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2015 08 30 Newsletter – A cruise to Llangollen: Stoke to Ellesmere

Discretion is the better part of valour. Rather than spend another night moored next to Westport Lake on the north western outskirts of Stoke-on-Trent, and suffer the unwanted attention of the small number of brain dead youth who like to regularly torment passing boaters who have the cheek to moor on “their” patch, on a rainy Sunday afternoon I cruised for half an hour before mooring close to the entrance of Harecastle tunnel.

The decision was a wise one. I was able to fill my nearly empty water tank then moor second in the queue for the tunnel passage the following morning. I had a quick chat with the tunnel keeper before he signed off for the day. I asked him about the tragic death of what I understood to be a lone boater last year.

The keeper told me that the male boater had been accompanied by his wife. The inquest determined that the male boater had banged his head on the very low roof in the centre of the tunnel and fallen into the water. His wife panicked and thrust the boat into reverse to stop the craft and allow him to climb on board. Tragically for both, the boat moved over him fatally injuring him with the propeller.

The keeper returned at 7.30am to turn on the enormous and very noisy tunnel fans, briefed the crew of the hire boat in front of me, then me and finally the crew of a third boat which arrived just as we were about to set off.

He checked our lights and horns, told us how to alert the keepers either end in case of an accident and breakdown, emphasised the importance of maintaining normal cruising speed inside the tunnel to reduce the likelihood of hitting the uneven tunnel sides, and told us repeatedly to stand within the cabin’s profile and to keep a very close eye on the low tunnel roof, especially in the tunnel’s centre section.

Once in the tunnel I wondered what all the fuss was about. The channel was fourteen feet wide and as high as any other tunnel I’ve been through. I cruised along quite happily without a care in the world until I noticed a rocky outcrop jutting several feet into the channel. If I had been anywhere other than dead centre, there would have been a very expensive tear in my cratch cover, nasty scratches down my cabin sides and two broken fender hangers.

After the first outcrop, I kept an eye out for any more. There were several but forewarned is forearmed so they weren’t a problem, which is just as well because I had to focus on avoiding the tunnel roof. At 5’10” I’m not a very tall boater but the roof looked very, very close. Because I’m stupid, I raised my hand above my head to find out how close. The sudden sharp pain and missing skin from my knuckles told me all I needed to know so I spent several hundred metres cruising at full speed with my head almost resting on the hatch in front of me to make sure that my head didn’t suffer the same fate as my hand.

All the time I kept an eye out for the ghostly and headless apparition of the wonderfully named but unfortunately murdered Kit Crewbucket. Kit apparently ate her jewels to hide them from the boatman she and her husband were travelling with. The boatman cut off her head to get to the jewels, then dumper her in the cut. I don’t believe in ghosts so Kit must have been saving herself for someone who does.

After a quarter of a mile, the jagged rocks of the low roof was replaced by higher, smoother and much safer bricks and after another twenty minute’s effortless cruising I was spat out of the north entrance with its bright orange water courtesy of local mining.

After sailing past Hardings Wood Junction and the entrance to the Macclesfield canal I reached the first of twenty six locks at Red Bull descending over two hundred and twenty feet to Wheelock and the Cheshire Plain. The series of locks is known as “Heartbreak Hill”

Far from breaking my heart, the day’s cruise uplifted it. The far reaching views of gentle Cheshire farmland are beautiful, especially after a day spent negotiating Stoke’s industrial backside.

Many of the locks on this flight are duplicated which means that there are two narrow locks in tandem. You can use either side to go up or down which helps speed up the flight considerably. Unfortunately at least half a dozen of them are broken, most obviously so.

CRT contractors were working on one of the obviously inaccessible locks. I can’t remember which, they all passed in a bit of a blur, but I think it was Hall’s lock. The two guys were erecting a nine feet tall, unmissable steel sign announcing that the lock was closed, even though the lock chamber itself was hidden behind impenetrable undergrowth. I think even the most intellectually challenged boater would have been able to work that one out.

Beneath the broken lock six boats waited for their turn to ascend. The lead boat had been waiting for just over an hour. The longest I waited at a lock all day was five minutes. Lucky me.

At Rode Heath at midday with eleven locks down and fifteen to go I stopped for some much needed lunch by some rustic picnic tables overlooking a beguiling valley. Rode Heath is a pretty little water side village with many of the houses facing the canal.

After another hour or so and half a dozen locks I passed under a hectic M6 at Hassall Green. I passed over these locks many a time in a previous life, usually on a Friday night two hours into a painful three hour journey in rush hour traffic from my Warwickshire home to my mother in law’s house in Leyland. On this occasion I was fourteen days into a sixty day cruise at a far gentler and more relaxing pace.

A further eighty feet drop through the six locks of the Wheelock flight and a quick stop at the CRT rubbish disposal point on the outskirts of the village, feeling rather jaded after ten active cruising hours, I looked for the first convenient place to stop.

It wasn’t my favourite mooring ever. I had to dig through dense nettles to uncover the Armco rail on one side, and peer through dense shrubbery on the other to catch a glimpse of cows and open fields, but it was a secure mooring on reasonably deep water, so I was happy.

I was happy until I was part way through cooking my evening meal. I smelled something unwholesome and unpleasant, like rotting meat. I sniffed the meat I was about to cook, then examined the fridge contents. Nothing offensive there at all so I was at a loss until I glanced at my Pearson’s guide during dinner and discovered the stench’s source. I was moored downwind of Wheelock sewage works. Ah well, you can’t win them all.

On Tuesday morning, in no particular rush to go anywhere at all, apart from as far away from the sewage plant as possible, I cruised sedately along my final five miles of the Trent and Mersey canal towards a very pleasant surprise at Booth Lane top lock.

An impressively large and striking cormorant stood on the balance beam, wings spread wide to dry. As I pulled on to the lock landing, the bird launched itself into the air and flew inches above my head to a quieter roost further down the canal.

Once through King’s lock, I waited last in line of three boats waiting to make the turn onto the Shropshire Union Middlewich Branch and straight into Wardle lock.

I stopped for the day almost immediately on visitor moorings close to the town centre and a Tesco store. I stocked up with enough food for a week, then returned to the boat to place an order with Tesco Direct.

I have a bit of a problem with my composting toilet. The toilet itself is working perfectly. Three months after having it fitted I’m still thrilled with it. It’s easy to use, ordour free, apart from a small problem created by me which I’ll tell you about in a minute, and easy to empty… providing you have the right tools.

I purchased a “genuine” army folding spade for burying the toilet’s solid waste. If this was a genuine and effective soldier’s spade, I have to assume that they did most of their soldiering in a child’s sandpit. The spade bent in two the first time I tried to use it to dig a hole in clay.

I’ve been looking for a garden centre close to the canal for the last couple of weeks. There was one in Tamworth but I was focussed on getting a replacement internet dongle and topping up my depleted wine supply at the time, so I ignored the opportunity.

