Don’t ask me which of the endless Cheshire Locks this is
From Anderton we carried on down the Trent and Mersey, stopping off at The Lion Salt Works at Marston for a second visit. As an industrial museum it really makes you think. There are displays and photos of men toiling and sweating over vats of boiling brine, like something out of the industrial revolution. It’s quite sobering to discover the works only closed in 1986, well within our lifetime.
This is a windlass in the Lion Salt Works. Not the sort I’m used to!
We had an unexpected stop before Middlewich. There was a huge limb of an ash tree completely blocking the canal. We didn’t mind the unscheduled overnight stop. We were moored opposite Oakwood Marina and they had a very nice cafe. By the end of the afternoon the CRT had got the canal clear and the next morning we were on our way again.
Fallen ash tree stops play. The offending tree reduced to a pile of firewood
I’ve written about Middlewich before. It’s one of those places that that most of us have never heard of, a pleasant enough town that punches above its weight on the canals because it has a junction. It also boats a Morrisons and a Lidl. Bonus!
There are no arched bridges around the Salt Towns. Subsidence did for them.
South of Middlewich, you hit the Cheshire Locks, colloquially known as Heartbreak Hill. We descended it last year with Bailey as our crew, this time we were going up. Nearly every lock was set against us and the heat was blistering. Two days on the hill and we were done. So done, that I moored us up in the wrong place at Kidsgrove, one lock too early. No harm, no foul. We were outside a pub!
Duplicated locks on Heartbreak Hill – it isn’t a race!
I was dreading our next challenge, the Harecastle Tunnel, not being a great fan of long journeys underground. The tunnel is 1.6 miles long and you get shut in. There are no ventilation shafts, so they close the doors behind you and start up some enormous fans to prevent the build up of fumes in the tunnel. Towards the middle the headroom is reduced, and you have to semi-crouch to avoid hitting your head as the roof gets lower and lower. When it came to it, Harecastle wasn’t too bad. It used to have a towpath which was removed, so it’s quite wide. I helmed the boat through and am feeling rather pleased with myself!
Abandon Hope, all Ye who enter here [actually this is the end we came out of)!
View of the River Weaver, taken just outside the entrance to the Saltersford Tunnel
The beautiful River Weaver, that we love so much, is now behind us. But I’m a little premature.
Seren Glas proceeding majestically along the Bridgewater Canal
From Little Bollington, we cruised a short hop into Lymm, a pretty Cheshire Village we’ve stayed in once before. We only intended a quick overnight stop and to take advantage of one of the fish and chip shops, but got a bit more than we bargained for. Poppy the cat went walkabout. She sauntered back to Seren Glas at about 3pm, but by that time we’d given up and spent a most congenial afternoon in the Brewers Arms. Thanks Poppy!
Cheers from The Brewery Tap, Lymm
The next day, the cat glued to the wall, we set off for our third canal, the Trent and Mersey, and Penny and Andrew’s first big challenge, the Preston Brook Tunnel. It’s 1239 yards long, and like most tunnels, has a bit of twist inside. We got through with no problems, and I helmed up through Saltersford and Barnton Tunnels the next day.
Thankfully, there aren’t too many sights like this
The Trent and Mersey isn’t my favourite canal. I find it narrow, overgrown and generally a bit grim. This year it’s growing on me, it seems brighter and more pleasant. I even saw my first kingfisher of the year near Dutton, where the canal breached disastrously in 2012. We’re going to be on it for a good while, so I might end up feeling the same as ever about the Trent and Mercy (as Bailey called it last year) and we’ve got some grim industrial and urban bits to cruise through yet.
The Daniel Adamson moored by Sutton Swing Bridge
At Anderton, we descended the boat lift to the River Weaver for the third year in a row. The boat lift is only operating on one caisson. The ceramic coating on the hydraulic ram is wearing off the other one. It looks like the boat lift is going to be taken out of commission for at least a season for a significant overhaul, but according to one of the fine gentlemen who operate it, not this year or next year, so we should get at least one more go.
