Learn about life afloat the easy way

Life on a narrowboat can be as peaceful as it is idyllic BUT you need to understand the pros, cons, highs, lows, and day to day logistics in living on England's inland waterways. Let me help you find out all you need to know before you commit to what could be a very expensive mistake.


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Paul Smith

Author Archives: Paul Smith

After six and a half years living on a narrowboat on England's inland waterways, Paul and his wife Cynthia wandered Europe by motorhome during the winter, and on the Dutch and French waterways in the warmer months on their 35' Dutch motor cruiser. However, the pull of England's muddy ditches proved too much for them. Now they're back where they belong, constantly stuck in mud in a beautiful traditional narrowboat.

2

Broken Boilers and Costly Cratch Covers

We are now without a washing machine. After sliding, lifting and squeezing the cumbersome appliance through the boat’s narrow passageways, we examined the useless pile of junk thoroughly. I hoped for a simple solution, a cheap to fix split hose or loose connection. Life is rarely that easy.

The cause of a soapy cascade from the cupboard mounted machine into the cabin bilge was a split drum. Replacing the broken part would involve reducing the Zanussi to its component parts by someone who knew what he was doing. That certainly wasn’t going to be me. Qualified plumbers aren’t best known for low-cost servicing, so I suspected that there would be a hefty call out charge, much grimacing and teeth sucking and a promise to try to fix the machine at an hourly rate close to my weekly wage. We’ve taken the path of least resistance and consigned our washing machine to the site scrap metal bin.
Removing the washing machine has provided more storage space in the bathroom, a little extra exercise for me, and it’s made our calf muscles ache.

The Zanussi weighed close to 50kg, about the same as a couple of bags of coal, or Cynthia in her winter coats and boots. Losing the weight from a cupboard two feet above the floor on the port side has caused a noticeable list to starboard. To rebalance the boat, I will either have to find £400 for a new machine or ask Cynthia to spend most of her onboard time sitting in the empty pine cupboard.

The Cynthia option would need to be a short term solution. She’s flying back to America in two weeks, not, she assures me, because I’ve asked her to act as temporary ballast.

Orient now has a slight list to starboard

Orient now has a slight list to starboard

Our bureaucratic nightmare continues. After three tedious years, we still haven’t secured Cynthia permission to stay with me long term. During our recent two year tour of Europe, we spent much of our time in Holland. Sadly for us, the Dutch are enthusiastic rule followers. The authorities wouldn’t consider an application for Cynthia to stay long term unless we could provide them with an official Dutch address. We couldn’t provide one because of our lifestyle. We lived a nomadic life during the summer months as we explored the Netherlands’ vast network of canals, rivers and lakes in our Linssen yacht. During the rest of the year, we were just as mobile in our Hymer motorhome.

We secured an official address after eighteen months and seven different applications. Two guys from the local town hall visited our mooring in North Holland at the marina where I worked temporarily. They questioned us at length about the nature of the mooring. Did we live on the boat at that particular mooring permanently? Who owned the mooring? How long had we lived there? Where, exactly, on the hundred-metre long pier did our mooring begin and end?

The guys took photographs, measurements and several years off my life before returning to their Aalsmeer office to decide our fate. After several months, countless follow-up phone calls and a few more grey hairs Aalsmeer town hall issued us with an official houseboat address. Then, and only then, could Cynthia submit an application to stay that had the remotest chance of success. By that time our love affair with all things Dutch was over.

We had seen enough tulips and windmills to last us several lifetimes. The country felt too small, claustrophobic and overrun by kamikaze cyclists. The vast and perfectly maintained waterways network lost its appeal as well. I missed England’s muddy ditches, the long thin boats which bumped, scraped and scratched their way through the system and, most of all, the colourful characters who steered them.

Cynthia returned to England with me on Monday 17th December. She had to endure the usual Gestapo interrogation at border control. Once my wife satisfied the officials that she wasn’t a threat to national security or, more importantly, government resources, she was allowed to enter for six months. Cynthia is entitled to stay until mid-June but, in this Brexit obsessed climate, she doesn’t want to wait that long.

So, two weeks today, she will leave springtime England. Her mission is to secure a spousal visa to allow her a worry free return. Her success isn’t assured by any means. She will have to complete enough forms to gladden the hearts of every red tape loving government worker in her way, and then part with a substantial chunk of hard earned cash.

The process can take months rather than weeks. Success is not assured, even with the help of ruinously expensive visa agents. She can fast track the application and reduce the wait to something almost bearable, providing she parts with enough money to buy a decent used car. In the meantime, life will go on in my wonderful watery world. Heartwarming tasks like finding out why on Earth we still don’t have any hot water on board.

Living with cold water isn’t the end of the world. Heating a kettle for dish washing is no big deal, nor is organising a tank full of the hot stuff for showering. With Orient’s onboard generator still out of commission, I can fire up our ever trusty Honda suitcase generator to power the calorifier’s immersion heater. Or, if I really want to spend some money, I can power the immersion heater via my shoreline from the marina’s electricity supply.

Neither of these inconveniences is a real problem, nor is the cold towel rail in an even colder bathroom. What I want, what I really, really want, is to be able to step out of a steaming shower and wrap myself in a soft and fluffy hot towel. A towel warmed by a working towel rail.

A working towel rail and radiators to the bedroom and engine room requires a working Kabola boiler. We don’t yet have one of those.

The problem, we thought, was a hopelessly solidified burner pot. A new pot arrived two weeks ago. Swapping old for new was so simple even I could do it. The Kabola worked so well that, within a couple of hours, we had a constant stream of scalding water flowing from our taps and Cynthia reduced to a small and sweaty puddle in the main bedroom. My success was short-lived. The comforting orange glow visible through the Kabola’s front panel glass disappeared by the end of the day. I haven’t been able to relight it since then. It’s back to the drawing board now and endless praying for a simple solution.

Orients old Kabola pot

Orients old Kabola pot

Orient's new Kabola pot

Orient’s new Kabola pot

High on our long list of Orient remedial work is a new cratch cover. The current cover is driving me mad. The port side has six broken press studs failing to secure the bottom horizontal edge to the hull. The starboard side has none at all. In anything more than a light breeze, which is most of the time at Calcutt Boats, the cratch cover blows inside the well deck, forming a funnel for any rain. Recently, there’s been more rain pooled on our front deck than in the water tank beneath it.

Fitting new studs should provide temporary well deck waterproofing, but the cover is past its best. It’s coated with algae the same spring green as the new buds on the willow overhanging our dump barge mooring, and it’s frayed and tattered around the edges. It’s so old and unsightly it could be my twin.

AJ Canopies in Braunston have an excellent reputation. Consequently, they aren’t cheap. They have such a positive flow of new business that they weed out time wasters over the phone. Sadly, on this occasion, I was one of them. The base price is determined by the distance from the cratch board to the cabin top. Then there’s £75 to add for each zip. Our current cover has six of them, four hundred and fifty extra pounds to bring our telephone quote to £1,500. We can’t afford it at the moment, nor can we find the money for the joinery work we also need completing.

We were shocked by the price. We have a compact saloon, ten feet from the well deck steps to the galley bulkhead. We want a pine bookcase removing, and an L shaped bench seat building, plus a removable table to use for dining during the day and as a bed base at night. Like the rest of the boat, we wanted it built in pine. Nothing fancy so, we wrongly thought, not terribly expensive.

The guy who visited us was charismatic, affable and clearly a craftsman. And a Ferrari owner as well judging by his price. Two thousand eight hundred pounds, without upholstery, is far more than we can afford. We’ll have to make do with a pair of folding canvas chairs and no overnight guests for the foreseeable future.

The table we want to replace in Orient's saloon

The table we want to replace in Orient’s saloon

We welcomed a daytime guest on board yesterday for a fun-filled day on the cut. Chris Ansome incorporated a Discovery into his hectic three-week schedule before he flies back to the States next week. Chris is exploring the possibility of returning to the UK after spending much of his working life in the good old US of A. He wanted to experience a typical day’s cruising in winter weather. Zeus was happy to oblige. Zeus is the god of weather in case you’re wondering who this mysterious guy is.
We began our cruise on a calm day under a cloudless sky. The sky filled with clouds, the air with wind and rain. We were buffeted, wetted and would have been chilled to the bone if not for the blazing Premiere range beneath our feet. We had a high old time, culminating with an exciting passage up and down the Calcutt flight. Orient handled the difficult weather magnificently, as did novice helmsman, Chris.

I gather from his frequent comments throughout the day that he enjoyed himself. “Isn’t this fantastic!” he exclaimed more than once. “Thank you for this glimpse into your wonderful life,” he told me several times. The comment which really revealed his feeling though was, “This is the most exciting day I’ve had in many, many years!” Coming from a long term sound engineer with Jethro Tull, that’s really saying something.

Chris enjoyed a memorable day and gained some valuable information about the liveaboard lifestyle into the bargain. As have all of the hundreds of guests who have joined me on board James No 194 and now Orient.

I don’t like to blow my own trumpet, but I’m going to. There’s no one else to do it for me. Learning how to steer twenty tonnes of unwieldy steel can be a stressful experience. Some of my guests have been on other helmsmanship courses. They complained that their instructors treated novice boaters like parade ground rookies. That’s not my style at all.