There hasn’t been a close enough garden centre since then so the best solution was to use the very handy service offered by Tesco. You can have anything you buy on the very comprehensive Tesco Direct web site delivered to the store of your choice by 3pm the following day. I ordered a bomb proof stainless steel Spear & Jackson stainless steel spade then settled down for a restful day’s inside and out boat cleaning.

The following afternoon I ambled along to the town’s Tesco store to pick up my spade to find that there are actually two Tesco stores in Middlewich, both with almost identical addresses. My spade, of course, had been delivered to the other store.

I needed to buy another composting toilet accessory while I was out. My toilet’s urine collector had started to whiff a bit. I called the lovely people at Hillmorton Wharf to find out why. They instantly identified the cause. I was being too thorough with my toilet cleaning.

The problem was explained to me in technical detail. I can’t for the life of me remember any of it now but the fundamental problem was that, after my daily early morning liquid container emptying session, I was rinsing the empty bottle with canal water, then leaving a little in the bottom with the expectation that the water would dilute the urine and reduce any possible smell. I was doing quite the reverse. Water and urine combine to make ammonia, I was told, so all I had to do to keep the container smell free was to empty it and fit it back to the toilet.

To undo the damage I had done, I needed to half fill the container with a mixture of hot water and white vinegar, give it a good shake, empty it and then leave it alone. Neither Tesco store sold the stuff, so I walked across town to the much larger Morrison’s store for a litre bottle.

Back on the boat, with a shiny new spade and an odour free toilet I set off mid-afternoon for a more tranquil mooring. Within half an hour I passed my first heron of the day, half an hour after that my second, and the first heron I’ve ever seen laying down. They’re very relaxed in rural Shropshire.

I stopped for the night on the sparkling and wind ruffled water of Weaver Way visitor moorings, looking down into the valley and the river Weaver beneath. A tranquil mooring barely spoiled by the occasional train thundering by on the West Coast Main Line half a mile distant.

The next morning I set off again, but my heart wasn’t in it. This is such a quiet and peaceful part of the network that mooring was much easier than cruising. I half-heartedly pushed on long enough to reach yet another perfect mooring with towpath benches close to Aqueduct marina.

On Friday I needed to cover some distance. I had arranged to meet Barry, one of last year’s discovery day guests, in Ellesmere on Saturday night seventeen locks and twenty one miles away, probably half an hour by car but eighteen hours by boat.

My second lock of the day. Cholmondesdon, was manned by the very well organised Shropshire Union Canal Society with their lock side stalls of local produce. While they helped me up through the flight I bought a jar of Welsh honey and dropped some spare coins in their collection box.

On past Barbridge Junction and a brief stop for water and rubbish and then the four locks of the Hurleston flight, the first on the Llangollen. The escape ladder on the second lock was very close to the upstream gates and out of reach unless I walked along the cratch board and launched myself at it over the turbulent water over the cill beneath, so a six feet vault out of the lock was needed while trying to avoid the lock’s slippery lichen and moss covered walls.

Two hours later after exiting Baddiley top lock I was on the receiving end of a torrent of abuse from a very unhappy residential boat owner. With neck veins standing proud he screamed at me about inconsiderate boaters racing past him and how much they ruin his peaceful life.

I don’t think I cruise very quickly at all. I constantly fall short of the expected journey time in my Pearson’s guide and I know that my passing moored boats speed is less than two miles an hour. I’m on the receiving end of abuse from moored boat owners very rarely so maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t at fault on this occasion. I looked at the bow and stern mooring lines on his boat and, sure enough, both of them were too slack to hold his boat firmly in place. I left him ranting at the owner of the boat behind me and carried on.

At Wrenbury I came to the first two of many life bridges on my route to Llangollen. I was looking forward to tackling them on my own but the first manual bridge was opened for me by a crew coming towards me and the second electric road bridge by Wrenbury Mill operated by hire fleet staff as they prepared one of their crews for departure.

After a very pleasant eight hours through stunning scenery with more idyllic moorings than I could shake a stick at, I stopped for the night above Marbury lock close to the local coal and diesel boat. Unfortunately no one was home. I was down to my last two hundred and fifty litres but didn’t want to top up at any of the boat yards where I understand they aren’t keen on allowing you to self-declare.

Autumn is approaching. On Saturday morning I set off at 8.30am wearing two fleece tops and a fleece hat, but hey were off by the first lock where I met three Italian ladies on a Viking hire boat. They seemed to be struggling with the concept of passing through the lock so I helped them through that and the two which followed before meeting them again on the very small and tight lock landing beneath the Grindley flight of three locks.

They had their hire boat securely tied to all three lock landing bollards and were just leaving to do some shopping in the lock side store. They waved me on, indicating that I could go ahead of them. I had to explain that I couldn’t as I had nowhere to tie my boat while I set the lock. After a lively conversation between the three of them, they graciously agreed to move on and free the lock landing.

After these three locks was a set of three manned staircase locks and a bit of a shock for me as I passed from the bottom to the middle lock. I very slowly moved forward into the second lock chamber. In fact, I didn’t appear to be moving at all. I applied a little more throttle, then a little more, and some more, until I was just moving at full throttle.

I asked the lock keeper if there was a strong water flow through the lock. He told me that I must be caught on the shallow cill, just as my stern ground over the concrete and the boat dropped into the second pound. “You should have told me you are deep draughted. I would have let some more water in for you!” How was I to know?

On to the Whitchurch arm and another lift bridge opportunity. Alas, it wasn’t to be. I boat crew coming from Whitchurch reached the bridge ahead of me and let me through. On to the next lift bridge and an Anglo Welsh hire boat crew ahead of me let me through. Damn!

I stopped for lunch to let the hire boat crew move ahead of me so that I would have the next lift bridge to myself. With a growing sense of lift bridge anticipation I approached lift bridge No 42. Sadly, it had been left open.

As I approached lift bridge No 45 I saw a crew coming towards me open the bridge then, as I approached, close it again, climb onto their boat just as I arrived and cruise serenely on leaving me to my own devices. Yippee!

I’m delighted to report that the lift bridges on the Llangollen are extremely easy to tackle single handed. I pulled on to the bridge landing on the towpath, pulled the boat towards the bridge with my bow line, crossed over the bridge to the bridge controls on the offside taking my bow line with me, raised the bridge, used my bow line to pull the boat forward so I could climb onto the boat and walk along the gunnel to the stern, cruise under the open bridge, step off the boat with my stern line, close the bridge then step back onto the boat and continue cruising. I don’t think the process took longer than five minutes.

Another two and a half hours through stunning open countryside brought me to the meres of Ellesmere. The first, Cole Mere, was hidden behind thick trees on the offside. The next, Blake Mere, wasn’t. That’s where I’m moored now, and that’s where I’m staying until Tuesday. Ten acre Blake Mere, home to some monster 30lb plus carp, is as peaceful a spot as I’ve ever moored.

