Thursday November 9th 2006

An early start again! Little to report until the Newbold Tunnel where I was once again afflicted by the visions. For five minutes all I could see was purple and blue - and multicoloured - walls of light. My spirits sank and the lord seemed to have forsaken me. But miracle of miracles - and testament to he who moves all - it was back into the light as soon as a thrice and the visions have gone, I am sure of it. We passed through Hillmorton Locks, an idyllic retreat that somehow ignores the urban sprawl of Rugby that surrounds it and then a long, slow, sinewy stretch that is my personal favourite - the bucolic and seemingly time-stood-still run to Braunston Junction and just beyond. The port side of the canal nibbles at the ride and furrow pasture as the cows and sheep do the same; the land left as when medieval villagers fled it when the hawthorn hedges and sheep on enclosure took their land. After a lazy approach we finally moored for the evening at Lower Shuckburgh with plenty of light left to explore the village. We marched up and admired the Crimean influenced church, despite the rush hour drone of the Daventry Road, and struck out over the brow of the common for the hall and deer park. We were lost within minutes and were fortunate to spy the beacon on Beacon Hill which guided us to the footpath and into the grounds of the Shuckburghs. As dusk fell we looked left to see another vision (I was wrong), a hundred or more fallow deer, their chests wide and eyes bright! A lovely walk down round to the village again and chicken and mushroom on jacket spuds for tea....

Wednesday November 8th 2006

And then there were two. An early mutiny by our former cabin boy saw him taking control of the bridge and decreeing the bilge pump to be out of gumption. He sent me down into the engine room , armed only with a tea-cup, to bale out the stagnant slops which were threatening to submerge the throbmangel. When finally satisfied with my pumping efforts he ordered me to fire up the beast and cast us off in a steady chug towards breakfast, two steaming bowls of porridge followed by a pastie. A continual sense of deja vu today, first a familiar bobbing armchair, today lying to our starboard side, then the tricky swing at Marston where we exited the Ashby and Edna surged into the Oxford with a minor kiss on the tunnel wall, as if returning to a former lover. Then back along the twisty Oxford, past Charity Wharf where we idly speculated as to whether it was a permanent spectacle or just a remnant of a Halloween display. The Captain disappeared below decks to reverse the ill effects of hypothermia for a while leaving me at the tiller in the solitude of the contoured Oxford. Interrupted from my snooze I noticed an approaching vessel excitedly motioning to me with an up and down arm waving; in my eagerness to ascertain the message behind the signal I eagerly pressed on the diesel and sped up towards them. The Motioning seemed to accelerate abreast with my pace and two lovely old boys called out a word of warning to me, "Slow down, old working boat adrift at Ansty, collision a distinct possibility." It was still a full mile to Ansty, by which time disaster had been averted and my only challenge was a staring competition with a curious fox. Hawkesbury Junction and Dave was extremely proud about penetrating the tight lock without touching the sides, oh how little he knows. Then an emotional moment as we passed Mary's resting place again. If only Dave had fished her out with the boat hook before the prop had got to her. Dear Mary, may she rest in pieces. We saluted as the sun sank in the heavy sky. We nudged through Stretton and stopped just beyond to idle awhile in Brinklow. The Motte afforded panoramic views of the sunset over Coventry and a heated debate ensued over the location of the black Mountains. Back to patient Edna for a twilight cruise through the woods and past the charming boat "Settle Down" with its inevitable baby on board. At last Captain was satiated and nudged Edna into a reedy repose. We left Edna in the company of a sentry Heron and trudged though torrential downpour to Easenhall, where we dined on an experimental menu in the Golden Lion, slowly drying out in time for the return promenade.

[Post written by Galley Wench Jo Nash]

Tuesday November 7th 2006

An early start to disgorge the throbmangel and pump up the volume. Accompanied for several miles by that mechanical beast the railway; it will never replace the canal mark my words. And then, of all things, the damned motorway and all those horseless carriages, a passing fad I am sure of it. Presently we came to the power station where poor Mary, her rod in hand, tried her arm at fly fishing, fry fishing it soon became all too apparent was her game. We stopped a while amidst the humming voltage and said a few words.

Our next stop was the magnificent Hawkesbury Junction with the old steam hose and the 7 inch lock. We had a spot of bother turning the old barge, she got stuck in the galley with a tray full of piping hot tea. That done, she ably looked on as the lads, avoiding the conventional, turned the boat 360 degrees in an almost vain attempt to avoid being sent to Coventry! Job complete we continued our voyage, with Pollard land lubbing a while. Passing many off-shoots of long gone industrial giants we mourned for the days of heavy industry. Imagine our delight when we rounded a corner and there it was, rearing its dishevelled face from the confines of Charity Wharf; all manner of boilers, pumps and even a mini metro propped precariously over the murky shallows. Soon the scene became more domestic with a velour purple armchair bobbing leisurely in our path, the silly Cnute! Marston junction came next and we squeezed ourselves through the narrow entrance.