I want YOU to have a good time. Living the lifestyle is fun. So should learning about it. If you are at all interested in buying a narrowboat to live or cruise on England’s inland waterways, do yourself a favour and join me on a fun and information filled day aboard one of the cosiest and comfortable narrowboats you’ll ever see. You can find all about my Discovery Day service here, or book a date directly here.

I’ll write to you again in a couple of weeks. Maybe I’ll welcome you on board Orient one day soon too. Tea or coffee?

 

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Narrowboat Expenses For February 2019

This is one of an ongoing series of posts detailing my narrowboat expenses. Each post breaks 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. As a Narrowbudget Gold user, 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. Even on the two similar length boats I have owned over the last decade, the running costs have varied signifficantly. With that in mind, I have explained the difference in the two boats’ systems, style and design in the series’ first post here.

 

February 2013

Boat: James No 194

Engine Hours This Month: None

Blog Posts This Month

2013 02 20 Newsletter

Important changes to the site login process

Login Problems Resolved

A Case Study Of Liveaboard Narrowboat Lucky Duck

Detailed narrowboat running costs for January 2013

I’ve copied this text from the January 2013 blog post detailing my running costs.

“This year (2013) is going to be an expensive year for Sally and I. We have a huge amount of work to do to get James up to scratch. I’ve had some of the more major work done already. In November 2011 I replaced the old perished leaking and rotten wooden top with a new steel cabin. Actually, I didn’t replace one with the other. I had the new steel added on top of the existing cabin, and added another layer of insulation between the two. Removing the existing wooden cabin would have meant destroying much of the woodwork inside the cabin. James is beautifully fitted inside. Removing the woodwork would have been a tragic, almost criminal waste.

The new steel work, transportation and remedial work cost roughly £10,000. The transport alone was £1,100 for a delivery to and collection from a boatbuilder just eight miles away. The boatbuilder didn’t have any lifting gear on site so the road haulage company had to provide a crane too.

In April 2012 I took James out of the water to black the hull. Two days of dirty, back-breaking labour saved me the £500 that I would have been charged if I had asked Calcutt Boats to do the work for me. After James was put back in the water, I took her into one of our paint tents, took three weeks off work and painted the rest of the boat. It was a frustrating but ultimately rewarding project which resulted in a half decent finish and which saved me a fortune. As a ball park figure, you can bank on £100 a foot to have your boat painted by the professionals. James, at 62?, would therefore have cost me over £6,000 for a “proper” job. As it was, the cost of the materials plus the hire of the paint tent was under £1,000.

So I started 2013 with steelwork to the top and to the bottom of the boat with a decent layer of paint. The hull needs doing every three years so I next need to do it mid 2015. The cabin should last five or six years at least if it’s looked after properly, which brings me to January 2013 and my expenses for the month. Here they are…

Electricity: Each mooring has a 230v electrical supply which is charged at 20p per unit and topped up cards available from our reception.  I generally buy 3 x £10 electricity cards at a time.  I bought cards twice this month. My electricity purchases should be significantly reduced in March when I have the solar panels fitted. Time will tell.  – £60

Gas: I should have known better. I ran out of gas in January. I have two 13kg propane cylinders in the front gas locker. When one runs out I usually buy a replacement on the same day. I forgot in December so when the smell of gas alerted me to the fact that the cylinder in use was on its way out on a bitterly cold January morning, I scrambled out of the boat to the gas locker to (I thought) quickly switch from the empty to the full cylinder. Both were empty so there was no morning cup of coffee, and no toast. I wasn’t happy. Consequently, I bought two cylinders later than day. – £45.90

Coal: I get a better deal if I buy ten bags at a time. Ten 25kg bags of Pureheat last me about a month –  £108

Mooring: My mooring costs £2,300 a year – £191.66

Maintenance & Repairs: There were no maintenance and repair expenses as such in January, but I did make a purchase to help me when I’m out cruising. I bought a folding bike. Folding bikes are very handy for getting to and from the local shops, or returning to a parked car so that it can be brought to the boat’s current mooring. You can pay £500 or more for a new folding bike. The one I bought was being sold by the owners of a narrowboat we have on brokerage. It’s very comfortable, but basic Apollo folding bike from Halfords. The list price is £149 but this one has had Derailleur gears added. The cost to me? – £65

Heating the boat increases my monthly outgoings during the winter. In January I spent £108 for coal and about £30 more than I would during the summer on electricity. The increased electricity cost is due to two 500w Dimplex Coldwatcher greenhouse heaters that I use to provide additional heat towards the rear of the boat where the stove’s heat can’t reach.

The total directly boat related regular expenses this month were £213.90 for heating and electricity and £191.66 for my mooring, a total of £427.80. Then of course there was the bike purchase bringing the total to £492.80.

Of course, the boat expenditure is only a part of the cost of life on the boat. Here’s what we spent on our day to day expenses in January

Internet: I use the excellent mobile broadband dongle from Three. For the last two and a half years, since my bankruptcy, I have been using the Pay As You Go option because my credit rating wasn’t pretty. The PAYG service costs £25 for 7GB per month. I’m connected 24/7 as I’m aditing the site early morning, on breaks from work through the day, and in the evening. Sally has an iPad. She’s online quite a bit too. Consequently, we often ran over the monthly allowance. Over the last 12 months I’ve been trying my luck by attempting to order a dongle on a 24 month contract. In January I was successful. My mobile broadband now costs me £15.99 a month for 15GB rather than last year’s average of £29.69 a month. – £15.99

Telephone (Mobile): Sally and I both have mobiles on contract and Sally has an iPad, also on contract – £115

Laundry: Calcutt Boats as two washing machines and a dryer for moorers’ use. We only use the washing machines. Sally hangs the damp washing inside the boat. It’s dry within 24 hours. The washing machines take tokens which we buy at reception. Each token costs £1 and keeps the washing machines going for 45 minutes. – £20

Groceries: We eat well but not extravagantly. £366.40

Eating out: We enjoy a coffee in a cafe and the occasional meal out. In January we had a meal in local pub, a fiery chicken feast in Nandos in the Bullring, Birmingham and a coffee in a canalside cafe – £81.60.

Entertainment: I love to read. I love my Kindle. It’s so easy to finish a book, use my laptop to browse through the Kindle books on Amazon, click a button and open my new book within a minute or two. I don’t read as much as I would like because of the time I spend adding content to this site. However, I still get through three or four books a month. We also buy second hand DVDs from Blockbuster about once a month. The local store sells four for £10 – £32.50

Car: The insurance on my Seat Althea was due in January (£298). I don’t use my car very much so just £31.10 for fuel – £329.35

Clothing: I try to spend as little as possible on clothing but in January I needed a new pair of wellies and a fleece hat – £58.49

My total none-boat-related living costs for January were £1,019.33 bringing my overall total for January to £1,512.13. I fear that the totals for the coming few months are going to be far more than that with the improvements we have planned but what a lovely boat James will be when she’s finished!”

Now we’ll move on to the running costs for the same boat three years later.

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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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Summary

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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Summary
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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A Winter Cruise On The Shropshire Union Canal

“I want to be able to relax more. I’m fed up working so hard. I’m going to sell my house and use the equity to live a life of leisure on England’s inland waterways. My lifestyle will be so much easier than the hectic pace I endure at the moment.”

I’ve received dozens of emails like this over the years. Looking at canal life through rose-tinted glasses is easy when you walk along a summer towpath admiring brightly coloured narrowboats chugging slowly past, crewed by sun-bronzed boaters enjoying a leisurely cruise. You might see the same boat further along the canal moored against a grassy bank, the owners relaxing in comfortable chairs, sipping from wine filled glasses. You can’t wait to return home, turn on your computer and spend a happy evening daydreaming as you browse through endless adverts selling the promise of an idyllic life afloat.

It’s true. Living afloat can be a real joy, providing you don’t mind far more physical work than you’re used to in your spacious bricks and mortar home. I love the lifestyle. I treat the occasional hard labour as much needed exercise, but not everyone feels the same way.

This was my morning earlier this week. What do you think; pain or pleasure?

I woke at 7.30am following a restless night. We have two “double” beds on Orient. Both of them are designed for dwarfs. At 5’10” I’m not the tallest of people, but lying on either bed makes me feel like a giant. I can rest on my back on the main cabin’s cross bed if I don’t mind head and feet rammed against the hull under the gunnel. There’s a couple of inches less space in the boatman’s cabin cross bed. The only way I can lay on my back there is by sleeping diagonally with my ankles crossed and my head jammed against a pine beam. There isn’t really enough room for two people to sleep on either bed. Cynthia has the more spacious bed up front. I have the cramped but cosy den at the back of the boat.

Sleeping isn’t always comfortable, but waking to the sound of water rippling against the hull is a joy. I can’t relax and listen to the soothing natural sounds for too long though. There’s too much to do.

