For the first time the passage of our 50ft floating home (plus office,studio, and workshop) along inland waterways in sub zero temperatures made a man dash out onto his balcony in just his dressing gown to see us.
Despite his fetching black and white striped gown with bare legs and just slippers he must have been freezing but he wanted us to know we were the first boat he’d seen on that stretch of the Leicester Line for months.
The Leicester Line of the Grand Union Canal has been a casualty of the driest Spring and Summer this year and also of the sudden downpours of Storm Claudia. One end of the waterway was closed because of a lack of water but then reopened when reservoirs rose slightly. A mid section simultaneously remained closed because it had insufficient water for navigation, and at the same time heavy rains caused the river sections to flood. A perfect micro storm perhaps.
So we had begun to think that our plan to bring our boat nearer to our family whose homes straddle the River Soar which forms a large part of the Leicester Line, was probably not going to happen. Last Tuesday, having returned from a week’s holiday in the West Country, we headed onto the Market Harborough Arm passing through the manual swing bridge at the foot of the still closed lock flight at Foxton.
We thought we could spend a month or two pootling along to Market Harborough and back until perhaps the water levels meant we could finally head to Leicester and beyond. Not ideal but here seemed no choice.
Until late on Tuesday that was. During the day we got a message to say the closed section that had been short of water was going to open on Wednesday morning because levels had risen. Foxton Locks was also to reopen (not relevant to our travel plans as that would take us in the wrong direction). A further message said the River Soar was now declared out of flood and so navigable.
So everything (apart from the fact we were pointing the wrong way) aligned to give us hope that we might, just might, make it through to be near family before our newest grandson arrives. We debated whether it was safer to stay out, but by late Tuesday evening the decision was made and at first light on Wednesday we set off, through a swing road bridge to turn the boat at the nearest winding hole (a place for turning boats). Once facing the right way, it was back through the swing road bridge again, and then we had to open and close the swing foot bridge a before we could start our journey proper.
It was very windy on Wednesday, and we battled into a gale on our first leg which with unexpected delays en route turned out to be 10 miles and 8 locks long. It was a busy day, we got a load of washing done whilst we were cruising; headed through Saddington Tunnel where we were grateful for a little respite from the battering, biting wind; were kept company by a heron as we travelled along his patch; and all was going well until we approached Kibworth Top Lock, the first of those that had been closed for months… to find them still closed with a padlock and chain.
A quick call to the wonderfully human and helpful Sharon at Canal and River Trust East Midlands resulted in someone being despatched asap, and we kept ourselves amused as we waited. The washing was hung on the racks above the stove to dry, an industrial tub of paint half full was fished out of the canal along with a rucksack, innumerable cans and plastic bottles. All except the paint went into our waste box that we keep ready as we go. Martin from CRT took the paint after unlocking the gates for us, and also undertook to arrange the removal of a poor sheep which had drowned by the lock.
As I opened the gates it was clear we were the first boat for months. Ash which had been used to seal the gates was apparent as I pushed the gates apart. The water flowing into the lock churned up stale water and rotting vegetation, a smell no doubt familiar to those incredible pioneers who returned the abandoned canals to us after their commercial decline.
On we travelled with swans and ducks, moorhens and a jay at one point for company but not a single other moving boat in sight. Just as the light was fading we were two locks from where we aimed to stop for the night when we encountered more closed locks, fortunately these were only tied with blue twine and the knots were easy to undo. We made it through and moored up just as the sun began to set spectacularly on what we felt was an unexpectedly successful day’s travelling.
An early Thursday alarm had us up and ready to set off again with the sunrise. We felt early starts could help if there were more unexpected hold ups although we couldn’t envisage what those might be. The wind had dropped although it was still chilly, and we had some flakes of snow by the second lock of the day, but we were well wrapped up and weather sun was shining too.
Two kingfishers, 1 cormorant, ducks, moorhens, and a couple of swans were our companions on the continuing journey. We stopped to get rid of waste at a services while we passed. Again the entire waterway seemed to belong to us and us alone. And when we started to pass houses, the celebrity status of us as a novelty in people’s lives became apparent. Not only did the gentleman emerge in his dressing gown but others in their gardens and dog walkers on the towpath, as well as a CRT fundraiser wanted to tell us what a novelty we were and ask us where we had come from.
It took time to answer them (would have been rude not to judging from their excitement), and yet we were doing well, until that is we approached Whetstone Lock. We had been told of a CRT workboat Pride of Lincoln, which had suffered tens of thousands of pounds worth of damage at the hands of criminal vandals, but we hadn’t expected to find it adrift blocking our path. As we pulled up it became apparent the bow was still attached but the stern was loose, resulting in the boat being right across the canal.
