Slow travel

27/6/2018 We  happened to be in Braunston last weekend, for a historic boats' festival, held annually. The village sits at the junction of the Oxford and Grand Union Canals, an old, sleepy village up the hill from the junction, a traditional butcher selling veg, milk, and oh, meat, a cafe, small supermarket . From the village,  old rights of way lead down to the canal, thronged with boats, some moored 4 abreast.  Old working boats,  70' long, paired with a butty, unpowered, same length. Many steam powered, others with old precious shiny engines,  emitting a slow chug chug,  distinctive, the heart beat of the craft. Poirot aka David Suchet opened the festival, Tim West and Prunella Scales aka Mrs Basil Fawlty were wandering in the crowd. Two retrievers shared an ice block. Black faced Morris dancers wearing all black, helmeted, pheasant feathered.  A brass band.  At night 2 clever women staged a play based on the barge women in WWII, the Idle Women aka Inland Waterways workers

24/6/2018 Here in Warwickshire, the land speaks its history. The ancient strip farming from the mediaeval period,  the furrows and ridges, still evident everywhere.  Now the fields are larger, hedges fewer, and sheep grazing the strips. We read of the policy  of killing the sheeps' predator, the wolf,  allowing the expansion of wool farming, funding the wealth of some, pressuring the common farming practices.  Then industrialisation, spinning moving from cottages to factories. Then depopulatioin of the countryside. Yesterday a walk west of the Oxford canal, across poor farm land to the sites of two abandoned villages, (Wolfhamcote and Braunstonbury), the land showing the mounds of homes, a moat ditch round the site of the manor house, the 14th century church folorn in its overgrown graveyard. It remains a consecrated church, rescued by the very English, Friends of Friendless Churches!  The interior is spare, reflecting the absence of a congregation, but some delightful mediaeval

24/6/2018 Thanks to J for the attached photos, a fellow boater,  whom we met at the top of the Hatton flight, 21 wide beam locks taking the Grand Union 146' down to Warwick. J and his wife agreed to lash our 2 boats together, meaning only one of the 4 of us was needed to steer the boats through the locks. This J's wife did with great care and skill, even managing to brew up and fortify us as we wended our way down hill. The other 3 of us could do the work of opening and closing locks.  A warm day, nearly 3 hours of constant physical work.  JJ and I first did these locks with the lads, in 1997, and on our own again in 2014. Such a feat of engineering, 18th C technology  still operating. It sometimes seems a tad bizarre, 20 tonne boats traversing this little country.

18/6/2018 Two nights of free mooring is permitted in the basin in front of the RSC theatre,  an excellent regulation, allowing visitors to flow through the town, a delight of history, architecture, culture. We indulged in a performance of Romeo and Juliet, a modern take, with the Montagues and Capulets viewed as gangs, knife violence referenced. From the  basin, on the junction of the River Avon and the Stratford Canal, we headed north up the canal. Such a contrast, from the wide, weirs, deep locks,  few towns- built back from the unpredictable river,  to the narrow canal channel, barrel roofed lock keepers' cottages, minimal cantilevered iron bridges, black and white painted,  and many small villages. One, Wilmcote, is home  to Shakespeare's mother's farm,  a Tudor gem, replete with heritage chooks, wonky sloping floors in the 16th C house, falconry,  so much, we were engrossed, and had to remind ourselves that our destination today was the Grand Union,  turn right to Wa

18/6/2018 Today a charmingly undramatic day, if one discounts the occasional bump on a narrow bridge, or the need to duck low as a bridge threatens the C ap'n and his head. Moored behind us at Leek were 2 Canadians from Nova Scotia,  a name to inspire travellers. We invited them aboard Santiago, where fortunately we'd made the bed and tidied up. I hope we catch up with them in Oz or Canada. The short tunnel, 130 yds,  lies near the end of the Leek branch of the Caldon. There is literally light at the end of the tunnel before you enter, as it is so short and straight. A complete contrast to both the Harecastle (2926 yds) and Standedge (5698 yds) Tunnels, one on the Trent and Mersey, the other on the Huddersfield Narrow, where there is no light except from your boat. The latter was akin to caving, as boulders protrude from every angle, and it takes 2 hours  to traverse. The little Leek tunnel is stone lined, a lovely symmetry. Tonight we moor in the fine Victorian park in Han

