As I mentioned last time, the first recommended safe mooring when you leave Birmingham on the Grand Union Canal is at Catherine de Barnes, or Catney as the locals seem to call it. We like it there, other than it’s directly on the flight path from Birmingham Airport, but the planes stop at night and there are some lovely walks nearby. We stayed there for a full day, just doing domestic chores and recovering from the BCN.
Knowle Locks, obviously
The next challenge was the Knowle Locks. I like them, but they have their own quirks. First off they have enormous side pounds so you walk miles and secondly, it was really, really windy, gusting to 35 mph apparently. Our first stroke of luck was when another boat came along so we could share, the second was that the flight was absolutely swarming with volunteer lock keepers, always welcome.
Martyn doing a great job faced with some very challenging conditions
We moored up very close to the bottom, not wanting to get blown around any more, and took Ollie for a walk. He met an enthusiastic lady dog on the towpath, who wanted to play. All was good until he cannoned into the back of my legs, and like a cartoon character, the legs went up, the bottom went down and I ended up sitting on the towpath. I laughed at the time but I’ve twisted my knee, so we took it easy for a couple of days.
Another day, another tunnel. This is Shrewley. Oh my goodness, was it wet and drippy in there! Martyn really regretted not putting on a coat. The stalactites, or whatever you call them when they are formed from drips down the wall are spectacular. See the half way point marker? I don’t think I’ve every photographed one of them in a tunnel before.
We got to the top of Hatton Locks on Monday and there wasn’t a soul around, no boats, no lockies and no movement. We decided we didn’t fancy tackling the 21 on our own so had another most of a day off. I thought there was something off about the first mooring spot we chose; there most certainly was – a large and very dead fish on the towpath and a wasps next right by our stern line. We moved up a bit and then had lunch at the Hatton Locks Cafe.
Looking back up the hill at Hatton
Yesterday we girded our loins once more to descend the Stairway to Heaven. I’ve never considered what you should call the Hatton Locks going the other way. Our luck was in, just as we were getting ready to depart another boat turned up. So we shared with Peter and Katya, who also had their son along as crew. I felt rather intimidated when Peter shared he’s a River Pilot on the Humber. Isn’t narrowboating a bit of a busman’s holiday? We flew down the flight about 2.5 hours, which by my reckoning is good.
Because of the gammy knee Martyn did all the locks on the Hatton Flight
Now we are happily moored up on the Saltisford Arm in Warwick. I love it here. Its run by the Saltisford Canal Trust, who celebrate their 40th anniversary this year. The friendly people here steward quite a lot of historic canal artifacts and boats, and it’s a haven for wildlife. They even have beehives, although so far we haven’t been lucky enough to get any honey. Beau Romer is going to stay here, safe and secure for a couple of weeks, while we go back to Dorset for a bit.
The cottage at the foot of the Hatton Locks, a welcome sight when you’re coming down
Wow, we’ve covered some ground in a week, off the Staffs and Worcester, through Stourbridge and Dudley, into Birmingham, where we bimbled around a bit on the BCN (Birminham Canal Navigations) and several other canals, and out the other side.
Looking back down the Stourbridge flight. Now there is only one glass cone in sight, but can you imagine what it must have been like with over 30 on the horizon?
Last year, during the blog silence, we went to Stourbridge. It’s famous for glass making, and we were lucky enough to be there during the biennial International Festival of Glass. We toured the Stourbridge Glass Museum and visited the Red House Glass Cone, imagining all the glassmakers at work. Then we popped into Holy Trinity, the glassmakers church, for tea and cakes. There was a lady there who had lived in Stourbridge all her life, and she told us stories of how the glassmakers used waste glass to make toys for the children; whistles with a reed inside that were easy to break and little ducks and animals.
Delph Locks are beautiful with their waterfall weirs. I’m sure if they were in a more picturesque setting people would be flocking to spend time there.
This year we bypassed the town and headed straight up the 16 locks of the Stourbridge flight. We were going to stop for the day after that, but were thwarted by a fishing match, so we carried on and did the Delph Locks too. We were a bit tired after that!
