I just found this article lurking in the deep crevices of my computer. I think I wrote it for Waterways World but i don't think it ever got published. At the time Forget me Not had no engine so Southam was towing her as well as Lilith.
I miss the recycling trips, I think a lot of people do. Unfortunately they had to stop because of covid and it's not been possible to re-start them. Nowadays we are having to turn donations away at the door of the charity shop sometimes. i think this is because so many similar shops have closed for lack of volunteers.
beyond the canalside poplars was beginning to lighten from black to grey. I
parked at the end of the road against the steps leading to the footbridge over
the canal and unlocked the gates to the museum wharf. Celebrity canal cat
Captain Kit Crewbucket emerged from his nest aboard “Queen” and hopped
down onto the wharf, complaining bitterly about hunger and the drizzle.
I opened “Southam”s front doors and sorted out paper and kindling to start a
fire in her huge ex army range, wonderful cooking devices but pigs to light. As
it alternately roared and crackled, then belched smoke, then roared and
crackled again,I set about tidying the cabin, something of a work in progress
as it has been being re-fitted for the last few years, and checking that
everything we needed was in place. Adding a few more sticks to the fire, I
went out to check over “Forget me Not” and “Lilith” , wondering if any
volunteers would turn up on such a grim day. I checked “Queen”s pumps and
found that they had failed and the old boat was slowly filling up with water. I
brought 2 charged up batteries from the van and soon the pumps were
whirring again, saving the oldest surviving motor narrow boat from a watery
grave.
A bike rattled on to the wharf bearing with it young Aaron, always cheerful
and ready to laugh at everything you say, even if its not funny. I asked him to
fill “Southam”s firewood bunker from the bags of wood kept in “Lilith”. “OK” he
laughed.
Another early volunteer arrived, so he helped me to wind “Forget me Not” and
“Lilith” to get them pointing in the right direction. Using a long shaft to push
the stern ends round while I guided the bows with a line. The clouds parted
and a winter sun glinted on the wet boats. Thick wind blown smoke showed
that the range had decided to co-operate and begin to heat the kettles.
The allotted time for recycling trips is 9.30 AM. This came and went but there
were still only 3 of us. We need at least 8 to do a trip. A car arrived, full of
people. My 'phone rang. “I'm going to be about another 15 minutes” croaked
a familiar voice, “Is it OK if I bring me pipes”. “Hurry up and please do bring
your pipes” I replied.
“Southam”s fore end was now crammed with people. Someone had taken the
initiative to make tea for the masses. It was time to get people organised.
Sitting on “Southam”s roof I gave the obligatory safety talk, then selected
people to steer “Forget me Not” and “Lilith” (which were to be towed) and
work various lines as we set off. People moved to their action stations and I
went to “Southam”s engine room to fire up her huge old BMC Commodore.
I suddenly remembered the cat. Celebrity canal cat Captain Kit Crewbucket
had been following me around and trying to trip me up since I arrived. He
wanted his breakfast, but, had I fed him earlier he would have then gone to
sleep in one of the boats, only to wake up in a strange place, panic and
potentially disappear into the bushes. I picked out a sachet of catfood and
squeezed it out on to his dish, before giving last minute instructions to the
crews, untying “Southam” and putting her into forward gear.
The propeller stirred black mud and white carrier bags from the depths of the
arm as it pushed the boat forward then, as soon as she was into the main
canal, I engaged sterngear to avoid hitting the other bank. Moving the gear
lever to neutral position, I walked up the roof and used the shaft to swing the
bow to face in the right direction. “Southam” is very good at towing, having a
powerful engine, but, being a motorised butty, her manouverability is limited.
With the stern against “Forget me Not”s bow I take her line and shout “OK,
untie everything” to the boat crews before taking a turn on the T stud and,
with one hand holding the line and the other holding the tiller, I use my foot to
push the gear rod forward, a little grunt from the engine acknowledging that it
is properly engaged. As “Southam” moves forward I slip the towing line to
accellerate “Forget me Not” without a snatch. As she starts to move someone
walks back along her length with “Lilith”s line. As they hand it to the steerer I
move the gear rod to neutral and drift while they tie it on to the dollies. As the
steerer stands up and “Lilith”s line tautens I engage gear again and the boats
straighten into a line along the canal and past the new flats. The boats follow
dutifully as “Southam” swings round the first turn to enter the narrow confines
of Walk bridge.
