Nottingham and Attenborough

18/6/2019

Moored on the Nottingham Canal, a useful loop north of the flooding Trent, through the city, and westward  about 5 miles back to the Trent, at Beeston.

The old map shows the route, labelled on the left as 'the sole branch'. As with all these old cities/towns, the canal runs into the centre, with old warehouses converted to apartments, offices, pubs.

Our mooring was beside the R Leen, which formed the basis for the canal, and now provides a green haven. It is still hard for us to believe that this snap is in the heart of an old industrial city, the midlands not renowned for 'green and pleasant'.

About half a km behind us was the train station, tram line, bus connections. And we used all three.

Wollaston Hall lies about 20 min by bus from the city- on the map above, top left, it is spelled without the 's'. 

The most enchanting feature for me was its vast deer park. Grazing young, bucks with antlers still growing, with one enterprising lad using his head appendage to pull down edible branches.

The cropped trees through the park reminded me of outback farms in Oz, where kurrajong tree foliage is eaten by stock.

Wherever life by water takes us, Jeffrey befriends swans, geese, ducks. Feeding them through the boat's side hatch has led to some interesting moments, with an encroaching importuning swan reaching inside the boat, hissing for more food. As I am usually nearby in the kitchen, sorry galley, at such times, 'we are not amused'.

The snap to the left shows a good parent, allowing young to hitch a ride. The 4th cygnet finally managed to climb aboard. In all our time here, this is the first we've seen this behaviour.

The coot below was gathering weed to feed two chicks. Its feet are amazing, white marbled - striking footwear for a humble little bird.

Today we are moored at Beeston, above the lock through which we will descend to the Trent, when it eventually subsides. 

Safe water levels are indicated by painted boards, with red meaning do NOT proceed. It took us some time to actually find the indicators, which as you can see from the rather faded specimen below, are less than obvious or impressive. When the water drops, a yellow indicator should be visible, although given the state of the red, it may be more slime than paint.

Beside the lock is a vast 

foaming wild weir. The Trent runs from near the Mersey to the North Sea, and has a large catchment area. At the moment it is simply unnavigable.

Here a year ago a young boy drowned 

while saving a friend's life. Owen was 

only 12, and there is a memorial to him, 

decorated with purple, his fave colour.  

The snap to the right is a graffiti 

reinforcement of his memory.

As the 270 hectare Attenborough Nature Reserve is only a couple of miles upstream from our

 mooring, we walked there today, sunshine 

at last. 80 plus years of gravel extraction has

 assisted the creation of lakes, streams, 

meadows, a haven for wildlife, including

 migratory birds, children, walkers, cyclists- some of the latter can indeed be wild, although most in the countryside have manners, unlike some single minded commuter bikers we've met in London. Yes, grumpy old woman talk.

Tomorrow we hire a car for a few days, to explore further afield and to deliver a worn weed hatch cover to the maker at Sheffield for repair. The Cap'n needs a functioning weed hatch given our tendency to collect trash round the propeller.

My apologies for such a long winded blog.