Is it that we have created a life with less to worry about that makes living and working afloat good for our wellbeing?
Is it that we live more simply?
That we travel more slowly?
That we live amid and amongst nature?
That water, with all its beauty and calming properties, forms a permanent backdrop to our lives?
That we live in a constantly changing, stimulating landscape?
It is all of these things, and this week has brought into stark focus two additional crucial elements that add significantly to wellbeing – belonging and community.
We have been lucky this week to get hold of the car and be able to support boater friends on nb Warrior with lifts to and from hospital, and to have the support of other boaters in our time of real need – at 4.25am on Wednesday morning to be precise.
For the first time ever, we found ourselves cast adrift, almost completely and literally. It is seriously disconcerting amid the normal noises of a narrowboat in a wet and windy night to suddenly feel a huge thump. It shouldn’t be possible. Tied bow and stern, front and back by ropes to the side of the canal a boat has the capacity to rock a little in wind, to bump gently only because there is a small amount of give in rope but not enough to result in a thump. I opened an eye. Boatdog stirred in her bed as Steve was hastily dressing and heading out into the howling darkness.
Only that evening we had turned and headed our way back to find a mooring after a week of travelling which had led us to find 2 day limited moorings, followed by a longer term mooring so silted up that we ended up leaping on and off the boat to reach the towpath. (Our gangplank is currently off the boat still – a casualty of reducing the amount on the boat roof to go across the River Ribble and through Manchester). Then we went to a mooring further on but better, and then returned to where we needed to be to find a single mooring ring which needed to be supplemented by a mooring pin. The mooring ring is a steel ring fixed in this case within cement on the towpath – solid, secure, and the rope from the boat runs through it from and back to the boat.
There are two main ways such a mooring can come loose – the knots you tie on the boat can unravel if not tied securely, or the rope is cut. We knew the rope on the ring was securely tied – when we had arrived at that mooring we had swapped the rope at the centre line with that at the front to give us sufficient length to tie secure knots.
The rear or bow was a different story. It seemed from what was left behind that rings had been removed from the area, and so the bow demanded that we hammer in a mooring pin to attach our rope. We had multiple attempts to find a good place – the first few were just too loose, not gripping, but sliding into the ground like butter – never a good sign as that means they slide out as easily. We could see other areas of fractured divots, indicating where other boaters had also faced issues. Finally, we got a pin to stay firm and attached the rope. It seemed fine, and when we checked it before bed, it seemed to be holding.
During the night, the rain came down, softening the soil, and the wind built up. Eventually, the pin gave up, and as the wind pushed the boat out, the pin pulled loose, setting the boat free as it was dragged into the water complete with the rope attached to it. Our boat, our home, our office, our workshop, pivoted right across the canal. The front remained attached but struck the boat ahead of us as it was flung around by the wind.
Steve made it out into the wet, windy dark by jumping from the bow onto the towpath to find the couple from the boat ahead of us already out, woken by the thump of our boat on theirs. Our centre line was too short to reach the bank from three quarters of the way across the cut. Our neighbours lent us a rope to add to our centre line, and Steve made his way along the gunwhales to attach it and bring the extended line back to shore. Together, they tugged from the slippery wet towpath against the gusting wind to bring the boat back. I emerged on the bow, recovered the rope and pin, and found myself utterly confused about why we should be resting against another boat when we hadn’t double moored! It took a moment for me to realise the situation, and by then, with difficulty and the help of our neighbours, we were returning to safety.
It took three pins and numerous attempts by torchlight to secure the bow to a mooring. With every thump of his mallet, Steve winced at the noise ringing out across the cut, and we were convinced waking every boat in earshot. (It turned out not everyone had been woken, as the wind took the noise away as rapidly as it had whipped away our boat). Steve then found hinself staying awake to watch the mooring anxiously until the wind died, it got fully light, and we could move the boat to a more secure spot where we could moor on chains to piling.
Our neighbours on nb Splash were immensely generous with their time and assistance in the damp, dark and howling early hours. Whilst not able to take up our offer of a daytime thank you drink as they were moving on, I am sure we will meet them somewhere on the network at a time we can actually exchange names and thanks once more.
Such is the generosity of the boating community, and it is a valuable part of life afloat. Over our years we have lost count of the number of times we have come across boats half moored and half adrift, or completely adrift, and we have in each instance re-moored them to the best of our abilities, the most recent just a few weeks ago. Not yet have we come across a boat with people on board or at night in that situation, but I have no doubt that if we did we would come to their aid just as our neighbours did for us this week.
That’s what community and belonging is about – supporting others when they need it and hoping there will be support for you when you are in need. Living afloat is good for us – full of calm, karma, and community. It’s an excellent recipe for a satisfying, if not always easy, life.
Pickingupducks 