Voles and Water Rats

We breakfast at the same jaunty angle as we slept and await white van man from British Waterways to let some water down to refloat us, so that we can be on our way up over the summit. It's now Thursday 7th July and day 4 of our adventure. We are aground because of the poor state of some of the lock gates on this ascent (same applies on the way down) but BW are now spending a great deal of money gradually improving this situation, working their way round starting with the worst bits.

The BW guy tells us that one pair of lock gates we see cost £20,000 and there's a bigger pair further down which cost £30,000. Dad notes that many of the joints and parts of new lock gates bear a striking resemblance to work done by the shipwrights on SB Cambria - caulked joints, metal strapping, spikes sunk in as if countersunk to hold planking to frame. It's as if the gates are actually made by shipwrights.

We chug gently across the summit and are helped on our way by the BW bloke who gives us some advice on avoiding some underwater obstructions lower down. We pause in Benthouse for lunch. There's a lovely little boat size inlet here and some safe hard standing so the kids can let off steam. There were originally plans for them to camp out a night but it's chilly and black clouds loom so that gets vetoed. We part company with Commander Dave for now.

In one lock a small mammal catches every one's attention swimming around in apparent confusion and peril as we move the boat and fill, then empty the lock. There is a debate about whether he's a water vole or a brown rat but Mum and Mrs S note the snubbed nose and declare him a vole. Dad's not sure whether a vole should have a tail that long, but subsequently checks in the book and agrees he should. Nice one! (And none of we dogs ate him). We all know that "Ratty" in Wind in the Willows is a water vole, which adds to the confusion.

We moor up just short of Rochdale for our overnight for a quiet evening of food, drink and (not so quiet) card games. Day 5 is a late and leisurely start in which Commander Dave in Oxford passes us while we are still mid breakfast (making us all feel slightly guilty!). We will pass down the Slattocks flight together, saving water.

It's today that Haggis decides to join the swimmers, leppin' off the poop deck just as we emerge from an underpass under a main road near the M62. Dad shouts "Haggis is in!" to Mum, who happens to be also on the deck at that moment comparing map readings. Haggis swims for the nearest bank, a very steep concrete 'plinth' with shrubbery and hooks himself in by his elbows. His shivering makes that part of the bush shake, so we can see where he is, even though he's out of sight. Anxious moments.

Dad slams the boat into reverse to stop it, and backs up towards the underpass. It's important not to suck the dog in under the boat with propeller-wash. Mum leps over the back rail, swinging herself onto the plinth by the conduit's hand rail and then shimmies along the concrete bank on her haunches till she can reach into the shrubbery and feel for Haggis and then his collar to haul him out and swing him, dripping, up under her arm. Hugging him tight she scrambles back aboard, by which time the fore-deck crew, alerted by the frantic activity aft and the boat's bizarre course, have arrived with dog-towels. No harm done, except that Mum, who had just emerged, fragrant and freshly clothed from the shower, now needs another change of clothes.

By this time Oxford are way ahead and have no idea of the drama they have missed. We chug on down alone to close by a recommended pub called the Rose of Lancaster in Chadderton, though we both misread a sign and sail right by and drop down another lock (64, Failsworth) into a bit of canal with no decent moorings by mistake. We make the best of a bad job mooring in a weedy old read patch.

It's all go

Deefer

BOOM! Rattle rattle

I am writing this in the midst of a mahousive thunder storm, which is banging and rattling around, quite alarming. Aside from the wisdom of using a computer in such electrical mayhem, it is also difficult to type because at every bang, the H has to rush downstairs shouting his indignation, and naturally, I have to charge down too to support him. This makes for some distracted typing, but bear with me.... I'll do my best.

It is time to describe the run back over the Summit into God's Own County. This is, as we have said, all carefully controlled and restricted by "Dave" from British Waterways (Westie owner who has a pic of the three of us posing on the aft deck). The runs over and back are carefully controlled and timed to ensure that the boats all meet at the most troublesome pound (below which are two very subsiding locks with very leaky doors. This makes sure that the water "brought down" by the descending boats is used to fill the pounds needed by the ascending boat.