We were so tired we had to go for a pint or two; Batham’s Best Bitter, served in this lovely pub in Brierley which is the brewery tap, highly recommended and £3.80 a pint! Plus we met a couple of friendly boaters, Clare and William, and had some good conversation, which is always a bonus
The next day just for kicks and giggles we set off for Hawne Basin at the end of the Dudley No. 2 canal. That was a war of attrition – the canal is silted, overgrown and full of the usual urban rubbish. When we got to the Gosty Hill Tunnel we were hardly moving. Sensible boaters would have stopped to clear the prop, but we aren’t sensible. We pushed on at a snail’s pace. It’s no fun being trapped in a narrow, dark and low tunnel where you’re moving so slowly you can count every brick passing by. It’s not very often I’m nervous on the stern of the boat, but as the roof got lower and lower I wondered if we were going to come to a dead halt, and if so, how long it would be before someone found us on this quiet part of the system?
I very much doubt we will ever pass this way again – see how the roof gets lower?
Hawne Basin in Halesowen is a very different place to stop than we are used to. The visitor moorings there are free because they want to encourage visiting boats. Although it looks like a marina there are no pontoons so we spent the night lashed to our neighbour. We could get on and off the boat with no problems, but it was a different matter for Ollie. We deployed the gangplank, and Martyn had to carry him on and off the boat. The real upside was that the basin was selling red diesel for 75p a litre. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it so cheap.
Ollie woofed at the statue. Weird dog
We made the return trip through the tunnel with considerably less drama and headed into Tipton through the Netherton Tunnel, 3027 yards long, but wide like a motorway and with a towpath of on each side. We had thought about spending a day at the Black Country Living Museum, but it isn’t dog friendly, and we have been there before, so after a quick overnight off we went again.
Parts of the Old Main Line are as bucolic as any canal has any right to be
The last time we crossed Birmingham we used the New Main Line, engineered by Thomas Telford, straight as an arrow, and, dare I say it, as boring as a wet Sunday afternoon when I was a five year old in 1971. This year we decided to take James Brindley’s Old Main Line, and what a delight it was! We crossed over other canals, including the Netherton Branch we’d cruised the day before and counted the proliferation of coot nests. I’ve written before about how much I like coots, watching the males solicitously guarding their nests and their mates I like them even more.
Just when you forget you’re on an urban canal the Old Main Line swoops right under the M5 and stays there for about 20 minutes of cruising time. I wonder if the vehicles up above have any idea of what’s happening right underneath them?
We girded our loins the next day, it was going to be full-on., 25 locks and 10 miles to cover to reach the first safe overnight stop. We started off with the Farmers Bridge Locks. At the top they are right under the International Convention Centre, and the towpath is bustling with people. Half way down is Saturday Bridge, reputed to be where the workers would get their weekly wages back in the day.. The lower you get down the flight of 13 the grittier they get and it’s quite a relief to finally pop out at the bottom adjacent to the Jewellery Quarter. This area is definitely far removed from the bars, restaurants and attractions of Gas Street Basin.
The creepiest lock I’ve ever been in, No.9 on the Farmers Bridge Flight. It was dark, under a bridge, and for some reason smelled really strongly of coal.
It was at the Ashted Tunnel that things really went wrong for us. You descend the first lock of the Ashted Flight and right in front of you is the tunnel. If Gosty Hill was low and narrow, this was even worse. A narrowboat is 6’10” wide, and the Ashted Tunnel is only 6’11” wide, so there was no wriggle room at all. It’s also low, the roof is steeply curved, and the water level was so high it was over the towpath. It was a recipe for disaster, but hindsight is a wonderful thing. Martyn went on ahead to set the next lock, I chugged through the tunnel – or rather I didn’t. What actually happened was that even though I was rubbing along the towpath to my left, the right handrail at the top of the cabin roof hit the tunnel wall, and so did our pram hood frame and cover. We were totally unprepared for the damage to the boat. At the end of the day it’s nothing a bit of black paint won’t sort out, but it certainly knocked my confidence. Subsequent research and talking to another boater has revealed we certainly aren’t alone, the Ashted Tunnel is notorious for damaging boats. I wish I’d known before we set off, we would have gone another way.
To make matters worse, HS2 is going to cross the Ashted Flight
While I was licking my wounds and trying to restore battered confidence in my helming abilities, a passerby struck up a conversation. He was born into a working boating family, the youngest of 12 children. and one of only 3 not to be born on his parents’ boat, called Dover. Happily reminiscing he told us some first hand stories of what the life was like, of how his Mum would be back steering the boat 4 hours after giving birth because there was no money if they didn’t haul cargo, and how the workers at Bournville would throw chocolate to the boat children. Talking to him was exactly what I needed at that time.
