The next noteworthy event was the Dawncraft BBQ. I travelled by car this time, 50 miles in 50 minutes, without breaking the speed limit. Bit of a change from 3 long days on the boat.

We all had a good time, met some new friends, and I had taken the guitar, along with a CD to sing along to and the words. Well other than a quick session with Roger at the car, it was the worst singsong I've ever known. Roger had to leave, as he'd ridden almost 100 miles on his Norton chop he built in the 70s. So no one sang, and to make matters worse, a video was made and put on the net. Now I don't mind, but would like it if my 'claim to fame' weren't to have the worst music video on the Internet. I have made amends to some extent, even going to the trouble of buying a webcam, but couldn't get it to work. However if you search YouTube for 'MalcOfLincoln' you might find a poor quality video.

June and July were a washout...

And then it rained, the worst in living memory for June and July. So the river was in flood for over 2 weeks.

Make sure you check out the photos I took. Pictures (click)

This put paid to my boating for several weeks, however it did have one advantage in that it washed the weed away, which was as bad as I've seen it, and could have seriously hindered boating if it has been allowed to grow unchecked.

My boat was safely moored on the visitors floating pontoon at Bardney, but the boats on the fixed finger moorings were not. One sank when the legs were caught under the rail by the bank, however my friend Roy has been after this boat for years, and it is now cheap enough. He finally bought it last week, at the end of October.

When I saw all the water flowing through Lincoln, I phoned a friend with a boat moored at Bardney. He said he had just come back from wading almost up to his waist to visit his boat. The water was above the finger moorings, and he had tied a few together to stop them sustaining damage, or even sinking when the water receded, but the cold had beaten him. I said I would join him and help with the rest the next day, so went down early, as he had to get back to work. I arrived around 7.15am and leaving my car on the high ground at the bridge, waded through the water in jeans and trainers. I had brought some dry clothes, and my new waders and wellies were on my boat.

I helped Martin to tie all the boats together that were over the fingers, about 10 in all I think, then waded down to Wud, where I collected my wellies and waders. Making my way very carefully back along the moorings, I got back to the car and got dried and changed. Donned in wellies and waders I thought I would go back and take some pictures, but when I got near to the lock, the water had started to flow. There was a real danger of my being swept off my feet, so I returned on the footpath, the highest part to walk back. Others had arrived, and I asked someone to take a photo, then went to the car and drove to Bardney Road Bridge, where I walked back along the cycle track to take the pictures.

Little did I realise, but the safest you can be wading through water is in shorts and sandals, or trainers. There was a tragedy over this period when an elderly man went to check his boat at Torksey. He had been told it was all right, and there was no need, but he insisted. Somehow he somehow fell out of the dinghy, and was wearing chest waders. These either filled with water and dragged him down, or filled with air, keeping his head underwater. There was no way the bystanders could save him, and had to watch as he was swept away. Sadly they found his body after a search much later. So unless you have a proper dry, or wet suit, swimming trunks are the safest bet.

The floods recede.....Boating starts again.

Well the floods subsided, and people could start boating again. I had a Boston trip with Roy, and one or two to Lincoln. The Landlord at the pub at Southrey had bought a boat, and asked Roy to help him bring it back. Roy in turn asked me if I could go to Stamp End in mine, as this boat had not been used for a couple of years.

Well I had a pleasant trip up, and the boat he had just bought ran well. In fact it was a bit of a bargain, as a woman had bought it two years previously, used it a couple of times, then abandoned it. Although the Harbourmasters office is now shut in the Brayford Pool, the trust is still in existence, and the boat had been sold by the Trust to pay for the outstanding moorings. So we returned without incident. I left Wud moored on the visitor mooring again at Bardney, going back to Southrey in the car.

I had a trip to Lincoln on my own, mooring the boat on the BW visitor moorings just under the Road Bridge exiting the Brayford. I had intended taking it back the next day, but in the end left it a couple of days. Made for a nice little trip anyway, even if I did have to do it on my own again.