Orient has a Morso Squirrel stove in the main cabin and a Premiere range in the boatman’s cabin. We use coal briquettes on both. I load the Squirrel with briquettes and reduce the stove’s airflow before we retire for the night. There’s not much unburned coal left the following morning, but what remains is still alight. My first morning job is to empty the stove’s ash pan. I make sure that I remove the ash before I riddle the grate. If I don’t, I’ll have a steel tray full of red hot embers producing deadly carbon monoxide. Emptying the burning embers into the marina’s waste bin would cause a fire, and leaving the ash anywhere inside the boat could poison us. I tip the cold ash into the site wheelie bin, riddle the grate, load the stove with fresh briquettes and open the vents to get the fire blazing and warm the cabin. Then I scurry to the stern to tend to the boatman’s cabin range.

Orient's Morso Squirrel Stove

Orient’s Morso Squirrel Stove

This one takes longer.

I can’t leave the Premiere range burning overnight. I would be boiled alive, so I wake to a cold stove. Once I’ve emptied the ash pan and riddled the grate I throw in a firelighter, light it, add a handful of kindling, wait for that to reduce to a glowing bed of embers, and then add a few coal briquettes. I add some more once they’re burning well, providing I have some more to add. I didn’t on the morning in question.

Restocking our coal supply involved a three hundred yard walk to the marina office towing a two-wheeled steel trolley and then hauling the cart back to the boat loaded with two hundred pounds of coal. Coal which needed putting away. There isn’t much space on a narrowboat so storing large fuel bags is always an exercise in ingenuity. The contents of one went in a coal box on top of the well deck locker, and then I tucked another two bags into the well deck corners. The final two went in the bow locker, which involved taking everything crushable out first so the forty-four-pound bags could lie in the locker bottom without crushing everything else. This exercise was more exciting than usual thanks to the thick layer of ice on the bow which made trying to stand on it holding a cumbersome bag of coal a little tricky.

Having worked up a healthy appetite for breakfast, I walked into the cabin and another job.

“The red light’s just lit up on the toilet,” Cynthia revealed, pulling up the hood of her fleece jacket. The Squirrel takes a while to heat the front of the cabin and struggles to provide any meaningful heat to either the bathroom or the bedroom. Our new Kabola pot should solve that problem if it ever arrives. In the meantime, the boat is a little chilly when we wake.

The Thetford toilet red light is a warning that the cassette is filled to the brim with forty pints of a toxic slurry. To ignore it is to risk a flood of the very worst kind. I ignored it once as a narrowboat novice. Never again.

So I made my second trip of the day to the marina facilities block and endured five minutes in the enclosed Elsan cubicle thanking my lucky stars that I have a terrible sense of smell. I made both journeys to and from the marina office with my head down to avoid stinging windblown sleet.

After a quick breakfast, brunch really thanks to my long list of morning jobs, I battled with our Kabola boiler again. We think it’s the original boat boiler, seventeen years old and a bit of a pain to light. The instructions are simple enough. Open the fuel cock to allow a fifty pence piece pool of diesel to form in the bottom of the boiler pot, drop in a sliver of burning firelighter, wait until the diesel has ignited and is burning well and then open the fuel cock again.

The first problem was monitoring the fuel flow into the pot. There’s a tiny door on the boiler’s front face. Despite my very best contortions and a faceful of soot from trying to get my head through the little opening, I couldn’t see the pot bottom. The only solution was to confiscate one of Cynthia’s makeup mirrors without her noticing. Then I went through the kind of double-jointed bending that made Harry Houdini famous trying to angle the mirror towards the pot base and simultaneously attempting to illuminate it with a torch.

That was the easy part. Checking that the correct amount of primer diesel flowed into the pot base wasn’t easy, but slipping a blazing sliver of firelighter through a narrow opening in a cylindrical wire cage in the pot centre would have tested the patience of a saint. Getting the diesel to stay alight has defeated me on each of my four attempts so far. The pot’s condition doesn’t help. It’s been attacked with a variety of industrial-strength liquids, wire brushes and even a small hammer. Many of the pot’s air vents are still caked with calcified deposits. The boiler can’t suck in enough air to stay alight. There’s a new pot winging its way to us from Germany. We hoped it would arrive before we left for Calcutt Boats. It didn’t.

My morning jobs took until lunchtime to complete. Then I made four more trips to the marina facilities block to take, wash and dry two large bags of dirty laundry. We had a working washing machine on board at the time. It washed but didn’t dry. Drying wet laundry in the tight confines of a narrowboat isn’t the easiest or quickest of jobs. Using the marina’s facilities costs more money but saves on time and effort.

The washing machine sprung a leak towards the end of the week. It’s packed so tightly into a wooden frame to stop it leaping about when it spins that I can’t remove it. Yet another piece of Orient’s machinery to bite the dust. Yet another entry on our we’ll-fix-it-when-we-have-money to do list.

There you go. Not all of these things need doing every day. Some of them are seasonal. Some can be eliminated by using better systems or technology. None of the daily chores are a problem if you have the right attitude. Do YOU have what it takes? Of course you do. The point is, does this way of life appeal to you?

All of these tedious tasks paled into insignificance midweek. Wednesday was a sad day for the Orient Smiths. hur family of four became three.

Twelve-year-old Tasha had been off-colour for a few days. Her health appeared to improve on Tuesday when she showed an interest in food and smelling anything foul on her short walks. She curled up on a fleece lined bed next to Cynthia that night. We woke to a cold boat and an even colder dog in the morning and then worked through the logistics of moving her to her final resting place without a car.

Sleepy Meadow Pet Cemetery in Sandbach saved the day. Owner Sue and her husband Terry collected Tasha within a couple of hours of calling them. They charged us a reasonable fee for cremation and then returned the ashes to us twenty-four hours later. Sue read a poem over Tasha’s covered body before they took her away. The reading pleased Cynthia as much as it embarrassed me. Given the difficult circumstances, we couldn’t have been treated better. Tasha will be resting in that luxurious boned filled kennel in the sky now. I hope she remembers us.

Tasha on a Dutch Waterways Cruise

Tasha on a Dutch Waterways Cruise

With all of our planned remedial work done by Thursday, and Tasha’s loose ends tied up, we set sail for our Calcutt Boats base at first light on Friday. I looked forward to the cruise. I couldn’t wait to tackle the four locks which thwarted my single handed boating attempts a month earlier.I had come to the conclusion that patience was the key. I failed at these four locks on my first attempt because I tried to open the lock gates far too quickly. I had to resort to nudging the upstream gates with Orient in gear. Even then, I needed the help of dog walkers and hikers to get them open.

Patience. It doesn’t come readily to me. I needed focus on the journey rather than the destination, stop and smell the roses, and all that good stuff.

So I exercised a great deal of patience. I opened both upstream paddles of the first lock, climbed into the cabin to make myself a coffee, brought the coffee outside, sat on a balance beam and enjoyed the landscape of rolling hills around me. I finished my coffee, polished some brass, read a few pages of Pearson’s excellent guide to the Shroppie and cleaned some more brass. After waiting for half an hour for the water level to rise the last difficult inch, I gave up. I managed that lock and the three which followed thanks to our Lister’s underwhelming twenty-one horses.

Apart from the initial challenging locks and the frustration of trying to hold a steady line going through the strong cross-current from the weir at each lock mouth, the cruise was a delight. I passed just four moving boats on the first day, none until early afternoon. I had the waterway to myself on day two. Not a single cruising boat on my twenty locks, nine-mile route. Maybe the weather had something to do with it.

Yesterday was as mild as it was wet. Standing on Orient’s back deck in the rain, even torrential downpours isn’t a problem. I wear warm clothes under a set of bombproof Guy Coten deep-sea fisherman’s waterproofs. I stay as dry as a bone all day, providing I don’t work up a sweat. If there are locks along the route, Saturday’s journey included twenty of them, the inside of my plastic waterproofs quickly turns into a sauna.

There’s been a lot of rain recently. The towpath along much of the route was liquid mud. Unpleasant to walk through but not as much of a problem as rain-slicked, moss-covered steps and narrow lock walkways. I slipped half a dozen times on Saturday’s cruise.

There’s snow forecast for three out of the next ten days. I will average fourteen locks a day. Snow covered lock gates will need to be tackled with care.

The weather worsened on the last hour to Market Drayton. Black clouds scudded overhead, blown by an increasingly fierce northwesterly. Heavy rain bounced inches off Orient’s roof and ran in rivulets down my glasses. Still, I was a very happy bunny, especially when Cynthia brought me lunch.

There’s not enough light at this time of the year to afford the luxury of a leisurely meal on a convenient towpath mooring. I’ve been starting at first light and cruising all day. I eat meals as I travel or while I wait for a lock to fill.

I ate Saturday’s meal in driving rain. I had the tiller tucked under my left arm, an insulated pot filled with stir fry Thai beef in my left hand and a spoon in my right. Food never tasted so good. I had the canal to myself. I was at the helm of a beautiful boat listening to the heartbeat of its Lister engine cruising through some of England’s most beautiful canal scenery. Heavy rain couldn’t spoil the day, but a gale force wind could make cruising very difficult.

