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Monthly Archives: February 2019

Summer Weather In February On The Grand Union Canal

Orient’s Zanussi washing machine isn’t performing quite as well as we would like. Its primary function at the moment seems to be to transfer the contents of our seven hundred litre water tank into the cabin bilge without washing any clothes.

Removing the excess bilge water has proven a little challenging.

My previous narrowboat, James, was sensibly designed. Bilgewater could flow the full cabin length back to the engine room and then be sucked out of the boat with an electric bilge pump.

Easy.

Orient’s underfloor area appears to be split into several self-contained sections. All of them are inaccessible. Builder Steve Hudson fitted out the engine room and boatman’s cabin. Everything else was done by the first owner. He was a craftsman. The beautifully designed fitted furniture is as substantial as it is aesthetically appealing. He did a great job, but not one which makes remedial work at all easy.

Before he constructed the boat’s many cupboards, shelves and heavy-duty doors, he hauled two tonnes of hardwood flooring into the Orient’s cabin. He secured the long planks with enough over engineered brass screws to open his own hardware shop. Orient’s cabin floor is a thing of beauty, unmarred by unsightly but often necessary inspection hatches. There’s no chance of lifting any of the hardwood planks without dismantling the carefully crafted furniture above it.

Removing leaked water is a problem I haven’t yet been able to overcome, as is removing the appliance which is responsible for the unwanted liquid.

The Zanussi washing machine installation was done early in the boat’s fitout programme. I suspect it was lifted onto a sturdy pine shelf on the cabin’s port side and then surrounded with batons, doors and shelves until it was buried at the bottom of an expansive airing cupboard. The equally substantial Kabola boiler cupboard was built opposite the washing machine. A weighty pine door to the galley opens between the two.
The washing machine cupboard door and the galley door will need to come off before there’s any chance of sliding the washing machine out. And then the appliance will need hauling, sliding and lifting around, between and over a host of cupboards, drawer chests and partitions towards the cabin’s forward doors. Getting the machine out of the boat is going to be a monumental pain in the arse.

In the meantime, life goes on.

Cupboards filled with dirty clothes until a long trek to the marina washing and drying machines became a necessary evil. The pleasant one thousand yard return trip (I’ve just measured it on Google Maps) from Orient to the facilities block morphed into a tedious trudge after the fifth load. Ah, the joys of living afloat!

Banging into the boiler cupboard door as I wrestled with the uncooperative washing machine reminded me that the long-awaited replacement Kabola boiler pot still hasn’t arrived. It was ordered directly from the German supplier at the beginning of January. They estimated three weeks before it would reach our Tattenhall base. We postponed our cruise south to Calcutt, hoping that we could get it fitted before we left. We began our journey potless and without hot water. The third revised delivery date has now passed, so we have to rely on a stable shoreline connection for water heating.

A constant shore supply is a hit and miss affair. One hundred yards of a blue plastic coated cable is buried at the bottom of a shallow ditch between our rusty dump barge mooring and the nearest electricity metre. Somewhere, I don’t yet know where, there is a weakness or a partial break in the cable. Running mains appliances, heating water and charging our domestic battery bank is an exercise requiring patience and a stout pair of walking boots. A saloon table top lamp is our usual indicator. Like a Pavlovian dog, if the cabin suddenly dims, I climb out of the boat reset the trip switch. I’m frustrated but exceptionally fit.

All of these issues are nothing more than minor and temporary inconveniences. They are not third world problems. We have a comfortable and warm floating home, moored at one of the best locations at, for my money, one of the prettiest marinas in the country.

Returning to work here has been a joy. I was employed by Calcutt Boats on and off from September 2009 until October 2016. I enjoyed the work and appreciated the beauty of the hundred plus acres of rural Warwickshire I maintained. However, two years driving 30,000 miles through the varied landscapes of eleven European countries reinforced my love for England’s often spectacular countryside. Especially after spending much of last year in Holland.

There’s more varied scenery in this remote corner of rural Warwickshire than there is in most of the Netherlands (My apologies to Dutch friends Gilia and Edwin who will read this). We stayed in Holland because of the vast network of rivers, canals and lakes. The Dutch are masters of waterway management. They have to be. Much of the country’s reclaimed land is below sea level. Waterways fill many of the low lying areas which, in this exceptionally flat corner of Europe, is most of the country.

The waterways are meticulously maintained. Everything works. On the rare occasion that a bridge or lock fails, technicians are on site in the blink of an eye to fix the fault. The Dutch waterways network operates like a well-oiled machine, a reliable machine with minimal character.

Very few boaters live afloat on Holland’s four thousand miles of connected waterways. If you want to live on Dutch waterways, you usually buy one of the country’s thousands of houseboats, floating homes so elaborate that they often have brick walls and slate or thatched roofs. It’s living on the water, but it’s not boating. There are exceptions of course. The Dutch build beautiful boats. They’re often not insulated, but if you find one that is you have a spacious, comfortable and pretty home. Like Edwin and Gilia’s boat below.

A superbly equipped Dutch live aboard boat

A superbly equipped Dutch live aboard boat


The Dutch are enthusiastic and proud fair weather boaters. A poorly maintained craft on the Dutch network is a rare sight. Boating in Holland is all about aesthetics. Open day boats costing six figures are common, as are forty-foot motor cruisers costing a million or more. Despite these boats’ extraordinary cost, very few of them are suitable for four season cruising or for living on board full time.

Consequently, the Dutch network is lifeless for half of the year. September is a hectic time for boatyards when many crafts are removed from their moorings. They’re lifted from the water, moved to hard standing, sometimes in huge heated hangers, and left until the spring.

Many minor canals shut down for the winter. Not because of essential repairs or freezing weather, but because the bridge and lock keepers aren’t at their posts. There’s no point. There are no boaters to provide a service for.

Major waterways routes remain open from dawn till dusk for commercial traffic. On the waterways near our Aalsmeer base, we could count the daily commercial boats on the fingers of one hand. The work of a Dutch winter bridge keeper must be a tedious affair.

Even though winter cruising is not overly popular on English and Welsh canals, the UK inland waterways network has a very different feel from its continental cousin during the colder months of the year.

Thanks to my work, and our mooring overlooking the bottom lock of the Grand Union canal’s Calcutt flight, I can watch daily events on the waterways as they unfold. I saw more boats moving through the flight on one lazy Sunday morning in February than I did in a week on the Dutch canals before we left the Netherlands last December.

I could hear the sounds from my boatman’s cabin office; the rush of water from raised paddles, the roar of an engine to combat the surge from paddles raised too quickly and shouted banter between lock and helm crew. They’re such comforting sounds.

There are still signs of life on England’s canal and river network on the coldest winter days. Thousands of moored boats line the cut, many occupied by liveaboard boaters. Cruising past a row of moored boats usually creates a burst of canalside activity. Heads appear through hatches, out of engine bays, above towering bags of coal. Some boat owners offer a cheery wave, a friendly greeting or, if the cruising boater passes too fast, a shaken fist and a little heartfelt advice. English canals are alive, even in the depth of winter.