At Christmas, I was encouraged to learn to play a few chords on the guitar again. My one big failure in life I suppose. When I was 17 I had picked up a guitar, and then learnt the chords, but failed to get any further. I had not touched one for over 10 years, until on the riverbank at Southrey last year, where I was of course worse than awful. I told Roy I would relearn to show him if I could get a guitar given to me. Well his friend who is an excellent musician and singer gave me one of hers. Then another friend gave me his broken one, which I have been able to repair.

So armed with the new, if limited musical ability, I had been looking forward to a music session at Southrey; similar to the one we had last year, and finally got the chance on the night the landlord was leaving. I took Wud to Southrey, so I had somewhere to sleep; alcohol is also part of these sessions, and I seem to be having my share this year. No doubt Sonia is to blame, but I don't think it'll do me any long-term damage to let my hair down for a while (grin). Jill and Keith had sent a text message to say they were on the river, so I phoned Jill, who said they would come to Southrey. Roy was there in the afternoon, but left, however later in the evening, he returned with his friends, on the request of a phone call from Jill. As it was the last night, and we were alone in the Lounge, the landlord let us play in the pub. Not the best session ever, but very enjoyable all the same. I didn't even have a hangover the next day; in fact I seem to have grown out of them at last.

An 'Interesting' trip on the canals.

I then had an excursion onto the canals on a small narrowboat. Someone had asked on the Internet for help to move a small narrowboat, as he had never been boating, and didn't know how to steer one, or work locks. As no one replied after a couple of days, I said I might be able to help, thinking that it could be an opportunity to see more of our waterways. I had heard nothing for months, having even forgotten about it, when I got the email saying he was now ready. I asked him to phone, but ended up phoning myself. Almost wish I hadn't to be honest, however it did me no harm and did get Barney and myself out for a couple of days.

The owner was an artist, and a bit of a dreamer. He had bought this old boat in April, and was trying to move it over one hundred miles. Come the end of July and he had only seen it the once, when he bought it, didn't even know if it was still there. It was moored at a small residential basin at Burton on Trent, and I had arranged to meet him mid morning. When I arrived I discovered the boat was still there. He had not renewed the moorings, and it had been moved to the other side of the canal, and there it sat, looking a bit derelict. I waited for a while, chatting to some of the people who lived on their boats, and discovered a bit about the one he had bought. After a while I walked round to do a brief inspection. Lifting the covers on the large cruiser stern, the engine did in fact appear as if it might work. Under a rough looking seat was an impressive battery bank, and flashing a jump lead I found on the top across a couple of them, there appeared to be life left. I walked back, had a sit in the car, then went for a short walk into the town, getting a bag of chips and can of drink for lunch. I had yet another walk round to the boat, and then coming back sat in the car. I was on the point of coming home, and giving it up as a bad job when they arrived. He had my mobile number, but didn't think to phone and let me know they had been delayed. His wife, a pleasant Australian drove, as he couldn't drive; hence wanting someone to show him how to steer a boat, and start it etc.

We walked back over the canal to his boat, where he produced a set of keys, and opened the cabin door with a struggle. Inside it was not as bad as I had imagined. He had said it would be a camping trip, and I had come prepared with sleeping back and inflatable bed, but I've seen much worse insides on old, neglected boats.

I took his keys, and found the ignition key, which fitted and turned the switch after a bit of effort. I had already found the battery isolator switch under the engine covers, so turned it on and tried the engine. To my amazement, it actually started. I had dipped the diesel tank and found a couple of inches in the bottom, so knew it had a little fuel, but was surprised the heater plugs all seemed to be working. Maybe the old boat would manage a few miles after all. I stopped the engine, then at my suggestion; we pulled the boat back with ropes and pushed it to the other side of the canal where the cars were.

