The weekend trip!!

Did a trip to Stone from Bollington over the weekend. We didn't get
off till late, which always seems the case when Hilary, my partner
decides comes along. 'We must do a shop.' She says. 'Why?' I
said, 'We've plenty of food aboard.' 'What have you got?'
she asks in a sceptical tone of voice. 'Well...We've got tins of
stewed steak, minced beef and gravy, tomato soup, etc, and a couple of
packets of Smash and some Pot Noodles. We can also grab some bread and
things like bacon and eggs at the corner shop near the wharf before we
set off.' She dug her heels in and insisted we do a shop, with more
determination this time. This meant a trip to Sainsbury's. It cost 70
quid! Don't ask my why, but that what it cost! That's what always
happens I tried to explain in rational terms, when women get involved.
If I was going on my own or with the lads it would have cost about four
pounds at the corner shop! And we could have set off earlier!

Then she wanted the fridge putting on, which is always a hit and miss
job as more often than not it won't ignite. It took nearly an hour
with the fridge having to come out. 'What do you want the fridge for
anyway?' I remonstrated. We are only going to be a couple of days,
nothings going to go rotten in that time! It had to go on she insisted.
Hilary will have the fridge on for a week, just for half a carton of
milk and a yoghurt. I reckon it's bad economics. Also, half the
provisions have to be binned as soon as she steps aboard. She is a
stickler for sell by dates. She once found one jar of pickle which was
out of date by five years, and never let me forget it. It tasted
perfectly ok to me!

Then she insisted that I empty the toilet. It's only a quarter full!
I tried to reason. She was having none of it. The toilet would have to
emptied! My biggest of all pet hates is emptying the toilet! Just the
thought of trying to lug the thing out of the boat is bad enough, never
mind having to empty the dastardly contents down a special drain,
gurgling and splashing all over the place, in full view of the world.

The climax of the whole thing happened when I opened up the back cabin
bed. Mind you it did smell a bit musty! But that's a boaty smell I
sincerely pointed out. 'I'm not sleeping in that!' she exclaimed
with profound dignity. You scruffy individual, you've never changed
those sheets for months! I tried to explain that I normally just get my
head down on the settee in the forward cabin, with just a sleeping bag
over me. She insisted on me driving back to her place to get some clean
sheets a duvet cover and some pillow cases. By the time we eventually
got off after sorting this and that out, it was well into the evening.

It was going dark within half an hour of setting off, not forgetting
that it was chucking it down with rain. The bow light didn't work.
Pulled into the bank and went up on to the bow to try and fix it. The
cable plugs into a connector on the deck. The cable feeding the
connecter which runs below the deck had become loose. Couldn't see
what I was doing as the daylight was fading. Went to get the torch and
the batteries were flat. If had gone into the corner shop to do the
shopping as anticipated, would have got some batteries, as I had
included them on a list. Then could not open the forward hatch to get
to the cable as had left the keys in the car. Not even mentioning in
this little diatribe that I was now wet through, thoroughly pissed off
and cold. Went down below and had a coffee. Hilary fell about laughing,
saying that I wasn't organised enough to be in charge of a coracle, I
suspected, subtly transferring the emphasis of blame on to me for our
late voyage into the night without a light. Rigged up a light with an
extension cable.

I love travelling at night by boat. The whole canal changes into a kind
of enchanting grotto with ghostly shapes changing into trees as you get
close, and bridges gently emerging out of the gloom. It was now going
dusk and we were accompanied by a heron, which as they do, kept on
flying ahead a few hundred yards then to wait patiently on the bank for
our approach and hopefully for a fish.

I remember L.T.C.Rolt writing about the heron doing the same thing in
his book 'Narrow Boat' some sixty years before. He referred to the
heron's concentration, as to that of an ardent dry fly fisherman.
There is something very much to do with the country, and I think
canals about the herons stately flight, across woods and fields in the
warm evening light. I was surprised how the one accompanying us could
manoeuvre so accurately between trees in the half light. In one
instance he took off right next to a bridge hole, beyond were some very
high trees with just a narrow gap between their overhanging branches
and beyond that, some high tension cables. He seemed to effortlessly
lift up over the bridge, which was near vertical flight and then in
slow motion seemed to go up and up, slowly winding a way between the
branches of the trees and then up and over the cables. A masterpiece in
aeronautics. Assuming that he had reached the limit of his territory,
off he finally went, winging his way back over the trees to gently
alight at some point astern from where we had come.

It is surprising how sniffy boaters can get about a boat travelling at
night. Not even late, just after dusk! We diligently slowed right down
for every boat we passed. But there were twitching curtains, and
shouts. We even passed 'Lord Byron's Maggot, I think either at a
farm mooring or at Gurnett, which was jam packed with moored boats.

In retrospect, Hilary's Sainsbury's shop paid off, even though it
did cost seventy quid. We wined and dined in luxury and slept in crisp
fresh smelling sheets. Surprising what the gentle female touch does for
a boat. It was a good trip.

Roger Murray.

.

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