It kinda works - west bound you arrive at lock 33 at 09:00 which gives you time to climb and bimble across the summit, descending to 41/42/43 to meet the Eastbound boat(s) which has been allowed into the sequence at 44 at 11:00. Even so you park in one lock to allow 2 boats down, and move only when the 2nd of the pair is in the pound. You chug forward very tentatively, inching towards the cill (sill?) with your vulnerable prop and rudder, ready to call for more water if you ground.

Once through that bit the rest of the climb is fairly easy, and we dogs help out, as you can see from the pics, by leppin' off the boat at every lock, running around, crossing the bridges and peering down at Dad in the lock chamber from 3 or 4 feet above his head. This also gives the lock wranglers useful exercise rounding us all up before they can leave the lock and carry on. Keeps 'em fit (especially when Meg gets a bit tired of this and Mr S has to carry her back to the boat below the lock.)

It's a full day - it's 9 locks up to the summit, and 9 down again to Walsden, and Grandma Pollard's chippy. As I said, we couldn't start till 11:00 which meant that although we had a nice lie-in and a leisurely breakfast, there was a serious risk we might not make Grandma's by 15:00, and a mutinous rumour had gone round the ship that that was when she closed. Crew members were getting an evil gleam in their eyes, and the Skipper (Dad.... ahhh my Hero) was starting to get a bit edgy.

It seemed that all was lost, and the best he could hope for was a good keel-hauling. 15:00 came and went with us still 3 or 4 locks from Walsden. We moored up at 16:00 in despair, and Mrs S was despatched to try to blag a late extension to the opening times (We've travelled Miles! 4 hungry children (and a crop in the fields?) etc etc. We were starving, so imagine our (and Dad's relief) when Mrs S returned saying "No Problem! The 15:00 only applies to Monday and Tuesday! This is Wednesday - it's open till 20:00! Result! )

Food was taken and good humour restored. We bimble on down some more, to moor up for the night just above lock 21, in the pound that runs under the Gauxholme viaduct. Tomorrow would be another day - Todmorden, Hebden Bridge and the start of heavy rain, but for now we are warm, dry, well fed and enjoying an evening of silly quiz games with the girls, playing holiday-related "Hangman" (Halifax, Staircase Flight, Laugh, etc).

We are exhausted bodies as we take to our bunks, and the humans at least, are with wine taken.

A brilliant day

Deefski

Dave

I was talking about the impressive Gauxholme railway viaduct. This first photo will give you some idea - very imposing above you on the sky-line as you climb the locks towards it, and perhaps even more so as you drop down under it on the way back.

Day 4 (Tuesday) and we have to submit to the knowledgeable and safe shepherding of "Dave" from British Waterways. He turns out to be a really nice bloke who also owns a westie, so we can charm him up. In fact he goes home from work Tuesday telling his wife all about this boat with three westies on, and she insists he get a photo on the Wednesday as he brings us back over, so we have to be lined up on the back deck to pose for a pic.

Dave sees us through the dodgy locks (leaking gates, bellying, subsiding chamber walls, shallow pounds), leaving us to chug gently along the mile long summit pound (my 2nd photo is of Heckle and Jeckle's boat "Warwick" following us along - gives you a good idea of the summit scenery, the moors and the width of the canal).

We also see, coming up towards us, a genuine old horse-drawn barge being run by the Horsebarge Society. It's moored below a lock as we come out , so once we've gone the guys have to pole it in. They tell us that if the locks are set the horse is unhitched while the barge is still under way, and the momentum of the barge would glide it into the lock.

In the early days of the trip the Silverwoods were keen to try out the fishing, and it became a bit of a competition between Mr and Mrs S and Em-J. Unfortunately, Em-J caught one first (the fine stripey beastie you can see in the pic), which made Mrs S even more determined. As dark fell, the mozzies started to buzz around her, but she was fierce determined and blind to all entreaties to give up, and to the dangers of being bitten to death.