Moored up under the Anderton Boat Lift as the sun goes down
I’m not sure what I can say about the River I haven’t said before. It’s a joy. It’s not terribly long, you could probably navigate the entire length in a day and has only four locks, all electric and with lock keepers. The only major town is Northwich, and it’s almost in the middle, with convenient moorings right by the shops. This year was all about giving Penny and Andrew a taster, so we only went in one direction. We moored twice at Barnton Cut, which is super mooring and lets me haul the sheets and the towels a mile uphill to a friendly launderette, and found a new to us spot at Devil’s Garden. You just have to watch out there for visiting cows! The best bit was we hooked up with Paul and Anthony on Morning Star and had a barbecue and a lovely evening with them and Heidi, on the Pirate Boat (who offered us rum and ice cream!). Heidi runs a badge making business, amongst other things, from her boat, The Rum Wench, and it turns out I ordered from her a few weeks ago before I knew who she was. It is, as they say, a small world.
Seren Glas and Morning Star at Dutton Mile
The only incident was descending Dutton Lock. We were the middle boat of three, and it was a bit of squash. The lock keeper started letting the water out and we tilted to the left. We had hung up onto the remains of another lock gate to our starboard side. The couple in the boat behind said they could see our bow coming up, and for a few seconds, which of course seemed like an eternity, it was very scary. We were shouting at the lock keeper but he didn’t hear us. And then, as fast as it happened, the boat came free, lurched violently from side to side a bit and rearranged the interior, but then all was well. No harm, no foul as they say, but I can only imagine the enquiry if the unthinkable had happened and we had sunk in a manned lock. I was glad to see the back of Dutton Lock on the return trip.
Cruising along the river, deep water under our prop
And now we’re back up on the canal heading south. 89 miles behind us so far this year.
Saltersford Lock. The middle cottage is for sale, with a mooring. I’m tempted!
So here it is, the 2022 boating season. We got going rather late this year, and have been spending more time than we planned in Dorset and now, at last, we’re Out Out. I ran out of blogging steam last year after the highlight of Standedge Tunnel, so here’s a whistlestop recap of our late summer 2021 exploits.
In January 1912, someone bet Jack Judge 5 shillings he couldn’t compose and sing a new song by the next night. He won the bet by performing “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” for the first time in the Grand Theatre in Stalybridge
After spending some time in Uppermill and Stalybridge (StalyVegas as our friend Sean calls it, and we had a Sunday lunch with him there) we turned left off the Huddersfield Narrow Canal and on to the Peak Forest Canal and spent a wonderful couple of weeks there, most of it in Bugsworth Basin. Bugsworth used to be the largest inland port in the country, it’s full of industrial history and atmosphere, and only a short walk into Whaley Bridge, a pleasant market town, now infamous because it was nearly flooded when the dam holding back the Toddbrook Reservoir threatened to breach in 2019.
Sunset over Bugsworth Basin
Next, we hurried (sadly) down to Macclesfield on the canal of the same name where we were joined for a week onboard by Bailey, one of our American relations. We had a wonderful time, in and out of pubs, eating lots and working her like a dog down the locks of Heartbreak Hill. We also had to cope with a breakdown, but the fantastic Ryan Walker got us going again the same day. The only flies in the ointment were it barely stopped raining for a week and Martyn developed an infected cyst in his armpit, requiring antibiotics to see it off. We affectionately christened it Cyril.
Three drowned rats on the stern of a narrowboat
We finished Bailey’s visit with a quick trip down the Anderton Boat lift and on to the River Weaver, met up with Trevor and Jenny and returned as a pair to Fettlers Wharf for the winter on 18th October.
Chugging home along the Bridgewater Canal
Moving on to this year, we left Fettlers on Tuesday, in a bit of a whirl, having only driven up from Dorset on the previous Friday. We had lots of help from our friends Penny and Andrew and got our pram and cratch covers cleaned and reproofed. That was all the maintenance we’ve had the chance to do. There’s going to be a lot of work done on the hoof this year.
Waiting for the water point at Dean Locks under the M6
I’d forgotten how tough double locks are, especially as I did most of the helming last year and Martyn worked the locks. Now we’ve switched roles. Thankfully we’re paired up with Penny and Andrew, at least for a while as we have different summer cruising plans. I’m using the word “plans” rather loosely. I’ve learned not to make them, so in our case, they are more like “ideas” or “notions” We’ll see where we end up. The day we left was blistering, and by the time we got to Parbold, we were boiling and exhausted. There are two swing bridges en route, about a mile apart and it’s my habit to walk between them. This time I had to give up and flag Martyn down for a lift. And I made a real rookie mistake and sunburnt my arms. The following day none of us got going and we only reached Crooke, on the outskirts of Wigan. Guess what? That day I sunburnt my legs. Some people never learn.