Today’s forecast wasn’t encouraging. Thirty mile an hour winds blowing rain, sleet and snow. Winds above 20mph are challenging in a narrowboat. Couple thirty mile an hour winds with the strengthening cross current from the Shroppie’s rain saturated canal, and you have the recipe for an extremely unpleasant day. We decided to wait it out.

With my continued inability to light the Kabola boiler, the only way we could have hot water was by running the generator to power the calorifier’s immersion heater. After running for an hour last night, the generator suffered a heart attack. It squealed and groaned, flickered and died.
Fortunately, we still have our Honda suitcase generator to help us heat water. Orient’s generator is the latest entry on our to-do list. We’re not letting that get us down. Cynthia and I are still in love with the boat. We’ll get all these teething problems fixed sooner or later. A lottery win would help. Maybe we had better buy a ticket. In the meantime we have the adventure of another sixty hours winter cruising ahead of us, a diary steadily filling with Discovery Day bookings and the joy of returning to work on Calcutt Boats’ beautiful grounds as the first spring flowers appear. Life is good.

Do You Want More Videos On This Site?

I’m playing around with videos at the moment. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t have the equipment to do it with. It’s probably not the best combination, but it’s a start. The video below took me a few seconds using a free iPhone app. It’s far from perfect. I know the first clip is out of focus, I know the first few clips are far from smooth, I realise that the colour needs correcting and, yes, I know that there’s a bit of muck on the lens in one of the clips. Still, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Do you want to see more along these lines?

I want to hear from you if you have any experience making professional quality videos for YouTube with low cost equipment. Is that even possible? Using an iPhone 7 Plus is handy for me because I always have the phone with me and it fits easily into my pocket. Can I use this to produce decent videos? What other equipment do I need? Please remember that, given our recent boat purchase and repair, money is very tight at the moment. Maybe I’m being too optimistic. I want you to share your words of wisdom.

From a consumer point of view, what video content would you like to see on the site; gentle cruises through beautiful countryside, instructional videos on different boating techniques, or videos of me droning on ad nauseam? Again, I would like to hear from you. Please click on this link to send me an email, or simply reply to this week’s post’s introductory email. Thank you. 

Discovery Day Update

The winter’s longest day is behind us. Days have been lengthening for the last three weeks. Easter and the unofficial start of the cruising season is three short months away. Easter is a wonderful time of year to be on the cut. Canalside fields are alive with wildflowers, hares box, rabbits bob and buzzards circle overhead. On my Discovery Day route from Napton Junction to Braunston Junction there’s even a chance you’ll see escaped deer from the Shuckburgh estate. If you don’t fall in love with the lifestyle at this time of the year, there’s a chance that the lifestyle isn’t right for you.

Spring weather can be cold cruising weather… unless you have a boatman’s cabin equipped with a blazing coal burning range. You can stand on Orient’s back deck in complete comfort while passing boaters shiver under mountains of clothes.

If you want to learn about the live aboard lifestyle (and spend eight hours listening to the engine below) while you learn how to handle a 62? narrowboat, click on the link below to find out more or to book a date.

Click here to find out what a Discovery Day can do for you.

A few potential guests have emailed me to ask if they can see my available dates without committing to one. Of course you can. Just click on this link and choose the type of day which suits you. You can browse through the available dates. You can reserve one for twenty for hours before you have to confirm the booking with payment. 

I hope to meet you soon.

 

Paul

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4

Electrical Problem Solving And Pre Cruise Preparation

There was no great rush to return to Tattenhall marina. We had five days before the workshop guys could begin our electrical work. I stood at the tiller for two eight hour days on the twenty-three mile, twenty-eight lock cruise from Tattenhall to Market Drayton. It was exhausting. We allowed four four-hour cruising days for the return journey, and what a pleasure it was.

The cruise to Market Drayton was hard. A journey in a new boat with unfamiliar controls and a deep draught along an unknown stretch of the Shropshire Union canal, a waterway peppered with demanding locks. And all of the while trying to keep to an almost impossible schedule. The return journey was so much easier.

I felt much more confident with the boat. Each lock landing offered a new opportunity to experiment with different methods of slowing and stopping close enough to shallow banks to jump ashore. My attempts became less awkward, more accomplished, even graceful on occasion. Steering the heavy boat became less of a challenge too.

During our first two days, I was determined to cover as much distance as possible while I had enough light to see. I cruised slightly faster than I would normally. The journey was all about making miles rather than leisurely sightseeing. I gave the engine too much throttle. Consequently the already deep draughted stern bit another inch or two into the canal or, on the shallow Shroppie, into the canal bed. Easing off on the throttle on the return leg raised the stern a little and made steering much more manageable. I was able to enjoy regular heron sightings and the occasional blue flash of a waterside kingfisher. My mind was occupied more with scenic canal banks than useless battery banks.

Our terminally ill domestic batteries continued to work after a fashion. They could hold the charge generated by a four-hour cruise for no more than half a day. Our twelve-volt system worked until we retired for the night, but then we woke the following mornings to dim cabin lights, a water pump gasping like a dying man and a lifeless inverter.

Orient has a built-in generator. It’s supposed to be a get out of jail free card for charging a dead domestic bank. But this failsafe will only work if the generator’s own battery is kept fully charged. It hasn’t been. The generator is responsible for charging its own battery. It apparently hasn’t taken its obligations seriously in the past.

We tried to run the gennie on our way back to Tattenhall to discover that I had inadvertently flattened its starter battery when running the beast for the first time. It’s easy to do. The generator is stopped by pulling a wire rather than using a key to turn it off. Unless the user pulls the six-inch length of steel and then also turns off the ignition key, the battery slowly drains until it’s a useless lump of lead. It’s a poorly designed system, one which relies on the operator remembering the two-step shutdown procedure. That counts me out. Pulling the wire was all I could manage. I’ll have to change the charging regime when funds allow.

The generator failure could have caused us some discomfort. The boat’s two-cylinder Lister, beautiful as it both looks and sounds, doesn’t heat Orient’s calorifier like most modern narrowboat engines. That’s because, so I’m told, the Lister doesn’t run hot enough to provide any meaningful heat. Orient’s water is heated in two different ways. The generator provides a 240v supply for the calorifier’s 2kw heater. Powering the coil from the domestic battery bank through the inverter would murder the five 130ah batteries. The only off-grid alternative is to use the generator. No generator, no hot water, because off-grid option number two wasn’t working correctly either.

We can still get water from the boat’s Kabola boiler… if we don’t mind a steady trickle of sticky brown creasote running from the Kabola chimney collar down the cabin side to the gunnel, or clouds of nauseating smoke drifting back to my steering position as I cruise. We do mind, so we’re not using the boiler for either water heating or for the radiators to the bathroom, bedroom or engine room until we can replace the boiler pot and burn diesel efficiently. The new part should arrive next week, hopefully before we have to begin our cruise south. Without the built-in generator or the Kabola boiler, our only option would have been the kettle to cater for our hot water needs. However, we had a secret weapon, a belt and braces approach to off-grid cruising.

Because I am suspicious by nature and didn’t trust the new boat’s onboard systems until they had proven themselves beyond question, I kept the Honda 2KW suitcase generator which travelled across Europe with us in our motorhome. It was a godsend on the return journey. We used it to power the calorifier heater and for all the appliances which make Cynthia’s marathon galley sessions such a joy.

The final hurdle for me to overcome before we reached electrical salvation at Tattenhall Marina was the Fearsome Four, the locks which defeated me on our southbound cruise.

The anticipation was much worse than the reality. After fifty-eight years on the planet, I should have realised by now that tackling something like a bull at a gate isn’t always the most effective solution.

My upstream passage through one lock required Orient’s engine, Big Barry from Barnsley, his tiny wife and me straining at the gate to coax it open. Travelling downstream with a little more time on my hands and a smidgeon of common sense, I was able to negotiate Beeston Stone Lock on my own. All I needed was time, lots and lots of time. Courtesy of a pair of badly leaking upstream gates, the lock emptied at what felt like a teaspoon a minute. I leaned on a lock balance beam for nearly half an hour admiring distant Beeston castle before the gate swung slowly open. The following locks were similarly easy but painfully slow to operate. Cruising in a narrowboat isn’t a hobby for the impatient. I should know that by now.

We arrived back at Tattenhall two weeks ago, determined to resolve the most pressing issues before we set sail again. The job list was both long and expensive.

Our original seven battery domestic bank has been removed. There were two domestic banks actually; four 110ah lead acid batteries in one and three 120ah in another. They’ve now been replaced by five 130ah AGM batteries. The batteries were delivered to us in the blink of an eye by the good folk at Calcutt Boats. I’ve lost count of the number of times the marina owners, the Preen family, have bent over backwards to help me out, usually with little or no benefit to their own business. I will be forever grateful, and forever working on the grounds for them judging by Orient’s insatiable appetite for bank balance busting repairs.

A happy battery bank - I can see at a glance that the domestic bank is fully charged.

A happy battery bank – I can see at a glance that the domestic bank is fully charged.

I’ve had a Sterling Power Management Panel (PMP1) fitted in addition to the batteries. I want to be able to check the voltage for the domestic bank and both the engine and the generator starter batteries. The panel will also give me an idea of the domestic bank’s state of charge by constantly monitoring amp hours in and out of the battery bank. The five batteries total six hundred and fifty amp hours, so I have three hundred and twenty-five usable amp hours. That should be plenty for our modest liveaboard needs.