Things fell silent and a sense of wonderful gloom and sereneness descended. We had breached the Ashby Canal, the canal that never made it to Ashby. However, it did make our day, the local Atherstone sandstone bridges a reminder that in some distant past not everything came over the sea from China, but local people made local bridges from local aggregates. The highlight of the day, apart from remembering poor Mary of course, was the spotting of a glorious iridescent Kingfisher. It made its appearance some 75 yards ahead of Edna Marie with a flash of vertical, brilliant blue and then flitted from bough to bough as we approached. Larry was in raptures, its been 30 years since he last saw a Kingfisher dance like that!

It was with a heavy heart that we approached Hinckley - mainly because it was Hinckley, but also because it signalled the halfway point of our journey. To go on would have meant crossing the Rubicon, a little known side shoot of the Ashby, and we didn't have time to do that. We turned, somewhat more successfully than at Hawkesbury it must be said, and started on the return leg. Joanne read to us of Brindley and his canals, of Telford and his bridges, of the boat people and their barges and of the time-travelling slut in the book she is reading - strangely no mention of the canal scene, but she certainly had her panels windlassed by the saucy Laird! Refreshed and educated in equal parts, we finally came to a stop at Burton Hastings. There Larry left us for London and the pussy close to his heart. Thanks Larry, for everything, except the death rattle snoring at four in the morning. We'll be sipping a glass or two of the ginger wine in your honour. Tomorrow to Rugby and beyond.....

[Post written by Ample Seaman Dave Buck]

Monday November 6th 2006

A misty morn and had the luxury of watching the sun rise and the hedgerows slipping past us whilst still languishing in bed with a hot cuppa. Emerged in time to hand-signal left at Braunston Junction where we parked up and ambled into the village where a rather surly butcher furnished us with his fine meats. Back to the Oxford where alas the floating cafe was shut so returned to trusty Edna for a big sausage in a soft bap. Thus fortified we pressed on doggedly, with the sun growing stronger, admiring the ancient ridged fields and rutting bullocks.

The singles locks at Hillmorton were navigated in a thrice, stopping only to quench Edna's thirst and amuse ourselves by sitting on the sunny bank and watching Larry's ejections from the shower. Fearful of missing a 4.30 rendezvous at Brinklow we pressed hard on the throttle, unfortunately nosing Edna up the rear end of an unimpressed putting narrow boat which made way hastily and ditched port-side.

The psychedelic lights in Newbold Tunnel set off Dave's twitch and no amount of shouting would abate it. Mary would have snapped him out of it, she was always great in a crisis, except of course her own sad incident. Eventually the passage through the tranquil woods calmed him and the thrill of Horseley's bridges diverted our attentions. After narrowly avoiding the swing bridge we pulled into our destination at Stretton Stop and sad fond farewell to our First Mate Roome who had to meet a driver from Castle Cars (Taxis on the Edge) who delivered her back to Kateboats to retrieve her more conventional mode of transport. And then there were three. A pleasant evening was spent by all, barking at the freight trains.

[Post written by Able Seawoman Jo Nash]

Sunday November 5th 2006

Woken brutally by the sound of Lawrence banging the thing he was banging. Alas, us girls cannot remember the correct nautical term and the boys are most unhelpful. Twas an 8 am start though, with at least four playful locks before a full English breakfast. More locks, we're becoming rather quick, gaining an audience en route. Pit stop at Itchingbottom for local beer in the Buck and Bellend. Ginger wine for the lads and a feminine pint for the girls... the barman was acutely embarrassed at getting the order mixed up. Another snifter at the Two Boats, where we encountered our biggest challenge yet; seven locks at Stockton and much wrist ache later we made it. Luckily the only thing we met going down was a beefy lesbian who didn't require any assistance at all. She was most friendly and had a real knack with the windlass. We swung into Napton, a quick left and a thrust to the right we narrowly avoided a deep nudge into two old boys who gallantly waved away out attempts at apology. Then we were in the tranquil stretch of the most peaceful part of our journey. The contours of the canal and landscape bathed in a deep multicoloured orange and blue streaked sky. The Victorian church at Upper Shuckborough silhouetted against the fiery sunset and coming moon. The scene so perfect we agreed to moor for the night. Our only neighbour ventured out to enquire whether we would object to him letting off his fireworks during the night. Not at all!

[Post written by First Mate, Sarah Roome]

Saturday November 4th 2006

A lunchtime start with very helpful instructions from Kateboats. Tesco triumphed delivering cratefuls of pre-ordered food, wine and spirits - much needed since this is our first trip since we lost Mary. Young Dave caused a stir amidships nearly sinking a resident narrow boat. Much confusion over which side of the canal we should pass along. Turns out we were mistaken, it was right! How Mary would have laughed, she would have squealed to at the jolly boys we met at the locks. How their flexed muscles glistened in the sunlight as they grappled the windlass. Moored up just before Itchington - much hilarity at Itchy Bottom references. Boys eh? A midnight walk followed by copious amounts of cocoa ended a perfect first day on the water.

[Post written by Ship's Cat, Sarah Roome]