A very attractive mural at Warwick Bar
It started raining, so we stopped at the foot of the Camp Hill Locks for a bite of lunch. I also got to help out a party of Canadian hire boaters who were a bit lost and trying to climb up the side of the lock. We ran into them the next day and I’m glad that their enthusiasm for narrowboating wasn’t daunted by the experience.
We ended that particular day on the Camp Hill Flight, which I feel is one of the grimmest on the system, neglected, paddle gear not working and with the sort of grafitti that is neither art, nor ornament, nor intelligent
I certainly don’t want to end this blog on a low point. We love exploring urban canals, and the BCN in particular, even though this year’s tally down the weed hatch was a baseball cap, a pair of Nike shorts, the wrapper from a multipack of Andrex and goodness knows how much plastic and weed. The water is crystal clear in parts, oily black in others. My copy of the Pearson’s guide is out on the back of the boat at all times because there is so much of interest to identify. I’ve probably taken 100 pictures to squirrel away in the memory banks, and we enjoy the surprises and the challenges. There is nowhere in the country where I’m more aware of how privileged we are to spend so much of our time on a living museum, a transport network that is 250 years old that was constructed not for our boating pleasure, but as part of the industrial revolution and is part of our history. The pretty and rural is just around the corner, and we are lucky to have so much variety.
See the red doors on the bridge? They were used in WWII to allow the firemen to drop hard suction hoses into the canal to draw up water. I never noticed them back in 2022 when we were last here, this time I spotted them everywhere in Birmingham
Egyptian Geese on the River Thames. I wasn’t familiar with them at all. It’s interesting how the local wildlife changes as we progress
Sorry, it’s been a while, so here’s a rundown of our exploits over the past few weeks – not what I thought I was going to write about at all. We liked Uxbridge, and it didn’t seem to be remotely in the grip of byelection fever while we were there. Martyn and I snuck off for lunch and then unexpectedly to a Muse concert at Milton Keynes, courtesy of my old schoolfriend Alison and her husband Peter. It was our third time seeing Muse, and they were every bit as excellent as I remember.
Nothing to do with boating at all, just enjoying a splendid evening at the National Bowl in Milton Keynes with 60,000 0ther people
After Uxbridge, the Grand Union got a bit grim. I didn’t think much of Hayes and Southall and there was a stretch where I’ve never seen so much rubbish, and we even spotted rats on the bank. It’s not all roses and castles. We spent a couple of pleasant days at the top of the Hanwell flight but descending the locks there was a bit of a trial. First there was no water, then there was too much. Until the CRT properly came to our rescue Penny and I were running up and down trying to let water out at the bottom to mitigate the threat of the overflowing higher pounds. Consequently it took about three times longer than it should have done.
Three Bridges at Hanwell. designed by I K Brunell of course. It’s road above canal above railway
Finally we reached the end of the Grand Union Canal at Brentford and our date with the mighty River Thames – the tidal section between Brentford and Teddington. I was apprehensive; would we be swept away, overturned, or mown down by an Uber boat or a large sea-going vessel? Thankfully none of that happened. We sped along on the tide at a giddy speed for any self-respecting narrowboat, and reaching Teddington was a bit of a anticlimax.
Cruising past Richmond-upon-Thames. Last time we were there we were on our honeymoon!
After Teddington we started to have the sort of problem that was going to become all too common over the next couple of weeks. “No mooring, no landing” the signs say, sometimes there’s a bit of variation “Keep off” or “Private mooring”. You start to feel a bit desperate sometimes for the feel of solid earth under your feet. It isn’t exactly welcoming. There are visitor moorings. You can only stay on most of them for 24 hours before payment is due, so there’s little temptation to linger either. You see boats moored squeezed in and moored up to tiny sections of the bank where the vegetation is just about pnetrable, but those spots with prevailing high banks are generally more suited to the river cruisers than to the likes of us. We might be king on the canals, but on the Thames we’re distinctly second class.
Kingston Railway Bridge, with Kingston Bridge in the background. My old head office is the sandy-coloured building on the right.
We did pay to stay in a few places. We lurked right outside the gates of Hampton Court Palace for the full five days we were allowed. I got to catch up with some old work colleages, and some of them came to see us on the boat. We even risked a short evening cruise, ever fearful that even at 8pm some opportunist would steal our mooring while we were out gallivanting.