Barry arrived at 7pm and spent a very pleasant hour and a half shooting the breeze with me before leaving for a two hour drive back to Crosby.

I’ve had a quick walk around nearby 120 acre The Mere this morning. I’m going there for lunch now, then I’ll find a quiet spot overlooking the wildlife haven and settle down for an afternoon’s reading. Isn’t life a joy?

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Services for Boaters

There are a growing number of site users who offer products or services which I am sure would be of interest to other boat owners or narrowboat enthusiasts. If you fall into this category, please let me know. I’ll publish your details in one of my newsletters. There’s no charge involved, I just want to give fellow boaters a helping hand.

Here’s the first service provider and a recent discovery day guest of mine. Colin Ashby is an artist. He’s particularly fond of painting pets but he’s also considering expanding his portfolio to include narrowboats. Here’s what he has to say about his service…

“I have been doing portraits of dogs, cats, horses and people for about 15 years, mainly because there is a demand for them. They make a lovely gift and are so much more personable than a photograph. Depending upon the time of year, a portrait will normally take 2-3 weeks.

In the future, I would also be interested in doing personalized sketches of narrow boats, probably in pen and ink, a medium which i really enjoy.

I work mainly in pastels or graphite/pencil and offer a variety of sizes, the most popular being A4 and A5. The size A4 is £95 and will be mounted and the A5 is £55 framed, or £45 mounted.  Add £7 for P&P for both sizes.

All that is needed is a photograph of whatever pet the customer wishes to have a portrait done of. This can be emailed to  : colinashby@msn.com and I will do the rest.”

You can see examples of Colin’s work here.

Discovery Day And Narrowboat Helmsmanship Training

If you’re new to this site you might not know about the service I launched in June 2014. I host narrowboat experience days on board my own 62? long narrowboat James No 194. The ten hour days are a combination of discussion about the pros and cons of living on board, narrowboat designs and the best equipment for live aboard boaters, and a six to eight hour helmsmanship training cruise along the Oxford and/or Grand Union Canals.

I’m running the discovery days approximately on the first ten days of August, October and December this year. As summer approaches more and more site users are booking the relatively few discovery days still available. August onwards is still relatively free. If you are interested in joining me for a fun and information packed discovery day please check the diary before it’s too late.

Update 30th August 2015

The earliest dates are now at the beginning of October. If you want to  see the available dates for October onward click here.

In the meantime, meet recent discovery day attendee Ken Sharratt.

“I’ve thought about living on a narrowboat on and off for the last twenty years but through commitments, events and various other things I have never done anything about it until now. Over the last seven or eight months I have started  researching the subject and it has gradually gained momentum, from reading magazines and e-books, the internet and looking round boats to figure out what I wanted.

The first e-book I came across was written by Paul, called “Living on a Narrowboat” (part of the Narrowbudget Gold package of three guides and a bespoke narrowboat budget calculator). I found this invaluable in giving me a realistic view of the life I am aiming for and has definitely added to my growing knowledge. To my surprise I started receiving a newsletter in my inbox which covers all things related to narrowboats from life to composting toilets which I was quite impressed with. I noticed the information about the Discovery day after reading one of these.

I thought, if I’m going to change the direction of my life and spend quite a bit of money doing it, the discovery day sounded like a good way of starting to find out if my expectations matched the reality of everything involved with it.

I wasn’t disappointed. Paul is very easy to get along with. He made us welcome from the start and provided a steady supply of tea throughout the day. It was a very enjoyable and productive day for me. He made me re-evaluate a few things and was remarkably relaxed about sailing off downstream  with his home in Fairly inexperienced hands. He was there at hand though to provide advice, instruction and direction and the odd hands on correction when absolutely necessary.

I would recommend that anyone considering taking to the water should read the book and go on one of these discovery days. They will definitely shorten the time spent on their learner curve and possibly avert a costly or disastrous decision from being made.

I am currently in the process of getting my house ready for sale. The builder should be here in a few weeks, then the decorator and after that the estate agent, so hopefully it’s going to be early next year when it’s sold and I can buy the boat that’s waiting for me out there with my name it.”

You can find out more about my discovery days and availability here.

I Need Some Help!

Each time I write a newsletter, I tick another subject off the list of things which those new to boating have told me that they want to read about. The hardest part of the process isn’t the writing itself, it’s constantly thinking of new content for each issue. The trouble is, I don’t know what you want to read. I think I keep the newsletters reasonably interesting but I don’t know for sure. That’s where I need your help.

Can you let me know what you would like to read in the future? Are there any areas of narrowboat life you don’t think I’ve covered enough or areas which I’ve missed completely? Please let me know what you want to read about. Thanks for your help.

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2015 08 23 Newsletter – A cruise to Llangollen: Fazeley Junction to Stoke

After I finished the newsletter last Sunday I cruised for an hour away from the comparative hustle and bustle of Fazeley Junction to a very peaceful mooring north of Hopwas village close to Hopwas Hayes wood.

I love these woods. There are over four hundred varied and tranquil acres easily accessible thanks to a well-established network of paths, paths which I had completely to myself for most of the two days I spent there.

I visited the woods two or three times a day. Dusk was my favourite time after the wood’s few visitors had left for the day and the creatures of the night came out to play. Several times a startled raptor screeched in the treetops as it moved away from my noisy passage through the undergrowth beneath. I saw shy muntjac deer silently disappear among the distant trees and once, as I sat quietly leaning against a fallen oak, a badger emerged from its underground lair.

Walking around the wood’s perimeter was just as fascinating. Hundreds of pigs wallowed in deep mud pools along the western edge as thousands of gulls circled overhead. I spent as much time as I could among the trees, but there was plenty of work to drag me back to the boat.

Last Sunday I visited Homebase in Tamworth to try and buy a replacement waste for the one in my galley which had broken in two. The store didn’t have anything suitable so I decided to try and repair the broken waste with some heavy duty super glue.

My DIY record is abysmal. Anything I’ve ever tried to build, refurbish, repair, service or replace has failed, fallen apart, dropped off or broken. No matter how hard I tried in the past, I always reached the same painful conclusion. There’s no point in me trying to do the work in the first place so I might as well save myself the effort and frustration and call in the professionals.

On Sunday I decided to adopt a more positive attitude, analyse why I’ve failed in the past, learn from my mistakes and make sure that I approach any new work intelligently and carefully.

Life is so easy when you start off with a positive attitude. I started off by making sure that I had the best tools for the job. In this case the right equipment was a tube of leading brand hang-an-elephant-from-a-helicopter unbreakable, totally fool proof superglue.

In the spirit of doing the job properly, I then read the instructions slowly and carefully.

Will it work on plastic?
Yes it will.
Is it waterproof?
Yes it is.

OK. We were off to a flying start.