Result was she was eaten alive by the little varmints, and spent several days with her face bloated and swollen with joined up bites, like some kind of horror film elephant-man. The photographer left her alone so there are no pics, and by the end of the hols she was restored to her former beauty. Next year, says Mum, we are remembering the insect repellant, and indeed a "Boating 2010" list has already been started!

Mind you, on fishing, it nearly came to a sorry end as a hobby but more of Mum and maggots in the fridge tomorrow!

My final pic today was at a lock called Benthouse after we had summitted, bidden farewell to Heckle and Jeckle, shopped in Little borough, and climbed back up a few locks to overnight just short of the (Western) summit. A superb idyllic location in the sun, with a small off-canal berth (some kind of loading quay for stone blocks) with hard standing and a nice picnic area for an al-fresco pasta supper (and more fishing - this was pre-"maggots-in-da-fridge")

Enough for today

Deefski

(the maggots were definitely NOT my fault)

The Summit

Longterm followers of this blog will know that this narrow-boating thing is now in its third year, and that in 2007, our mission to climb up the Rochdale canal over the summit and down to Littleborough (in Lancashire) was thwarted by a water shortage and some canal "pounds" with too little water in them, forcing us to turn back.

We climbed up through Todmorden but the shallow run-aground pound that thwarted us, between locks 25 and 26 (Smithyholme and Pinnel) meant that we got only 100 yards past lock 25 and had to reverse out (then reverse all the way back to Todmorden (not easy in a 56 foot boat - a matter of much roping and poling).

In 2008 we chose a different kind of route - a hard charging one-direction mission through Leeds to Burnley, but this year we opted to try again at the Summit. The guys from British Waterways have now got it a lot more organised so that numpty tourists can't leave paddles open and fail to close locks correctly, so water is conserved much better up there. You have to book passage over, and the numbers and slots are severely restricted.

Their man (In our case a westie owner called Dave) then collects you at the bottom of the restriction (lock 34) at the allotted time and pretty much shepherds you through, helping you with locks and letting extra water into the pounds to make sure you get through. You must also go in pairs of boats to maximise efficiency (of which more later). You then part company with him on the way back down, as you drop out of the poorly locks (subsidence, bellying sides and leaky doors) back into better maintained bits of canal.

So - we made it, and had plenty adventures on the way, which I will regale you with as we go through the next few days.

Look after yourself

Deefer

Downstream

Foiled in our attempt on the summit, we are now heading downstream, and with a few days now spare, we decide to go down beyond Sowerby Bridge to try out the bits of the "navigation" that are, in fact, the River Calder

In forward gear again we slot back into the deliciously relaxing routine, and chug back down through Hebden Bridge (where we take on water and lose bagged up rubbish), and Sowerby Bridge (where the nice staff at Shire Cruisers replace Em-J's exploded life jacket with a non-inflated one; easier to wear for little Em-J). Then on through Copley and the lovely scenic Salterhebble, where we stop for the night

Mum and Dad have brought with them the bat-detector box , and the Silverwoods are fascinated to stand this on the bow of the boat in the dark, and then marry the squarks, burps, pitter-pats and farts of the box, to the bats we can see zooming round the basin, curving, diving, loop-th-looping and racing in (mating?) pairs. At least some of these, say Mum and Dad, might be Daubentons (we can tell by the frequency). They are certainly too big to be pipistrelles

Evenings are good for chilling out. We dogs are allowed to stroll the canal banks provided the humans are out and about, generally relaxing on the deck with a glass of nice Rioja. The girls have done blackberrying, and are now collecting berries, leaves, flowers and herby bits to make Harry Potter "potions" to cure bruising and mozzie bites (allegedly)

With morning we chug on down through Elland and Brookfoot to Brighouse, where we drop down into the River Calder. Here Dad decides to give the boat a bit more ooomph (realistically 4-5 mph rather than our normal 2!) and chogs up the throttle. We mustn't make a "breaking wake" in the rules, but it's nice to see the proper "V" of a bow-wave and the girls are hanging over the blunt bow watching the water rise. We are shepherded out of the Calder at a weir, through the "flood locks", and lunch (almost) under the M62 near Kirklees.

