• Diary
September 2010
Mon
Tue
Wed
Thu
Fri
Sat
Sun
01
02
03
04
06
07
09
10
11
12
13
14
16
17
18
19
20
21
23
24
25
26
27
28
30
October 2010
Mon
Tue
Wed
Thu
Fri
Sat
Sun
01
02
03
04
05
06
07
08
09
11
13
14
15
16
17
18
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
29
November 2010
Mon
Tue
Wed
Thu
Fri
Sat
Sun
01
05
06
07
08
09
10
11
12
15
16
17
22
23
24
26
27
28
29
30
December 2010
Mon
Tue
Wed
Thu
Fri
Sat
Sun
01
02
03
04
05
06
07
08
09
10
11
13
14
15
16
18
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29

11th November 2010

Set off on a wee jaunt to Catherine De Barnes, leaving the Port at about 9:30am. Looks like the journey is off to a bad start as I'm not even out of the Soho Loop before I encounter a BW maintenance boat blocking a bridge. Although diagonally across the canal, it doesn't appear to be mooored, so I decide to ease past gently and force the impeding vessel out of the way. As my bows make contact, the apparently deserted boat shows signs of life and two meerkat like BW chappies bob up from below. They fire up their engine to move out of the way, which is a bit superfluous now as I was getting past anyway. After very English apologies from both sides, they for blocking the canal, me for my rather direct approach to resolving that problem, I continue to Sherborne to take on 50 litres of diesel. Only 47 of which actually fit in, so I wasn't as short as I thought (there's a first). Chugging away I fire up the Webasto to see if the extra fuel has fixed it, but the trail of white smoke I leave in my wake suggests not. That means it's either a fuel line blockage or a strip down is required. I try not to cry.

Arriving at the top of Farmer's bridge, I see a boat is already moored at the lock landing. Irritating, but there's plenty of room behind. It then transpires that they're legitimately hanging around as the lock flight is out of action due to a couple of empty pounds lower down. We wait around an hour or so for the BW chappies to run some water down the flight during which the ladies on the other boat provide me with a hot cup of coffee. How very nice. When we get started after lunch, they lend me a pair of their mob-handed crew to assist me in their wake, which is even nicer. Alas, by about 6 locks down, they decide I'm holding them up a bit too much (having frightened them previously with my estimate of how long it would take to get to our mutual destination - so my own fault really). I'm left to my own devices until passing under the pilings of a tower block. I forget which lock number this was, but it's a shocking wind trap, and as the Cat exits the chamber I am helpless to prevent him broadsiding one of the pilings with an alarming crash. The wind then seems help bent on spinning me into the pound rather than the chamber opposite, so there's nothing for it but to reverse like Charlie and hope for the best. Luckily, two members of the all-female vanguard had returned foreseeing such a calamity, and they pull me off with my centre line (can I say that?) Much relieved (Ok, I'll stop now), I manage to get the rest of the way down without incident, and my erstwhile guardians leave me behind to get down Ashsted on my Jack Jones. I was in some doubt as to whether my roof box would get through this rather low tunnel, but it does.

Camp Hill proves a bit of a slog, and this isn't helped by some arsehole parking on the lock landing leaving only one bollard free at their rear (and one free at the front - what use was that!). My attempts to moor to this sole bollard end in predictable disaster as I'm caught again by strong winds and blown to the far side of the canal. Muttering imprecations against the offending craft, I employ the tried and tested but officially frowned upon tactic of sticking my nose in the lock gates and climbing off the front. I get clear of the last of this flight of 6 just as the daylight is starting to disappear. Ah well, at least nothing will be coming the other way. I make good progress in the twilight until Yardley, when the canal becomes overgrown and the Autumn leaves are thick upon the water. This requires me to engage reverse to clear the prop nearly every 500 yards as my progress slowly dwindles to nothing. I crack open a beer to cheer myself up, and then have to indulge in another tried and tested but officially frowned upon tactic called peeing off the transom. It was dark, what can I say? At around 7:30pm I finally arrive at Catherine de Barnes, and I'm too late for the mooring rings. My friends from the morning are moored there already and cheerfully assist with a torch as I batter in some mooring pins. This makes me uneasy as I've never known these hold, but dire needs must etc.

Telegraph About Diary Gallery Whoops! Services Games BCN Challenge