End of the year already, and hardly a site update. Hope you have enjoyed the photos though, which have been more forthcoming through the digital camera. The writing however is sporadic, to say the least. Why is it, when you sit down to write, the blank page, or screen stares back, challenging you to deface its virgin space with pencil or pixel. Yet once started, the words can flow like water; occasionally even, like wine.

All in all, it has been a good year. Despite the boat being 'ready to use' it still took 6 months of steady work to get her into a fully usable condition. I have travelled over 5 hundred miles on her; all on the Witham, but still more than most. I've not had as many days out as the previous two years, and only attended 5 dog shows, but have spent many days at the boat; the original intention of course, making it 'my country retreat'.

Dog Shows

The first and last shows were however two of the most enjoyable I've ever been to. Barney had significant wins, all the more enjoyable as they were totally unexpected. The first show was the usual CMC show at Tattershall. Last year, he had not won a class with me as handler until the very last class, of the last show we attended. On the way to Tattershall, I wondered if this year would be the first where he did not win. Having won every class he is eligible for at least once, this was of no concern to me in the slightest, but I am justly proud of his 100% record. Something he may loose in November, when he is 7 years old, and eligible to enter the veteran class.

The first class of the show was the Over 18inch dog for the SCAMPS heat. Much to my surprise and delight he won. We did not win the SCAMPS heat, but as that is just a personal choice between the 4 winning dogs, I regard the class win, against all the similar large dogs, to be the most satisfying. He has also won two 2nd places and a 4th in his class at the other SCAMPS heats we've entered this year, so really he's had a successful year. In the previous 5 years of CMC shows with Barney, he's only ever had one win, a second and fifth in this class.

The show last Sunday was the Lurcher show at Peterborough Showground. Always one of the highlights of the year, this day out proved to be no exception. Getting past the 'Gestapo' on the gate wanting their 'pound of flesh' (well a fiver) proved no problem this year, as passes were handed to people with Lurchers in their cars. I had a look around the showground at the other events and stalls, meeting some friends, who I would see later. I had a chat with some others with dogs, said hello to the people I only see here once a year, and Barney had a run in the speed jumping; recall over bales, which he seemed to enjoy.

After a slow start the show proceeded at a brisk pace. My friends entered into a class and won it, something we never do here. Barney is not a working Lurcher, so a win here is the exception, rather than the rule. This has not stopped it from being my favourite and most enjoyable show I attend though. Barney is seven (where does the time go) in November, and is therefore eligible to enter the veteran class. This will mean he loses his 100% record of winning all he can enter; no big deal, but nice to have all the same. I found Lurchers can enter at six, being working dogs, retiring a year earlier. Does this make them like women? Don't think so; sorry just a passing thought .

I decided not to put Barney in the over 23 inch smooth coat dog class, and enter into the veteran, which was taking place in another of the 4 showrings. Given there were an estimated 250 dogs there, some coming from all over the UK, and all the champions, I was only entering to make up the numbers, and there were again an estimated 20 plus dogs in the ring. The judge did give Barney a lot of attention, but you can't imagine my surprise and delight to be placed first. I took my prizes to the car, where the strenuous days boating (see later story) and the early wake up to watch the racing suddenly tired me, so I decided to come home. Hope I wasn't missed if they needed me for Best In Show; something we definitely wouldn't have won anyway. Must be one of the most enjoyable shows I've ever attended.

The Boating

Anyway, the boating. At the end of my last piece I had just done what I had initially intended doing; well, sort of; and paid the price for my stupidity of sleeping on a damp sleeping bag (I had been warned by my Granny). Thankfully I do seem to have survived, and have recovered a form of normality, although I don't have the marvelous health and fitness I enjoyed in the spring; but I'm not complaining. I've become firm friends with Sally and Ken, my new found friends I've met through the net, and who I've now taken a couple of eventful trips with. I've met more friends old and new, and we have had a few short, enjoyable, and uneventful rides. Of course this should be the ultimate aim, and all the hard work must have been worth it; it does however leave the writing a bit sparse, I mean 'Had a nice cruise to [wherever] in sunshine, which we all enjoyed'.

Thankfully, for the purpose of writing two trips taken with Ken were not quite so straightforward, although just as enjoyable, if not more so than the others.