Getting a visit from Penny and Andrew’s cat, Poppy
Thursday was a war of attrition. It started so well, everyone was full of enthusiasm and up for it. Again it was really hot, but we got through Wigan with no issues, until that is, we turned right onto the Leigh Branch of the Leeds and Liverpool Canal and through the dreaded Poolstock locks. Poolstock is never easy. The pound between the two locks is usually shallow and full of debris. This time it was especially taxing. Water levels on the Northern canals are low this summer following the dry winter and spring. The Peak Forest and Macclesfield Canals are effectively closed, and even the Leeds and Liverpool is under restrictions and threat of closure if we don’t get significant rainfall. So Poolstock was a dribble. Martyn and Penny got the boats into the first lock by proceeding very slowly and sticking rigidly to the centre of the channel, but they both got stuck on their way out and in the pound between the locks. Boat poles were employed but to no avail. Perhaps we should have called CRT (the Canal and River Trust), but we took matters into our own hands and let a little more water down, which allowed the two boats through. We were all delighted to close the gates and put Poolstock behind us to enjoy the Bridgewater Canal and 40 lock-free miles.
Penny and Andrew on Seren Glas cruising into Worsley
After a breather at Pennington Flash, today we’re on one of our favourite moorings, at Dunham Massey. The plan is to sit here for a couple of days, enjoy a Sunday lunch at the Swan With Two Nicks, and recuperate from the first 40 miles. We need to toughen up a bit to get through the summer!
I thought the Linotype works in Altrincham had been saved from demolition. Seeing the difference between now and last October, I’m not so sure.
We’ve navigated all of the Seven Wonders of the Waterways now:
The Caen Hill Flight (on a hire boat in 2012)
The Barton Swing Aqueduct
The Pontcysyllte Aqueduct
The Anderton Boat Lift
The Burnley Embankment
The Bingley Five Rise
And as of this week, The Standedge Tunnel
The rowan tree is reputed to be protective. We must have been subliminally aware when we moored next to one
We had a few days in Slaithwaite. I got a bit excited. Stylecraft Yarns’ mill is there, but sadly (and Google thinks otherwise) they aren’t open to the public. From Slaithwaite we ascended 21 locks to Marsden, grateful for the help of Sean from nb Eeyore, who gave up his day in favour of a bit of hard labour with us. I bribed him with homemade cake and dinner.
According to Sean, the most photographed cottage on the Huddersfield Narrow. It’s really such a pretty canal
The main event of the week was of course the Standedge Tunnel, all 3.5 miles of it. It has a fearsome reputation for damaging narrowboats. Its reputation is so malevolent I was having the vapours at the very thought of going through it at all, and was ready and prepared to jump on the train instead and completely forego the scraping, banging, and associated wincing. Beau Romer isn’t just a boat. She’s our home and our pride and joy; were we really going to put her – and ourselves – through this ordeal? And let’s not even think about the tunnel being over 200 years old, and going right through the heart of the Pennines, up to 636 feet underground.
We ventured into the tunnel on the trip boat on Sunday afternoon to get an idea of what we were facing. They gave me this hunk of rock they knocked off the side of the tunnel as a souvenir …
By Monday morning I’d calmed down and was feeling a bit fatalistic about the whole thing. Anyway, there was no turning back now, unless we wanted a long delay; the Huddersfield Broad was now impassable because of a broken lock. We’d taken off the pram hood (including the frame) and removed the cratch cover. Martyn had made protective shields for the cabin corners out of cut-up milk bottles, newspaper and masking tape. The navigation lights were off and the wires taped up. We’d done everything we could to protect the boat. So we turned up at the tunnel entrance at 8 o’clock as instructed, and met our chaperone, Alistair, reputed to be the fastest of the CRT volunteer drivers. We had a choice to make; one of us could helm the boat under Alistair’s guidance, or we could let him do it. We chose the latter deciding to let the expert drive. We were going to enjoy the experience from the bow.
