a veggie burger as I was tired and didn't feel like cooking.
The plan for Saturday was that Claire would join the boats at 10AM and we would go up to Marple to wind, then head back towards Ashton. Nessie would check the boats at Portland Basin then make his way up the towpath to meet us. I was dubious about this in view of Nessie's poorly feet, but he insisted that it would be OK.
Claire arrived by bike bang on time and we set off.
Under the railway viaduct at Marple we breasted the boats up and I used the long shaft to wind them before setting off back towards Ashton. Entering the narrows of the aqueduct I badly cross winded the motor, shouting an explanation to Claire that I was showing her how not to do it!
The return trip was mostly straightforward. At Romiley railway bridge I eased down to give a day hire boat time to clear the narrows then, entering the bridge, I gave a long blast on the horn to warn an approaching steel boat. The steerer did the usual beginners trick of slamming it into full reverse, causing the boat to slew sideways across the cut. Luckily he'd jumped on to the towpath and got it under control with a line by the time "Forget me Not"s stem iron got close.
We were still picking things up on the blade every now and then but I found that if I stopped the engine then quickly ran along the gunwale to the engine 'ole, leaned in and pressed the starter button then it would usually clear it.
Passing the Warble moorings between Hyde and Dukinfield we picked up something serious on the blade which stopped the engine. We breasted up to keep control of the boats and shafted them to one side to allow "Community Spirit" to pass with a load of passengers. A little work with the cabin shaft removed a mutilated dog bed from the propeller.
Claire did an excellent job of steering the butty. She's clearly a natural at it. As we got closer to Ashton I got increasingly concerned about Nessie. Attempts to 'phone him just accessed his answering service. Later we learned that he had left his 'phone behind and set out up the towpath but been forced to retire with painful feet and get a taxi back to Ashton.
The difficulty that I faced was that with only the two of us and no neutral or reverse gears, working through Dukinfield lift bridge was going to be tricky. With only a few hundred yards to go Jason appeared on the towpath, having been summoned by Claire at the end of his shift. I threw him a windlass and anti vandal key and he went ahead to prepare the bridge for us.
Dukinfield lift bridge is an out of the way spot and so a favourite place for fly tipping. The canal was dredged a couple of years ago, which greatly improved things, but now it is filling up with rubbish again. On this trip I noticed that the adjacent car park had been recently blocked with two lorry sized mounds of soil and rubble. These don't affect the canal, but do demonstrate the scale of the problem.
As we went through the bridge the motor boat rode over some rubbish, then the engine started to struggle as she had picked up more on the blade. I decided to call it a day so we breasted up and tied at the end of the landing bollards. It's a nice spot for our guests to stay the night anyway. Sometimes, when Portland Basin has become a night time haunt for drinkers I bring "Hazel" up here for overnight guests.
I went home for the night and spent the evening 'phoning potential volunteers. One of the frustrations of working with volunteers is that some people regard showing up as optional. For this reason you have to invite more people than you actually need to make sure that you have enough. Sometimes this results in an embarrassingly large number for the job in hand, but that's better than too few.
Sunday's planned trip was up the 3 locks to Stalybridge, then back down them again. Easy! Well, it should be, but this length of waterway has many obstacles. I wanted to be mob handed.
I was pleased as the crew started to assemble. Aaron Booth was first there as his covid tests were now showing negative. Daniel came to join us, and both Jason and Claire were there as neither were working that day. Nessie joined us, in spite of his foot problem, as did Joan Wainwright. Geraldine Buckley 'phoned to say that she'd meet us at lock 1.
The first difficulty was the turn at Portland Basin. This would be very difficult with no reverse so I stopped the boats on the aqueduct just before the junction. I shafted the motor round the turn Aaron and Nessie followed with the butty with Joan steering. Nessie threw me the towing line, I dropped its eye over the dolly, started the engine and we were off. All very neat.
The next problem was entering the lock with no stern gear. Normally I will shorten the line as I approach the lock with brief bursts of astern to enable the butty to catch up. When the motor is mostly in the lock and the butty right behind a burst of astern can be used to stop the butty just short of the bottom gates. The mast line is then thrown up from the butty to someone on the lockside and the gates quickly shut as soon as the motor is in the lock. The top paddles are drawn and, as soon as there is some water against the bottom gates, the butty can be hauled forward so that its fender is pressed against the gate. The line is made fast to hold the butty in place when the lock is emptied again when the motor has moved on. It is then an easy matter to haul the butty into the emptied lock.