Garrick’s Temple to Shakespeare. I’ve driven past it many times, but have never seen it from this angle
Windsor was a bit of a disappointment. We arrived on Monday, on the day that POTUS came to visit the King. Can’t say I noticed, although we think we saw the Presidential helicopter leaving. Martyn and I ventured up into the town, which seemed to have a bit of a problem with the drains and an excess of homeless people. It was decidedly inconvenient that Windsor Castle was closed until Thursday and we decided not to stay and wait.
A beautiful evening at Runnymede, interrupted by planes constantly taking off from Heathrow Airport
Marlow was a delight with a lovely park where we enjoyed watching a bit of evening cricket and some very nice window shopping. We had a good mooring and went on a very mini pub crawl. Sadly Henley-on-Thames was only a brief stop for shopping. We jammed into a very tight mooring – twice because I had to move to let another boat out. Three years ago I never would even have attempted it. A historic boat festival was in full swing and once again mooring was at a premium. We should have stayed put because then we had quite a long slog to Reading before we were able to find anywhere to stop for the night. An overnight at Sonning, rubbing shoulders with the Clooneys, wasn’t going to be for us.
Amphicars having fun in the rain at Marlow
I hadn’t meant to describe our sojourn on the Thames so briefly. I like to think that we’ll be back to explore it at a bit more leisure in the future. It is so very different to the canals we are used to; so wide and grand. We kept the binoculars on the stern with us at all times, there’s so much to see they came in very useful, if only to read the “No Moooring” signs.
Windsor Castle of course. We had planned to moor on the playing fields of Eton College on the left, but it was too shallow. I must have winded the boat 5 times looking for a suitable mooring spot
So now we find ourselves on the Kennet and Avon at last. I like it a lot. So far it reminds me of the Leeds and Liverpool. They are both broad canals with a reputation for being difficult, they both flow through some beautiful countryside, they are both lined with pillboxes from WWII and they both terminate in a major port, Bristol and Liverpool respectively.
Gliding between the shops and cafes in Reading
We’ve seen some interesting things, the turf-sided locks for instance. We even survived the fearsome lock entrance at Woolhampton relatively unscathed.
Waiting for Monkey Marsh Lock to fill
For one night only we found one of the nicest moorings we’ve had in a while at Tyle Mill. I think it rates up there with my favourites at Gargrave on the L&L and Barnton Cut on the River Weaver. I’d like to spend a few peaceful days there in the future, enjoying the company of the resident cows. I wouldn’t mind next time though if we didn’t see the cover in which we wrap our pram hood while cruising disappearing down the River Kennet never to be seen again! That’s going to be expensive.
Martyn guarding the protecting the washing from the cows. For some reason he thought a red sweatshirt was a good idea …
The convoy of three has continued on its merry way. We haven’t had the best of luck so far this week. Martyn sacrificed a screwdriver to the canal gods, and I knocked my water bottle into the water halfway up the Marsworth Flight. It was a hot day and the bottle was full of blackcurrant and blueberry squash; what a waste. Martyn was not happy when the water hose exploded and flooded our well deck either. At least the water was cold.
Looking back to Marsworth Reservoir
I’m loving all the uniformly-painted black and white former lockkeepers’ cottages on this section of the Grand Union Canal. It makes you realise what a superhighway this canal was in its day. It joins London to Birmingham and, by and large, it takes the straightest, fastest route. There’s no meandering around hills and valleys, just lock brutally and inexorably following lock. Back in the day this canal certainly had the manpower to cope with it, and the cottages are a testament to this fact.
Another lovely cottage
We passed a film set on the banks of the canal. At first we thought the weird scaffolding was part of the work for HS2. The emerald green colour should have given it away, that and the munchkin village, complete with wicker witch. It was the set of Wicked, and it’s massive.
That’s a lot of building, but no sign of Jeff Goldblum or Ariana Grande
On reaching the top of the locks we stopped close to the Grand Junction Arms and had a delicious lunch. While we were there the heavens opened, and the ensuing thunderstorm was biblical in its ferocity. It was such a trial that we were stranded in the pub garden for an hour, mercifully under a huge canopy, watching the parasols being bent over by the force of the storm and avoiding the streams and rivulets at our feet. In our haste to get to the pub we hadn’t stopped to put up the pram hood up on the stern of the boat. It took the rest of the afternoon to get everything dried out.
We need the rain, but not that much that fast
The next day we were warned about a tree across the canal in the Tring Cutting. Of course, it had to be our boat that brought it down, right on top of the cratch cover. Penny and Andrew had already got through unscathed, Karen and Drew were behind us. I managed to stop the boat before the tree limb did any real damage, but it still took Martyn and Drew about an hour to saw it up and get us free. Amazingly there was hardly any damage. The canvas needs a good clean, and one rivet needs replacing, that’s all. And there’s nothing for the Canal and River Trust to do now. Us boaters are resourceful.
