a kind and gentle gale

Good Friday's Bank Holiday found me alongside the wharf at Dundas Basin, and setting out my cards and a new display board for some big pictures. It was a good day, warm and sunny, and I met lots of nice people and friends. It's good to sit out on the towpath and socialise, after a winter huddling in our boats keeping warm and trying to keep the mud at bay. 

There wasn't much boat traffic, because the level in the pound above Bradford had fallen so far that the lock had been closed to prevent further loss of water. All the way to Semington, boats were sitting aslant on the mud. Higher up towards Crofton things were even worse, and the Devizes to Westminster canoe race involved a portage for some of its length- a picture that a friend posted, of a long long row of canoeists trudging along with their boats on their shoulders, would have been comical if it weren't so worrying- is the canal infrastructure breaking down? -certainly something is breaking down....

the Devizes to Westminster canoe portage race - photo by permission and copyright of Sharon Penwell

At dusk, there was some bleating and four goats appeared on the aqueduct. Here's one of them.

Saturday was more characteristic of a Bank Holiday, with Hurricane Katie hitting us. She arrived at the same time as a long convoy of hireboats; the lock at Bradford on Avon had evidently opened again, and all the holidaymakers were making up lost time in their Dash To Bath. 

There were some exciting moments, as boats with tyro skippers entered the basin and turned hard a-starboard to pass northwards, and the wind hit them broadside on and sent them all over the place. I helped a boat come alongside; stern-faced paterfamilias was there at the helm, doggedly engaging maximum thrust all over the place, while wife and daughter looked hopelessly at the mess of ropes and wondered what on earth they were doing there; the elder woman was in tears, exclaiming that they'd had a miserable night without heating, and she was amazed the hire company let them loose on a day like that without any training; she just wanted to go home... she cheered up a little after the central heating had been sorted by a call-out chap, and at the prospect of the pub. And off they went, damp-haired and skittering before the gale's blast. 

Comedy gold was the sight of another hireboat whose huge Jolly Roger, flapping at the stern, kept wrapping itself around the head of the helmsman, as he struggled to make the corner without being blown into the moored boats. His partner struggled to unwrap him, and then to dismantle the flagstaff;  they scraped narrowly onto the aqueduct and were lost to sight.

up in the air

Jim arrived with a great bag of climbing gear on the back of his bike. "I thought I'd do that willow," he said. "And you could take some pictures."

Jim has an informal arrangement with the local canal people; he takes out trees that represent a potential problem or danger to the canal and towpath, and their users. It saves them admin and bother - the canal volunteers can't move without a risk assessment and piles of hi-vis safety gear - and he gets firewood. I sometimes help, too, because I like doing that sort of thing. The willow was a pro bono job because the timber is pretty useless for burning, and not much use for anything else, unless you want to make a cricket bat.

"I said five years ago I'm getting too old for going up trees" said Jim. He's three years younger than me, but I didn't mention that. My younger self would have thought it surprising that people pushing towards 60 years old should be scrambling around in trees. But then my younger self was ageist.

He clambered into the harness and leg spikes, and we went to the willow tree whose bough was overhanging the towpath. Space's boat was underneath it. "He's a late riser, is Space" said Jim, knocking on the boat's roof.

Space emerged, blinking in the noontime light. "I'm moving in a few hours," he said. "You can do it then."

"Sorry, Space, got to do it now" said Jim. "We won't even touch your boat."

"If you do I shall be very annoyed," said Space, retreating into the dark fug of his boat.

Jim scrambled up through the ivy, dislodging a squirrel's drey that showered twigs down on him and looking more like the Green Man with every move. Having attached a rope high on the trunk, he swung down onto the limb that was sticking out over the canal, and as he lopped off sections of it, I swung them down to the ground. Space and his boat remained unsullied.

And then we had a glass of whisky and I drew Jim's picture. 

the K&A West End map

At last, I've finished this map. It's the West End of the Kennet and Avon Canal (that is, the section between Devizes and Bath), and includes as many as possible of the names by which the local places are known on the canal, as added by the K&A Facebook group members on this Google map.

Crikey! It took far longer to draw than anything I've done before. The first version got junked because it looked a bit rubbish; it's difficult trying to represent something that's essentially linear, on an oblong. The dimensions are dictated by the intended use of the map as a double page spread in the book I'm working on; but I'll also be doing some prints of the map, as it seemed so popular when I uploaded it last night.

After four days scarcely stirring from the drawing board, it was time to shake off the cabin fever. I took the panniers out to the bicycle - and was snapped at by the arctic gale that howled round me like a pack of hungry steppe wolves. It can get a bit harsh up here in the wide open spaces of the upper Avon valley, let me tell you.