Not that we’ve had much of a winter this year.

Toys for boys. I'm very happy at work.

Toys for boys. I’m very happy at work.

I was able to work in a tee shirt for much of last week as I burned hawthorn stripped from the fence line between Calcutt Boats and neighbouring Napton reservoir. A Colditz style fence complete with stainless steel gates was recently installed to exclude otters from the carp-filled lake. Now the foreign fish eating mink have the reservoir to themselves. Aren’t they lucky?

Calcutt Boats duck house in a pond without water

Calcutt Boats duck house in a pond without water

I hosted my first Discovery Day of the season yesterday. My guest, Paul, booked his day back in December. He told me he wanted to experience a day on a liveaboard narrowboat at the coldest time of the year. He didn’t want to be seduced by a warm day cruising under an azure sky. Although he didn’t show any outward signs, he must have been bitterly disappointed.

The day dawned with a light mist and a seasonal nip in the air. After checking the day’s weather report, Paul arrived carrying nothing more substantial than a light jacket. Standing still on the back of a narrowboat for hours on end twitching an arm occasionally to guide the craft around gentle turns can be a cold affair. I considered offering him a coat, but I didn’t need to worry. A warm sun burned the mist off by mid-morning. Paul stood comfortably at the helm for the afternoon session in a tee shirt and shorts. In February. In England. The weather has gone mad.

Well stocked with coal for a winter we haven't had

Well stocked with coal for a winter we haven’t had

I’m back on our dump barge mooring today, sitting in Orient’s back cabin with the doors wide open. The marina has been an unusual hive of activity for this time of the year. Calcutt Bottom lock behind me has been busy for most of the day as local boaters seized the chance to do a little fair weather boating. They need to make the most of this early season opportunity. If the current warm weather and clear skies continue, the network will struggle to remain fully operational. We need rain and plenty of it if we want to avoid summer lock closures and restrictions. Brits begging for rain in England? It’s not a common request.

The forecast for the week ahead is for lots more sun. Narrowboat owners and daffodils will be out in force. I’ll be working beside the Grand Union canal watching happy boaters chug along wishing that I was one of them.

Discovery Day Update

I welcomed Orient’s first Discovery Day guest on Saturday. Aspiring liveaboard boater, Paul, joined me for a twelve mile, six lock cruise on the combined Oxford and Grand Union canals. The waterway weaves a fascinating route through some of Warwickshire’s finest scenery. 

We began the day at 8am with a hot drink in front of the glowing coals of Orient’s multi fuel stove. We enjoyed an hour discussing essential bits of onboard kit, rules and etiquette on the network’s watery roads, the true cost of living a life afloat, and any other questions about this wonderful lifestyle Paul wants to throw at me.

Fully refreshed and raring to go, we fired up Orient’s vintage engine. Saturday’s weather was unbelievable; a cloudless blue sky and a sun warm enough to encourage Paul to strip off to tee shirt and shorts for the afternoon cruise back to Calcutt.  Even though I’ve cruised the Discovery Day route hundreds of times I never tire of it. Buzzards circling overheard during the day, owls swooping low over the canal at dusk, the occasional trembling muntjac kneeling to drink in the offside shallows and, in March, mad hares cavorting in waterside meadows. The route is as fascinating as it is beautiful. The day with Paul passed in a blur. I tied up at the end of the day eager to greet my next guest and the many more to follow through the changing seasons.

If you want a break from all this Brexit nonsense and escape the stresses and strains of modern day life for a while, come and join me for an idyllic day on the cut. I promise you a truly relaxing day out filled with answers to all your narrowboat questions. You’ll learn how to handle a narrowboat with confidence too. Click on the link above to book your day.

Paul Glover enjoying and unseasonably warm February Discovery Day

Paul Glover enjoying and unseasonably warm February Discovery Day

Graham Davies

Kingswinford, West Midlands

Searching the internet I came across Paul's Discovery Day web site for all aspects of living on a canal boat. I thought, "Wow, that would be ideal for me even though I've been living on a canal boat for 18 months but no experience in cruising the cut"..so i booked a Discovery Day with Paul to gain some experience in cruising. With Paul's experience my confidence grew during the day. Now I'm ready to to cruise the canals.

My son and me had a brilliant Discovery Day. Paul answered all questions regarding living aboard and full instruction cruising the canals. We came away at the end of the day with a lot more experience and confidence.

My Discovery Day showed me a different way of life living aboard. Paul was there to answer any questions regarding all aspects of living aboard and instruction with cruising the cut. I would recommend Paul's Discovery Day who is thinking about buying a canal boat."

Graham was an experienced live aboard boater, but like many people living afloat he used his home as a floating flat. He didn’t have the confidence to explore England’s beautiful and ever changing waterways. A day’s tuition opened up a whole new world to him.

If you’re thinking about buying a narrowboat, regardless of whether it’s for recreational cruising or as a primary home, do yourself a huge favour and begin your boat buying process with enough knowledge and experience to help you make the right choices and decisions. Book a Discovery Day today.

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A Fierce New Guard Dog For Narrowboat Orient

We woke to a tranquil world. Mallards slipped and slid over the solid ice sheet covering the canal and surrounding Orient. The rest day I craved had become an unavoidable necessity. Despite a forecast temperature spike over the next few days, melting ice up to two inches thick would take a while. So we relaxed into the day, sat in front of a Squirrel filled with glowing coals and talked about a new dog.

Bassets aren’t happy solo boaters. Since twelve-year-old Tasha failed to wake on a dreary morning at Tattenhall marina three weeks earlier, our remaining basset, Abbie, has been far more depressed than usual.

Cynthia has rescued a string of bassets. They’re amiable comedians, non-confrontational, affectionate and loyal. They also shed so much fur that owners need to follow behind them with a small truck. The breed is also prone to simultaneous drooling and head shaking which sometimes result in walls which wouldn’t look out of place on an alien film set. They’re big dogs, far too big and heavy for Cynthia to lift easily, or even at all, over a narrowboat gunnel on and off the boat. Great dogs, but not particularly narrowboat friendly.

Cynthia had a few suggestions, but I had ideas of my own. I haven’t owned a pet since I managed a Chef & Brewer pub on a rough Milton Keynes estate in the mid-eighties. I had two then. A ten stone rottweiler, Conan – named after Arnold Schwarzenegger in Conan the Barbarian, and an eight-foot-long Burmese python inexplicably named Arthur. I liked impressive and memorable pets.

As we sat in front of our glowing stove, I tried to imagine the perfect dog for me. “I want something to reflect my character,” I told Cynthia. “A manly kind of dog, strong in both body and mind and reasonably intelligent. I want an animal which suits the life I lead and the work I am returning to at Calcutt Boats. What’s more, I want the dog to have a strong name. Thunder, Thor, Conan or Fang maybe.”

