We are either flexible or indecisive - whatever ...

 Early one morning, well over a week ago now, we set off from just above Lock 11 on the Napton Flight towards Banbury, as per the intention noted in the last post. 

Beautiful peaceful morning - and it started off so well!

Working, boss, and happy in his work. He is so good at the locks.

 

However, I soon found myself wishing we weren't. Not because I don't like Banbury or Cropredy or Claydon - I like all of them. But because the section of canal between Marston Doles and Fenny Compton did my head in.

I had at least three right hand bends go very badly wrong, i.e. in trying to keep to the right hand side of the canal, I kept having the bow pulled over to the left hand side of the cut, because the right hand side didn't have enough water to keep the RH turn going. I know there is an explanation in physics or somesuch science... But it meant reverse, forward, reverse, curse, swear, grump, grump and the will to live or to continue boating were all but lost...

At one such crapshoot, ACP carried out two things that made my head explode - the only place anything could reasonably (not!) and physically (yes) escape was through my mouth. And it did. Nearly as loudly as the Mac truck horn he decided to sound loud and long. AND he followed that up with an instruction that I needed more acceleration.

WTAF - this is the same ACP who went into a panic recently when I asked him to steer, in tickover, along a very straight piece of canal so I could make a mad dash down to the toilet. And here he is giving me driving instructions!?!

Is it humanly possible for a mouth to have both barrels - on anyone else but me, I mean? Because I am sure mine developed them at that point. 

Magnesium applied orally, a statement in less fraught but quite tearful tones that I did not want to keep doing the South Oxford and wanted to turn around asap (or go home immediately ...). Only one problem - the next winding hole is at Fenny Compton. And that was what felt like light years away. Seven miles (11 kilometres) in real distance but slow, winding, pretty shallow and narrow - all of which make for slow going. Gritted teeth, girded loins, magnesium working, and off we went, keeping on keeping on. And to avoid the bow pulling over problem, I stuck to the middle of the canal where the water is deepest.

This is one of the temporary bridges constructed for the works on HS2, the high speed railway that will cut all of 11 minutes off the journey between Birmingham and London - such a huge disruption to the countryside and for just 11 minutes and a huge huge cost. A vanity project if ever there was one...

Bridge 130 - nearly at the apex of the two long sides of the isosceles triangle that this part of the South Oxford canal looks like - the canal was built with very few locks, and instead follows the contours of the land. False economy at the time of building because it meant much longer journeys for the working boats - any time saved by not having to do locks was eaten up by the longer distance and tight corners.

We counted down the bridges (we were aiming for Bridge 136), I went slowly, ACP gave no more driving instructions, and we got to Fenny Compton unscathed. It was lunchtime, the pub looked inviting, but we eschewed it, winded, and then pulled back for water. While David filled the tank, I had a 10 minute blob - short blob, good fast tap! Well, I did some other stuff for a few minutes and then sat down with the kindle and my eyes closed.

We had already scoped out a mooring place for the return journey - just before bridge 124. And of course, I overshot it! Heaven knows how. But fortunately there was space after the bridge before the bend, so we stopped, closed up and the rain came down. Spectacular! And then I blobbed in a concentrated and horizontal fashion for much of the next 14 or so hours.

Early the following morning (there is a pattern developing of early starts...) we headed away again. The weather had cleared and the cut was quiet - I do like it like that! So it was a peaceful trip to Marston Doles. But that was about to change...

A boater exiting the top lock there told us the pound below was particularly low and that we should keep to the middle. Good advice that we were happy to take onboard. However, if it was going to be that low, it appeared to me that we could usefully let some water down, i.e. more than a lock's worth. I checked with the couple who were following us and due to use the lock after us - to make sure they were okay with a bit of a delay. Yes, they were fine and the man suggested we open only one paddle on the top and bottom gates. That done and water flowing through with more leaving the lock than was coming in, I asked ACP to hold the rope and keep the boat forward as I needed a pee. Off I went for a quick pee, not realising that, once I had gone inside, instead of holding the rope, David had tied it loosely to a bollard thinking the outflow of water would hold it forward against the front gates (where it needs to be when descending because there is a cill at the back of the lock that is not the rudder and prop's friend), not remembering that water in the locks is a very fickle thing and often does not behave the way you intuit that it should.  