Two short toots on the hooter is code for “can somebody please come and
speak to the steerer”, conversation along the length of the boat being
impossible because of the engine noise. After sending this message, Aaron
appeared in the engine room bearing an unasked for cup of coffee. Thanking
him, I asked Aaron them to send Danny up. He laughed. When Danny
arrives I hand him the tiller so that he can get the hang of steering along the
next, relatively easy, stretch of canal.
Looking back I spot Liz pursuing us along the towpath, carrying the black bag
that contains her pipes. There is a narrows at Princess Dock, where once
boatloads of Peak Forest limestone were shovelled from boat to railway
wagon. This allows the boat to nudge the bank so that she can clamber
aboard.
On the right we pass mills, built in a line along the waterway so that boats
could deliver coal to feed the boilers of the great engines that powered their
ranks of cotton spinning and weaving machinery. Now, just one is involved in
textiles, the rest of the survivors being divided into smaller industrial units. On
the left are railway yards. Busy in past times with wagonloads of goods being
shunted, now the few remaining sidings form a depot for track maintenance
machines.
Danny did well, keeping in the channel and negotiating a narrow bridgehole. I
took over again for the turn into Guide Bridge. “Forget me Not”s steerer took
the correct line, keeping the bow tucked into the inside of “Southam”s stern.
“Lilith”s steerer allowed her to swing too wide and so got dragged round the
outside of the bend. I cut the power as “Southam”s engine room entered the
tunnel like structure, then gradually wound it back on again, stirring
mouldering leaves from the bottom. Strangely, cutting the power at the right
moment makes a boat slip through a bridgehole quicker and keeps the
towline taut.
Silently thanking the Canal & Rivers Trust for the recent dredging the train of
boats passed a former railway bridge, once notorious for being full of
scrap iron, and approached the moorings of the Ashton Packet Boat
Company. Once a grim spoil tip, this is now a pleasantly wooded area with a
steam powered slipway, a narrow gauge railway system and various vintage
cranes. The boatyard is bordered by a main line railway and once, superb
timing ensured that the recycling trip co-incided with the passing of a pair of
Black Fives hauling a steam special. This time we meet a boat under the
railway bridge and I move over close to the last boat on the moorings to give
it room to pass, glancing back to check that the other two boats are following.
A long dark motorway bridge follows as the canal burrows under the M60 on
a skew. Exiting this, “Southam” rocks and rolls over shopping trolleys, already
built up after the dredging. Soon the waterway opens out into a wide,
bordered by interesting new houses, one in a Bauhaus style, then I shout a
warning to everyone to keep their heads down as we approach the ultra low
Lumb Lane Bridge.
Danny takes over again and I retire to the fore end, sitting on the roof so that I
can keep a good eye on all three boats. A few more bridgeholes are
navigated safely and I go back to take over as we approach the final bridge,
successfully avoiding giving a nudge to the boat tied alongside the old
Droylsden wharf house.
Approaching Fairfield Junction I shout instructions to the crew on “Forget me
Not”, reminding them to use the back end line (attached to a rail on the
forward bulkhead of the engine room) to stop her. I then give the tug a burst
of sterngear to slacken the towline, untie it and throw it back. While “Forget
me Not” and “Lilith” are drifting in to stop on the towpath bollards I aim
“Southam”s bow towards the third bollard from the lock. As it rubs against the
copings, Aaron steps off with a line and takes a turn on the bollard. I push the
gear rod forward, put the tiller hard over and increase the engine revs. The
stern begins to swing out and the boat powers round until I am able to throw a
line to someone on the towpath to get the boat, now facing back towards
Ashton, secured.
The volunteers on “Forget me Not” and “Lilith” had made quite a good job of
breasting up and tying the boats. Those in the know now go to work
unbidden, unloading wheelbarrows and wheelie bins and distributing gloves.