Cynthia is a dutiful and perceptive wife. After many hours of careful thought and online research, she found what she thought was the perfect dog, one which would suit both my character and my needs. The breed wasn’t quite what I had in mind, but the idea grew on me as we discovered more about them.

Exhausted by a morning doing very little, we swapped a glowing boat stove for the blazing logs of a country pub fireplace. The Boat in Catherine-de-Barnes offered the perfect remedy for an insatiable appetite generated by two weeks of dawn till dusk cruising. I snuffled my way through a mixed grill the size of an English village, found room for a sugar-laden dessert and staggered back to Orient for an afternoon of inactivity.

The Grand Union canal looked promising on Monday morning. Water rather than ice surrounded the boat. Water that hid a nasty surprise.

A shallow layer of meltwater covered the ice beneath. After my pre-cruise checks and with the engine straining at the mooring lines eager to tackle a new day’s cruising, I thawed the cabin roof ice with a couple of kettles of boiling water. The first time I climbed down the frozen rungs of a lock escape ladder and stepped onto a roof more slippery than a used car salesman was also the last. These days I always make sure that the cabin top is safe to walk on before the day’s cruise begins.
Once the roof was safe for rubber-clad feet, I walked its length smashing the ice which still held Orient firmly on its mooring. I hoped that any frozen patches along our route would quickly disappear as the thermometer raced towards the forecast high of ten degrees. They didn’t.

Forcing a path through ice is hard. Hard on the boat, harder on the paint covering it and hardest of all on the boat owner and his bank balance. Losing expensively applied hull paint is inevitable. Shards of ice flay the waterline steel. Even thin ice can reveal bright steel after an hour or two. Scraping blacking off canalside boats can be lead to even more heartache. Moored boaters hear a distant hiss and crackle. They know a boat is coming. They open side hatches and windows, pop heads out of engine bays while they pretend to carry out routine maintenance. They’re really waiting and watching, noting the cracks which radiate from the bow of the oncoming boat. They look for broken sheets with ragged edges, forced at speed into their own waterline. God help any ice breaker who moves past a line of moored boats at anything faster than the slowest crawl.

That presents the helmsman of the moving boat with a dilemma. He needs to power through patches of thick ice. Thick ice often thins, so the crawling boat surges forward, forcing jagged chunks at all and sundry. Too little power and the moving boat shudders to a halt, close enough to the boats they pass to be offered candid opinions on the wisdom of cruising on frozen canals at all.

My problem wasn’t so much with the boats I passed, there were precious few, but with the direction in which the cracking ice forced us to move. As the ice thickens the boat slows and the more likely the bow is to follow the path of the ice cracks. On several occasions that direction was towards the offside shallows.

No matter how quickly I reacted, Orient was slow to respond. By the time I noticed the bow veering off the centre channel, dialled down my engine speed with the speed wheel, slipped the boat into reverse and wound my throttle up again, the bow had usually strayed too far into dangerous territory. The cabin would tip further and further askew until my walkie talkie would crackle with the inevitable response from Cynthia in the galley below. “Is this a narrowboat or a sailing ship? All the cupboard doors have flown open, we’ve lost a glass and a china plate!”

Reversing our course was usually an exhausting and frustrating affair. The bow would be firmly glued to a mud flat by then and the stern resting in loose silt. Without the aid of passing boats or towpath users, the only way to escape the canal’s offside embrace was to pole the stern into the centre channel. Once there, the propeller would hopefully have enough water to provide some meaningful reverse thrust and help drag the boat free.

ur first grounding took twenty minutes to escape. The second lasted three-quarters of an hour. Sweat trickled down my back despite the shaded cuttings’ icy chill and shedding most of my insulating layers. I saw stars and an end to our cruising day. I knew the next grounding would be our last. I didn’t have the energy to press. After four hours of back-breaking work I had to admit defeat.

Our short cruising day ended at Knowle’s flight of five locks. I needed water. There was a tap at both the top and the bottom of the flight. A friendly volunteer lock keeper offered to help me through the flight so i ignored the first tap. The five locks took half an hour. Forcing my way through thick ice to the water point below the flight took just as long. Discovering that it had been turned off was a bitter disappointment, especially when the lock keeper told me the tap above the flight was running freely.

Moored for a day on the water point below the Knowle flight

Moored for a day on the water point below the Knowle flight

The canal ahead of us was frozen and the water point unusable. We tempted fate and the possible wrath of other water seeking boaters by staying the rest of the day and night on the water point. No one bothered us. We enjoyed a peaceful and trouble-free night before the next day’s assault on the twenty-one lock Hatton flight.

We reached Hatton lock 26 on the twelfth day of our cruise south from Tattenhall marina. Over the twelve days, we passed just ten moving boats. I dropped down the first lock and then moored on the lock landing before the second, outside the excellent Canal and River Trust managed Hatton Locks Cafe. After seeing an average of less than one cruising boat a day, what were the chances of one wanting to use the lock landing while Cynthia and I stopped long enough for a bite to eat? Sod’s Law and all that. Just as I finished tying my stern line, a CRT volunteer appeared out of nowhere to ask me to move. He was behind us in a maintenance tug.

Two tunnels at Shrewley, one for boats, one for pedestrians

Two tunnels at Shrewley, one for boats, one for pedestrians

After a little negotiation, I set the lock ahead of me for the tug, they sailed past and Orient stayed where she was. We walked into the cafe to see if the sign behind the counter lived up to its promise. “We don’t serve fast food. We serve home cooked food as fast as we can.” It’s good news for passing boaters. Their food is wonderful.

Hatton locks cafe - An oasis for the weary boater.

Hatton locks cafe – An oasis for the weary boater.

Despite the energy boost from a delicious slab of homemade cottage pie, I could only manage a dozen locks before darkness defeated me. It wasn’t a problem. There are plenty of mooring opportunities on the Hatton flight, and no one is fighting for them on cold February days.

I grounded again the following day. We flew down the remains of the Hatton flight, dropped down through the two Cape locks and the spotted a possible mooring in central Leamington Spa close to a retail park offering food cupboard salvation.
A seductive row of sturdy bollards lured me onto a shallow mud flat. Despite my best efforts I couldn’t reverse off or move the boat an inch with a pole. After sweating for half an hour, I tied my two centre lines together, fixed the long rope to a stern deck dolly and tossed it to a pair of passing runners. The army types, all brawn and can-do attitude, huffed and puffed and did their level best to slip right out of their teeny tiny shorts. Their manly grunting worked wonders, especially for Cynthia who watched slack-jawed from the galley porthole. Orient’s stern slid into the centre channel and then onto a mooring next to Liddl where I should have stopped in the first place.

We shopped and then cruised some more, mooring at dusk on another landing, this time on a remote lock on the Fosse flight. It was our last scheduled night out on the cut. A gentle cruise and nineteen undemanding locks the following day brought us home. How to Calcutt Boats, the beautiful location where I have moored and lived for most of the last decade.