Waiting nervously for our passage
And in the end, we loved it. The tunnel is an absolute marvel and completely fascinating. You forget to be worried or scared and just absorb it. I hope the pictures will give a taste of what it’s like.
Beyond the point of no return
There’s a railway tunnel that runs parallel to the canal tunnel. You hear the trains, and feel the pressure of the trains in your ears. They’re going at 80mph, so even you you were in the right place to see them, you’d be very lucky to do so. Blink and you miss it.
There’s a lot of bare rock, and absolutely none of it is straight and even
One aspect of the tunnel neither of us photographed was some of the ventilation shafts are curtains of cascading water. We could hear them coming and every one precipitated an unseemly scramble to get off the bow, back into the boat and close the doors before we got drenched!
The helmsman has to contend with parts where there’s not much headroom, and the walls are coated in nasty, abrasive sprayed concrete
Sometimes you see an eerie mist in front of you, but it never felt spooky or scary to me.
You have absolutely no idea what’s coming next outside of the range of the powerful light the CRT put on the front of your boatThe brick reinforcement arches are called legging, and they create stunning reflections on the water
In the end, after an hour and a quarter (it would have been less, but they asked Alistair to slow down as we were catching up the boat in front!) we emerged out of our subterranean world and back into the daylight.
See that tiny pinprick in the distance? It literally is the light at end of tunnel. You can also see the cushion is upside down, so we must just have come through one of the boat washes
It was a fabulous experience, and apart from some scratches on the blacking and the rubbing strake, Beau Romer was unscathed. We owe many thanks to Alistair and his exemplary helming skills. Honourable mention goes to Will from the CRT. Not only did he spend a lot of time moving water down a few days previously to get us from Huddersfield to Slaithwaite, but he was on duty at the four tunnel checkpoints to make sure we had a safe passage. There are 38 places where the tunnel interconnects with one of the three (yes three)! other tunnels on site so we could be extracted in an emergency. As Alistair proudly told us, Standedge is not only the deepest, highest and longest canal tunnel in the country, its also the safest, because they knew where we were all the time.
Beau Romer safe and sound at Diggle, some of Martyn’s shielding (not needed) still visible!
And what came next after the excitement and adrenaline of the Standedge Tunnel? I can’t put it better than one of my Twitter followers, Grumpy Jack: “All for the joy of another umpteen reluctant locks”. The Huddersfield Narrow is a picturesque canal, but it’s hard work, with stubborn paddles, obstinately heavy gates, leaky locks that empty themselves as if by magic, narrow cuttings, low bridges and plenty of other surprises for the unwary boater. I wonder if that’s why so few seem to attempt it? Whatever its challenges, I’m glad we did.
Oh joy. They built the pillar of the viaduct right at the exit of the lock!
While we were in Hebden Bridge we had a visit from Penny and Andrew. It’s lovely when we get friends on the boat, and we got to celebrate Andrew’s birthday a couple of days early with a tasty pub lunch at the Stubbing Wharf.
Sometimes you get wet on the inside when friends come to the boat
On the return from Hebden Bridge we moored for a couple of nights in Mytholmroyd (birthplace of Ted Hughes, and as dour as I imagine he was). It was cold and drizzly and we were chilled to the bone. We were having issues with our Eberspacher that fires the diesel central heating so there was only one thing for it; never mind it’s August, we were going to have to light the fire. Cue a trip to the bow locker to fish out logs, coal and kindling. But why was our coal bucket full of water, and on closer inspection the contents of the locker were all swimming? We decided it must have been all those leaky locks and water cascading over the bow. Martyn mopped out two buckets of water and we think we need a portable bilge pump, mopping out is becoming too common.
Remember the 5kg of duck food? There isn’t a lot left
The next day Martyn was reloading the locker with everything we dried out. He missed his footing and fell in. I made him take a shower straight away, never mind there was no hot water. Then we heated some up, so he had a second hot one! He didn’t do any damage, apart from a bit of minor bruising, and he remembered the advice to stand up.
Watch, phone, boots and husband – everything baptised
For a couple of reasons we’ve been going up and down the same stretch of the Calder and Hebble, getting to know it and its leaky locks quite well. It’s grown on me, and I’ve discovered I like navigating waterways for the second and third time, it’s good knowing what’s coming.