I was instructed to make sure that the parts to be stuck together were clean and dry. I scrubbed both parts in the sink then dried them thoroughly with a wad of blue roll.

I liberally applied the glue to both parts then pressed the two parts together and made sure that they were held together firmly for forty eight hours while the glue cured. I applied the glue so liberally that I almost stuck a couple of fingers to each half. After I pressed them firmly together I held them together will half a roll of duct tape and then put the repaired waste out of harm’s way in a cupboard for two days.

On Tuesday evening I carefully removed the tape, noted with satisfaction that I had married the two parts together so well that I could barely see a join, screwed the waste firmly in place then, rather anxiously, turned on the mixer tap to check for leaks.

I sat on the galley floor shining a torch under the sink and noted, rather smugly, that even with the mixer tap fully open not a drop was dripping through the repaired waste.

“That,” I said to myself proudly, “is how to do it!”

Just before I stood up to take the top off a celebratory bottle of Theakston’s Old Peculiar, the waste snapped at the recently repaired join and dumped about a gallon of cold water in my lap.

Anyone know a good plumber?

After a late breakfast on Wednesday I was on my way again enjoying the still, early autumn sun as I cruised beside fields of ripe wheat and ducked under low hanging oak branches heavy with acorns. Just before Whittington I smelled paint and heard a metallic rattle from above. Three harnessed contractors hung from a pylon fifty feet above me quietly chatting while they painted.

At a blind bend into a bridge hole at Huddlesford I spotted the bow of a boat approaching. I slowed to allow the helmsman to correct his line and move away from me. He didn’t. The slowly drifting and out of control boat glanced off my bow. No problem and no hysterics either. I was stationary when we met. He was barely moving. We both possibly lost a little bitumen, but it didn’t matter. Narrowboats are built like tanks, so they can take the knocks. The accident was unavoidable. The approaching boat had picked up something on the propeller which had jammed it solid. Fortunately for the owner, a quick burst in reverse removed the obstacle and we were both on our way again.

At Streethay Wharf I stopped briefly to spend some money. I have three fenders, two tipcat and a button, protecting my rudder. I fitted them a couple of months ago. Now that they’ve been compacted slightly after occasional lock bumps, they’ve developed a rather pronounced brewer’s droop. I bought a couple of strainers to fix them more securely, and bag of coal and another of kindling as insurance against the odd inevitable chilly early morning as autumn advances.

After Streethay Wharf, cruising parallel to the A38 I kept pace with two lanes of very slow moving traffic for half an hour. I could see drivers hunched over steering wheels, stressed by the inconvenience of moving at four miles an hour. I cruised on serenely without a care in the world, delighted that I could travel as fast as 4mph along this short straight stretch.

At Fradley junction as I made my turn I encountered the longest lock queue since I set off on my travels in April. Six boats waited ahead of me. Passing through this one lock took an hour so after quickly ascending that, and Shade House lock which followed, I decided to stop for the night on the visitor moorings above the flight.

Last time I moored here I remembered being slightly annoyed at the sound of boy racers revving engines and screeching tyres nearby. At the time I hoped someone would report them to the police and hopefully put a stop to their racket. I considered doing so myself. I’m very pleased I didn’t. Less than a mile away to the south west is the Curborough Sprint Course, a figure of eight official race track.

On Thursday morning I made a bit of a fool of myself. I suppose it was overdue. I haven’t done anything particularly stupid for at least a week.

I set Wood End lock, my first of the day, took the boat in and then climbed out of the lock taking my centre line with me. Normally when I’m in an ascending lock, I leave the engine in gear on tick over so the boat is held against the front gate as the boat rises. I didn’t want to do that on this occasion because there was an obstruction on the front gate which I suspected would snag the bow fender. Instead, I left the engine in neutral, took my centre line with me and tied it to the upstream bollard. This stops the boat being pushed away from the upstream gate when the paddles are first raised and then slammed back against the upstream gates as the water which enters the lock travels down to the downstream gates then surges back to push the boat forward.

After I raised the paddles slowly to make sure that the boat’s ascent was gentle, I was joined by the crew of the boat following me. I’m male, so I can’t multi task. I can’t focus on what I’m doing and hold a conversation, especially first thing in the morning.

The boaters noticed my web site address on the cabin side and asked about the site. I told them all about it, about how it’s developed and now, because of the products and training I offer, I treat the site as my full time job.

They told me that they thought training for both aspiring and new boat owners was a wonderful idea and complimented me on the concept in general and my implied proficient helmsmanship in particular. We swung the upstream gate open, I bid them farewell and as nonchalantly as possible steered my boat out of the lock with my arm casually draped over the tiller and, I hoped, an air of competence and confidence about me.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten to untie my centre line. Twenty feet out of the lock the cabin dipped violently to port almost throwing me off the boat. The two boaters watched bemused as I leaped off the boat and then began tugging frantically at the iron hard knot around the bollard, tightened almost immovably by twenty tonnes of boat.

I don’t think that I left them with quite as good an impression as I hoped.

A little later as I approached Armitage I could see the forested slopes of Cannock Chase ahead of me, seemingly close enough to touch but still three hours away. I stopped close to Tesco in Rugeley, left four bags of my own rubbish at the store and collected eight bags of food, carried my shopping back to the boat and collected my rucksack before hiking to a nearby builder’s merchants where I bought a new sink waste. Back on the boat, in the time the kettle took to boil, the new waste was installed and working perfectly.

Fully stocked again I headed out of Rugeley and towards an encounter with the best trained boat dog in the world.

I noticed the collie a hundred metres away from his boat staring intently at something in the grass. As I approached the dog, it didn’t move an inch. The owner noticed the stationary dog from where he was working at the stern of his own boat. He leaned forwards, picked up something which he put in his pocket and strolled towards the still immobile dog. I drew level with the dog at the same time as the owner reached it. He obviously knew what the dog was focussed on, pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and reached down to scoop up the dog’s poo. After many, many encounters with half hidden discarded dog muck, seeing a dog trained to indicate its own mess was a delight. Well done that owner!

After a sharp right hand turn onto the Trent aqueduct, then an equally sharp left hand turn into bridge 68, two hours of urban sprawl ended suddenly with a wide view of glorious Cannock Chase and the brisk breeze courtesy of the open countryside.

At the following bridge a fuel boat sat higher and dryer than two months earlier when I last passed this way with half of its propeller now exposed to the elements.

I stopped for the night overlooking Shugborough Hall with the intention of spending a day or two exploring nearby Cannock Chase’s twenty six miles of forest and heath. Sadly I realised that I was falling behind schedule. In order to reach Llangollen with enough time to do a few days hill walking before returning to Napton Junction and my next batch of discovery days at the beginning of October, I needed to move on.

Before I moved off on Friday I decided to check my mud box. The steel cylinder is part of my raw water cooling system. Canal water is drawn in to the boat through a grill in the hull then passes through the mud box before moving on to the heat exchanger. The mud box traps any sediment or fine weed which has managed to penetrate the grill.