 

Orient has done us proud. The Eighty-three-year-old Lister engine has performed tirelessly for one hundred and twenty-five hours since our first attempt to cruise south on Sunday 29th December. The freshly blacked hull has bashed and scraped its way through one hundred and eighty-eight locks and many miles of frozen canal. The engine and hull have passed the test with flying colours, although much of the lower part of the boat looks like it’s been on the wrong side of an argument with Mike Tyson.

Orient has done us proud, but she still needs a lot of tender loving care. The Kabola boiler often fails to stay alight, nor does it provide heat to the bathroom, bedroom or engine room radiators. We hope a replacement pot will cure the problem. Time will tell.

The washing machine has sprung a leak. We hope it’s a simple fix. Determining the cause will involve extracting the packing which has been jammed in place to stop the appliance from shaking when it spins. Until that issue is resolved, we will have to use the marina facilities.

The generator had what may have been a terminal fit on our cruise south. We need a diagnosis from an engine doctor sometime soon. Fortunately, we still have our trusty Honda suitcase generator for emergency situations, like the one we have now.

Our new mooring is in the little-used north-west corner of Calcutt Boats’ Locks marina. I laid a one hundred metre power cable to the mooring three years ago. The cable was buried under tonnes of clay to protect it. The protection didn’t work. Someone, possibly equipped with a very sharp gardening tool, appears to have nicked the cable. It will need replacing before Orient can have shore power.

Apart from these teething problems, our new home is pretty much perfect. All we have to do now is finish paying for her. A task which will be made much less painful if we sell our Dutch cruiser which is currently moored in South Holland. At least I will have a delightful distraction after a hard day’s work.

We hired a car and drove to Whitby yesterday. Enterprise Car Hire is exceptionally boater friendly. They picked us up at the marina and drove us ten miles to their Daventry branch to collect a Hyundai i10. The comfortable little car cost us £37 for the weekend, roughly half the cost of the fuel for the seven-hour drive.

Our trip north was to collect the new dog Cynthia has spent weeks looking for. Remember the criteria? Rough, tough, muscles like a bodybuilder on steroids and with a name to make an Italian hit man proud? Here’s our new mutt.

Meet Orients guard dog - Intruders beware!

Meet Orients guard dog – Intruders beware!

She’s a Coton de Tulear, a pocket pup popular with Madagascan royalty. She’s neither rough nor tough but has many redeeming features. She doesn’t shed so there’s no wading knee deep through discarded fur. She’s also surprisingly quiet for a little dog. We’ve had her on the boat for twenty-four hours now. Apart from a low growl when I walked into the boat this morning, she hasn’t uttered a sound. Although she’s in a completely alien environment, she’s already made herself at home. She walks to heel and responds to her new name. She came to us with the name Lady. We prefer Sadie. She doesn’t seem to mind what she’s called, as long as calling her involves a little affection.

Sadie is the perfect boat dog as far as I’m concerned. Maybe I’ll look as though I’m more comfortable with a handbag than a hand grenade, but looks aren’t as important as having a gentle companion, one who is reputedly an expert at rat catching. Visitors, you have been warned.

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2

A Race On An Icy Canal To Beat A Birmingham Blockage

Seven days to go. Seven days to cover a mere forty-three miles. How difficult could that be?

That was our goal when we left Market Drayton last Monday morning. The sky was clear and the canal untroubled by the fierce gusts which had buffeted us all the previous day.

We needed to reach central Birmingham and the bottom of the thirteen lock Farmer’s Bridge flight by last light on Sunday 3rd February. The flight was scheduled to close at 8 am the following morning and, I thought at the time, close any route to Napton Junction.

The weather forecast concerned me. Circumstances conspired against us. We would be travelling at the very worst time of the year thanks to the delay with Orient’s remedial work. The forecast was for heavy snow the following Thursday and, more worryingly, a string of sub-zero nights and only marginally warmer days. Snow would be an inconvenience, mildly uncomfortable and slightly challenging when negotiating locks. Thick ice could stop us dead in our tracks. Sure, we could batter our way through ice up to an inch thick providing I didn’t mind losing all the paint I had carefully applied to the waterline just five weeks earlier. We prayed for balmy days and mild nights. No one listened.

We met the day’s first challenge at Tyreley’s five lock flight where the canal runs through a dismal sandstone cutting. The channel is narrow, very narrow, and difficult to negotiate in a deep boat. I grounded too far away from the first lock landing to jump ashore so had to painfully and slowly reverse for a hundred yards to a spot where I could reach the bank. There was nowhere to tie a rope to on the rocky canalside ledge, so I had to leave a trailing centre line on the towpath and hope the boat behaved itself.

Entering the first lock on the Tyreley flight

Entering the first lock on the Tyreley flight

Evidence of the previous day’s high winds lay beside and sometimes across the locks throughout the flight. Fortunately, our only moving boat sighting of the day, a CRT workboat, ascended the flight ahead of us clearing the way. We ground our way through the flight and then entered the deep and dismal world of Woodseaves mile long cutting. The CRT workboat saved the day again. A wind-felled tree leaned across the canal, its lower branches blocking the channel altogether. Two contractors worked tirelessly for an hour using cutting edge technology to clear the way. One guy held the workboat in place while the other slipped and slid over his cabin’s ice-slicked roof. He used a pruning saw tied to a boat hook with a length of old rope to carve out a tunnel wide and high enough for Orient to pass.

CRT contractors clearing a Woodseaves Cutting blockage

CRT contractors clearing a Woodseaves Cutting blockage

The first water point we stopped at had been turned off. Fortunately the second worked after being given the kiss of life by a kettle of boiling water. We had enough water for another week. Now, all we needed was coal.

After eight and a half hours of high embankments, deep cuttings and painfully slow bumping-along-the-bottom progress, we moored on a muddy towpath in the gloom of a tree-shaded cutting at Gnosall Heath.

I checked the weather forecast the following morning. The prediction remained unsettling. Plummeting temperatures, ice and blankets of snow. I steered clear of anything written by the tabloids online. They suggested that Britain’s Big Freeze was going to decimate the population and bring the country to its knees.

The day’s cruising routine remained the same. Up at 6am to clean the ash out of both fires and coax them back to life. Then the engine checks; dip the fuel pump, gearbox and engine oil, fill the header tank and fill and tighten the grease points. By 7.30am I was waiting for enough light before setting off.

Our exit from Gnossal Heath was delayed by a shopping trip. I scoured both Gnossal Heath and Gnossal for anything worth eating. I don’t know why I bothered. Neither village has much to offer passing boaters.

Fortunately, the cruising day was short. We travelled ten miles and negotiated a single lock in five hours. Our mooring for the night was an hour north of Atherley Junction and the start of our three-day urban cruise.