That's it, though for our downward run. Running out of days, we must turn round and head back up towards Sowerby Bridge, mooring overnight near the basin, so that we can bimble back in to hand the boat back for 09.30. Mum is convinced that all Yorkshire ladies are as fastidious cleaners as Diamond's aged aunt Ella, so she is determined to pre-blitz the boat before hand over.

That's pretty much it for my tale of our adventures on "Northumberland". All that was left was a diversion in the cars to the summit we had failed to reach on Wednesday. We drove there in 30 minutes (it took 3 days in the boat!), parked up and went for a walk about behind the "Summit" pub. Then we parted company with the Silverwoods; they off to Liverpool for a visit to Anfield (Mad keen 'Pool supporters all!) and a night in a hotel; we for the 4 hour drive home.

Fantastic

More tomorrow, as memories occur

Hope you've enjoyed my nautical tale.

I am One Year Old on Monday

Have a great weekend

Deefer

Oh - the pics today

1) The River Calder below Brighouse, with the signposted right turn towards Sowerby Bridge

2) We loved this waterpoint at the Summit, labelled K9 and (naturally) housing a doggie water bowl

3) Another bottom-bunk escape hole

4) Keeping watch from the aft deck

No way up...

Weds 5th Sept afternoon and we are getting worrying reports from boaters and mountain bikers coming down the canal, that there is a nearly-dry section higher up which they doubt we'll get through without grounding. Dad and Em walk ahead with Haggis and myself, a few locks to take a look. Between lock 25 (Smithyholme) and 26 (Pinnel) we find the problem; a "pound" which is 2 feet down in level (brown drying canal banks) - not enough water coming in from above and either leaks or bad practise by lock users below have almost emptied it.

One of our sister-ships, the Warwick, is struggling down grinding along the bottom and churning mud with her propellor. We walk up one more lock to let a lock full down to help, and Warwick makes it, but she lets that lock full down with her (obviously).

We decide to try it. We chug up to lock 25 and open the top (head) gates but 60 yards into the pound and we hit ground. We retreat back through the lock and decide to abandon the summit. Shame, but there's plenty more canal below Sowerby Bridge to play in.

Problem. We now have a 56 foot boat pointing upstream and the canal is nomally only about 30 foot wide. The next turning round point ("winding point") is 5 locks back down, in Todmorden. These boats are beasts to steer when going backwards (steering mainly works by the propellor wash being diverted at an angle by the rudder; doesn't happen in reverse). So it is a tired gang of wranglers helping the boat back through the locks by walking the towpath beside the boat, keeping her near the path with ropes, or away with poles. It's 8pm and nearly dark by the time we finally turn round under the "Great Wall of Todmorden" and moor up to eat and sleep

By now we dogs are confident around the locks - my first view of the aft deck with the engine chugging below my feet and the deck rocking slightly was worse than the "scary bridge" at Home, but by now I'm nipping up and down the gang plank and trotting happily across the narrow walkways over the locks, or along the planking at the top of the lock gates.This confidence can occasionally lead to recklessness, and both Meg and the H have "near misses" when their front feet (or elbows and chests) are clinging to dry land, but their back legs get wet - haggis has one of those classic cartoon moments when his front end is on the bank and his back feet are on the deck, as the boat gradually drifts away from the bank. He doesn't want to jump as the deck is slippy steel, and he thinks he will be worse off. An anxious looking dog at the best of times, H's face is a picture, till Dad realises his predicament and rescues him

Em-J goes one better, slipping down the gap between boat and bank while blackberry-wrangling, so that her life jacket explodes into full inflation, her sister screams in alarm and Dad has to sprint down the side of the boat to haul her out - cold and wet, upset but not damaged.

My only proper contact with water is when I have rolled in some serious duck-poo and Dad dangles me in the lock to rinse me off. Meanie!

Downstream tomorrow

Deefer

ps - Oh the pics! 2 of me sprinting round the edges of locks, one of the horridly dark and curvaceous Falling Royd Tunnel, near Mytholmroyd