I have been told to check the mud box regularly but my last check had been two months earlier. On opening it I was quite surprised to find it completely free of mud. I’ll have to keep an eye on the water as I explore new waterways. I’m sure they won’t all be quite as forgiving as the canals and rivers I’ve travelled on this year so far.

After putting the engine room back together I moved on through Haywood lock, past Haywood Junction and on to unfamiliar water. I enjoyed three hours of far quieter cruising than I expected. My Pearson’s guide indicated a canal shadowed by a busy railway and road but most of the time both were hidden from sight and inaudible over the purr of my engine and rhythmic wet exhaust woosh.

Stone was a pleasure to cruise through. There was now a grittier, more northern feel to the waterway. I’m always on guard when on new and unknown canals. I smile and wave at everyone on my travels. A few hooded, baseball cap wearing teenagers ignored me completely so when I brought the boat in to the lock by the Star in with its lock side tables full of slightly drunken middle aged males I was a little nervous, especially when two of them climbed unsteadily to their feet and walked towards me. I casually removed my camera from the cockpit hatch and prepared for a confrontation. They walked past me, closed the gates behind me, slurred a friendly hello then sat down again.

I was feeling much better about the town but still slightly nervous when I pulled over onto the lock landing at the next lock to be met by a rather intimidating off the lead Rottweiler followed by an even more intimidating heavily muscled and shaven headed man in his early thirties. The dog wagged its tail, he smiled, waved and walked on, and I popped inside the boat to change my underpants.

At my next and final lock of the day, I met another Stone resident. This time the inland waterways tamest grey heron. As I approached the lock it stood motionless on the roof of a GRP cruiser just five feet away from me as I passed before flapping calmly onto the lock landing as I pulled on to it, ignoring me completely as it focussed on the water behind my stern.

I stopped for the night just below the Meaford flight of four locks opposite a new and tidy housing estate. After a peaceful night’s sleep I set off again, thankful that there had been no noise on the towpath the previous night in such a built up area. I was wondering how noisy that particular mooring would be on a weekend night, then I realised that the previous evening had been Friday and still as quiet as a grave.

On Saturday morning at 6.30am I quickly climbed up through the three locks of the Meaford flight, then through Barleston where I passed an angler with a difference. The elderly guy was fishing from the seat of his mobility scooter. He was completely covered in faded India ink tattoos, including Maori style spirals on his face and shaven head. I smiled and waved. He grimaced and threw a handful of maggots in the canal. Ah well, you can’t win them all.

At Trentham lock I met three middle aged guys on a 140 mile road trip taking their recently purchased boat to its new mooring in Burnley. I met them at each lock for the rest of the day where they insisted on doing as much work for me as they could, help which was very much appreciated when I needed to make a brew.

On the outskirts of drab Stoke a bolt of glamorous lightening brightened my day. A tall willow thin and beautiful blonde running effortlessly along the towpath slowed down to ask me for directions to the nearby Britannia stadium. As I pulled over to show her the way, I was sure that if I had been twenty years younger, she had been ten years older, I was better looking, and she lowered her standards a little, there could have been a wonderful future for us together. As it was, I watched her seductively gyrate along the towpath before continuing with my solo boating.

The last lock before Etruria Junction was a test of stamina. Each of the downstream paddles took forty turns to open fully. There’s no gym membership required when you live this lifestyle.

My plan for the day was to reach the far end of Harecastle tunnel but as I passed Westport Lake and the western outskirts of Stoke, the combination of the smell of freshly cooked Stoke oatcakes and a free mooring overlooking Westport lake was too much for me.

I secured the boat, bought a couple of cheese and bacon oatcakes and a cup of tea, and sat in the sunshine enjoying the view.

After my late lunch I changed my engine oil, thoroughly cleaned the engine room, and then retired for the day to escape torrential rain, thunder and lightning.

As I sat eating my dinner I watched flashes of lightning momentarily illuminate the black rain clouds above the lake and listened to rain drumming on the roof. Who needs television with nature providing the entertainment?

I had some more entertainment at five thirty this morning. I was woken by loud and drunken voices but they moved away quickly so I cuddled my teddy a little more tightly and returned to the land of Nod.

A fellow boater told me this morning how lucky I had been. A gang of youths had worked their way up the line of boats moored next to the lake causing as much mayhem as possible. Two boats were cast adrift, several poles and planks removed and thrown into the canal, and a bike was partially removed from its roof rack, saved by the padlock which secured it.

A lady in the boat next to me told me that the youths stopped at my boat, realised that they would have to climb on board to either untie it or reach the rack where my pole and plank are stored, so carried on to untie the boat behind me.

I’m staying on this mooring again tonight. I think there’s less chance of them returning on a Sunday night than after a drunken Saturday night out, but I will be waiting. I’ll keep my shoes and clothes close at hand, and I have a little surprise gift for them as a thank you for their attention. I hope they like it.

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Discovery Day And Narrowboat Helmsmanship Training

If you’re new to this site you might not know about the service I launched in June 2014. I host narrowboat experience days on board my own 62′ long narrowboat James No 194. The ten hour days are a combination of discussion about the pros and cons of living on board, narrowboat designs and the best equipment for live aboard boaters, and a six to eight hour helmsmanship training cruise along the Oxford and/or Grand Union Canals.

I’m running the discovery days approximately on the first ten days of August, October and December this year. As summer approaches more and more site users are booking the relatively few discovery days still available. August onwards is still relatively free. If you are interested in joining me for a fun and information packed discovery day please check the diary before it’s too late.

Update 23rd August 2015

The earliest dates are now at the beginning of October. If you want to  see the available dates for October onward click here.

In the meantime, meet recent discovery day attendee Chris Smith.

“I have had a passion for canal boats for 15 years, have rented a couple of times and need to make sure my love was for real, seeing that I live in Australia. My wife is British, and needs to spend quality time with her aged parents, so probably would not want to be full time with me on a boat. Learning about single handling was my main ambition, which was amply fulfilled by my great instructor!

Everything went really well, my instructor seemed relaxed more than I would have been if someone unknown was steering my biggest capital possession down a narrow lane with clueless hirers coming at me from all directions.

The instruction was wonderful, confidence building, and any admonition was “ in a perfect world” this or that should have happened. Every hirer should be required to have more than 10 minutes instruction, as adequately illustrated by events.

Paul even acted as a marriage counselor in a lock where a family situation was becoming heated  and eased the situation with cool independent advice.

I am so glad that I took the Discovery Day. It has given me more confidence I my abilities, I have learned more that I could have imagined  in one day, and Paul has instilled in me some basics that I was not aware of and will remember forever.

We had a very windy day, which really helped to learn some techniques that will be invaluable when I get to do my own thing.”