I jumped aboard and crunched over broken glass as I made my way to the stern to look for a rope or some way of dragging the huge vessel back to moor it. There was a massive heavy rope, and some thinner chain but it wouldn’t stretch far enough for me to take it all the way back with me to the towpath, and it was too heavy to throw effectively to the Skipper who was trying to keep out boat from drifting off.
He fortunately saw something that looked like a metal rod in the water just ahead of our bow and began fishing it out to avoid damage. It turned out to be a heavy, long boat hook which it seemed likely must have come from the stricken workboat.
After rescuing it we managed to use it to hook the thick hawser-like rope and the Skipper held it as I made it back to the towpath and we used it to both pull the workboat alongside and remoor it. I also took a chain attached to the workboat and knotted it around the piling as another mooring device. Anyone trying to undo that will need wire cutters, and I rather hope vandals don’t carry those routinely. I rang Sharon at CRT again to relay this latest day’s adventures, updated her on everything and sent pictures. We also put the boat hook on our boat for safe keeping rather than risk it being chucked into the canal again, and arranged a CRT contact to take it when we meet up.
After 7 miles and 12 locks we made it despite delays to Kings Lock, the last before the river section, and adjourned to the handy Tearooms for a late (and excellent) lunch. As we moored up, we had to pull in front of two moored boats. The owner of one came out and shook our hands telling us we were the first moving boat he’d seen for months and sharing the terrible fright he had suffered during the sudden recent flooding. CRT had got him up into the lock for safety. I never cease to be amazed how fast the Soar rises in flood and again how quickly it abates.
We dropped down through the lock to the delight of some Danish tourists (yet again we were a novelty) and moored up after answering as many of their questions as we could.
At the moment we are travelling with a car but we had left it at Foxton, so the Skipper armed with his trusty bus pass took 5 buses to go and fetch it and move it ahead. I took the chance to walk Boatdog along Aylestone Packhorse bridge to the meadows beyond where the flood waters were still evident, and then returned aboard to do some work.
It began to look like we might, just might make our goal. Only Leicester lay ahead. After a night of fireworks after midnight, a complaining barn owl and a cyclist with music blaring cycled past in the early hours, we were ready to set off again early. Ropes were frozen and gloves stuck to the metal of the first locks as I worked them.
A kingfisher sped across our path just as we approached the Leicester City stadium, and then the straight mile into the City was as usual crammed with swans. Terns too were in evidence and ducks. Just as we approached the Castle Gardens mooring another boat was pulling off and we greeted each other like long lost friends – the delight of seeing someone else on the move was immense! Our goal was definitely in sight and we were feeling hugely excited, until we got to North Lock.
As the Skipper walked up to operate the lock another boater appeared with a windlass. Apparently he was moored on the other side and had woken to find himself on his boat at an alarming angle. He was heading up to let water down to increase the levels.
We brought a lockful of water down with us, and I began the painstaking task of travelling through an low pound – staying in the centre channel and moving only at tick over speed. The Skipper walked the towpath because there was no way I could pull over to pick him up after the lock.
Low levels in urban canals show you brickwork and rocks, shopping trolleys and debris as well as fish. We were passed by a small weed removal boat whose operator shouted he was off to let down water but it could take an hour and he thought we would not get through in the meantime. Unable to do much more, I carried on limping along, inching my way towards the next lock, passing puzzled swans and a rather disappointed heron whose fishing appears to be curtailed.
As I neared the next lock, I lost all steering as something fouled the prop. A short reverse cleared it enough to get some propulsion back and I limped through water so shallow ice had formed on it. Eventually after half an hour of feeling like I was holding my breath all the time, I edged into the lock. The Skipper took the opportunity to don his full arm veterinary gloves and head down the weed hatch to remove the weed and plastic clogging the prop, and then we were underway once more.
10 locks and 12 miles brought us to the area we want to winter in. Yes it’s on the river, yes it is going to flood again in the next few months, and yes when that is likely we will aim to move to a slightly safer spot but we are here, we are close to family, to the winter craft markets I have booked and we are now in situ, ready and able to help with the latest addition to the family when he arrives, which we hope won’t be for several weeks yet. We were lucky to be able to make the journey when we did, and it felt as if the whole waterway was ours and ours alone, maybe the first and last time we will experience that. We felt like privileged pioneers and as always we recognise that living and working like this is not only energising, demanding problem solving and effective team work, but also a huge amount of enjoyment. Can’t ask for more.
Pickingupducks 