Who knows what it was, perhaps a combination of all of the above, but we survived Storm Darragh just as we survived Storm Bert and before that earlier this season, Storm Ashley. We are not defeated or even deflated (although this is a boat nearby – not ours!).
Some have not been so lucky this past weekend. Across the inland waterways network, nearly 500 trees came down, blocking canals, as well as sinking and damaging boats. Power cables landed in some waterways, and there was widespread flooding with its accompanying damage.
Having to be away for our annual four generation family Christmas meal together at the height of the storm felt both risky and irresponsible, but the boat was moored away from trees at risk of falling. Water levels had risen during Storm Bert, and we’d stayed moored where we were, so the hope was that would be the same with Darragh. It was the winds that worried me, and I have to say the ferocity of the storm near Haydock where we spent Saturday night was far stronger than it was down here where we are moored in Leicestershire. It led to a sleepless night for me and I was grateful for reassuring storm updates from those down here. Just a little further along the Leicester Line was a different story though with trees down, navigation blocked and significant damage.
The relief of sloshing down the towpath with the dog on Sunday night (forgot my head torch so reliant on the torch on my phone) to see the shadowy outline of the boat where and as I left her was immense. Within minutes, the lights were on, the stove was lit, and the dog was curled up on a chair as close to the heat as she could make it. It was as if we had never been away, never worried, never fretted and fussed.
It nerve ceases to amaze me how quickly concerns fade. Worries dissipate rapidly as the boat rocks in the wind. I remember back to the early days when we first lived aboard I dare not sleep in storms, but lay awake worrying in the darkness as the boat was tugged and tossed by the winds and rain hammered down on the metal roof. Now, though, the velvet darkness of rural moorings I find comforting rather than menacing, and the sounds of the abating winds and drumming rain, act as white noise, sending me very soundly to sleep. If we were in an area where the risks were high, then I would have set an alarm every two hours as many boaters did over the weekend to check they were still safely afloat.
The only problem the next morning was that for us was that we had risen such a long way that water from the sink, basin, shower or washing machine was going to discharge straight onto the towpath adding to the breach puddles that had gathered! In the village above the canal sparkling reindeer keep sparkling.
Just as storms abate, the puddles and floods reduce here pretty quickly. We are situated between weirs and a lock so water can escape around us. By Thursday morning, the towpath was muddy, but not underwater in places.
This life is a living lesson – things happen, things get tossed at us, but whatever happens, we can manage. We float onto the next drama, the next crisis having learned a little more about resilience and preparation, about weathering the storms of life.
We can get through. Things will get better, just as Boatdog has recovered from her violent viral infection with help. We are a little battered, a little weaker for a time, but we recover. Trees that have fallen are gradually being removed thanks to dedicated workers, boats are being refloated, homes mopped out, and we are lucky none of us suffered directly here.
Hearing the trials of others makes us grateful, grateful we have survived unscathed. We are also grateful for the boating community and its supportive network, for having messages and calls from boaters and family checking on us. We are fortunate to be blessed in this way and fortunate to live afloat where we rise and fall with the storm.
Pickingupducks 