Sunset over Sowerby Bridge
Eventually we pointed the boat up the Huddersfield Broad Canal. It’s less than 4 miles long and only has 9 locks. They’re short and squat like a giant bathtub. It’s another tough canal. We got to the second lock, and I couldn’t raise the tail paddles at all to empty it. It took all of Martyn’s weight and strength to get one paddle to shift. After lock 4 we stopped for a bite of lunch and a breather. The boat behind us couldn’t get the lock we’d just passed through to empty at all. We left them on the phone to the Canal and River Trust, and I think the canal ended up being closed for a day. We were lucky.
Turnbridge Loco Lift Bridge from the business end
Cruising into Huddersfield there’s a very unusual locomotive lift bridge. The whole deck of the road rises up with massive pulleys on a giant swing. It’s electrically operated now but as you stand there with your finger on the button you can see that once upon a time you would have had to wind the whole thing up by hand. I wish I’d taken more photos, but the canal was so shallow Martyn was struggling to get Beau Romer away from the bank and floating. As I was holding up two cars, a cyclist and a Sainsbury’s delivery van, I was more concerned about what was happening than taking photos. We delighted one family watching our exploits. The Dad said he’d lived in Huddersfield for 34 years, but had never seen the bridge raised.
Kissing cousins?
When we got to Huddersfield we met up with Paul and Anthony travelling in the opposite direction. That had been our plan for a long time, even though I kept getting cold feet about the route we’d be taking from here on. As we had to wait four days for a booked lock we enjoyed another day crewing with them.
A truly beautiful day on the Huddersfield Broad CanalThe locomotive lift bridge from the waterAnd a rather impressive incinerator chimney
Anthony repaid the favour yesterday. We’re on the Huddersfield Narrow now, After all the broad locks we’ve navigated, it’s a bit of a shock to the system. Martyn’s convinced the locks are even narrower than the ones on the Llangollen. What’s more of a surprise is the way the start of the canal winds its way through very narrow tunnels and cuttings under Huddersfield. I’m very glad we had a crewmate who could tell us what to expect. You have to hand it to the canal builders. Some of their solutions were ingenious.
Very narrow subterranean HuddersfieldIt’s fascinating how much greenery there is only on one side of this lockIs that a dark Satanic mill in the distance? Not any more. It’s a spa
Our first night’s mooring was in Elland (as in Elland Road, Leeds United’s home ground). I’m sorry to say we found it a sad little town, all hairdressers and takeaways, and boasting a church with the most melancholy cemetary ever. So many of the gravestones are from the mid 1800s, but they’re all flat in the grass and most have become completely overgrown. In a few years there will be no indication the past residents of Elland were laid to rest there. Elland used to have an old fashioned sweet shop called Dobsons. It closed down last year, only leaving a factory temptingly perfuming the air with the smell of boiled sugar. To cap it all, the most assertive swan ever patrols the water outside the visitor mooring demanding food. As I was trying to put the covers up at the time and wasn’t obliging, he was pecking my boot in disgust. Don’t think we’ll stop there again.
The moorings at Elland, complete with belligerent swan
At Salterhebble we came across our first ever guillotine lock; a sinister-looking bit of kit. It’s electronically operated and moves at the speed of a wounded snail, which somehow makes it look even more malevolent. See the ladder and gantry half way up the gate support? That’s the footbridge across the lock. I’m glad it’s Martyn’s job to do the locks, mine to stay on the boat. Oh, and he managed to bonk himself on the head with the handspike there too. The fun never stops.
The aptly-named guillotine lock
We took a little detour up the Salterhebble Arm, lured by the siren call of a McDonalds milkshake. The arm used to go to Halifax, but now terminates at an underpass under the very busy A629.
We reversed as far as we could go
For a few days we moored in Sowerby Bridge at the junction of the Calder and Hebble and the Rochdale Canal. It’s a nice town with everything we need, but I did wonder why the CRT have concreted over the mooring rings on the visitor moorings and tarmaced the towpath so you can’t hammer in a pin. It doesn’t seem very boater-friendly.