Five days to go. The thermometer crept ever south. Weather forecasters still predicted heavy snow and nights cold enough to worry the elderly. And concern me too. We were down to three bags of coal and a single string net of kindling. I prayed again for nights without ice. No one listened this time either.

I paused briefly at the stop lock at Autherley Junction. Good news and bad news at Napton Narrowboats. They usually sold coal, but they were out of stock. I turned right at the junction and pulled onto the lock landing at the bottom of the Wolverhampton Twenty One.

I wasn’t looking forward to our passage through Wolverhampton and Birmingham. My one and only narrowboat visit to England’s second largest city hadn’t been particularly pleasant. On a long April day, I skirted Birmingham’s south-east on a Warwick Ring circuit. The route included Camp Hill and Garrison locks. I stopped four times on the Camp Hill flight to clear my propeller. The locks and the pounds between were a sea of plastic bottles and bags and discarded clothing. I saw more canalside than waterborne rubbish on the Garrison flight. Three emaciated men in tattered clothing slumped next to a burned out building by one of the locks. Drunk by mid-morning on special strength lager and bumper bottles of mind-rotting cider, they mumbled obscenities to me as I passed. They were harmless but unpleasant, very similar to the bobbing contents of the lock they sat beside.

I expected more of the same on this trip. I knew we would have to moor overnight somewhere within the urban sprawl for at least two nights, more if the forecast ice and snow caused delays.

I worried about utilities. Would the taps at water points be turned on and would they be ice free? Tracking our water supply is difficult. There’s an empty hole within a small metal frame to the side of the pine steps in front of the water tank. It’s labelled “Water Gauge”. That’s another entry on our lengthening to do list. We think we have a 700-800 litre tank. It should last us two weeks with careful management and a reluctance to bathe. We don’t know when we’ll run out, so we have to fill the tank as often as possible.

Heating fuel was another concern. Orient is not an efficient space to heat. There are three different areas; the forward cabin which includes the saloon, galley, bathroom and bedroom, the engine room and the boatman’s cabin. Our Squirrel does a passable job of heating the forward cabin back as far as the galley. It provides little meaningful heat to the bedroom.

Orient’s boatman’s cabin has a Premiere range. It doesn’t heat the cabin so much as melt everything that’s in it. The thermometer showed minus four when I wrote this section, but I sat typing on the cabin’s small fold-down table with the back doors wide open. It’s overkill for heating such a small space but brilliant for baking potatoes.

The boat’s centre section can, in theory, be heated by the Kabola boiler. There’s a towel rack in the bathroom, a radiator in the bedroom and another in the engine room. “The Kabola heating system is super simple to turn on,” previous owner Stuart told me. “All you need to do is turn the thermostat up until it clicks and, voila, you have hot radiators!” No matter what I’ve tried so far, no click and no central heating. At least we’re saving on money for heating diesel.

So we have three different heat sources, but only two of them work. We have two coal-burning stoves to feed. A twenty-five-kilo bag of coal briquettes lasts about three days. I used about the same just for one stove on my last boat. Orient’s multifuel stoves burn more efficiently than the stove on James and Orient’s spray foam insulation retains heat much more effectively than the James’ polystyrene. More efficient coal burning maybe, but we still needed to ensure that we had enough.

Multiple sub-zero days and a string of lock closures meant that we could be stuck for several days in one spot at the coldest time of the year. I had seen little activity on the waterways we cruised. Many of the boatyards appeared to be closed for the season, nor had I passed any roving fuel boats. Finding a canalside fuel supply was proving to be more of a challenge than I expected. I don’t mind walking a mile or two to do grocery shopping, but the thought of walking a similar distance carrying coal didn’t appeal to me at all.

So I tied up on the lock landing beneath the Wolverhampton Twenty One somewhat preoccupied. I didn’t notice the solid sheet of ice which filled the bottom lock. Ice in locks is a right royal pain in the backside. My expected five-hour lock passage became eight.

The ice was still thin enough to push through with the boat, but too thick to open the gates completely. Orient’s pole joined me on the lock ascent. On the many occasions when a gate became obstructed by ice, I swept it out of harm’s way with the pole.

My pace slowed even more halfway up the flight when I ran out of water. That’s when I fell in love with Wolverhampton dog walkers and cyclists. As I crept through a low pound painfully slowly a dog walker gave a cheery wave and told me that contractors had drained a lock at the head of the flight.

The bottom lock in the Wolverhampton 21 flight

The bottom lock in the Wolverhampton 21 flight

The Farmer’s Bridge flight was my main concern, but the Wolverhampton Twenty One was also scheduled to close for maintenance the following Monday. Had they decided to close the flight early? I was about to phone CRT when another dog walker shouted over to me. “I’m going home in a minute. I’ll jump in my car and go to the head of the flight for you to see what’s happening.” How kind. A cyclist also stopped, spoke to the dog walker and decided that he could take half an hour out of his day to make the return trip to the problem lock on his bike. Another unexpected act of kindness.

He returned half an hour later with good news. The contractors were measuring up for the following week. They would be finished long before I reached them and taking most of the flight’s water with them judging by the increasingly shallow pounds.

No sooner had the cyclist left than a CRT employee arrived with a big smile and a windless. “Don’t worry about the low pounds,” he reassured me. “Give me half an hour, and I’ll run some water down the flight for you.” God bless all CRT employees.

As darkness fell, I cruised out of the final lock and on to a superb mooring in Wolverhampton city centre next to a small park. We were away from the towpath and felt very safe. It was the perfect urban mooring, which was just as well. Leaving the following day wasn’t easy.

Pleasant mooring in central Wolverhampton

Pleasant mooring in central Wolverhampton

I woke to a thermometer showing minus seven and a half an inch of ice surrounding the boat. We had four days to reach the other side of Birmingham before the route closed. It wouldn’t have been a problem under normal conditions, but the ice was a big problem. Added to the cruising difficulties we needed both water and coal. We really needed to move, but would we able to fight our way through the frozen stuff? What would happen if we couldn’t couldn’t break our way through? If we missed our Farmer’s Bridge deadline, we would have to find another route south. The only one I could think of was back up the Shroppie to the Middlewich branch and then down the Trent and Mersey. That would add another couple of weeks to the journey. The alternative was to have Orient lifted out and shipped by road. I phoned a few local boatyards. None of them had lifts on site. The cost at one for bringing in a crane was £550, plus the cost of road transport and putting Orient back in the water at the other end. The price was too high. We needed to try ice breaking. I decided to walk along our route for half an hour trying to judge the ice thickness and the chance of forging a path through it.

I spotted a CRT workboat fifteen minutes later idling on an offside mooring, a trail of broken ice behind it. If I could reach the furrow it had ploughed I could follow that at least part of the way. I hurried back to Orient.

We fought our way off our mooring and onto the service point at Broad Street basin for water. While I defrosted the tap with two kettles of boiling water, coaxed the ice plugs out of our own hose and filled our tank the broken expanse of water behind us began to freeze again. By the time we reached the path opened by the CRT tug, it was a jumbled mess of refrozen ice. We crashed into the first of it and said goodbye to our month old hull paint.