Putting more power into the bank than we take out is a challenge at the moment. The boat has no LED lights yet. Each of the boat’s twenty-five cabin ceiling lights has a twenty-one-watt bulb drawing 1.75 amps. I can replace them with 2.6 watt LEDs which will be as bright as a 35-watt tungsten bulb but only draw 0.22 amps. More light at a fraction of the running cost of the original bulbs. It’s free money for narrowboat owners. OK, replacing the bulbs will cost £150 – £200 but we won’t have to run the engine or the generator to charge the batteries quite so often. Nor will we need to fork out quite so much for prohibitively expensive marina electricity.

We had a few teething problems with the battery monitor. It showed an incorrect voltage for each of the battery banks if any of the boat’s 12v lights or pumps were used. The culprit was a partially severed earth lead. The readings are all correct now and have highlighted two more problems; the engine starter battery is supposed to be charged when we’re connected to a shore supply. It isn’t. The generator is also supposed to charge its own battery. It doesn’t and, unlike the engine battery which is pumped full of electrical goodness by the Lister’s steady beat, there’s no other way of charging it at the moment.
These two issues will have to remain on our to-do list for a little while longer. We’ve run out of money. The engine room rewiring, battery replacement and PMP1 purchase and installation have cost us a fortune. We’ve had to make a few other changes too while we’ve been waiting at Tattenhall Marina. The locks on the well deck stable doors, the doors to the boatman’s cabin and one of the engine room hatches were either broken or defective. We couldn’t secure the boat if we left it. Now we can.

A robust new bow fender - A little more protection for our new floating home.

A robust new bow fender – A little more protection for our new floating home.

I’ve also invested in a new bow fender to replace the ragged old man’s beard which provided absolutely no lock protection at all. Thanks to Karl hanging off the bow like a welder wielding monkey, Orient is sporting two anchor points for the fender’s lower chains. Now, if Cynthia’s busy in the galley while I’m working my way through a lock, she shouldn’t be thrown off her feet quite so often when Orient gently bumps into a lock gate.

One final change, one which probably won’t be popular with narrowboat traditionalists, was the removal of a dozen pretty but pointless wall mounted plates from behind the boatman’s cabin range. They have made room for some much more practical boating equipment. There’s now a brace of windlasses, mooring chains and pins and a lump hammer within easy reach of the back deck. There’s also a handy charging point in the boatman’s cabin for our pair of Motorola walkie-talkies.

One of our Motorola walkie-talkies

One of our Motorola walkie-talkies

Cynthia is usually inside the cabin while we are cruising. The radios allow us to communicate easily and quickly. They’re very handy for warning her if we’re about to bump a lock gate while she’s holding a pan of boiling water or, more importantly, if I’ve run out of either food or coffee at the helm. Single-handed boating is all about preparations and organisation. I’m now a little closer to my perfect cruising setup.

Decorative plate replacement - Now there's room for more practical narrowboat gear

Decorative plate replacement – Now there’s room for more practical narrowboat gear

Now we’re playing the waiting game. The new boiler pot is due next Thursday. Even if it doesn’t arrive then, we will have to leave Tattenhall at the crack of dawn on Friday. There’s currently only one route open to Warwickshire and our Calcutt Boats base. Fradley junction is closed, and I don’t want to chance the Staffs and Worcester on to the river Severn at this time of the year. Our only option is through Wolverhampton and Birmingham. The one hundred and four miles, one hundred and thirty-four lock cruise should take sixty hours according to Canalplan. I know from experience that, on my own, the trip will actually take eighty hours. I have to get through the Farmers Bridge flight by 4th February when the locks close for repair.

Orient's paintwork is now polished to perfection

Orient’s paintwork is now polished to perfection

The route should be clear after that, apart from the ocean of shit I expect at Camp Hill locks. Last time I passed by that way I had to stop on the flight three times to clear my propeller. Unless the situation has changed, I’ll be dredging up even more rubbish in a boat six inches deeper than the last. I’m not looking forward to that section at all.

I’m very much looking forward to the rest of the cruise. The weather forecast at the moment seems promising. The current cold snap is due to end on Thursday. The thermometer on day one of our journey could reach a positively tropical seven degrees. Relatively mild weather and a glowing range close to my feet should make for a delightful winter cruise. And then we’ll be back at Calcutt Boats, working hard to help pay off our boat bridging loans. I will be tending to Calcutt Boats’ glorious one hundred and ten acres during the week and hosting my Discovery Days at the weekend. The flower beds around the Calcutt greenhouse will be alive with snowdrops now. Banks of daffodils will follow them, and then the site’s three SSI wildflower meadows will be a riot of colour. What a great time of the year to return to work.

Orient's boatman's cabin - A very cosy place to work on a cold winter's day.

Orient’s boatman’s cabin – A very cosy place to work on a cold winter’s day.

Cynthia Says…

Cynthia says:  “Make haste slowly”
 
Hi there everyone—sorry I haven’t been contributing for awhile–life has been busy and each day slides away before I have a chance to complete all the things on my punch list.  There is so much I need to do over the next few weeks and I oftentimes wonder how it will all get done.  I am still sending e-card Happy New Year cards to my many friends.  Sometimes I only get 2-3 done in a day because there are other matters pulling me this way and that.
 
Ear aches and fatigue from too little sleep have taken their toll and I know I need to “make haste slowly” and not be too hard on myself when I fall behind with what I expect of myself.
 
Paul has been a whirling dervish getting everything in order and keeping the boat clean.  I often feel I am not pulling my weight enough here…. This past week was a challenging one with all the electric issues and I know it was frustrating for him.  Seems that things are sorted now and we can hopefully go ahead with our plans to “cast off and set sail” (remember, my background is mostly sailing oriented), and make our way slowly but surely south to Calcutt–without haste!
 
The people here at Tattenhall Marina have been great and it has been a nice experience getting to know some of them.  They have a cafe that serves good food, and a nice warm shower facility, and a laundry room.  I shall miss our RIverford people who deliver our organic food each week.  And Waitrose and Pets at Home.  They have all been a godsend, and I am lucky we will be able to have the same options once we get back to Calcutt.  Not having a car has its pluses and minuses, but it is quite pleasant having things delivered right to our doorstep and not have to fight the crowds in the parking lots or the lines.  Don’t miss that!
 
The winter so far has not been much of a hardship and for that I am most grateful.  I love this warm and cozy boat and I think it certainly suits us.  the only thing I would love is a nice bathtub to soak in! Oh, well nothing’s perfect.
 
Thanks for reading and I’ll see you soon.  And please keep those Discovery Day bookings coming!

Discovery Day Update

The winter’s longest day is behind us. Days have been lengthening for the last three weeks. Easter and the unofficial start of the cruising season is three short months away. Easter is a wonderful time of year to be on the cut. Canalside fields are alive with wildflowers, hares box, rabbits bob and buzzards circle overhead. On my Discovery Day route from Napton Junction to Braunston Junction there’s even a chance you’ll see escaped deer from the Shuckburgh estate. If you don’t fall in love with the lifestyle at this time of the year, there’s a chance that the lifestyle isn’t right for you.

Spring weather can be cold cruising weather… unless you have a boatman’s cabin equipped with a blazing coal burning range. You can stand on Orient’s back deck in complete comfort while passing boaters shiver under mountains of clothes.

If you want to learn about the live aboard lifestyle (and spend eight hours listening to the engine below) while you learn how to handle a 62′ narrowboat, click on the link below to find out more or to book a date.

Click here to find out what a Discovery Day can do for you.

A few potential guests have emailed me to ask if they can see my available dates without committing to one. Of course you can. Just click on this link and choose the type of day which suits you. You can browse through the available dates. You can reserve one for twenty for hours before you have to confirm the booking with payment. 

I hope to meet you soon.

 

Paul

Useful Information
Entertainment
Summary

Battery Problems On An Aborted Shropshire Union Canal Cruise

Orient rested in Tattenhall Marina’s waterside workshop to have some long overdue TLC. A shiny new Morso Squirrel stove replaced the old cracked model, and I emptied my bank account to buy a ruinously expensive Ecofan to distribute the stove’s hot air.

The Kabola boiler leaked more diesel than it burned. The system is now leak free and works after a fashion. If the Kabola were human, it would be lying on a hospital bed sprouting life supporting tubes, surrounded by a small crowd of concerned relatives.

The boiler’s pot is fighting for its life. The air intake is mostly blocked by calcified deposits. The boiler can breathe, but it isn’t happy. The fuel burns but the chimney smokes. Running the central heating system on the boat inside a closed workshop produced a nauseating smog late into the night.

The pot was removed and attacked with every acid, scourer, cleaner and tool known to narrowboat repair personnel. It’s still full of shit. Replacing the pot would cure the problem if we could find four hundred pounds and wait for a month. We decided we couldn’t, so for the next few months, we expected to leave a smoke trail from the engine exhaust, two coal-burning stoves and the boiler flue.