Finally, I would like to thank Paul for a fantastic day that I’ll be talking about for a while to come. I also believe that it a brave move to trust a complete novice and stranger to steer your home up and down the canal. Thanks for all the advice and I hope to keep in touch and let you know how I get on buying and living on a boat.”

You can find out more about my discovery days and availability here.

I Need Some Help!

Each time I write a newsletter, I tick another subject off the list of things which those new to boating have told me that they want to read about. The hardest part of the process isn’t the writing itself, it’s constantly thinking of new content for each issue. The trouble is, I don’t know what you want to read. I think I keep the newsletters reasonably interesting but I don’t know for sure. That’s where I need your help.

Can you let me know what you would like to read in the future? Are there any areas of narrowboat life you don’t think I’ve covered enough or areas which I’ve missed completely? Please let me know what you want to read about. Thanks for your help.

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2015 08 16 Newsletter – A cruise to Llangollen: Napton to Fazeley Junction

I’m back in my normal newsletter routine, full of energy and firing on all cylinders. Relationship issues aside, life is good. Very good.

Once more. I want to say a huge “THANK YOU” to everyone who emailed me messages of support and several offers of a night out and a place to sleep afterwards. Narrowboat owners and enthusiasts are a kind, generous and generally wonderful bunch of people.

I also want to thank my discovery day guests for their gifts, some intentional, some not. I can’t work out who left a Samsung digital camera in my engine room so, if it’s you, please let me know.

The intentional and very welcome gifts included a packet of four fresh cream egg custards, a lemon drizzle cake, chocolate bars, more than one very tasty shared lunch and several bottles of red wine. My sincere thanks for all of them.

I am also very grateful to Calcutt Boats owner Roger Preen. Towards the end of Sunday’s discovery day we passed through the Calcutt flight where we could see staff preparing for an evening barbecue.

At the end of the day, as usual, I moored just above the Calcutt flight, said goodbye to my guests then sat down to catch up on the day’s emails. I could hear the sound of merriment coming from the barbecue a hundred metres away and felt just a little sad and lonely.

Minutes later Roger walked passed my window in his trademark salmon pink shorts. He invited me to join them for something to eat. I didn’t want to appear too keen so I waited at least thirty seconds before locking up the boat and sprinting along the towpath to join them. Roger Preen, as all the staff at Calcutt Boats will tell you, is a very kind man.

I was also grateful to fitter, fleet manager and boat safety examiner extraordinaire Russ Fincham. After forcing me to eat four burgers and producing what seemed like a limitless supply of beer from a hidden supply, he very kindly showed me his genitals.

I don’t think he meant to. At least, I hope he didn’t mean to, but the combination of a full and very busy day at work followed by an even busier evening cooking all of the food and drinking most of the beer, and a wearing pair of loose fitting shorts pulled up over an expanding waistline, was tempting the inevitable.

I wasn’t aware of his feelings for me, but as the evening moved from beer to red wine, and then to Southern Comfort and spiced rum, he made his innermost emotions increasingly clear. I love you too Russ, but I could have done without you telling me every five minutes and dribbling on me while you did so.

All in all, it was a wonderful evening. I don’t drink much these days, but I love the occasional night with the happily incoherent. I love a night but I don’t much enjoy the usual painful recovery which follows it, but I managed to hide my discomfort from Monday’s guests.

At 6pm on Monday I said goodbye to Jan and Allan, the last of my discovery day guests until the beginning of October and, for the nineteenth time in eighteen days, headed off towards Braunston. I’ve just checked my records. I’ve cruised this stretch of canal ninety eight times since my first discovery day thirteen months ago. Guess what? I still think the cruise is wonderful.

My mind was willing but my weak so after an hour’s tranquil travelling I moored for the night under a weeping willow before an early start the following morning in order to make my 9am appointment with J G Marine at the bottom of the Braunston flight.

I booked a further full day with Justin Greene two months ago when he did some welding work for me. Justin is something of a rarity in my experience on the waterways. He knows what he’s doing, he’s reliable, and he doesn’t charge the Earth. Consequently his diary is usually full for two or three months ahead.

I had half a dozen jobs lined up for him. The first was to find a remedy for a problem I’ve had with my water tank since I moved on board five years ago.

My first boating disaster was when I had been living on board for just a week. I didn’t understand the need to constantly monitor the contents of my water tank so I was only aware of the need to top up my tank when the flow from the galley mixer tap spluttered and died.

Of course I didn’t have a hose on board. An hour later I had a borrowed and much kinked hose attached to the pier tap at one end and stuffed into the tank’s inlet on my well deck at the other. I turned on the hose, made myself a cup of coffee and waited, and waited, and waited.

I couldn’t understand why the tank was taking so long to fill. I had no idea of the tank’s size or how long this tedious task normally took, but I certainly didn’t fancy having to wait so long every time I needed some water.

I passed the time swatting cobwebs and polishing wood – there was no shortage of either – starting at the front of the boat then slowly working my way past the closed doors either side of my centre hatches, past the closed door into the bathroom and then past he closed door to my bedroom and a sphincter loosening shock.

A ripple of dirty brown water was advancing towards the front of the boat over the bedroom’s threadbare carpet. I suspected that filling the tank at the opposite end of the boat might have something to do with the slowly sinking boat but I didn’t have a clue what had happened.

A nearby Calcutt Boats fitter identified the problem immediately. He removed the steps that descended from my front deck down into the cabin, revealing the space under the deck and my stainless steel tank. He shone his torch on the short length of hose between the tank and the deck above and pointed out the water cascading over the side of the tank from the bottom of the loose fitting hose.

The tank should have taken no more than twenty minutes to fill so, for three quarters of an hour, excess water flowed steadily down the outside of the tank and into the cabin bilge where it sneakily slid under my feet as I polished and dusted until it finally reached the engine room bilge. Once the engine room bilge filled thanks to a failed bilge pump, it overflowed into the cabin.

What particularly upset me, apart from seeing my bedroom under water after just seven days on board, was that I had been using an industrial dehumidifier from the moment I moved on board, costing £5 a day in marina electricity charges, to try to remove the damp from the long neglected boat. I had to start the process all over again.

I learned a very valuable lesson from the disastrous event. I didn’t ever make the same mistake again. Sally did though, so we had the pleasure of drying the back cabin out again about a year and a half later. Fortunately the second flooding was just before we ripped out all the boat’s carpet and replace it with laminate flooring.

Neither of us allowed the tank to overfill after that, but we had to monitor it constantly. There is a tank level indicator just inside the cabin near the tank. It worked for a year but then stopped. We weren’t particularly bothered. The water tank level indicator we used most of the time was outside the boat. We were both pretty good at looking at the bow’s waterline, noting the amount of organic growth above water and judging the tank’s current capacity. The tank’s stop cock was also immovable so I had no way of isolating the tank if any of the boat’s plumbing developed a leak.