Leaky lock at Sowerby Bridge
While we were in Sowerby Bridge, we had a day off – or rather a busman’s holiday. On Sunday morning we were collected from the boat and driven to Marsden on the Huddersfield Narrow Canal. We’d volunteered to help our friends Paul and Anthony move their boat Morning Star down some of the 43 locks to Huddersfield. We had a fabulous day, it was lovely to have a good catch up. They kept us fed and watered and we enjoyed a curry and rather a lot of wine before Paul took us home again (and it was past midnight!) If you don’t know about Paul and Anthony’s YouTube channel Narrowboat Life Unlocked, check it out and enjoy.
Oh look, another Bickerstaffe – the gorgeous Morning Star
After that we left Sowerby Bridge for Hebden Bridge. There was just one obstacle in our way; Tuel Lane Lock, the deepest in the country with a rise of 19’8.5” or 6 metres. I really wasn’t looking forward to it, but as it turns out the lock keepers made the whole thing an absolute breeze. We had a rope around a cable at the stern but in all honesty we didn’t need it. Even though the water roiled and boiled as it flooded in, we hardly moved on the boat.
Add on another 4 metres, and you have the height of an Olympic diving boardWe got a certificate!
We’ve come as far as we can go in this direction now. We’re outside the Stubbing Wharf pub in Hebden Bridge. We’d rather like to go a little further over the Pennines on the Rochdale, but we can’t. Lock 13 is dewatered and undergoing repair, so now we have to turn around and go back the way we came.
I don’t often get this close to what we call “The Daily Heron”
Guess what? Nothing bad has happened to us this week – fingers crossed. In fact, we had a bit of good luck. The Calder and Hebble Navigation has some rather unusual lock paddle gear. You stick a piece of slightly shaped 3×2″ hardwood into a ratchet and use it as a lever to raise the paddles. The piece of wood is called a Calder and Hebble Handspike, and we didn’t have one. We’d been trying to get one since Leeds, but with no luck, and we really didn’t fancy lurking helplessly on lock landings waiting for another boat to come along and take pity on us. That would have made us very unpopular indeed.
Martyn playing with his new toy, sorry, handspike
The Canal and River Trust have a large workshop at Stanley Ferry. It’s one of the places where they make replacement lock gates. They also make handspikes. Martyn sauntered down to the workshop to see if they sold them, and they just gave him one. I don’t imagine we’ll travel the Calder and Hebble again, so when we find another boat in a similar predicament, we’ll pass it on. Pay it Forward and all that. As an aside, the locks on this navigation are fierce. It doesn’t seem to matter how Martyn opens the paddles; which side first; or whether I have a line looped around a bollard. Several times I’ve met the opposite lock wall at a speed faster than I would like, and once lost the rope completely. I’m sure the boater behind me, well out of the turbulence and surge, was highly amused by my antics.
If you ask me, not all canalside graffiti is ugly
After Stanley Ferry we did a short hop to Wakefield, really just for shopping. The Hepworth is there, but I just wasn’t feeling arty that day; far more interested in dodging the torrential rain.
We moored in Horbury Bridge, and this is its claim to fame.
Also in Horbury Bridge is the most awkward waterpoint. It’s just the other side of this bridge, which nose under very cautiously because it looks like you’re heading into a residential basin, even though the facilities are for everyone. Can you also see in the photo there’s a pair of redundant lock gates? I assume they once opened out onto the River Calder.
The guy that moors by the water point described himself as “the troll under the bridge”
Tonight we find ourselves at Cooper Bridge Junction. If we turned left we’d head towards Huddersfield. But we aren’t going that way. We continue straight ahead in the direction of Brighouse and Rastrick. Yes, we’re in Brass Band Country.
It wouldn’t be one of my blogs if I didn’t start with the latest mishap. Mooring up in Leeds in the rain (after bossing a rather tricky manoeuvre where I turned the boat 90 degrees and reversed into a berth behind another boat and between a pontoon and the wharfside), I dropped my phone in the water. There was much wailing, and of course, it was all Martyn’s fault because if he’d been there to catch my rope, it wouldn’t have happened. I love that he was helping another boat through the lock, but I couldn’t see him, he wasn’t answering his phone (it was on the boat) or the walkie talkie (the battery was flat), and so I panicked. In my imagination he might be floating in the said lock. In haste I didn’t zip my pocket up when I put the phone away and – splash!
Cruising under Leeds Bridge. The owls on the crest are the emblem of the city, it’s motto Pro Rege et Lege (For king and law)
At least we were in Leeds, which is lovely, a joy and an unexpected delight. And Leeds has an Apple store, so even though we could have done without the cost, I was sorted quickly with a new phone.