He had bought an old fishing boat, less engine on the South Coast and, exactly as I found with Wud-E-Nuff, organizing the move can be difficult, as well as costly. First she has to be moved to somewhere she can be lifted onto a trailer or lorry. Suitable transport has to be found, all of which is very expensive. At the destination, another crane or slipway must be found, then the boat must be moved to the mooring.

In the end, he managed to find someone to move her on a trailer, so the boat could be put into the water at the slipway just downstream from my mooring at Bardney Lock. As Tommy (his boat) had no engine, I readily agreed to tow him to Boston, where he has obtained a mooring on the tidal river.

I was there when Tommy arrived; she looked a lot larger, and heavier than the photos; never mind, I'm sure Wud-E-Nuff would cope (question is, would I). The next morning I met them at Southrey, going down from Bardney on my boat. We attached the towing lines, and set off with no hesitation, despite it being a bit windy. What I had not foreseen was that Tommy weighed twice as much as Wud-E-Nuff, and the crosswind would blow her sideways, jack-knifing and turning me into the bank. With no means of steering or stopping, this caused a little excitement, to say the least. This happened almost as soon as I set off; luckily just missing the surprised fisherman on the bank, who must have wondered just what we were doing; he wasn't the only one. However we managed to proceed, and with Ken on his boat trying to help with the steering we managed to maintain a course down the middle of the river. Later we found out the steering on Tommy was broken, which did nothing to help the situation. I had his son with me, but couldn't leave to let him steer my boat, and the ropes we had correctly attached needed adjustment. We just had to struggle on.

At Kirkstead we were going to moor briefly, but with an almost uncontrollable boat, and limited mooring space, I decided to proceed to the next at Tattershall. Here, we moored easily with no other boats in sight, but the wind blew the boats around before we could securely tie them. I readjusted the ropes and after a short break, including a cup of tean and change of crew, with Ken's elder son joining us, we set off again. This time we had made a lot better job of adjusting the towing ropes, and things were going great. Ken could leave the steering of his boat, and set about sorting some of the inevitable junk on board.

Where the river widened I was keeping more to the right hand side (boats drive on the right) when a gust of wind suddenly blew Tommy across, jack-knifing me once more into the bank. With the damage limited to a slight dint in the stern ladder, jangled nerves, and hurt pride, we set off for the remainder of the journey, keeping well into the middle of the wide river. A single sculler from the Boston Rowing Club was approaching, and I carefully steered a course to avoid him, passing with safety. Shortly afterwards I saw a double scull rowing upstream, and I attempted to do the same; however they altered course, heading towards the centre of the river, and straight across our path. Attempting any sharp turns or maneuvers would only result in more problems, without altering our position, so I shouted a warning, and they easily avoided a collision. The crosswind had blown us just left of centre of the river, and I got some verbal abuse for being on the wrong side. You would have thought grown men would know it's easier to avoid a small boat towing another in a brisk wind, when they are in a rowing boat; oh well, nothing unusual there I suppose.

We arrived at the BW moorings at Boston shortly afterwards, and found a double mooring, which I easily managed to enter. I had forgotten to give his friend and family the key to unlock the gate into the mooring, so we had to manage to moor the boats up ourselves, but this too proved little difficulty, and willing hands soon appeared from other boats. Safely moored we left the boats, and after a brief word with the lock keeper, returned to Bardney where I had left my car, and home. The next morning we again met at Bardney leving my car there again, going to Boston in Ken's to bring Wud-E-Nuff back. After the difficulties encountered on the way, I realized to try to tow Tommy through the grand sluice lock and down the tidal river the last mile, would have been a little foolhardy, so sadly had to leave Ken to find another way. We had a really good trip back on Wud-E-Nuff, with Sally and one of his sons coming with me to Tattershall, then swapping crew again before returning back to Bardney. A trip we all enjoyed.

The next week Ken arranged to borrow an outboard from someone, not always the easiest thing to find, and so we all trooped down to Boston once again. His friend had made a bracket to take the outboard, which had to be bolted onto the back of the boat. Once fitted the outboard was mounted, and started easily. A trial run upstream to the empty river found the steering defective. The steering bracket was broken, so a hasty repair or solution was necessary. Tommy was taken down and moored close to the grand sluice, the lock that separates the river from the sea (the name alone sends shivers, doesn't it). I helped his friend make a tiller for the outboard from the bits and pieces aboard Tommy. The steering on the boat would not work properly, and the rudder had little effect using the outboard anyway. The time arrived when the incoming tide had reached the level of the Witham, and the lock gates could be opened. It was a calm day, and the still river made for an easy trip to the mooring a mile or so away. So much so, that by the time I had walked back to my car, which I had to park a short distance away, and negotiated the traffic across Boston, Ken was safely moored on Tommy, preparing to go home. This will make a nice little first adventure for me on tidal waters, to go to his boat on Wud-E-Nuff; that will have to be saved for next year though.