When Martyn retired he was gifted a reciprocating saw. It came into its own for a spot of lumberjacking
Since then we’ve taken root in Berkhamsted. It’s a lovely town, full of interesting shops, with a beautiful old church, a Waitrose and a M&S Food Hall. It’s the first place we’ve stayed I honestly don’t think I could afford to live in, certainly not buy a house, but we’re getting closer and closer to London.
Lock 53, Berkhamsted
It’s been hot and sunny every day and we are moored under a tree. Somehow I’ve managed to enjoy coffee and walnut cake every day for the past three; in a cafe, courtesy of Karen, and a delicious one that Penny cooked today. We’ve done some light boat maintenance. We went out to eat in the Thai Cottage last night and had the most excellent dinner; it’s a restaurant I heartily recommend. Tomorrow we’re moving on.
Every cloud has a silver lining. If the tree hadn’t fallen on our boat we wouldn’t have seen this family of Mandarin ducks
Celebrating the railway heritage of Wolverton, just north of Milton Keynes
We are somewhere between Leighton Buzzard and Tring, so I’m lost. I only know we’re closing in on London.
This widebeam was right across the canal when we found it. We couldn’t pass until we’d repinned it. Probably a speeding boat pulled it loose.
Martyn and I went back to Wareham for a few days, we had some business to take care of, dentist, doctor and haircut. We also got to see friends and celebrate a wedding, which was lovely. I hope Dave and Sue have a happy married life together. Congratulations Mr and Mrs Wheatley.
Seren Glas on the Iron Truck Aqueduct in Cosgrove, with no barrier on the starboard side, is the first of its kind.
We left the boat in Cosgrove. Penny and Andrew looked after it for us, for which we were grateful. Cosgrove promised so much and delivered so little. On the map it is a delightful place, with a caravan park and lakes. In reality the caravan park is strictly private, and they own all the nice bits. The horse tunnel, squat and oval, which runs under the canal, was fun though. Karen and Drew on Lark Rise caught up with us there and we’ve been travelling with them and Andrew and Penny ever since. That’s been extremely pleasant. We’ve explored pubs together and on Saturday night we had the first towpath barbecue of the year. We are all heading towards London and although our timetables are different I hope we’ll continue to cross paths on the way down.
The Ornamental Bridge at Cosgrove is definitely the most ornate we’ve seen on the Grand Union,
We cruised through Milton Keynes, which was pleasant and warrants further exploration at a more leisurely pace. It’s all parks, gardens and nice-looking houses from our perspective on the canal, not a concrete cow in sight. Leighton Buzzard seemed very noisy; we thought there was some sort of protest going on. It was only after we passed through I discovered it was the day of the Leighton Buzzard and Dunstable Truck Convoy. The mind boggles.
A hot day and a cold beer in The Globe Inn in Leighton Buzzard. That’s Karen and Drew in animated conversation.
Martyn and I went for a trek across a field to look at a railway bridge. It’s quite a notorious one. It used to be called Bridego Bridge, now it’s known as Train Robbers Bridge. It’s the site of the 1963 Great Train Robbery perpetrated by Ronnie Biggs, Buster Edwards et al. I had to go and look at it. Before I married Martyn my surname was Wisbey, and Tommy Wisbey, who was one of the train robbers, was related to my ex. Later that evening the Flying Scotsman crossed it but none of us got to take a photo. Opportunity missed there.
The infamous Train Robbers Bridge. I don’t think we’ll be catching that train.
Rowan quickly found out the purpose of the duck hatch
No sooner were we on the boat on our own again, then we left it. Dan, Lianna and Rowan took over for a week. We spent it in Dorset, and they cruised the boat back to Brinklow. Oh well, we got to enjoy Pumpkins Deli for a second time!
The Newbold Tunnel revisited
So, back in possession, we repeated the journey we’d already taken on the Oxford Canal, down through Rugby, Hilmorton Locks and Willoughby to Braunston. This time, on a busy day on the canal (where we seemed to cause all sorts of chaos trying to moor at the chandlers), we turned right at Braunston Junction, towards Warwick. Everyone who had been there had recommended The Folly at Napton and the Napton Cidery, so we detoured there, but everything was closed when we cruised into Napton. Oh dear. Don’t visit on Monday.