The Royal Armouries is full of guns and swords, most of which leave me cold, but seeing the Walther PPK made this Bond fan very happy
Somehow I thought Leeds was going to be dour, grim and gritty, but not a bit of it. We moored in Leeds Basin squeezed in between the Candle building, the Hilton Doubletree and the railway arches and there we stayed while we explored the city for a few days.
A selection of my impressions of Leeds. Martyn’s standing in front of an aerial photo of Chesil Beach!
Leeds has some beautiful architecture, good shopping and a nice atmosphere. We enjoyed an outdoor photography exhibition, the Leeds Museum and the Royal Armouries. Living on a boat with limited space, we didn’t really take advantage of the shops. I told Martyn I’d buy him a Leeds United mug, but for some inexplicable reason he repeatedly declined! It was nice to see the city centre appears to be thriving post-Covid, with very few closed and empty shops.
Some of the buildings I snapped, including the Town Hall, Civic Centre, Old Post Office, Kirkgate Market and the Corn Exchange
One of my favourite sites was St Paul’s House. We found it by accident. A local gent eating his lunch outside the very grand Victorian Town Hall (which sports picnic tables and astroturf) told us about it. It was built as a warehouse and cloth cutting works, and it’s very ornate. If you want to read more about this magnificent building, there’s a really interesting blog about it here.
St Paul’s House
Rather reluctantly, we left on Tuesday. We’d met a nice couple, Michael and John, on nb Iron Butterfly, moored next to us in the basin (they lent us a net to fish for the lost phone) and arranged to share the locks on the River Aire with them. When we got on the River it was another unexpected delight. It’s pretty, wide, and all the locks are automatic, so operating them is only a matter of pressing a few buttons – no hard manual labour. Because the Aire and Calder is also a navigation that takes much larger vessels than us, they are also massive, and most of them have lock keepers, so no one even has to get off the boat. Sadly the Aire and Calder is all too short. We cruised most of it in two days, arriving at Stanley Ferry in the rain and drenched again, but all good things must, I suppose, come to an end.
About to cruise under a dismantled railway, with Stephenson’s Bridge in the background
Trev and Martyn, putting the world to rights and doing the Can-Can sitting down
Since my last post, we’ve been to Skipton twice and spent rather a lot of time there. It won’t be the last time. We’re constantly reviewing what I loosely call our cruising plans. It’s likely we’ll turn around after Leeds and retrace our steps rather than carry on down the Huddersfield Narrow Canal. I’ve heard it referred to as the “Huddersfield Shallow” and with all the trials of this summer, we don’t need that sort of angst. We’ve never planned on covering every inch of the network for the sake of it.
The first time we cruised through Skipton with Trev and Jen, turned around and went back to our favourite mooring in Gargrave and towpath barbecues. The night England played Italy in the Euro 2020 final, all fired up watching the TV on Life of Riley, someone noticed a train on the viaduct. It was the Flying Scotsman, thundering along with a full head of steam and pulling a string of empty carriages. It was a magnificent sight, and none of us was fast enough to grab a camera.
Bye Bye to Trev, Jen and Ralf, until next time.
The next day we had visitors, Mary and Ewan our next-door neighbours from Wareham. We took them to Skipton on the boat, it was the first of the recent really hot days and we worked them hard. It was lovely to see them and catch up.
Mary and Ewan at the helm
While we were in Skipton, apart from enjoying pork pies from two of the award-winning butchers there, we also caught up with Mike and Christine who we hadn’t seen since we met them on the River Weaver last year. We drank far too much red wine and in the evenings, with all the hatches open because of the fearsome heat (we got to 32C on the boat quite a bit), we played some very competitive games of dominoes and crib!
Martyn likes a train ride – and tunnels
I thought we deserved a further treat, so one day we set off on the very swish Staycation Express from Skipton via Settle to Carlisle. It’s such a famous run and was a lovely day out.
The obligatory shot of Beau Romer looking fabulous
Back on the route Eastwards, we passed a canalside memorial to seven Polish Airmen who were killed when their Wellington Bomber crashed on a training flight in 1943. It’s a sad story, one of them had been married for only 3 weeks and it was his bride, years later, who unveiled the memorial.