Helped by his wife, we loaded our not insignificant provision onto the boat. The first lock was only a short walk away, so his wife and daughter came with us. Just a pity I had not checked the toilet. A portapotty resided in this small compartment, the rest of the cabin being one open space. We were moored next to a BW waste disposal and the next morning I discovered the toilet was full to the brim when I needed to use it.

We finished loading provisions and I started the engine, and aided by his wife, cast the ropes off and gingerly selected forward. Moving slowly and carefully, I negotiated the right hand turn onto the Trent and Mersey Canal, and headed off, quickly arriving at the first lock. Now I've not had a lot of experience of handling narrowboats, but handling boats on inland waterways is a simple task, capable of most people. However this chap almost proved to be the exception, as I was later to find out. The boat however turned out to be the worst vehicle of any type I have ever driven. The engine, an elderly 2.2 BMC diesel was in fact quite powerful for this relatively small narrowboat. But the design was little more than a bathtub with a tiller attached.

A new cabin had recently been built. Made of fibreglass over wood, this had yet to have the windows put in, so the windows in the front door lighted the gloomy interior. It did however add to the lightness of this steel boat, compared to other narrowboats that are usually longer and therefore much heavier. When moving the boat did in fact more or less go where I pointed it, but as soon as you put it in neutral, all steering was lost, making it almost impossible to bring alongside.

We arrived at the lock, and I managed somehow to get the boat alongside the bank long enough to get off with the boats excuse for mooring ropes. Once tied up I took everyone to the lock, where I carefully talked them through this simple, old-fashioned procedure. His wife quickly grasped what was to be done, but he, on the other hand proved to be much more of a challenge. I began to learn what it must be like to be a pre-school teacher. When we had got the boat through the lock, we said goodbye to his wife and daughter, and set off alone.

I experimented with the boat a little, trying to find better ways of steering, plus going faster, slower and reversing for stopping. One thing it did well was stop, being lighter than most narrowboats, and with a fairly large engine by modern day standards. This was something I was to be very thankful for the next morning.

A tougher job than I had envisaged.

We plodded on, and I showed him what to do at each lock, however by the fourth one my patience was wearing a little thin. He had managed to raise the paddle and open the gate, so I asked him to drop the paddle, as he had forgotten at the previous lock, and I had to get off the boat. Now there is no shame in that, as many people, myself included do on occasion, but it was the fact he stood there in a trance like state, and I had to ask him three times, the third time talking to him in a slow loud voice, as if to a very young child.

We called for fuel when I saw a sign for some. This involved backing the boat through an archway the width of the boat, at ninety degrees to the canal. I knew this would challenge my handling skills, and the fact the wind was now blowing the boat sideways didn't help. Of course with a bit of shoving from the bank this was soon accomplished, and he filled the tank with fuel, and I even persuaded him to buy a decent rope.

When we had set off again I let him have a go at steering when we were on part of the canal with no other boats around. He actually managed to steer the boat after a short while, so maybe it wasn't an impossible task after all. He had finally got the hang of the locks, something I also enjoy doing, as long as I'm fit. I'm enthusiastic and rush up to help, sending any boat that may be in the lock on their way, and shutting the gate after them before emptying (or filling) the lock for our turn. This proved to be my undoing in a way, as after a couple of locks with a boat following us, the man from this boat came up and asked sarcastically if I ever shut gates. Well I explained how I did it, and why, said I was sorry etc. at which point we shook hands and became friends......well sociable anyway.