By lunch time Justin had replace the rubber filler hose with a threaded steel tube and replaced an inoperable gate valve to both the main tank and to the water gauge. The tank is now sealed at the top and can be isolated from the bottom and the water gauge is working. Instead of watching depressing television on Monday evening while I eat my dinner, I watched the water gauge instead. It was much more interesting.

After lunch Justin serviced my engine and sorted out my alternator problem. The alternator and water pump pulleys were different sizes. Both should have been 17mm. The water pump pulley was the correct size but the alternator pulley just 13mm. I thought Justin would have to try and source the correct pulley ready for fitting at a later date. He didn’t need to. He simply adjusted the width.

The alternator bracket was also worn so it couldn’t be tightened properly. After half an hour’s mechanical magic, a modified bracket was holding the alternator immovably in place.

Justin also serviced the engine then, while I had his attention at the back of the boat, investigated my overheating engine problem.

Last month when I was on the Thames I gave my engine a little stick to see how fast it would go. In the coming years I will cruise on all the connected English and Welsh canals and rivers so I need to be confident that I have a little power in reserve for dealing with more turbulent waters.

I had an idea what could possibly be causing the problem. The more throttle you apply, the more the stern digs down into the water. Counter intuitively, if you’re cruising a shallow canal and find your boat’s dragging the bottom, you can often increase the boat’s speed by easing off on the throttle to lift the stern out of the mud.

I thought that because I added more than a tonne of steel to the cabin when it was over plated and therefore increased the boat’s draught slightly, increasing throttle on the Thames was lowering my wet exhaust too close to the water line and reducing the cooling system’s effectiveness.

I told Justin my theory and waited for him to acknowledge both my intelligence and perception. Instead, he looked at me as if I had just told him that the Moon was made of green cheese, shook his head and turned away to finish adjusting the alternator. I guess mechanical problem solving just isn’t my thing.

I scheduled a date for Justin to investigate the overheating issue when I return from Llangollen at the end of September. Justin told me that my engine will probably outlast me, but he also said that he has replaced several old Mercedes engines similar to mine where the overheating problem couldn’t be resolved.

Justin suggested that one of the most reliable and quietest range of engines is those offered by Beta Marine. A similarly powered engine to my own Mercedes OM636 would cost £9,000 to fit, including the manufacture and installation of a skin tank to replace my current raw water cooling system. I think I’m going to have to start buying lottery tickets.

With just about everything on the boat now working perfectly – or so I thought – I cruised the short distance to my mooring for the night close to Willoughby Wharf.

The following morning, with a joyous heart and a spring in my step, I was up at dawn ready for a 6am start to the cruising day. Now, as you’ve probably gathered, I am to boat electrics what Simon Cowell is to modesty. However, when I turn on my ignition and the light doesn’t come on, I know I have a bit of a problem.

I suspected that the alternator wasn’t working. I put all my alternator knowledge to immediate use and checked to see if an obvious wire had fallen off, gave a mental shrug, and set off towards Hillmorton.

After an hour’s cruising, just to confirm my suspicions, I stopped the boat mid-stream on an empty canal and popped inside to check my battery monitor. An hour’s cruise is usually enough to bring the battery bank back up to 100% but the reading was still on the night time low of 95%. The three year old alternator was clearly playing up.

I phoned Justin Greene. He adjusted his halo, fastened his cape, leaped into his bat mobile, and was knocking on my cabin in the blink of an eye.

After five minutes examination he explained the situation in a way he knew I would understand. “Your alternator’s f****d! You need a new one. It’s going to cost you £140 for a replacement. What do you want to do?

I didn’t have a choice really. I suppose I could have had the broken alternator examined to see if it could be repaired, but the nearest supplier was five miles away so, without a car, time or the inclination to try and fit the repaired alternator myself, if it could be repaired, I asked Justin to source and fit a new one.

By midday I was on my way again, light in both heart and wallet, but with a steady and gratifying rise in my battery bank charge.

I had originally planned to stop in the middle of Rugby at a Tesco superstore close to the canal but I didn’t really have the time, and the thought of spending more money made me weep uncontrollably.

I stopped for the night at a spot close to Brinklow marina, peaceful other than the occasional rumble of trains on the West Coast Main Line.

I was on my way again by 6am, accompanied for the first half mile by a grey heron, floating crane fly like in front of the boat as I disturbed its tranquil breakfast. At Rose Narrowboats, the railway passes almost close enough to touch. As the trains flashed by I caught glimpses of stressed commuters packed like sardines heading for another day on the hamster wheel.

Ten minutes later I passed Coombe Fields and thirty online moorings sitting in the shadow of both railway and motorway, tranquil views but stressful sounds, the sound increasing to a mind numbing roar as rail and motorway converged at bridge 25. The rush of traffic reminded me of the year I spent driving for three hours each day to north London and then back again to my rural Warwickshire home. I thank my lucky stars every day that commuting is no longer part of my life.

An hour and a half into the day’s cruise I passed the first moving boat of the day, met, of course, at a narrow gap with masses of hawthorn and bramble scouring my cabin sides and snatching the fleece hat from my head. As I reversed to retrieve my hat from its bramble coat hook seven feet above the canal’s centre, I was reminded of the possible stress a professional paint job would cause me.

I was quoted £8,500 by Debdale Wharf painter John Barnard at this year’s Crick Show. I know that the boat would look stunning when he finished. I also know that, like many an owner of freshly painted boats I’ve seen in the past, I would suffer buttock clenching stress at every bridge, narrow gap, tunnel and lock. I would be wiser to invest the money, if I could find that much, in a new engine instead.

As and aside, if you are interested in the development of narrowboat engines over the years, there’s a brief but fascinating potted history here.

Once through the narrow gap, with my fleece hat now pulled firmly down over my ears, I cruised to Ansty where, at 7.45am, I met the day’s first pedestrian. The swarthy thirty year old, wearing track suit bottoms and a much practiced frown, walked slowly along the towpath with a child’s fishing rod in one hand and a can of super strength lager clutched tightly in the other. I wished him good morning but he turned away and examined the fishless water instead.

I stopped at Hawkesbury Junction for a breakfast of porridge and blueberries, a mug of coffee and an hour’s email writing before negotiating my only lock of the day, operated by a pair of kindly hire boaters who were good naturedly moaning about the logistics of “forcing the QE2 around a toilet U bend and then fitting it into a parking space barely long enough for a mini” If you’ve ever taken a seventy footer around Hawkesbury junction, you’ll feel their pain.

I stopped at Star Line Cruisers in the middle of Nuneaton for fuel. With my diesel tank 189kg heavier, and my wallet correspondingly lighter, I continued through the rubbish strewn Nuneaton waterway. The canal was relatively clean when I passed here in May but this time the murky water was studded with cans, plastic bottles and take away cartons.

Once through Nuneaton, and the much cleaner village of Hartshill, I stopped for the day with a wide view of open fields fringed by purple loosestrife. Two Shetland ponies browsed at the water’s edge opposite bright yellow stands of equine poisonous ragwort.