On this occasion I cut the engine just as the motor's bows entered the tail of the lock and it all went surprisingly smoothly, despite a little confusion about which line to throw up from the butty. Geraldine had the lock workers well organised and a couple of people walked ahead to prepare lock 2 unbidden.
We set off into the narrow shallow Whitelands tunnel, opened out over 100 years ago. The motor always struggles through here so, as it's not possible to steer in the narrows, I stepped on to the towpath and helped her along by hauling on the back end line.
The next lock was not quite so smooth, but not bad for a largely inexperienced crew.
Locks 2 and 3 are close together so we bowhaul the butty between them.
I took the motor ahead, but my heart sank when I saw the water level on the notorious long pound between locks 3 and 4. It was about a foot down and I knew that we would have a hard time getting through it to the winding hole at Staley Wharf. It was, of course, inevitable that we took 2 lockfulls off before starting along the pound.
The first few yards above lock 3 are some of the most difficult. On the towpath side the bottom is strewn with rocks, probably left by contractors when they rebuilt the towpath wall. On the outside there is lots of submerged industrial machinery. The gap in the middle between these obstacles isn't very wide or very deep.
Inevitably we ground to a halt in mid channel. Luckily we had some strong lads with us who were surprisingly easy to co-ordinate. Sometimes when a boat is stuck different people have competing ideas about how to unstick it, which makes things very difficult.
Gradually we moved forward, stemming up time after time and having to be hauled free by the strong men on the towpath. The exhaust threw out black smoke as the propeller dredged up plastic bags from the canal bed.
At the cast iron aqueduct over the river Tame we found ourselves stemming a tremendous flow of water as the boats inched forward.
I later discovered that this was because another boat was following us up and was drawing off a further lockful. On the plus side, Geraldine and Nessie had gone ahead to try to find water to run down from pounds higher up to help us through.
Just beyond the aqueduct the narrows of a former bridge is another notorious fly tipping spot. Cheryl Dinsdale met us here to take photos as we laboured to get through this obstacle. Eventually we moved on and, after struggling through Bayley St bridge
we entered the relatively deep stretch leading up to Staley wharf. Here we breasted up and let the following boat, which had now caught us up, pass us to enter lock 4.
We paused for a while at Staley Wharf. I left it to Aaron to wind the pair, using the shaft, while I pulled strings of twisted polythene off the blade. Some people went off in search of food and drink and our guests provided coffee for anyone who wanted it. Geraldine returned from her water hunt but attempts to communicate with Nessie were once more met by his 'phone ringing on the boat.
Eventually we set off for the return trip. This was a little easier as the water level had risen. The biggest problem was that a vicious wind had sprung up, making it difficult to keep the boats in the channel. At one point we were stopped for quite a long time with both boats pinned on to the towpath by the gusty cross wind. As soon as you got a boat free another gust would put it back on the towpath.
At last we reached lock 3 and started to descend towards Ashton.
Earlier in the trip Carl, one of our guests, mentioned that a cousin of his had a boatyard in the area. This turned out to be Robert Holmes of the Ashton Packet Boat Co. I said I'd take him there, so this became our final destination. We worked down lock 1 and set off towards the Asda tunnel. As we passed Portland Basin it suddenly occurred to me that I couldn't see Claire anywhere. Jason was steering the butty and a shouted conversation with him established that we'd left her behind at the lock.
It was pleasant to be navigating relatively deep and clear water. The ocassional plastic bag was removed by stopping and restarting the engine. Soon we reached the Ashton Packet Boat Co and tied to the rings opposite which have happily survived the tarmaccing of the towpath. Claire arrived, flushed from running to catch us up. She had been detained at the lock by a talkative person.
Carl went over Hanover St Bridge to meet his cousin and get a guided tour of the boatyard and its rail network. I cycled home.
In the morning our guests left for the drive back to Swansea. Aaron and I returned the boats to Portland Basin. I worked out a way of making the gearbox function correctly again.
Many thanks to Jason Wilson and Cheryl Louise Dinsdale for the excellent photos. The less excellent ones are mine.