The chap I was with had bought the boat with the intention of living on it for his periods in the UK, as his wife was going back to her native Australia. He wanted it over 100 miles away, so had a long journey ahead of him. As I doubt the boat had covered much more than a few miles for many years, I doubted it would make the trip, in fact had marvelled it had made it so far, with little preparation. However it was running more or less ok, except the engine had developed a rather severe misfire at tickover, once it had warmed up. I had not planned on more than a couple of days or so, and wanted to help get the boat as far as possible. His attitude wasn't helping. He wasn't deliberately being rude or selfish, it was just his way, but it did make helping him a little difficult. Dusk was approaching when we arrived at Fradley Junction, which appeared a good place to moor for the night. Approaching the last lock the canal was lined with moored boats both sides. The largish engine was good at sending this small narrowboat along at tickover, but I had to keep it running a little faster. Modern canal boats are built for pleasure purpose only, and many boaters resent being rocked about by passing boats. While I agree you don't want your cuppa spilt, I fail to understand this attitude. If you don't want to rock about get a caravan on land.

So as we passed at possibly 2-1/2 mph, as recorded on my new handheld GPS I had with me, I was almost prepared for the comment. As we approached this smart long boat I could see the owner, an elderly gent, standing on the stern, looking with a permanent scowl etched on his unhappy face. Going a bit fast aren't we, he said sarcastically, while looking down on the decrepit contraption I was standing on. Smiling, I replied not at all, it's as slow as it goes. At which he disappeared inside the object of his desire.

I did however make the only real mistake of the day, when in the lock only a few moments later. Although not the most by any standard, this canal has quite a few locks, and he appeared to have at last got the hang of this simple task. As soon as I had entered, he shut the gate, and then walked to the top end and opened the paddles. I had become familiar with the swish of water taking the boat backwards, then forwards as the water entered, and countered with the gears to hold the boat steady. However I was taken by surprise at the speed the water was pushing the boat. Now the forward and reverse level was a small horizontal affair, with up for reverse and down for forward. Had this lever been vertical, this would in fact be the reverse of what was required, so when the boat failed to respond, as it was at tickover, I then put the boat in forward. The result of this error was to hit the front gate of the lock hard. Now these steel boats are made to take hard knocks, as are the waterways and locks, so the rope fender, on the front took the force without any problems. The only damage was spilt water bottle, so we escaped my error without consequence. Luckily not too many of the bystanders noticed either. Lesson one though. Be more careful in narrow locks.

Fradley junction is just that, a junction between two canals, and so immediately though the lock we turned south onto the Coventry Canal. Lines of boats were moored here, and with the late hour, I craftily sneaked a mooring at the front. Technically you are not supposed to moor here, as this is the mooring space for boats waiting to use the lock, but as we would be away early this did not matter.

I fed Barney and took him up the towpath for a short walk. Returning I made my bed up for the night and we then went to the attractive canalside pub for a meal. I waited a while, but he didn't seem in a hurry to get me a drink, so I ordered my own. Offering to buy him one, thinking it might prompt a little hospitality, he only said he was teetotal so I bought him a coke. I also ordered and paid for my own meal. Now I didn't expect vast payment for my offer of help, but don't think a meal and pint was too much to expect. Tomorrow would have to be a good day, or I'd be jumping ship.

We had a nice meal, went back to the boat and after a bit of chatting, went to sleep. After the usual restless night I got up, walked Barney and then found the full toilet. There was a gas bottle, but no gas. I wasn't too bothered, as this meant no danger from gas explosions, however it also meant I had to go without my morning cuppa as well as my toilet. In the end I found there was in fact just enough space left at the top. I wasn't planning on hanging around too long, so he'd just have to put up with the smell.

We were soon ready to leave, and as I was thinking of this being the last day, I showed him once again how to start the engine, and the controls. He had steered the boat yesterday, so I worked the gear lever and put the boat in forward, after pushing the bow out from the bank to avoid the moored boats. Well he steered into the canal, but then turned the tiller THE WRONG WAY steering straight into the line of moored boats. I jumped to the controls, slamming the boat in reverse and revving the engine, and avoided a collision by inches. Now as I've said, boating especially narrowboating is a contact pastime, however to be rammed amidships while having your breakfast is not to be advised. Serious injury could result if the person was just pouring boiling water, or cooking. The day was not starting well, no toilet, no cup of tea, and now badly frayed nerves.

Do I Jump Ship.