The generator leaked more than the boiler. That too is now leak free. It starts first time, every time now that the starter battery has also been replaced. Unfortunately, when it runs, it sounds like a hundred soldiers in hobnailed boots crossing a wooden bridge.

Karl, the guy working on the boat for us, discovered that Orient had yet another battery, bringing the onboard total to thirteen. The generator can be used to charge the rest of the boat batteries if they are flat. It has its own battery to ensure that it will work if the domestic bank fails. Karl found a spare generator starter too. Which was just as well given that the connected generator starter battery failed, as did the two batteries mounted in a well deck locker.

The boat had a poorly fitted bow thruster. It was installed in a recess beneath two 13kg cylinders in the gas locker. There was a risk of leaking gas flowing into the recess and then on to the cabin bilge. The bow thruster has been decommissioned and a new steel floor fitted in the gas locker to ensure that the only place leaking gas can flow is through the drains into the canal. That’s two fewer batteries to care for and some much needed additional space in the well deck locker.

Orient had only been in the water for a day when previous owner Stuart Palmer arrived to deprive us of our transport. He had agreed to take our Hymer in part exchange for the boat.

Before he left with our motorhome, Stuart gave me a crash course in Lister engine maintenance. Orient is very different from my old narrowboat, James. A 1977 Mercedes OM636 pushed James along the canals in a cloud of diesel smoke. Orient has a 1936 two cylinder Lister. There are a few more daily engine chores than I’m used to; I have to fill the engine’s day tank, check the grease points, check the pump and gearbox oil and, whatever I do, try to resist the temptation to start the big old lump by hand. The owner before Stuart had to be rushed to hospital with a suspected broken leg when he tried for the first time.

Another important task, because half the fun in owning a Lister in its own engine room is to show it off, is daily brass fitting and copper pipe buffing. It’s a labour of love and very therapeutic. Cynthia often finds me bent double in the engine room furiously polishing my pistons.

Stuart also showed me how to read the main tank “fuel gauge”. It’s an awkward process. The tank is under the boatman’s cabin floor. To check the tank level we had to remove the mats covering the hardwood floor. Then, with a great deal of huffing and puffing, Stuart lifted a coffin-size, coffin weight section of floor, removed an inspection hatch bolt in the tank top and threaded a length of dowel through the bolt hole.
“The tank’s a third full,” he told me.
“How much does it hold?”
“I haven’t a clue!” He laughed. “Don’t worry about running out. I usually put some in once or twice a year.”

That didn’t help me at all. I’m obsessive about detail. I needed to know the tank size and the engine’s hourly consumption. I couldn’t relax until I found out. I thought of a solution. If the tank was a third full, all I needed to do to calculate the tank capacity roughly was to fill it.

Much to my dismay and marina manager Jason’s delight, filling Orient’s tank was an expensive exercise. The diesel pump filler gauge spun past a hundred litres, raced through the two hundred litre barrier, surged past three hundred and finally slowed to a stop at three hundred and twenty-eight litres. Given that the tank was a third full before we started, Orient’s diesel capacity must be between four hundred and fifty and five hundred litres. I suspect that the Lister will run at one litre an hour or less. Four hundred and fifty litres will take me from Lancaster down to Bristol and back again. I could add the Warwickshire Ring too and still have thirty litres in reserve. Our new boat has a huge diesel tank.

Stuart demonstrated how to light the Kabola drip fed diesel stove. It’s a laborious process involving carefully timed tap turning, slivers of firelighter and a pair of industrial tweezers. I’m sure I’ll master it eventually, but I’m not going to try until we can afford a new pot. Fuel burns so poorly in the boiler’s current state that, even after testing the boiler for a few short hours, a pool of creosote formed on the Kabola chimney collar and then flowed in a sticky black line down the cabin side, over the gunnel and onto the workshop floor.

We had a well-earned rest day after we waved goodbye to Stuart, his wife Sue and our six-wheeled home. No more country hopping searching for mild winters. No more transport at all actually. All of our shopping will have to be delivered to us, or we’ll have to take the boat to the shops. If we want to get there faster, we can always walk.

We had been working all day, every day for the previous fortnight, worrying about transatlantic bank transfers, home and lifestyle transfers and the possibility that CRT winter stoppages will prevent us from reaching Calcutt Boats and my return to work.

Our intended route was south on the Shroppie, north west on the Staffs and Worcester, onto the Trent & Mersey, then the Coventry, the North Oxford and then half a mile of Grand Union to return to the marina which was my home for six and a half years. The route appeared to be clear apart from a possible problem getting onto the Coventry Canal at Fradley. I phoned CRT’s helpline for clarification. Or not as the case may be. Their only advice was to ring closer to the stoppage date to make sure the route was open.

Our planned post-Hymer handover rest day wasn’t very relaxing. Our twenty-five feet long Hymer had more onboard storage than Orient, even though our new boat, for a narrowboat, has plenty of built-in cupboard and drawer space. The first thing we did to free up some much-needed space was to remove a pair of hopelessly bulky leather swivel chairs and footstools. It was a decision that we regretted a little in the weeks which followed. The dogs enjoyed more space for their beds while we were demoted to a pair of uncomfortable folding chairs.

The rest day passed in a blur of organisation, reorganisation, compromise, and occasional disposal as we tried to find homes for everything we owned. We stopped cupboard cramming briefly to try to work out how to operate a variety of appliances and onboard systems and, for a little light relief, threw away the oily contents shoehorned into the engine room’s underfloor storage compartments.

Then we settled down for a mostly sleepless night of pre-maiden-voyage anticipation.

I think that “Baptism of Fire” would be a fair description of the first day’s intensive cruise in our new boat. We started with high hopes. With just five days to reach Fradley Junction before a planned stoppage closed the lock flight for five weeks, I calculated that nine-hour days would just about get us there. Providing there were no hiccoughs. Right! This is the English canal network we’re talking about. Structured plans and inland waterways boating are rarely on speaking terms.

I’ve passed through a lock or two since I stepped on board my Norton Canes narrowboat on 2nd April 2010. Several thousand probably, most of them single handed. I’ve rarely failed to get through one on my own. Before our maiden voyage from Tattenhall, I could justify claiming to be a confident single handed boater. I knew I would have to single hand on this cruise too. Cynthia’s mind is willing, but the physical exertion of raising reluctant paddles and forcing massive lock gates open was asking too much of her. I thought she might be able to relieve me for a spell at the helm. I changed my mind after ten minutes at the tiller.

Oh boy, this boat is a pig on the waterways around here!

The problem is thirty-six inches of underwater hull, and about the same depth of water on the Shropshire Union canal. The rudder spent much of the first day ploughing the canal bed, mostly through clay but occasionally grating over unforgiving rock. I can’t wait to get back to the slightly deeper water around my home base.

Leaking lock gates on the Shropshire Union canal

Leaking lock gates on the Shropshire Union canal

At least I could move the boat forward and steer around bends providing I body slammed the tiller to get it to pivot. Moving forward was possible. Moving backwards quite often was not. Water must be able to pass under the hull to persuade a narrowboat to travel in reverse. If the hull is sliding along the canal bottom, there’s no room for a propeller-driven current and no chance of going backwards, or even slowing down for that matter. I had a few anxious moments trying to stop. I had even more of them trying to negotiate my first four locks.

CRT kindly taped a notice to the first. “The bottom gates leak badly. If you fail to close the upstream gates or lower the paddles, you will empty the canal!” Great advice, providing the boater using Wharton’s lock is able to open the top gates in the first place. And the first lock wasn’t the most difficult by any means.

The initial step was actually getting Orient to stop in the lock. My old boat had a standard Morse gear control. It was easy to use. There was a stainless steel lever topped with a white plastic ball, and a small button to press to move the boat in and out of gear. While cruising, the boat stayed in gear. The twelve o’clock position was neutral. Pushing the lever forward made the boat go forward. The further forward I pushed the lever the faster the boat went. I pulled the lever back to reverse the boat or slow it down. Easy.

Not so easy on Orient.

Our new boat has two separate controls; a gear selection rod and a speed wheel. The gear selector is a complete mystery to me at the moment. I can move it forwards or backwards about two feet. Most of the range is for putting the boat in forward gear, a little bit of it is to try to make the boat go backwards and somewhere, God knows where, is a cigarette paper width position to put the boat in neutral.

I have to dial the throttle down before I can change gear. Three or four frantic turns of the wheel are enough. Then I have to wait for a moment before the engine receives its instructions and slows down and then haul the rod back to what I hope is the neutral position. A few seconds later I tug on it again to engage reverse and hope that there’s enough water under us to make any kind of backward motion possible.

Abandoning Orient mid canal. This was the closet place to stop to close the lock gates behind me.

Abandoning Orient mid canal. This was the closet place to stop to close the lock gates behind me.

So actually taking the boat into lock number one took far longer than usual while I practised with the unfamiliar controls on a boat much more substantial and deeper draughted than I was used to.

Getting into the lock took a while but not as long as trying to open the top gates. I huffed, and I puffed, strained and struggled but, thanks to water gushing through the worn bottom gates, I couldn’t move the upstream gate an inch. I tried using the boat to open the gate while I pushed. That didn’t work either. A lady dog walker added her weight to the argument, and one and a half tonnes of old oak slowly swung open.