The next criuse on Wud-E-Nuff was to Lincoln, with an old and good friend I rarely see nowadays. This was taken in good weather, and an incident free ride saw us approaching Stamp End lock. A boat was in the lock, a rare sight on this little used river. We moored below and got off to help. Once they were through I got back onto Wud-E-Nuff, and entered the lock. I moored successfully with the help of my friend, and put my key into the control panel, which allows access to the buttons to raise and lower the guillotine gate. On the upper side were some boats from the Lincoln Boat Club, who were taking their cruise to Boston for their Bank Holiday meet. I had hoped to join them, but something had come up as usual. I speeded up the opening of the gate by using a trick I had learned (shush), something a club member was interested in, as he looked on with grinning interest.

I waved goodbye, as I passed, and headed to Lincoln to moor under the willow tree, my favourite spot. I had just moored up, when I realized I'd left my keys, which included my car and house keys, in the lock control panel. A rushed walk back, conscious of the fact I must try not to hurt myself, saw us approaching the lock, just as the last boat was leaving. I yelled to them, almost hurting my voice when I thought they had not heard. However I was told where they had safely put my keys. I later learned a club member had thoughtfully rang the pub I had mentioned we were going to, with his mobile number, to tell me where they were. Once again there is no substitute for experience, as this must have happened to many at this lock; in fact I've heard it is quite a common occurrence.

A steady walk back on this nice day, gave me the opportunity to tell my friend where I had worked, as the road runs alongside the factory. Happier again, although still mad with myself, we went back to the boat, before spending a short time in Lincoln centre, and market. It is a lot easier going shopping by boat than car, with endless free 'parking' in the city centre, right outside the shops, however we were only looking. After a cup of tea, made on the boat we carried on, my friend enjoying the short trip through Lincoln and under the high street through the 'Glory Hole'.

We continued through the Brayford Pool and along the Fosse Dyke to The Pyewipe Inn, a pub we first frequented on coming to Lincoln when I still lived at home 30 miles away. After a couple of pints and a short walk, we embarked for the trip home. Once back at Stamp End we found others just entering the lock, so were straight in. Also first out this luck certainly made up for the previous glitch of leaving my keys. This normally quiet river was rather busy, due to boat clubs taking the opportunity to go to Boston for the weekend. We decided to try the small outboard I had bought. It needed a run, and soon we were purring quietly down the river. After a while we decided to use both engines, just to see if it made any difference. There was no noticable increase in speed, only the following boats remarked how well mine went, when they arrived at Bardney Lock. Boating, especially with an old boat is not like arriving back in your car. You can't just pull on the handbrake and lock the door. The sterntube has to be greased, to seal it, and prevent water entering, also portable stoves have to be put away, electric turned off, canopies refitted, ropes put away, and a small amount of work should be done before leaving. After securing Wud-E-Nuff, we helped the others through the lock, returning the favour from Stamp End, before coming home from another enjoyable day, and one of the last 'challenges' I have set myself i.e. go to the Pyewipe Inn and have a pint.

Next, I went to Chapel Hill, an uneventful trip, except I took my old friend (the one who was with me when I fell into Stamp End lock). It was a gorgeous Sunday, arguably one of the best days ever for cruising down the river on a boat. I had arranged to meet him at my boat, however an early start saw me up and raring to go, so I rang and met just downstream at the bridge. I arrived to find two narrowboats, both from the lock, and two cruisers from the Lincoln Boat Club; full mooring and I knew everyone. After a bit of shunting about I managed to get the nose into the small gap, and Rick my friend had just arrived, so jumped aboard; perfect timing. Only 'hmmf, your boat smells of diesel' 'the smoke is coming in' 'these cushions are damp' (he's 47 and doesn't know water's wet?) on and on all day. Ok I'm pleased I went, and he has sort of apologized, probably had a row at home, however to do nothing but moan all day about one of lifes' pleasures; guess it takes all sorts. I suppose I've been guilty of similar in the past.

I have also had two impromptu short trips when I have met old and new friends, and have decided, on the spur of the moment. All have enjoyed themselves.