Someone gets busy with a spade clearing the towpath verges of doggie
droppings. Soon two collecting teams are organised and two convoys of bins
and barrows set off, to knock on about 350 doors, asking for clothes, bric a
brac etc . A couple of people are left back at the boats to keep the fire going
and load goods into “Lilith”.
This recycling collection has been run every month since 1996, calling at the
same houses every time. Intuitively you would think that the yield would
steadily diminish, but the reality is quite the opposite. Because our volunteers
are regular, reliable and they know the faces of the regulars, people save
their unwanted goods for us.
There is a pleasure in collecting other peoples tat that is I think akin to the
pleasure that some people derive from shopping, but with the great
advantages that it costs nothing and you don't have to find room in your home
for what you collect. The prehistoric joy of being on a gathering party survives
into the silicon age alongside hunting, fishing and tribal warfare, this last
surviving in a non lethal stylised form as team sports.
The collecting teams tend to spontaneously arrange themselves into
knockers and barrowers, the latter being mostly those who are shy about the
constant, and mostly pleasant, doorstep encounters that produce the goods.
Mostly our doorknocking volunteers are greeted with a smile from the
householder, often accompanied by bin bags stuffed with goodies.
Back at the boats, “Lilith”s hold steadily gets piled up with bags, boxes, bikes
and small items of furniture as barrowers from both teams deliver the goods.
Glenys is in charge of the big range on board “Southam” , keeping the fire
going, the kettles simmering and a big pan of stew that someone brought
happily bubbling.
Eventually the two teams link up to complete the last couple of streets en
masse, then the procession of bins and barrows heads back to the boats for a
well earned brew. Glenys cheerfully hands out mugs of tea and coffee and
butty bags are broken open. Nick, who kindly provided the stew, asks who
would like some, and soon dishes of this tasty concoction are being handed
round.
“Will anybody mind” Liz asks, “if I play me pipes”? There are no objections, so
she begins marching up and down the towpath playing a medley of Scottish
and not so Scottish tunes on her bagpipes.
Dinner done with, it's soon time to start the return journey. First of all “Forget
me Not” and “Lilith” have to be winded. The breasted up boats are shafted
round as a pair to end up lying three abreast on the outside of “Southam”. I
explain once more the procedure for getting the boats safely and smoothly
under way, then go and start the engine. With forward gear engaged,
“Southam” slips out from the inside of the stack of boats. As I pass “Lilith”s
fore end “Forget me Not”s line is passed to me and I take the strain on the T
stud. The sun is now shining strongly and several people have chosen to sit
on the temporary deck that covers “Forget me Not”s hold for the return
journey. The boats are soon all moving and heading for the Fairfield Road
bridgehole.
The trip back was fairly uneventful, save for somone putting some wet wood on the fire,
resulting in a smoke screen to make the steerer's task more challenging. At the last
bridgehole Matthew, Glenys's son, got off and ran ahead. As we approached Portland
Basin I put the engine into neutral to allow the boats to drift almost to a standstill, then,
using short bursts of power with the tiller hard over, used the tug to steer Forget me Not
over to the wharf. As she drew close I threw back the towing line and her back end line
was thrown to Matthew who was ready and waiting. I moved “Southam” over to the
towpath, where people could get off easily. Looking back I could see that “Lilith”s steerer
had successfully brought her alongside “Forget me Not”.
Mooring pins were quickly banged into the towpath and, with “Southam” tied
there I sprinted over the bridge to move the van on to the wharf and organise
the unloading before everyone headed for home. Soon the van was
being emptied again at the charity shop, another lot of goods saved from landfill
and ready to be sold to raise funds to keep the old boats going.
When everyone had left, celebrity canal cat Captain Kit Crewbucket made a thorough
inspection of his boats before settling down in his nest aboard “Queen”.
Canal speak.
Wind (as in moving air) or winding=turning round
Breast, breasted, breasting = boats tied alongside each other.