Lock number two was even more of a challenge. Beeston Iron Lock is not easy for single-handed boaters, especially those in deep draughted boats and those unlucky enough to experience its dubious charm for the first time.

The initial problem was actually getting close enough to the lock to set it. The lock landing has a sloping stone base far too close to the surface for boats like Orient. Five feet was as close as I could get before the base plate grated over rock and Orient ground to a halt. Leaping off the boat onto an expanse of rain-softened mud was easy enough. The jump back onto Orient’s four-inch wide gunnel wearing clay caked Wellington boots took a little more concentration.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I brought the boat gently to a stop against one of the iron lock’s moss-coated walls. I collected my centre line’s trailing end and swung myself up onto Orient’s roof ready to climb the lock’s escape ladder. Maybe I should have checked first. I’ve only come across a handful of locks on my travels which don’t have ladders and no way for single-handed boaters to climb out. Beeston Iron Lock is one of them.

The only solution was to reverse Orient out of the lock, beach the boat again close to the stone lock landing and jump ashore. Then I had to drag twenty-two tonnes of reluctant steel laboriously into the empty lock.

As with the last lock, this chamber’s bottom gates allowed more water to escape than the paddles allowed in. Another lady dog walker helped me open the upstream gate allowing me to chug towards what I hoped would be an easier lock.

Beeston Stone Lock was number three on the list, and the third in succession I couldn’t manage on my own. With no dog walkers in sight, I tried to use the boat’s engine again, this time with the throttle wide open to help me move the upstream gates. They didn’t move an inch. I might well still be there now if Big Barry from Barnsley hadn’t helped out.

The hiker strolled past me with his dot of a wife. They stopped to enjoy the spectacle. Orient with its ragged bow fender wedged between the two upstream gates, white water boiling behind the boat from a thrashing propeller and me, red-faced and sweating, straining against the solid oak.

“Barry, go and give that bloke a hand!” she ordered. Her husband lowered a shoulder the size of a barn door and tackled the gate like a rugby player joining a scrum. With a grunt and a curse he bounced off the beam and joined my wellies in a muddy puddle beneath the gate.

He tried again. He braced his locked arms against the beam. He strained, I heaved, Orient thrashed and, when Barry’s diminutive spouse laid a manicured hand gently on the beam handle, the gate slowly swung open. Sometimes all that’s needed is a woman’s touch.

Lock number four, Tilstone, passed with the help of another dog walker and then on to the Bunbury flight of two staircase locks and another challenge. The flight was easy. Getting to them was not.

Anglo Welsh, bless their little cotton socks, had moored their entire hire fleet, often two abreast, on every available inch of space either side of the flight, including on the downstream lock landing. The only way to stop beneath the lock flight was by tying up to the two hire boats tied side by side leaving a boat’s width between them and a stone bridge.

Just enough room to squeeze by. A fallen tree on the Shropshire Union canal

Just enough room to squeeze by. A fallen tree on the Shropshire Union canal

To make matters more interesting, the water beneath us was too shallow to reverse. A stiff breeze coming from the stern pushed Orient quickly towards the bridge arch. A desperate leap onto the nearest hire boat allowed me to secure Orient at a forty-five-degree angle across the canal long enough to set the lock.

As a reward for a difficult start I enjoyed a three-hour lock free cruise to finish the day. We cruised serenely by the junctions to the Shroppie’s Middlewich branch, passed the Hurleston flight and access to the Llangollen canal and threaded our way through densely packed live aboard boats in Nantwich. As the miles passed, my confidence with the new boat grew. The tiller loosened up, the canal felt deeper and reverse more responsive.

As daylight faded, we moored for the night in a peaceful spot close to Hack Green Secret Nuclear Bunker. The tourist attraction, no longer either secret or nuclear, is famed for its world-beating collection of decommissioned nuclear weapons and, for boaters, being in the middle of nowhere. I had the best night’s sleep since I sold my narrowboat and drove to Europe two and a half years ago.

Day two was lock day. Lots of locks but each of them benign and a pleasure to operate. We started with the fifteen lock Audlem flight, ninety-three feet closer to a low bank of grey clouds in a little over a mile. The five lock Adderley flight soon followed and then a relaxing two-hour chug into Market Drayton. We moored on a deserted stretch within earshot of the A53, bracketed by a pair of middle-aged guys fishing for perch.

Orient had passed through twenty-eight locks by the end of day two. Our lock count totalled just thirty-three in two years of summer cruising on the Dutch waterways. The English canal network is much harder work than in Holland, but infinitely more enjoyable. Dutch locks are done for you by a faceless waterways employees locked away in canalside cabins. There’s little opportunity to meet and chat with fellow boat owners during a cruise. Manual lock setting is usually hard work, often a challenge, but always a chance to talk to like-minded folk.

We planned to press on with our exhausting first-to-last-light cruising regime the following morning. Orient’s electrical system had other ideas. We woke to the strange beeping of a high pitched alarm. Orient has four smoke detectors; one close to each of the multi-fuel stoves, another in the Kabola boiler cupboard and a fourth in the bedroom. All are sensitive and are often triggered by enthusiastic galley activity. All were as quiet as church mice in the calm before the breakfast storm.

The culprit was in the engine room. A flashing red inverter light warned us of an imminent big bill. After sixteen hours cruising over two days, there was barely enough charge in the seven battery domestic bank to illuminate the warning light.
We purchased Orient with eleven batteries connected to the electrical system. The two bow thruster batteries were flat but unnecessary after we decommissioned the unit. The generator, handy for recharging flat battery banks, couldn’t be used because its starter battery was also flat. Now all seven domestic bank batteries were destined for that great big lead smelting plant in the sky. With ten out of the original eleven batteries dead, we daren’t continue our journey. If the engine starter failed too, we would be up Shit Creek without a paddle. We needed a working domestic bank. I phoned many nearby boatyards. The only person who picked up the phone was Karl back at Tattenhall Marina.

Returning to Tattenhall would mean missing our opportunity to get onto the Coventry canal before the Fradley flight closed for maintenance. I suspected that we wouldn’t make Fradley in time anyway. The alternative route to Warwickshire was either through Wolverhampton and Birmingham on New Year’s Eve or down the Staffs and Worcester onto a short stretch of the river Severn. High water had closed the river. The more pleasant and sensible of the two options open to us was twenty-eight locks back to Tattenhall, including the four I couldn’t manage single handed. I turned the boat around and, with heavy hearts, we headed towards our third battery bank replacement bill in two years.

Orient's boatman's cabin is a wonderful place to sit and watch the world go by

Orient’s boatman’s cabin is a wonderful place to sit and watch the world go by

Discovery Day Update

The winter’s longest day is behind us. Days have been lengthening for the last three weeks. Easter and the unofficial start of the cruising season is three short months away. Easter is a wonderful time of year to be on the cut. Canalside fields are alive with wildflowers, hares box, rabbits bob and buzzards circle overhead. On my Discovery Day route from Napton Junction to Braunston Junction there’s even a chance you’ll see escaped deer from the Shuckburgh estate. If you don’t fall in love with the lifestyle at this time of the year, there’s a chance that the lifestyle isn’t right for you.

Spring weather can be cold cruising weather… unless you have a boatman’s cabin equipped with a blazing coal burning range. You can stand on Orient’s back deck in complete comfort while passing boaters shiver under mountains of clothes.

If you want to learn about the live aboard lifestyle (and spend eight hours listening to the engine below) while you learn how to handle a 62′ narrowboat, click on the link below to find out more or to book a date.

Click here to find out what a Discovery Day can do for you.

A few potential guests have emailed me to ask if they can see my available dates without committing to one. Of course you can. Just click on this link and choose the type of day which suits you. You can browse through the available dates. You can reserve one for twenty for hours before you have to confirm the booking with payment. 

I hope to meet you soon.

 

Paul

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A Successful Move Back To The English Inland Waterways Network

I imagine that a narrowboat broker’s perfect sale would involve a potential buyer viewing a boat, saying he liked it and then returning the following day with a briefcase bulging with enough cash to pay the asking price. On a scale of one to ten with one being the simplest and most straightforward transaction, the briefcase carrier would barely climb onto the lower end of the scale.

Cynthia and I began our negotiations a little higher up the scale, maybe at eight or nine. We loved the boat Steve Harral of Ash Boats had for sale, which was good. We didn’t have enough, or indeed any, money to buy it with. That was terrible news for him. Luckily for us, Steve had a glass-half-full attitude towards the potential deal.

We persuaded him and, more importantly, Orient’s owner, Stuart, that sometimes finding caring buyers who will look after the seller’s pride and joy is a more attractive proposition than finding buyers with wads of cash. We told Stuart we were both experienced boaters, people who loved the English waterways and who would take great pride in keeping a solidly built and beautiful boat in tip-top condition. Then we told him that all our wealth was tied up in a Dutch Linssen yacht and a German motorhome, both of which would need to be sold before he received all or even much of his money.