The semi-broken track continued as far as Factory Locks where I had to turn to avoid a stoppage further along the main line. To prevent damaging moored boats through Tipton, and angering their owners, I reduced our speed to a crawl. Slowing down meant reducing our icebreaking capability. Orient was dead in the water by the time we reached Tipton Junction.

I ate the hot meal Cynthia brought up to me on the back deck as the bow butted ineffectively against inch thick ice. I had a choice. I could either reverse a few hundred yards onto a line of iced in moorings or try to break my way through and hope that the ice thinned again further down the canal. The worry of missing Farmer’s Bridge made the decision for me. I reversed fifty feet, twisted the speed wheel, said a prayer and charged forward.

Cynthia likened the rest of the day to be like living inside a tumble dryer. The afternoon wasn’t the most peaceful she’s ever enjoyed on board. The day wasn’t much more pleasant on the back deck. I carried on until dusk. The canal ice varied from quarter of an inch to a particularly unpleasant spot one and a half inches thick, with the odd patch of clear water between. We bypassed Oldbury and then through the scaffolding forest beneath the M5 motorway at West Bromwich. Finally, aided by Orient’s tunnel light, we found Smethwick locks and forced our way onto the frozen lock landing. Then I spent the rest of the evening trying to warm up.

Winter cruising is quite pleasant on Orient providing I remember or have time to keep the stove burning. I focussed so much on keeping the boat ploughing along a central channel the fire had died down hours earlier. I was very, very cold.

We woke to slightly better conditions, but a rather depressing view. We were moored opposite a burned out toll house on a strip of green through a sea of ugly housing. This is not a place I would want to stay when warmer weather encourages the local single digit IQ males of dubious parentage to venture outdoors.

The burned out toll house at Smethwick

The burned out toll house at Smethwick

Three locks and an hour on an icy canal brought us to neat and tidy central Birmingham and Sherbourne Wharf. We’d made it. The first of the Farmer’s Bridge flight was two minutes away, and we had found a trading coal supplier. Hooray!

Farmer’s Bridge was a delight. Thirteen easy to negotiate locks and then a short cruise to a super mooring in a clean area close to Aston University. And yet another cold night.

A view up the Farmer's bridge flight

A view up the Farmer’s bridge flight

The following morning I walked the length of both the Ashted and the Camp Hill flights. Many of the locks were obstructed by ice, but we decided to push on towards a much-anticipated rest day at Catherine-de-Barnes the following day.

The icy lock flight routine continued. Over half the locks needed jagged pieces of ice cleared from behind the gates. The first flight was smooth enough apart from a short but nerve-wracking passage through Ashted tunnel. I had been warned (thank you Pete Earley) that the tunnel was low enough to remove the expensively applied paint on the cabin’s handrail. Setting the next lock downstream would remove an inch or two of water in the tunnel pound and possibly save the handrails. I set the next lock and lowered the water but, despite having a boat with a low air draught, we still touched the uneven offside tunnel roof. I didn’t examine the damage at the time. I don’t like crying in public.

Camp Hill bottom lock was a mess. It didn’t look as though it had been used for many days. Bottles, plastic bags, both empty and full, and shreds of clothing obscured a lock mouth blocked by ice. Breaking through the mess with Orient’s bow was easy. Stopping the refuse from swirling across the stern and down onto the propeller was impossible.

I developed a new routine for the Camp Hill flight. I used my pole to break and clear the ice from behind the lock gates and a boat hook to remove the shit from my propeller. The flight passage was hard work, especially when I tried to negotiate the hairpin bend before lock four. The ice caked pound was low, very low. I should have spotted the tide mark on the canalside concrete. However, trying to make a U-turn on an ice-caked lock pound is a demanding affair. I didn’t notice so grinding to a halt halfway into the lock came as a surprise. Neither reverse nor forward worked. The water was too low. I had to climb onto the cabin roof, walk to the front of the boat where the cabin was highest and vault onto the lock wall carrying my centre line. The only solution was to run some water through the lock from the upstream pound to float Orient out of the mud. Doing that would require so much water that I would drain the upstream pound too. To ensure that all the remaining locks held enough water I had to walk to the head of the flight opening every paddle I passed. Half an hour later Orient was afloat and the rest of the flight passable.

We stopped briefly at the service point at the top of the flight. Thanks to an eight-foot-high needle sharp metal fence protecting it, the facilities block is in first class condition. It’s worth negotiating the Camp Hill flight just to pay a visit. I emptied one of our cassettes and cursed the owner of the rusty wreck of a boat moored on the water point. Then we continued ice breaking.

This was the most challenging icebreaking of the trip so far. Thick ice and a shallow canal made life very difficult. If I cruised slowly to prevent the stern digging into the loose leaves, twigs, cloth and plastic obscuring the canal bed I didn’t have enough power to force myself through. So I had to wind up the throttle to break the ice and lower my precious propeller into endless snagging opportunities. For half an hour I had a small tree stuck to the rudder. It’s lower branches, aided by the thrashing propeller, swept the canal bed clean. The debris which avoided my spinning bronze blades clung to the sapling’s trailing branches until I had my own tree decorated with multicolour plastic leaves.

I stopped every few hundred yards to give the propeller a blast in reverse in an attempt at throwing the rubbish off. Either that or remove the weed hatch to give the propeller a thrashing with a boat hook I kept within reach.

As the afternoon wore on the ice thickened as much as the water thinned. I ground to a halt as I tried to creep past a moored boat on the tree-lined cutting north of Catherine-de-Barnes. Tired, cold, hungry and frustrated, I didn’t have enough patience for any finesse. Try as I might, brute force didn’t work. I gently switched between reverse and forward gears, moving ever so slowly backwards and forwards before finding a route through.

Five minutes later, just two hundred yards from our intended village mooring the same thing happened again. This time Orient wouldn’t move at all. All that reversing achieved was to swing the bow into the bank. At least I could jump onto the towpath and try pushing and pulling the boat. It wouldn’t move. Two male dog walkers offered to help. They helped me push Orient sideways into the channel centre where I hoped there was a little more water.

The owner of the GRP cruiser I had slowed to avoid turned up while we were huffing and puffing. I asked if many boats grounded on this stretch of canal. I know Orient is relatively deep, but there are plenty of narrowboats with a similar draft. Her reply? “You’re the first boat to get stuck this year.”

“How many boats have you seen pass this year so far?” I asked.

She smiled. “You’re the first boat this year!”

Thanks for that.

Back in marginally deeper water, I managed to creep past Mrs Comedian and smash enough ice a little further on to moor for the night, and for the following day. A freezing night was forecast. I suspected that cruising the next morning would be out of the question, not that I had the energy. I was looking forward to a rest day and a mixed grill on a dustbin-sized plate at the village pub. Boating is an exceptionally effective form of exercise. Because of that I’m eating like a horse and still losing weight.

