Slow travel

26/4/2019 The Trent and Mersey canal traverses WNW from the midlands, through salt extraction territory- with the salt being transported by canal before road and rail eclipsed canal transport. The consequences of the thousands of years of extraction can be seen in the landscape. Open cut extraction has formed pools, even lakes, called 'flashes', while the underground mining causes subsidence. Part of the canal had to be relocated in the 50s when it collapsed, banks have been built up, and signs 'low bridges' are frequent. The bridges have sunk, so the boater ducks low, and hopefully removes the aerials and chimneys before the bridge knocks them flying. When the adjacent river flooded in the 90s when we were boating on the T and M, some craft could not fit under the bridges as the river was flooding the canal. On a humble hire boat at the time, we scraped through. I recall the excitement of ferry gliding along the canal, to counter the current of flooding across the ...

23/4/2019 Life afloat has an erratic charm. Around the next bend in the canal may be the most glorious flowering cherry,  or a ramshackle boat whose journey becomes inextricably linked to yours, at least for a few hours. Or fate throws into your path a fleet of historic wooden boats, many steam powered, leaving your captain in ecstasy.  This is all today's story, the dish accompanied by an offer to syndicate Santiago,  lock assistance from Will (a fine bargee), dumpling making. The spice of life one could say. Back to the ramshackle note. The boat was a plastic/fibre glass white-ish motor cruiser, with grandad in charge, half his brood of grandchildren aboard, the eldest around 12. Grandad himself no more than 40. Festooned with large fenders to protect itself from 20 tonne steel canal boats, or stone locks, the boat became a cork stuck in a bottle as the water exitted a lock. Cries, children distressed, ropes pulled, Cap'n JJ assist s, lock re filled, boat unjammed, f...

23/4/2019 For the past 6 months nb Santiago has been abandoned on her mooring, large carp  lazing, a moorhen nesting on her stern- we moved the nest and its one speckled egg to an adjacent boat, and hope mum returns. The carp are untouchable as they're in the marina waters, not the canal. The small marina has woods to one boundary, now carpeted with bluebells. JJ readied the boat for the journey,  reminded by his note from last October that one of the 2 gas cylinders was empty,  so our last task at the marina was to purchase a replacement, all 13 kg.  A cylinder lasts about 3 months. A short  afternoon cruise south to the junction of the Macclesfield with the Trent and Mersey,  bright sunshine, unseasonally warm.  The latter canal traverses England in an arc from NW to NE, and we will follow it NW where it used to join the Mersey, SE of Liverpool. Tomorrow, Easter Sunday, cousins from nearby Knutsford will join us for the day.

7/10/2018 Our last week on the good boat Santiago has been shared with  dear Aussie friend Jan, encouraging us to play tour guide in the potteries of Stoke, sharing canal travel, visiting some quirky National Trust houses and gardens. In the Biddulph gardens we spied this bee completely focussed on a dahlia. There too, oak tree roots have been piled to form walls, looking both unusual and a little sinister. The gardens were established by a Victorian horticulturalist, James Bateman. From our marina mooring we've visited Mow Cop, a folly on a Pennine ridge, views for miles across several counties.  An aspiring preacher in 1807 led an initial service on Mow Cop, lasting 14 hours!  I haven't found out whether his followers attended a second service. Walks from the mooring to a nearby pub for fine dining, from a local shopping expedition via Cinderhill Lane and a kilometre or so in late afternoon sun along the towpath, up towards Mow Cop. And now, packing, 'winterising' ...

26/9/2018 Our week on Le Boat ended in Jarnac. A fine town bordering the R Charente,  warehouses storing wine, cognac- this morning we walked past a gleaming tanker pumping its cognac cargo into a warehouse, as we went to retrieve the car from the rambling gated compound of nettles, rusting machinery, trailered boats. Yesterday we moored early afternoon at Bussac, to walk into the village to a large abbaye - cathedral, citerne, gardens - a sleepy medieval treasure. The boulangerie supplied us with baguettes and glazed pomme tartes, the apple slices delicately ridged. A baguette vending machine outside, for after hours supply. The village houses with vegetable gardens festooned with bright orange pumpkins, artichokes, fennel, tall red tomatoes. Near the river, a graveyard stand of trees, scythed by a tornado, splintered trunks, fallen giants, some  bowed away from the wind. Approaching Jarnac, the last lock, bordered by the fine municipal gardens, drowsing in the late after...

24/9/2018 Couldn't attach these before. Chateauneuf is an old sleepy town, many buildings needing maintenance, a number of houses empty. French inheritance law may be styming efforts to sell - all beneficiaries have to agree - so some houses appear to be simply abandoned. This is common to every village, town we've seen along the Charente,  as well as in the Dordogne. Such a pity, the shutters unpainted, some de roofed, vegetation covered. The flight to the cities, mechanised farming? The distillery we visited has several acres devoted to red wine production (most grapes are for their cognac), and the harvest was to take place the next day- now a one day affair, with the machine harvester. And from rural France to northern England,  country Australia - the same picture. I'll stop before depression sets in!

23/9/2018 We join our Oz friends on their white cruiser, for a week's cruising. From Jarnac we've motored east up the R Charente, throigh cognac country. A wide slow river, tree fringed, small hamlets, a few towns. A cognac distillery a must. Last night in Chateauneuf, a splendid meal some mile or so on the edge of town,  a laughing walk back in the late evening. The locks on the river are manually operated, involving a small wheel to raise the paddles, a larger one for the gates.  It is quite a good arm workout. Our fibreglass boat is skittiah to handle, so has to be moored tightly during locking. Tonight we moored about 7.30, light fading, at a pontoon landing outside a taverna, coloured lights, river view verandah, and delight of delights, a singer-guitarist. He was wonderful, many of us ventured onto the dance floor, finally staggering back to the boat near midnight.  An accidental magical evening.