I took over and we set off, myself wishing I'd never bothered coming, however it was a nice day, and the canal wound it's way pleasantly along the flat countryside, meaning the absence of locks, so progress could be made. I let him steer again on the deserted stretches. After a while he got a bit stressed, so I took over again, but later did get the hang of it enough, even to avoid a boat we met on a bend. I also gave him instruction of the engine controls, and saw him write them down, with direction arrows in a notebook. This book also had a diagram of steering, so maybe?

One boat we met mentioned one of the Glascote locks was shut until evening. I discovered this was the way we were going, and after passing Fazely junction where we again followed the Coventy Canal, we soon came upon the lock. Workmen were in evidence so I walked up for a chat to find out what had happened. Apparently the cill had collapsed letting the lock leak very badly, so it was taking too long to fill. Temporary work was expected to take all afternoon. To pass the time we walked back to Fazely to try to find a shop that sold boating stuff. We didn't but did get somewhere to buy a snack and a drink. I had to buy my own again of course, as even my prompt that we might get a cup of tea in a pub we passed was ignored.

We returned to the boat, stopping briefly at the river where a small viaduct takes the canal overhead. We had taken a boat over so this was another new canal experience for me. Arriving back at the boat I chatted to the others that were waiting, as I usually do. He had by now managed to get enough motivation to start clearing the back of the boat, filled with leaves, rubbish and debris that collect on unattended boats. I had tried to persuade him to make the boat look less derelict as we motored along. Being seen on an unlicensed boat was bad enough in itself, without being mistaken for a 'river qypsy'. One chap with another small boat, also single-handed was someone I got on well with, and later, followed into the locks, as both our boats would fit.

The workmen did sterling stuff, getting the lock working in record time, so before we knew it we were underway again. As is my way, I wandered up and helped once a few of the waiting boats had gone through. It was soon our turn, and when the lock was almost full, the chap in front forced the lock gate open with his boat. In the second of the two locks I was on my boat, so pushed his boat hard to do the same. The largish engine did in fact work well at this job.

After the delay we wanted to press on, so I pushed the boat a little. I wasn't trying to break it, but had lost all interest in helping this seemingly unappreciative gent. With the usual slowing to pass moored boats, I had dropped back slightly from our new found companion, and rounded a bend to see him mooring up. I quickly decided I'd stop and ask for a kettle of hot water for a cup of tea, something I should have course done while waiting at the lock. He gladly obliged, gently chiding me for my earlier oversight. The chap of the boat I was on seemed to have gained a little interest, and was eagerly chatting to someone with a similar sized boat. The day had improved, however we soon decided to press on, and get through a flight of locks just a short distance in front. This is also a good stopping off place for the night.

However on turning the key to start the engine, the starter just groaned, and there was a large cloud of smoke. Thinking it was a battery connection I investigated, but it turned out to be coming from the starter. Had be been more forthcoming, and a bit more generous I would have probably have felt more like helping, however as it was I quickly too the opportunity to end our trip. My friend Ken, who lives not to far away, had already said he would come to my rescue, was it required, so a quick phone call and he was on his way to take me back to my car at Burton on Trent. We were only a mile or so where his parents lived, and where he grew up, so it was an easy task to walk the short distance from the boat to a road bridge, carrying my few possessions. The only thing is that in the rush I left my good yachmaster wellies, 'won' in a deal with Roy in exchange for a pair of cheap waders........Oh well, never mind.

Ken soon arrived and was in fact happy to show me his childhood hunting ground. Apart from visiting his parents, he rarely gets to travel the local roads, as I do with the ones around my 'home' so I knew exactly what he meant. He soon had me back in Burton on Trent, where I had the relative simple task, compared to the last couple of days, of driving back to Lincoln.

I had experienced canals on a narrowboat, and did it alter my opinion. Well no, to be honest. I realised all the more how lucky I am to live where I do and the local waterways I have to enjoy.