As I stopped the engine I heard ringing in my ears, not, as I first suspected, the onset of middle age tinnitus, but the ringing of tubular bells floating through the open window of a nearby farmhouse, reminding me of Mike Oldfield, the early seventies, flares, confusion and acne. It wasn’t a great period in my life.

The weather forecast for the following day, entirely accurate for a change, predicted constant and heavy rain. I decided to stay put.

I woke to the sound of rain hammering on my roof. I woke, lit my fire for the third time this month, ate a leisurely breakfast, and then sat down to a day’s work. The first task was to accept a very kind offer from the people at Microsoft to download Windows 10. Many frustrating hours later the latest operating system was installed, my laptop had slowed to a crawl, and Three gleefully displayed a notice on my screen to tell me that I had run out of data so couldn’t connect to the internet until my next month’s allowance started in eight days’ time.

Sometimes I hate computers.

There are very few times when not owning a car is a problem to me but this was one of them. What passes for work these days for me is managing my site, dealing with enquiries about my discovery days and responding to dozens of requests for information about varying aspects of living afloat. I needed a replacement internet connection and I needed to travel to wherever it was for sale as soon as possible.

Fortunately I could still use my iPhone to connect to the internet – EE offers pretty good coverage on the waterways – so I was able to establish that there was a Three store in Tamworth. All I had to do was get there while the shop was still open the following day. I checked my Pearson’s guide. Tamworth was seven hours cruising away so reaching the town and leaving a few hours margin for delays required a fairly early start.

I pushed the boat away from a very soggy towpath at 5.30am, cruised through mist covered water for an hour to reach the Atherstone flight of eleven locks, and then spent three and a half energetic hours descending a flight with every lock against me. Still, the exercise was very welcome on a chilly morning.

I stopped on Polesworth’s visitor moorings for brunch before continuing past Alvecote marina and then south for an hour and a half through suburban Tamworth, the two Glascote locks next to Steve Hudson’s now deserted boat building basin ,and finally my goal for the day, Fazeley Junction.

After a brief stop for water I moored opposite Peel’s Wharf, grabbed a rucksack and then walked into town. Two miles and half an hour later I was joining throngs of not so happy looking Saturday shoppers in the Ankerside Centre. I was guided there by two or three roadside signs modified by a wag with a brain the size of a pea. Each of the Ankerside directional signs had a spray painted “W” preceding it. His parents must be very proud.

I found the store within five minutes then spent half an hour waiting for a free assistant. Two minutes and twenty two pounds later, I was the proud owner of a mobile broadband pay as you go SIM with 3GB of data. I now have an essential backup for the next time I run out of data.

On the way back to the boat I picked up the ingredients for my evening meal; a three cheese ploughman’s with chilli garlic pickle and carrot and pumpkin seed bread, and a decent bottle of shiraz from the genuine-half-price-reduction shelf.

This morning I was up early in a decidedly chilly boat. Seven degrees outside according to my thermometer, so I made the mistake of lighting the fire to take the chill off. It’s now considerable warmer than the surface of the sun inside the boat. All the windows and doors are open and I’ve had to resort to sitting in my underwear to type.

I’ve just returned from my morning shopping spree. I changed my stove glass during Thursday’s day long downpour and I’m now down to just four out of six screws to hold it in place. There’s a Homebase store next to Asda a mile from where I’m moored so I popped in there to see if I could buy some replacement screws and a replacement waste for the one in my galley sink which has cracked into two completely useless pieces.

The store had nothing remotely suitable for either purpose. I bought a tiny tube of UniBond Extreme costing a similar amount to a replacement sink. I’m going to try and glue the two parts together but, based on previous DIY experience, I’ll either end up with two pieces which instantly fall apart or with my hand permanently glued to the sink. If you don’t receive a newsletter next Sunday you’ll know why.

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Discovery Day And Narrowboat Helmsmanship Training

If you’re new to this site you might not know about the service I launched in June 2014. I host narrowboat experience days on board my own 62′ long narrowboat James No 194. The ten hour days are a combination of discussion about the pros and cons of living on board, narrowboat designs and the best equipment for live aboard boaters, and a six to eight hour helmsmanship training cruise along the Oxford and/or Grand Union Canals.

I’m running the discovery days approximately on the first ten days of August, October and December this year. As summer approaches more and more site users are booking the relatively few discovery days still available. August onwards is still relatively free. If you are interested in joining me for a fun and information packed discovery day please check the diary before it’s too late.

Update 16th August 2015

The earliest dates are now at the beginning of October. If you want to  see the available dates for October onward click here.

In the meantime, meet recent discovery day attendee Kevin Burt.

“After a difficult separation from my wife, I decided that it was time for me to do something that I wanted to do, and that was to give living on a boat a try. I wanted to make sure that this life would suit, and I needed someone with more knowledge than I to help advise on the best living arrangements before I going splashing out money. The day gave me enough to fuel the fire of my interest more, and I’m now waiting for my house to sell so I can start looking for THE BOAT.

I have to say that most of this pre-day course information was perfect, but Paul does mislead you slightly with the items you should bring. Don’t bother with a pen and paper, you’ll never have time to use them, and Paul just takes the mickey (good humoured banter) out of you for having it. Everything else was spot on. Take a sense of humour, you’ll need it, or was it just me?

I spend some of my working life training and I know that it is a difficult skill to be able to hold a single persons attention for 10 hours. Paul is very engaging and attentive. He gives you confidence, and when the going does get tough he is there to help and assist. The instruction is given to you calmly, confidently, and always as an equal which is nice, being as the reason I was there was to learn. Paul’s knowledge was second to none, and it was a straight talking no nonsense way that you are taught that really appealed to me and my style.

There has to be a negative. If there wasn’t then the day would be perfect and Paul would have no where to go afterwards. Well I’ve really struggled here and the only thing I could think of was to offer a lunch, but well, he does enough already.

I have already recommended this to a couple of people. I have even said to someone that this could be a good present for someone who is considering a holiday on a boat. It was a great time.”

Finally, I would like to thank Paul for a fantastic day that I’ll be talking about for a while to come. I also believe that it a brave move to trust a complete novice and stranger to steer your home up and down the canal. Thanks for all the advice and I hope to keep in touch and let you know how I get on buying and living on a boat.”

You can find out more about my discovery days and availability here.

I Need Some Help!

Each time I write a newsletter, I tick another subject off the list of things which those new to boating have told me that they want to read about. The hardest part of the process isn’t the writing itself, it’s constantly thinking of new content for each issue. The trouble is, I don’t know what you want to read. I think I keep the newsletters reasonably interesting but I don’t know for sure. That’s where I need your help.

Can you let me know what you would like to read in the future? Are there any areas of narrowboat life you don’t think I’ve covered enough or areas which I’ve missed completely? Please let me know what you want to read about. Thanks for your help.