Shaft= bargepole
Sterngear = reverse
Lines= ropes
T stud, dolly= points where you can tie lines on a narrow boat
Joe the tree feller bought himself a wooden narrow boat called Benevolence. She was built in 1938 by Nursers of Braunston for John Green of Macclesfield. In the 1980s my late friend Martin Cox was given the Keay Award for his work on her, but, since then, she's been rather neglected. Joe brought her from Oxford to Ashton, narrowly missing getting stranded by the breach at Bosley.
This week Benevolence has been on dock at Ashton Packet Boats. Joe said he was just going to have a look, put some patches on leaky bits and measure up for future replanking. Instead he ripped out a substantial length of rotten plank. I wondered if he was going to be ready for launching on Saturday, but, today he let in a substantial length of temporary pine plank. He's still cutting it fine, but Joe is a grafter!
When he gets back to his native Cumbria, Joe will be looking out for some nice big oak trees that need felling.
Once upon a time Lancashire was packed with cotton mills. Each one had a huge steam engine to drive the looms via cotton ropes and line shafting. One of the main traffics of the Ashton canal was short distance runs of coal from local pits to feed the boilers of the mills that lined it's banks. Tropical plants grew in the water because of the amount of hot water flowing out of the mills.
In the 1950s and 60s, one by one, they closed down. Amazingly, in the deepest Lancashire village of Haslingden one survived in production, steam powered, up until 1979. The engine and one of the weaving sheds are still there and are being restored and developed as a museum. Yesterday I paid it a visit. The weaving shed wasn't open but I got to see the magnificent mil engine and the exhibition of bikes, cars and smaller steam and internal combustion engines .It's not a highly polished professionally presented museum but a reflection of the volunteer's love of old engineering. I rather like that. It's only open once a month, but well worth a visit. Here's some pictures.
I've just come across some photos of Southam on a recycling trip in summer 2012. Work on resurrecting her is currently paused while we concentrate on Hazel, but will soon resume.
Sorry! I'm afraid I haven't been posting much lately. To be honest, I've been a bit down and depressed. Usually irrepressibly optimistic, all I've been able to see is all the things that are wrong, starting with me, not having the energy that I used to have, and going out into the whole world, which seems to be increasingly run by psychopaths intent on destroying eveyrthing that is beautiful.
While my pessimism may be, as pesseimists always claim, mere realism, staying in that mindset is counter productive. You drive all the positive people away and find yourself surrounded with Eeyors.
Nevertheless, we've been making good use of the sunny weather to get on with work on the boats.
Work started on fitting Southam's missing top strake.
We started boarding Southam's Conversion.
Tony and Nessie got the plank fitted.
Unfortunately further stripping uncovered more problems with the conversion.
Tony has mostly been working on Forget me Not, particularly painting.
The sitting room window had been leaking on Hazel so that was taken out and refitted.
Joe the tree surgeon moved his boat Benevolence to Knowl St, Stalybridge. He winded above lock 7 and backed the rest of the way to the boatyard.
The electricity cupboard under Hazel's foredeck had to be stripped out. The wood was deteriorating and has to be replaced and the main batteries need renewing after 10 years. The opportunity is being taken to make it a bit more ergonomic as the switches and fuses used to be very inaccessible.
Nessie set to work removing the cabinside by the bathroom as some of the wood was getting soft.
The side bedroom window had been refitted and well sealed. Extra insulation was added to the inside.
The old AGM batteries had lasted well. They were removed from the boat to be replaced by LiFePo batteries.
The gaping hole in the side of the bathroom was a bit of a surprise for Helen when she came to stay.
But it's now been filled in.
About every 3 months we run a short trip so that a man with a long squirty pole can clean the windows at Cavendish Mill, which is now flats. There's no towpath access since the retaining wall started to collapse in 2002. Since then CRT (previously BWB) and Tameside council have been arguing about who should pay to repair it. For the most recent trip, on Thursday, John Tickner came to take some of his excellent photos. As the gearbox is stil not quite ready I had to shaft the boat there and back.
On this occasion, Matt, the window cleaner, forgot to turn on a valve in his van, so I had to climb out over a spiky fence to turn it on for him. I'm not complaining but it may occur to some people that it was the 72 year old cancer survivor who did the climbing. Anyway, here's John's photos. They're his copyright.
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.
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.
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.