16/6/2018 Behold the Cap'n,  showing us the very large bag that had wrapped round our propeller. He was on the lock wall above Evesham, watching his 1st mate steer the boat into the lock, hopefully without incident, when the boat shuddered, the engine with a bang cut out, the boat adrift. 1st mate in a daze turns the ignition key off (right move). The boat continues to drift into the lock,  thank you boat, where it lies alongside so Cap'n can board. Yes, after much heaving and pulling, out comes this enormous bag, used to transport soil, rocks etc. Our first lock of the day, travelling upstream- so drifting onto the weir not an issue. I have a particular dislike of drifting boats and weirs. It occurred to me months later that the boat and I could have drifted downstream towards some nasty weirs, if the incident had happened a little further from the lock. With the prop cleared, weed hatch secured,  the engjne was re started. It appears no damage. Rivers. Large weirs, curre

12/6/2018 Ducks, coots, geese, swans, seagulls, sharing our watery travels, lots of opportunities to observe them. Comparisons may be odious, but ducks compared to swans and geese, rate pretty low in the parenting stakes.  Most ducklings are accompanied by only mum,  not surprisingly, one harried duck, with ducklings scattering  everywhere. We exploited this scattered  family pattern when we inserted Lucky Duck into such a group. We'd found the lone duckling, shivering against our hull,  no parent, siblings anywhere. JJ fished him out, tucked him into a jacket for warmth, tried to feed him. He warmed up, but wouldn't eat, putting an end to JJ's  vision of a duck 2nd mate. So some hours later, we gently launched him into a scattered flock, and away he went,  hopefully a lucky duck. Geese and swans  believe in a 2 parent approach, with offspring exploring the water in single file, adults at front and rear of the line. Coots seem to have few babies, and are seldom seen en

7/6/2018 From the gentle rural landscape of the Staffordshire Worcester canal, through Old Devonian (is that correct Jane) red sandstone landscape,  to Stourport, with its complex system of basins and Georgian houses, we slipped through the 4 locks to the mighty River Severn, wide, brown, flowing quietly between tree lined banks. Our speed has doubled, with the increased depth, and assisted by its determined progress south to the Bristol Channel. Around 6 miles an hour! Wearing life jackets, the trusty anchor ready at the bow, yes, rivers require respect. The Cap'n took an unplanned sweep through overhanging willows,  concentration momentarily on the map. The only damage a scratched head, and a temperature gauge lost, the aerials fortunately intact. And not even any bad language! As we moored adjacent to the city centre, dodging skiffs, kayaks, swans, 2 dragon boats announced their presence, deep throated drums keeping rhythm. After dinner, a stroll into town, re orienting ours

6/6/2018 Wending south west, on the canal highway, the River Severn. It is England's  longest river, used over millennia,  now navigable just beyond Stourport in the north, Sharpness in the south  -  below that, the Bristol channel,  which we probably won't tackle this trip. At the confluence of the rivers Avon and Severn,  lies Theoc's town, aka Tewkesbury. A snap attached of the vast abbey there, largely Norman, modified with gothic fan vaulting, towers etc. From Tewkesbury we motored  for a few hours up the Avon, with dear cousins aboard, under 16th C bridges, avoiding the ubiquitous plastic cruisers, too easily sunk with a nudge from the 20 tonnes of Santiago. One was brave enough to  share a wide lock with us, our crew keeping taut the ropes restraining Santiago from lurching sideways as the lock filled. We moored for lunch, roping to a large tree,  as the docking area was crammed with small children cavorting in the river, swimming, paddling, thoroughly enjoying the