After the pee (and washing my hands, of course), I came back towards the stern steps and saw that the boat was hard up against the back gate. I flew up the steps and shouted F*CK F@CK F#CK very loudly and yelled loudly at David to go and close the bloody lower paddles. Then I politely asked the lady from the following boat to open the second paddle of the top gates to let more water in fast. I opened the throttle hard to push us off the cill, and fortunately away we came.

Disaster averted but we were both shaken - David had panicked that the boat would sink in the lock with the stern hoisted up on the cill, I would get caught inside and drown; I had envisaged the rudder and prop needing to be replaced or repaired at great expense and panicked about that. 

It is the first time in 30 years of boating that we have ever had that close a call, and it is not an experience we ever wish to repeat!

All is well with the rudder and prop, but we have developed a bit of a squeak when I pull the tiller towards the port.

We moved on thinking and worrying about the close call - as you do, I think. Then it was the Napton Locks - we do enjoy them. There are always people to talk with and lovely scenery.

This lock in the Napton flight  is not in good condition

 

Let's hope it's on this year's winter schedule for repair.

Not just bricks missing but the plaster is broken

There is a whole field of these beasts near one of the top Napton Locks - and look at those clouds, the rain is imminent.

They are water buffalo

And we moored up again at Lock 11 - our home away from home... It was lovely being tucked up inside with the rain coming down!

Sunrise the next day - about 4.30am I think. And a clear morning forecast.

We did wait until about 6am to head away and we did it very quietly.

 

He started work very early too! This season he is not doing the step across from one open gate to one closed gate - confidence, damp lock gates, 3.5 years older than the last time he did it. It means a walk around the whole lock, but I am pleased. Watching him do that step always makes my legs turn to jelly!

The next morning we headed away early again and then stopped at Bridge 100 for breakfast and to make a consultation call to Ian Jameison on Free Spirit re the squeak. His suggestion was that we go to the marina in Braunston and ask them to grease the swan's neck steering gear. But we decided if it was a reasonable price, we could buy a basic grease gun and do the job ourselves. After all, we need to be a bit self sufficient! (I've managed to put it together but have one last question for Ian - which way up does the grease cannister go?)

The young man at Midland Chandlers is a gem - extremely helpful and knowledgeable. Not only did he sell us a very reasonably priced basic grease gun, he gave me instructions on how to use it. He also most usefully made an extension for our hose. We have one of those crinkly hoses which start out quite short and wrinkled, but expand when filled with water. (I am sure there is a source of inspiration for this in nature but I'm struggling to work out what it is ...) The hose is a really cool piece of kit, but with one fatal flaw. To keep the nozzle in the water tank inlet, you need to hold it in place right at the deck level. Oh my aching back ...

So the young man made a fitting from a couple of pieces of rigid hose and an inline tap and fitted them to the wrinkly hose. Magic! Now David can sit comfortably while we fill with water, and he can turn the hose off without having to race to the tap.

And what's more the Midland Chandler chap even said it was fine for us to stay moored up at their mooring while I headed briskly up to the grocery shop and the butcher's (fruit and veg and veg samosas, honest!).

This field below the church in Braunston has a public footpath  through it and either side of the footpath are the ridges and furrows that are pretty common in this part of the country. The path is on a ridge.

 

When the trolley was on board, we moved on and moored up not far from Braunston near Bridge 87, with a lovely view across the fields. More blobbing outside with my kindle and a cup of tea in the sunshine and then inside when the rain started.

Not the best shot with the fence posts and barbed wire, but peaceful - we could vaguely hear traffic in the distance (the road to Rugby).

And these were our neighbours. They didn't have their TV up loud, they weren't playing the radio or stereo. Ideal sort of neighbours to have. I'm not sure the feeling was mutual though!

And then it rained again - welcome actually because it cuts the heat! A bit like Taranaki sunshine though - rain and sun at the same time.

And this family were good sorts too.

David had thought for himself and decanted the four older eggs from their original pack into the newer pack that had 6 left. I had been going to only use the four for baking. So I asked him to mark them. 'What shall I call them?' 'John, Paul, George and Ringo' I said. So he did 😆😉😊😍