Finally we had time to take the trip up the, supposedly weed free Kyme. Ken agreed to come with me, so I set off on the boat to meet him at Chapel Hill. He has a 70-mile journey, and arrived with perfect timing shortly after I got there, accompanied by his younger son. We set off, having little difficulty reaching the lock, where we had a bit of fun winding the handle, and securing the boat at this antiquated lock. We had a more or less uneventful trip up to South Kyme, with Ken taking several photographs of the swans flying in front of the boat. The best one is in the photo album. There was still a bit of weed, but slow progress was possible with no real holdup. The water level was slightly low, allowing us passage under the bridge, so after tying up before the bridge, we untied and journed into the village. Worth every minute, only we did get stuck in the weed just before deciding to turn around. We also chatted pleasantly to a few villagers. We stopped to take a few pictures of Wud-E-Nuff in the village before leaving.

The trip from Chapel Hill had taken about 1-1/2 hours, so I was expecting the return to be about the same. I was a little optimistic however. Once under the bridge we quickly realized the weed problem worse than before. Whether due to the river flowing with us, and the wind against us I don't know, however soon we were blown sideways in a patch of horrendous 'cobweb' weed, being neither able to go forwards or backwards. I eventually got free, having to return upstream to have another attempt. Going faster with a weed free prop, I bulldozed my way through the first patch, but got stuck again in the next, only a short distance further. This time there was no getting out, and after what seemed like 20 minutes we eventually reached the bank, where Ken valiantly leapt off, rope in hand. I didn't want to run the prop into the shallow riverbed, and damage it some more; it already has some damage from my previous grounding. I got off with the stern rope to help, and we pulled her through. We carried on towing for about 1/4 mile (there's never a horse or donkey when you need one) when I decided I could drive with one person on the bank holding the rope to prevent the wind from blowing the boat sideways. This worked until the weed, now under the boat, blocked the water inlet, causing it to overheat. Blimey, this inlet is UNDERNEATH. Was I going to have to go in the river; there must be another way. Luckily there was, and I poked some wire through the seacock and cleared enough for water flow.

We tried the outboard, bought for just such an occasion, but the thick weed stopped this immediately. I got off and we towed again for a short distance. We had only travelled about 1/3 of the distance back. At this rate it would take us until midnight, plus we were both pushing our limits, having health issues. Ken has arthritis and has been in a wheelchair only recently. After yet another patch of weed, requiring towing and weed clearing, the river cleared and we made better progress. Only now do I realize we had 'made a rod for our own backs' almost literally. If you remember from previous reports, the guillotine has a low-geared handle, needing to be turned 6 or 7 hundred turns. There is a notice to lower it before leaving, as a paddle is missing from the lock, however as water was still flowing over the adjoining sluice I thought it would be ok to leave it raised for the short time we would be away. The extra flow must have dragged this weed from the bottom. I forget the name, but it is a Japanese weed, finding it's way into the river from fish tanks, or so I'm told. Having no predators or control, it rapidly takes over. It certainly stopped us.

Back on the Witham once again, we set off at a brisk pace, the gathering darkness not an hour away. I started the outboard, well I thought I had, and a little later, corrected my mistake and we bowled along back to Bardney. I was once again surprised at the difference in boating on the small tributary, and boating on the Witham. I suppose the only comparison can be the daily commute to work in the dry, and after a blizzard. All agreed it was worth the effort though, and I have some photos of Wud-E-Nuff under the road bridge, only achievable with lower water levels, but not so low there is not enough to get there.

We made good time, only having to travel in the dark from Kirkstead. At Southrey several boats were moored across the river. No doubt they thought no one else about. They were easily seen, although it was a good job I had fitted the new lights, and removed the anchor and life ring for visibility. When we set off from Chapel Hill I found the electric's dead, just when I need them to work, as it was the first trip in the dark. It turned out to be a simple fault of a poor connection in the excuse for a fuse box, but still a job to be done on route. This passed the time though, and we were back at Kirkstead almost before I knew it. Ken enjoys driving my boat, and for my part, it is nice to have a trustworthy and competent person to do it for a change.

This is not the end of boating for this year, although much will be going and sitting on the boat, with the fan heater to keep warm. I am able, weather permitting to go boating all the year round, although the lower Witham has low water levels from November until April. But Christmas shopping to Lincoln by boat.......any takers.