Polish Airmen memorial in a very peaceful spot
On Friday evening we were moored up in the little village of Kildwick. There’s a church on one side of the canal that strikes the quarter hours all through the day and night, and it’s cemetery over Parsons Bridge on the other side. We were having Friday night drinks with our friends from Wareham on Zoom when we noticed a hire boat weaving a very erratic path towards us. I could see exactly what was going to happen before it did. Crash! Yes, they drove right into the side of Beau Romer, before ending up in the bushes on the other side of the canal. Nothing to do about it, no point in shouting at them.
Dear Snaygill Boats, would you like your green paint back?
We stopped in Keighley to have another rendezvous with Mary, this time bearing a cucumber from her garden at home.
Cucumber and a pint? Yes please!
We came down the Bingley Five Rise with a lovely family on holiday. They had twin 16-year-old sons, and the lock keepers put them to work!
Bingley, home of locks, chimneys and thermal underwear
I was really looking forward to Saltaire, Sir Titus Salt’s model village. Oh happy memories of studying it, and similar for my housing qualifications! We had plans to visit the gallery to look at the large collection of David Hockney paintings. No-one told us the whole place is closed on Monday and Tuesday. Something for the return trip, and we did have the pleasure of meeting Mary’s friend Barbara who tracked us down.
Saltaire, extremely attractive if you like everything “just so”
Yesterday we had a scary incident. We were coming through the Dobson Locks Staircase at Apperley Bridge. In a staircase the bottom gates of one lock are also the top gates of the next, and water from one lock fills the lock below They always cause me a bit of a headache working out how to set them. We were going down and it was all fine until I was in the bottom chamber and had to reverse the boat so Martyn could open the lock gate and I could get out. The lock gate was leaking badly and water was cascading over my head like a tidal wave. It was more than the channels around our engine bay could cope with. Consequently, the engine bay was flooding, I was getting a cold shower, there was a warning buzzer sounding and I honestly, for a second or two, thought the boat was going to sink and I was going to drown.
Not the lock that nearly got me, but leaky enough
When I finally managed to get free of the torrent and moor up I was straight off for a shower – hot this time – and Martyn was mopping out the engine bay to get rid of the water the bilge pump didn’t reach. Lesson learned; we’re going to keep the pram hood up in future going down staircase locks!
Faster chaps, unless you want a shower when he shakes!
The pace of travel has slowed down a little, just as it should. We aren’t in a hurry. From Salterforth (not Salterford!) and a fine dinner at The Anchor, we made our way through Barnoldswick, Greenberfield and East Marton to the section of the canal we know as the Curly Wurlies.
Double Arched Bridge at East Marton. The bottom arch was a packhorse bridge, they added the second to carry the A59.
The Curly Wurlies mess with your head. The canal meanders backwards and forwards in a serpentine manner following the lie of the land. You literally don’t know whether you’re coming or going. One minute the Langber TV mast is ahead of you on the left, then it’s on the right. It all makes you rather dazed and confused.
We’re all going in the same direction, I think …
We stayed in the beautiful countryside at Trenet Laithe for two nights, and I managed my first decent walk since falling over and all the resulting drama. There are a lot of sheep in the fields along the Pennine Way – at least where we were. I’ve often wondered why lamb is so expensive when there seems to be so much of the stuff on the hoof? There was a great TV signal on our mooring for the England v. Ukraine football match. As it finished the most terrific storm started. Poor Ralf nearly jumped out of his skin on the towpath because of an enormous thunderclap right overhead. We later found out it had taken out all the electrics in East Marton.
I’d say hurry up Martyn, but the most important thing on a narrowboat is to be slow and steady.
Carrying on we descended the Bank Newton locks, so picturesque. I’d heard some horror stories about bricks jutting out of the wall ready to catch unwary boaters, we but didn’t see any and got down them just fine. They are a bit leaky though.
This is what you call a piddler. And it wasn’t the only shower I got that day!
On to Gargrave, where we are now. What a pretty village. Some nice new houses are being built on the banks of the canal, with a nice price tag to boot. Over £500,00 for a semi? I don’t think so!
Stepping Stones crossing the River Aire at Gargrave
Tomorrow we’re leaving the countryside for the hustle and bustle of Skipton. I’ve heard so much about it. Should be fun.