Much as the journey south has been challenging so far, I’m enjoying every minute of it. Each day has been an adventure, a set of hurdles to overcome. The cruising is physically demanding, mentally taxing but very rewarding. Much as I’m looking forward to reaching Napton Junction towards the end of next week, a part of me wishes the journey could continue. But I don’t live in a world where money grows on trees. I need to return to work for a while, long enough to plan and save for the next adventure.

Discovery Day Update

I should be back at Calcutt Boats within the next week. That means that I am now in a position to take bookings for winter experience days. I have taken a few already but I still have space for one or two later this month. You will only see dates on my calendar for April onwards. I have to make special arrangements for winter dates because of possible disruption from ice or snow. If you want to arrange a winter date you can either email me or call me on 07868 981943. Click here to find out more about my Discovery Day service or click here to check my available dates between April and December.

Cynthia Says…

“Where one door closes another opens”

Back in 1996 when I lived in rural Pennsylvania, I met and “adopted” my first Basset Hound that I plucked off the street.  Since then I have had so many of this breed I have lost count.  Over the years I have had many other breeds that I loved, but for some reason the Basset has really resonated with me.  All of this has now changed after the untimely loss of our beloved Tasha.  Abbie is such a dear, but is rather lost since her good buddy passed away.
 
So I started doing some research to find a smaller breed that is non shedding and will tick the boxes for us in what we want in a dog.  I came up with the rare Coton de Tulear from Madagascar.  These dogs were the companions of ladies on cruise ships and also belonged to royalty there.  And they are excellent ratters–not that this will matter to us, but certainly an admirable trait along with being  great companion dogs, easy to train and smart.   They are part of the Bichon family.  Abbie will be thrilled!
 
I know this loss of Tasha has been harder on me than Paul–she was my last Basset from when I was living in Vermont.  I owned her mother as well.  She was a simple dog who did everything I asked without complaint.  She was extremely adaptable to all our various living situations.
 
I think that when an event like this occurs, it is important to reassess where you are and what you want.  Having at least one dog that is easy maintenance will make a big difference.  That means I only have to clean up after one shedding dog instead of two!  And for traveling around she will be small enough that she can be carried in a backpack–easy-peezy.
 
I am looking forward to this new chapter in our life. And Abbie will get special care being the final Basset.
 
Have a good week and stay warm.  Hopefully by this time next week we will be ensconced back at Calcutt when another chapter begins.
 
 
 
 
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Narrowboat Expenses For January 2019

This is the first of an ongoing series of posts detailing my narrowboat expenses. Each post will break down my monthly costs for the previous month, the same month three years earlier and a third set of figures for three years before that. I will publish each post in the middle of the month. You will always have access to the narrowboat running expenditure no more than a month old and you’ll be able to compare it with data which spans six years. You’ll be able to use this information to estimate the likely cost of buying and maintaining your own floating home.

Calculating accurate costs for the boat you intend to purchase is difficult. There are so many variables that the best you can hope for is a good idea of the expenses involved and the nature of the variables you need to consider. With that in mind, I have explained the difference in the two boats’ systems, style and design below.

About The Boats

The data spans my two different periods living afloat on England’s inland waterways. I lived on board my first boat, James No 194, from April 2010 until October 2016. I moved off the cut then until December 2018. My wife, Cynthia, and I explored Europe for twenty six months in a 2003 Hymer motorhome. We enjoyed two winters languishing on France’s Mediterranean coast and much of the summer months cruising the vast Dutch waterways network. Much as we enjoyed our European adventures we missed England and the English canal network too much.

We returned to the UK mid December 2018 and purchased our second narrowboat from Ash Boats at Tattenhall marina. Our new floating home is Orient, a 62′ Steve Hudson traditional stern narrowboat.

What you pay to maintain and run your narrowboat will be determined  by many factors including the boat length, layout, heating system(s), insulation, complexity, your ability and desire to maintain and repair your home, and by your boat use and lifestyle.

The boats we have lived on are similar. Here they are in detail.

James No 194

Type: Our first boat was a 62′ Norton Canes traditional stern narrowboat. She was constructed in 1977 with a steel hull and a oil treated ply cabin. I over plated the wooden cabin with steel in November 2011. The boat had polystyrene insulation, typical in a boat built in the seventies and not very efficient. I sandwiched another layer of polystyrene between the original cabin and the new steel. In hindsight, and what a wonderful gift that is, I should have used spray foam instead.

Year of Construction: 1977

Length: 62′

Width: 6’ 10”

Draught: 2’6” 

Building Material: Steel hull with an oil treated ply cabin. The cabin was eventually over plated with 4mm steel. While the new cabin weatherproofed the boat and didn’t neccesitate disturbing the boat’s beautiful internal pine cladding, the extra weight increased the boat draught and raised its centre of gravity. The result was a rather wobbly boat.

Insulation: Polystyrene

Heating: Initially, a Torgem (or was it Torglow?) multi fuel stove at the front of the cabin which gravity fed three radiators along the starboard side. I eventually removed the stove’s back boiler and had a Webasto Thermotop C diesel central heating system installed to heat the back end of the boat. Solid fuel stoves can’t adequately heat a boat divided into two or more rooms.

Engine: Mercedes OM636. This was an extremely reliable if slightly smokey engine. It clocked up 6,173 hours over forty years. People who knew what they were talking about told me that the engine should run for ten times as long without any problems.

Engine Power: 42 horsepower 

Fuel consumption: 1.97 litres per hour – Most narrowboat engines use between one and one and a half litres of diesel per hour. James was a thirsty girl

Diesel tank size: 300 litres – A large tank by narrowboat standards, but a baby compared with Orient’s whopper.

Batteries: 1 engine starter, 4 x 160ah AGM batteries in the domestic bank. I began my boat life with just one 110ah leisure battery. I quickly doubled the capacity and then doubled it again a year or two later. Soon after that I realised the mistake I made. If you need to add to a battery bank, replace the whole bank. If you don’t, the oldest battery in the bank will fail and drag the rest with it. 

Inverter:1600 watt Sterling pure sine. More than enough for onboard use.

Generator: A 2KW Kipor suitcase generator. It cost half as much as a similar specification Honda. That’s because it weighed much more, made more noise and wasn’t as reliable. I rarely used it.

Battery monitor: Smartgauge. 

Solar power: 3 x 100w panels mounted on a tilting bracket, and an MPPT controller. Supplied and fitted by Tim Davis of Onboard Solar. These three panels allowed me to stay as long as I wanted on a summer mooring without having to run the engine for battery charging. I ran my engine for an hour a day in the winter months to supplement the panels’ reduced output.

Water heating: Three options; via the engine when cruising, through the calorifier’s immersion heater when attached to a mains supply and, initially, using a wall mounted on demand gas heater. The gas heater failed catastrophically when I was in the shower, resulting in a cloud of super heated steam rather than hot water from the shower head. I removed the gas heater immediately. 