Calcutt Locks, looking warm
The next day we turned back onto the Grand Union Canal, familiar territory from a holiday we had a good few years ago. At least this time we managed not to throw a windlass into the first of the Calcutt Locks. By now we were into the summer of 2022 Heatwave 2.0. and the 11 locks of the Stockton Flight were roasting and exhausting. At one point I was just laying on a balance beam in a rare shady patch praying either for more shade and less heat, or for it to all be over. Thank goodness for the Blue Lias Inn at the bottom with cold beer and good food!
Three boats in a lock? Thats different.
Now anyone who knows us knows we aren’t morning people. That changed in the heat, with the order of the day being to set off well before 8 am and to moor up before lunchtime. On we went, hunting for moorings in the shade and spending long drowsy afternoons doing not much of anything in particular. Via Long Itchington and Radford Semele we found ourselves in Leamington Spa and had a bit of trauma there. Martyn’s wallet was stolen from the boat, right in front of him. There wasn’t a lot of cash in it and only two bank cards, but the hassle factor has been a nuisance. We’ve had to replace his driving licence, bus pass, National Trust and Chelsea membership cards amongst others. We were surprised how seriously the police took the crime, even to the extent of dusting Beau Romer for fingerprints. They found some too. We shall see what transpires.
The perfect antidote to a hot day’s boating
Since Leamington Spa, the weather has cooled down and we haven’t had any further dramas. We went up the mighty Stairway to Heaven, the Hatton Flight, with a lovely family on a hire boat and then up the Knowle Locks to Catherine-de-Barnes, where we stayed for a couple of days while I went to the Festival of Quilts at the NEC with friends, and Martyn went to play on the Severn Valley Railway.
Friendly lock keepers at Knowle rendered me surplus to requirements
Having gone nearly all the way into Birmingham we have now turned around and are aiming to enter the city by a different route.
Back on the boat and in a marina it was rather frustrating that a Sainsbury’s delivery driver couldn’t find us. With all the activity around Lichfield due to building HS2 I’m not surprised. We haven’t seen any track being laid yet, just enormous construction depots and road works. Thankfully – and eventually – a taxi driver could find his way from Lichfield station with our guests for a week, Bailey and Anna, all the way from Washington DC and Jackson City Tennessee respectively. I’m amazed that a solid week of rain last October apparently hasn’t put Bailey off the English canals, and that she not only came back, but brought her sister with her.
Bailey and Yours Truly, lock keeping
it did make us laugh in the middle of this exceptionally hot and dry summer, that the girls, along with the Sainsbury’s delivery (eventually!) arrived in the middle of a rainstorm. The lack of rain is starting to cause us some problems. So far the Leeds and Liverpool, Macclesfield and Peak Forest canals are closed, the Trent and Mersey just as well may be, and there are restrictions on many others. I’m sure we will get back to our home mooring in Rufford at some stage this winter, but it wouldn’t be looking good if we turned north now.
Patiently waiting on the Atherstone Flight
Water levels are so low that somewhere on the Coventry Canal we came across a party of scouts who had got their boat thoroughly stuck. Martyn and I weren’t on the boat at the time, the girls were doing a great job in charge. The scouts didn’t have a boat pole (that they could find!) so Bailey and Anna attached a line and gave them a tug to get them going. Of course we grounded ourselves in the process, but we know how to get free!
Beau Romer to the rescue
We’d planned to journey with Bailey and Anna from Lichfield to Rugby, and had a lot of fun on the way. They bought cheese and sweets from a couple of tradingboats, we found a fabulous deli in Brinklow and we enjoyed several pub visits.
It’s a tight turn at Hawkesbury Junction
There was a lot of wildlife in evidence, mainly rats. We were in one of the Atherstone locks when one decided to use the stern of the boat as a bridge from one side of the lock to the other. The next day as well as a dead one in the canal there was a live one swimming alongside the boat. I also spotted a cheeky squirrel using a telegraph wire as a tightrope. The wildlife highlight of the week was a water vole on the towpath practically running over Bailey’s foot!
Concentrating in Braunston Tunnel
Because none of us can help overachieving, we went far beyond Rugby and ended up at Long Buckby on the Grand Union Canal, where the girls had to leave to fly home. That gave us a couple of days to cruise down as far as Stowe Hill, the first place where many years ago I ever got involved in winding a narrowboat. And a right mess up that was! I think we do a bit better these days.
Another day, another pub lunch. The Tame Otter at Hopwas