His agreement surprised us. His subsequent decision to also take our motorhome in part exchange had us dancing around our empty Dutch marina. Then all that stood between us and a beautiful and thoughtfully fitted out narrowboat fully equipped for living on board was the need to find half of the boat’s asking price to use as a deposit.

Cynthia and I aren’t wealthy people. Cynthia is long retired from gainful employment, and my recent earning capacity has been dictated by my willingness to endure long days lying on cold concrete beneath an endless procession of overpriced yachts while covering their bare bottoms with ridiculously priced antifouling paint.

Our savings amounted to little more than a leather purse bulging with small denomination coins, supplemented by a modest bank balance which we needed for our move back to England.

Thanks to Cynthia’s credit rating and an American credit union keen to see its poor customers sink further into debt, we managed to secure a bridging loan to cover two-thirds of the deposit needed before we could move on board. Applying and being approved for the loan was the easy part. Getting the money off American soil proved almost impossible. 

Maybe I’m just being unreasonable. Spousal country bashing is a regular part of our married life. Cynthia would tell you that, more often than not, it’s me that does the bashing. Not wanting to prove her wrong I’ll have another go. Calling an American banking helpline is right up there with anaesthetic free teeth pulling.

It’s a harrowing experience.

We needed to transfer a substantial sum from Cynthia’s US account to the UK. It’s an easy enough process providing the account holder still lives in the USA and has an American mobile phone. Cynthia doesn’t. She’s been living the life of Riley wandering through Europe with me for the last two years. She has a UK postal address for receiving bank statements. Her post is forwarded every fortnight to a destination she nominates. Her phone uses a UK SIM which gives her the best text, calls and data deal we could find before we left the UK.

Our problems began when we tried to transfer the money online. The bank’s website instructed us to complete a form which included a field for Cynthia’s mobile phone number so they could text her to verify the request was really from her. It’s only possible to enter a phone number on the form in US format. International phone numbers aren’t allowed.

We phoned a helpline for advice.

Without a USA phone number, we were told, the only way to verify Cynthia was to send a letter to the address she had in her account profile. That wasn’t going to work. The address is in the UK. We needed to transfer the money before we could move onto our new boat. I think the US postal service still uses a combination of the Pony Express and steamships to make international deliveries. We’ve had to wait a long, long time in the past for letters from America to arrive in England.

Cynthia also has an account with another US bank. Both accounts are linked so making transfers between the two is quick and relatively painless. There’s a daily limit which meant that we would have to make six transfers, and only on regular business days. The delay would take us dangerously close to our deadline for moving onto the boat, but we didn’t have another option.

We phoned the new bank helpline to ask if we could transfer the money directly from Cynthia’s bank to the UK broker’s account. “Of course you can darlin’,” the charming lady from the bank’s call centre somewhere in America’s deep south drawled. We asked the cost. “There’s a forty-five dollar fee,” she warned us. Not bad, we thought considering the sum involved. “Let’s do it,” Cynthia ordered enthusiastically.

Suspecting that the bank would want to make more than forty-five dollars on such a substantial transfer, I asked what exchange rate they would use. “It’s the usual bank exchange rate,” the bank employee unhelpfully told us. After a further five calls to four different departments, we discovered that the bank wanted four hundred dollars more on the exchange than one of the more prominent and trustworthy online international money transfer companies.

Rather than throw four hundred dollars away, we set up an account with TransferWise to move the money across the Atlantic and initiated the transaction. The domestic wire to TransferWise’s New York account went through without a hitch, and then we hit another brick wall.

After twenty-four hours of inactivity, we phoned the TransferWise support team and discovered that we needed to endure yet another account verification process. This latest delay was a real worry. Broker Steve Harral broke the bad news. “I’m afraid I can’t let you put Orient back in the water until the money has hit our account. Karl, the guy doing the work on your boat, finishes for Christmas on Friday 21st December. If the transfer hasn’t reached us by then, Orient will have to stay in the workshop until he comes back.”

While we tried to find a way to move the boat money from the USA to the UK, we drove through the Netherlands, Belgium and France back to England. We arrived at Dover on a P & O car ferry and pulled to the side of the road to programme our route to Portsmouth. We needed to make a quick stop there to have our odometer reset to read kilometres rather than the miles display it had been incorrectly set to when I took the Hymer back to England a month earlier for some warranty repairs.

Crossing the English Channel - Cynthia gazes longingly at the white cliffs of Dover

Crossing the English Channel – Cynthia gazes longingly at the white cliffs of Dover

The fastest route would take us three hours of boring but easy driving on a series of undemanding motorways. However, my wife, the ever curious American tourist, wanted to see the sights along England’s south coast.

Driving a satnav route set to avoid motorways is always an adventure in a large motorhome. We bumped along an endless series of single track farm roads and twisting country lanes for an hour before we reached the coastal village of Rye.

We were both hungry. Cynthia suggested stopping at a quaint English cafe for a healthy midday snack. She’s not familiar with English roadside cafes. We parked outside one which caught Cynthia’s eye. “See what vegetarian or organic options they have,” asked Cynthia. I didn’t want to disappoint her, but two signs either side of the door indicated the type of food we were likely to find. The adverts,  Chip Butties One Pound and Gut Buster Breakfasts, didn’t conjure images of produce fresh from organic farms.

I looked at the menu quickly and then reported back. “I don’t think this one’s going to suit you,” I warned my wife. Cynthia has been spoiled by the variety of food available in Dutch and French restaurants for the last couple of years. If she failed to find something suitable on the menu, the owner’s rarely failed to provide her with an elaborate salad.

“Don’t be so negative,” she scolded. “I’m sure they’ll look after me.”

We walked into a room filled with the heady aroma of frying eggs and bacon and squeezed past well-fleshed diners hunched over dustbin sized plates filled to overflowing with all day breakfasts.

Cynthia examined the menu for anything without chips, frowned, and asked if the chef could make her a salad. “Oi, Beryl!” the guy behind the counter shouted into the kitchen. “You got anything green in the fridge?”

“Nothing,” the owner screamed back, “I gave the last of the lettuce to the rabbit!”

Cynthia, desperate for anything remotely healthy asked about the soup.

“Lady wants to know if the soup is homemade,” the foghorn server bellowed.

“Hold on,” ordered Beryl, “I’ll just check the back of the tin!”

Cynthia settled for a steaming bowl of vegetable soup served with a doorstep-sized chunk of white bread. I chose the mega all day breakfast. I love being back in England.

Back to good old English cooking

Back to good old English cooking

We drove from Portsmouth to Tattenhall marina via Calcutt Boats for a welcome overnight break. With two days to go before our Christmas deadline we still hadn’t heard from TransferWise’s verification department. I managed to transfer funds from two other loans I had taken out to the broker’s account, but it wasn’t enough. What’s more, we needed to hand over our Hymer as part of the deal. We couldn’t empty the Hymer until we could move onto the boat and we couldn’t step onto Orient until we could make our transatlantic transfer. We were very frustrated, stressed by the situation and exhausted by several hectic weeks and many hours on the road.

While we waited, I painted.

Orient’s hull needed blacking. I used bitumen on my old narrowboat. This time I used Keelblack. It has the consistency of water, so it is much easier to apply than bitumen. I put on three coats over as many days, moved as much as I could from the Hymer to Orient and then fretted and worried about our finances some more.

Below deck clutter - I removed this lot from the small space beneath the back deck.

Below deck clutter – I removed this lot from the small space beneath the back deck.

I needed to take Cynthia to a medical appointment in Solihull on deadline day. She received an email from TransferWise’s verification department on our drive south towards Birmingham. The verification process was complete, but we still couldn’t find out when the money would be transferred. I suspected that it would take days to reach the destination bank in England. Cynthia was her usual optimistic self. While she daydreamed about Christmas Day afloat, I worried about what we would do if our new home stayed locked in the workshop when our motorhome’s new owners arrived to collect it.

Orient backs into Tattenhall Marina

Orient backs into Tattenhall Marina

We were an hour away from Tattenhall and our 5 pm deadline when Cynthia’s phone pinged to notify her of an incoming email. “See, I told you everything would work out. This is an email from TransferWise. It says that the money has hit the English account!”

We received confirmation fifteen minutes later from Steve Harral that the money had indeed reached his account. Now, all we needed to do was to get Orient in the water, swap a lifetime’s possessions from the motorhome to the boat and then remove all traces that two people and two fur shedding dogs had been living in the vehicle for the previous two years. And all of that needed to be done before the Hymer was collected the following day. The task was so daunting I didn’t know where to start. Fortunately, on a day of overwhelmingly good news, we received some more.

An overloaded live aboard narrowboat - We feared that Orient would look like this after we tried to move everything on board.

An overloaded live aboard narrowboat – We feared that Orient would look like this after we tried to move everything on board.

Stuart and his wife Sue phoned to say they would be delayed. They couldn’t collect the Hymer until 27th December. We had enough time to try and shoehorn all of our possessions into our new boat and clean the motorhome ready for collection. Providing we postponed our Christmas celebrations and packed, unpacked, washed and wiped throughout the festive period. We didn’t mind. The new boat and a new life back on England’s inland waterways had finally become a reality. We were both very happy bunnies.

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