Cooking: A four ring gas hob, grill and oven.

Orient

Type: Steve Hudson traditional with an engine room and boatman’s cabin. The boat has bulkheads between the galley and the bathroom, the bathroom and the bedroom, the bedroom and the engine room and the engine room and the boatman’s cabin. More bulkheads means greater difficulty pushing heat through the boat from a single multi fuel stove. 

Year of Construction: 1996 hull construction, 2002 sale and owner fit out. 

Length: 61’ 6”

Width: 6’ 10”

Draught: 3’ 0” 

Building Material: Steel

Insulation: Spray foam

Heating: Morso Squirrel in the main cabin, Premiere range in the boatman’s cabin and a Kabola boiler for hot water and for heating a towel rain in the bathroom and radiators in the engine room and main bedroom.

Engine: Lister JP2M – It’s a thing of beauty, housed in its own engine room and visible to all through port and starboard side doors. The downside is that it takes up a huge amount of space, weighs as much as a small car and is the reason towpath users often find me bent double in a darkened room furiously polishing my pistons.

Engine Power: 21 horsepower – It’s about half the power of engines you find in many modern narrowboats of a similar length. However, working boats carrying forty tonne loads and towing a similarly laden butty used engines similar to this. If they were good enough for working boatmen, they’re good enough for me.

Fuel consumption: 0.97 litres per hour – Most narrowboat engines use between one and one and a half litres of diesel per hour. Orient’s fuel consumption came as a pleasant surprise.

Diesel tank size: 500l – This is an enormous tank for a narrowboat, twice the size of many boats, four times the size of some. It feeds the engine, the generator and the Kabola boiler

Batteries: 1 engine starter, 1 generator 1 starter, 5 x 130AGM batteries in the domestic bank – There were thirteen batteries on board when we bought the boat; one engine starter, one generator starter, two for the bow thruster, seven in the domestic bank and two connected to nothing at all under the engine room floor. Twelve of the thirteen wouldn’t hold a charge.

Inverter: 3,000W Sterling – Overkill as far as I’m concerned. A more powerful inverter increases the temptation to use power hungry devices which quickly drain the battery bank. The key to a happy off grid life is using less power, not equipping your boat with expensive kit so that you can use more.

Generator: Lombardini 15LD 315 5KW  – What a useful tool this would be if it worked. It doesn’t. It didn’t work when we viewed the boat. We had it serviced. The Lombardini worked perfectly for a while MORE HERE

Battery monitor: Sterling PMP1

Solar power: None

Water heating: If we’re connected to a shore line, or during the brief period we could use the onboard generator, we could turn on the calorifier’s immersion heater. The immersion heater would quickly drain the battery bank so we can’t use it if we’re powering the boat through the inverter. The most cost effective method is via the Kabola diesel boiler. That’s when it’s working. A clogged burner pot was initially to blame. After I replaced that with a ruinously expensive new part the boiler worked perfectly for a day. The latest problem is likely to be a blocked fuel filter or line. Orient’s slow revving Lister doesn’t get hot enough to heat water.

Cooking: A gas hob and oven in the galley plus limited cooking on the Premiere range in the boatman’s cabin.

Boat Use And Lifestyle

I didn’t know anything about narrowboats when I stepped aboard my first floating home nearly nine years ago. I didn’t know how to handle my long, thin boat either, which was just as well really. James No 194 wasn’t in any condition to take out on the cut. The once beautiful boat had been languishing on a marina mooring for ten years. Everything on board needed servicing, refurbishing, repairing or replacing. I didn’t earn much so the boats beautification took five long years.

Apart from the occasional nerve wracking cruise around the marina, my boat was nothing more than a floating flat for the first three years. The forty year old Mercedes engine remained cold for most of that time. A clogged fuel filter brought the engine to an embarrassing stop six miles from home on my first cruise. One of the marina fitters used a hire boat to tow me back to base. A split gearbox hose put a stop to my second cruising attempt. I pretty much gave up after that until I could afford to have the engine’s perishables replaced and attend to some dangerous faults in the engine room.

I ran the engine for less than fifty hours in my first thirty three months on board. The boat’s condition and my confidence and competence improved dramatically in 2014. I recorded a slightly more respectable three hundred and seventy four engine hours in 2014. In 2015, I swapped my job at the marina for the life of a continuous cruiser. I clocked up 1,134 hours at the tiller that year and lived off grid for all of it. I kept a mooring at Calcutt Boats but didn’t use it. I stayed on the cut all winter, living completely off grid. In fact, I used my shore line to connect the the national grid for just one day in the whole year.

My life changed completely in 2016. I met my wife Cynthia in the autumn of 2015. We both adored the live aboard lifestyle but we agreed that a few months away from the mud and damp of English canal winters would do us both the world of good. We bought a second hand Hymer motorhome to take us to France’s Mediterranean coast then, after battling bureaucracy for a few months and failing to secure the visa Cynthia needed to stay long term in the UK, we decided to sell my narrowboat and tour Europe full time.

The following twenty six months were filled with excitement, adventure and non stop travel. We drove thirty thousand miles through eleven countries, stopping each summer in Holland to explore the Netherland’s vast waterways network in our Dutch Linssen yacht. Much as we enjoyed immersing ourselves in new cultures and experiences we missed the English canals. I missed them most.

We returned to England in December 2018, driving north from Dover to Tattenhall marina near Chester and onto Orient, or new home. 

After six weeks and one abandoned attempt to cruise south to Calcutt Boats we waved a fond farewell to the good folk of Tattenhall and endured an eventful two week trip during to coldest two weeks of the year. Orient kept us warm and dry and performed magnificently during three days of inadvisable ice breaking. The hull I blacked three weeks before our journey south needed blacking again by the time we reached Napton Junction.

I spent far, far too much during our time away and then invested even more in Orient’s purchase. I had an opportunity to return to work at Calcutt Boats, helping to maintain the business’s one hundred and ten acres of glorious Warwickshire countryside. I’ve been working full time at the marina since February 2019, escaping on high days and holidays for a few days cruising.

Marina life doesn’t suit everyone. I don’t think it would suit me if I moored anywhere else. I don’t like the idea of looking through any of Orient’s dozen portholes and seeing another boat moored an arm’s length away. Fortunately, I don’t have to. Orient has a unique mooring, tied to to rusty thirty five foot long dump barge in a little use corner of Lock’s marina, the elder of Calcutt’s two marinas. 

I have the best of both worlds. I have a marina mooring with expansive views, including the antics of novice boaters arriving at Calcutt Bottom lock for the first time.

Read on to discover the actual and detailed expenses for January 2013, January 2016 and January 2019. I’m often asked by aspiring boaters how much the cost of boating increases over the years. If you’re one of them, here’s the information you’ve been looking for.

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