So I went back in again, and stoked up the stove.

Fortunately, I have dried milk powder and flour, so I can still make a decent cup of tea and bread. Having skipped lunch yesterday I was achingly hungry, so made bread dough and, as soon as the wood in the stove had burned itself into a bright glow, I added the wire shelf and flattened out some balls of dough. Putting them onto the shelf inside the stove was rather difficult, as they were of course floppy. But after a very few minutes the underside was a fine colour and hard to the touch, and it was a doddle to take them out and flip them over; at which they obligingly inflated, and then came out, like puffballs but rather nicer smelling.

glowing nicely

flipped over and inflating nicely. The embers are still glowing, honest; the flash hides them

ready to eat! -after I've added bacon and egg, obviously 

another starry picture

....here's Leo, and a fireball, and the Alton Barnes white horse as seen from the canal near Honeystreet. Just a picture I wanted to do; and the generator charged up the boat batteries while I had the big computer running so that I could do the digital processing....

Been v busy sending off Christmas orders lately. I did a small print run of cards for my own use, like this- life on board nb Eve...

...I scanned it before I coloured it; was thinking I might do a colouring book, as they seem quite popular at the mo. If that is your thing, feel free to download the pic and have a go!

local names by local people

 

The Kennet and Avon boaters' Facebook group has been contributing to a Google map identifying the  places along the west end of the canal (from Devizes to Bath) and giving the names of places as they are known by the boaters. And adding a welcome touch of silliness to life along the way of course.

otter in the night

I'm sceptical when people claim to have seen otters on the canal. Oh yes, I think, but don't necessarily say, you saw a mink and would like it to have been an otter. Because otters are Nice, and mink are Nasty.

Still, one of the neighbours (neighbours in the canal sense can be sometimes next door and sometimes  several counties away. This is how canal society works).... one of the neighbours, I say, was insistent that a nearby culvert is a fine place for sitting out at dusk and watching the otters cavorting. Better than Strictly, it is, apparently.

I took myself down there, leaving my bike at a distance and walking feather-footed along the last few hundred yards of towpath.

It was a little early in the evening for otters to be cavorting, evidently. The silence was broken only by the choir practice of a local tawny owl clan. And a thousand rooks and jackdaws.

Down the wooden steps to the culvert, was a little platform for the canal people to stand on while inspecting things. And on the little platform was some poo.

If otters were around, this might well be the sort of place for them to leave their spraint. So I descended. It looked superficially a bit like small dog poo, but poking it with a stick (as you do) revealed fish bones.

Very ottery.

That night I was awoken by splashing and thumping against the hull. I took my Very Bright Torch and popped out of the after hatch. SOMETHING was swimming along the opposite bank by now. Two very bright eyes reflected my torchlight back to me. It dived and reappeared some distance away, then dived again...

Cycling to town the next day, a short distance from the boat I found this signal crayfish, intact save for the fleshy tail that had been scooped off and presumably eaten.

Kultur wars on the canal

When I was a lad, I’m sorry to say, 

My chance to join the Navy sadly slipped away

I worked instead selling clapped out motors,

Safe and sound a long way from such dang’rous waters

(safe and sound a long way from such dang’rous waters)

Safe and sound, I say, till, upon a whim

I bought a boat cos I’m a fan of Rosie’n Jim

(He bought a boat cos he’s a fan of Rosie’n Jim)

A marina berth I swiftly found,

And my gangplank very soon was rooted to the ground

I polished the brass and I drank my tea,

And I took to wearing captain’s hats and neckerchees

(he took to wearing captain’s hats and neckerchees)

A red neckerchee which you’ll find, I’m sure 

’s been traditional since roughly 1994

(It’s been traditional since roughly 1994)

One day in my telescope I chanced to spy

A tatty boat with bikes on as it chugged on by

Though it chugged on by, I’m pretty sure

It was only going to find a place nearby to moor

(it was only going to find a place nearby to moor)

And on mooring up, just you mark my words

They’ll be clogging up the waterway with piss and turds

(they’ll be clogging up the waterways with piss and turds)

An article I swiftly penned, 

For that bloke in Narrowmind World who is my best friend

In green Biro and with lots of caps

It was strong on righteous outrage though quite short on facts

(it was strong on righteous outrage but quite short on facts)

For facts and figures are your enemy

If you would sway the actions of the CRT

(if you would sway the actions of the CRT)

Inspired by a recent Narrowboat World piece that claimed that 'continuous moorers', as the writer humorously described them, were clogging up the western end of the Kennet and Avon canal. He made further, evidence-free claims that they were emptying effluent into the canal, because, well, look at them.... (edit) the claim that the K&A is clogged by 'continuous moorers' was debunked by the CRT themselves in this response to a request made by Rick Hemmings for the relevant stats, seen here:

...and now Tillergraph, a towpath freebie, echoes these sentiments with similar claims in its 'letter of the month',  further complaining that live aboard boaters are making the place look unsightly, and affecting the whole 'culture and ethos' of the canal. Hey ho. If in doubt, respond with persiflage and a touch of contumely. Thhhrrrrp.

wild times on the canal

Dawn near Semington. The roe hind raises her head and sweeps the horizon with the radar dishes of her ears. The fox is a red periscope surfacing from the thistles. A wood pigeon porpoises across the gulf of meadow. Fax and teletext messages burst in turn from the skylark and sedge warbler...

The hind examines a pair of cock pheasants who are quarrelling; she leaps back when they remonstrate with her; retreats a few paces, then edges forward again.

The fox tiptoes slowly away, quartering a nettle pitch with its head raised and ears well forward; it springs into the air, but whether or not it caught the mouse is impossible to tell from where I stand. The deer follows the hedge to a gap, and melts into the field of rape. 

Shortly after, the first jogger passes, and the towpath is recolonised by people. It's Sunday, and there are many walkers and cyclists.

As the sun begins to show signs of setting, a roebuck steps lightly out from cover and moves to a hollow in the field, where only his head and antlers can be seen. 

He looks expectantly back to the trees, and presently returns to them with a decided frisk in his hooves. 

The hind appears at the gallop, pursued by the buck; after a few circuits of the field, with much looking-back on her part, they settle to grazing, just out of reach of the last sunbeam that crosses the whole expanse, scintillating a million midges as it goes. 

A peacock calls, for this is, after all, Wiltshire.

competitive cycling on the canal towpath

le roi s'amuse

I was walking with some friends along the canal at Bradford on Avon. So wrapped up were we in talk that we didn't notice the rather striking chap in tattoos and lycra, advancing on his bicycle. "SOME PEOPLE DONT SEEM TO LOOK WHERE THEY'RE GOING" he exclaimed, in what I can only describe as a petulant tone, as he forced his way through the group.

"I didn't hear your bell. USE YOUR BELL YOU NUMPTY!" I called after his receding form.

But answer came there none.

Of course, he didn't have a bell. Apparently it's unmanly to have a bell on your bicycle. Or something.

a melodious bell

I'm all for shared use of the towpath, but there is a problem with some cyclists expecting all to jump out of their way, and, as has often been said, treating the towpath like a racetrack.

It's not just a figure of speech, either. Some cyclists are engaged in competitive riding on the towpath.

Strava is an app that records the journeys of its users, and ranks them according to the speed of their journey. This section is the Bath to Bradford on Avon towpath. As you see, the latest high scorer, Martin D, managed an average speed of 32.1 km/h, or 19.95 mph, over this 13.4 km towpath, on June 25. Quite impressive, given the uneven surface and often very narrow path, and blind corners under bridges. Small wonder he's been awarded the title of King of the Mountain (KOM); the humpback bridge that the track traverses at Dundas is, after all, really quite precipitous....

I wrote to Sustrans on 23 April

Dear Sustrans,
I live on a narrowboat moored on the west end of the Kennet and Avon canal, and I am a cyclist. So I appreciate the use of the towpath as a cycle route; indeed, I find it hugely useful, if not essential. I’m also aware, through my own experience and that of my fellow boaters, of selfish and sometimes dangerous behaviour on the part of some cyclists. I’m prompted to write after a friend’s recent and particularly unpleasant encounter with an aggressive fast cyclist.
I’ve learned that Strava provides an app that allows cyclists to time themselves on specific routes, including the section of NCN4 that follows the towpath between Bath and Bradford on Avon, where this incident took place. As you will see from the Strava website, there is a competitive element to this app, with a league table and the titles of KOM and QOM for the leaders.
http://www.strava.com/segments/bradford-on-avon-to-bath-london-rd-4453970?hl=en-GB
How does Sustrans feel about the towpath being used for this purpose, given that much of the towpath is narrow and entirely unsuited to fast cycling in an environment that contains pedestrians, children and animals? I understand that selfish cyclists are only a part of a wider social malaise; but for a company like Strava to foster competition among cyclists on a Sustrans route can surely only be a bad thing? 

Yours sincerely,
Dru Marland

I got a reply from Alistair Millington, Sustrans' area manager:

Dear Dru
Thanks for reporting this. We don't support the adoption of traffic-free sections of the National Cycle Network as Strava segments. We can flag this with Strava. I'm not sure whether that leads to its removal or a warning but I'll find out.
Best wishes, Alistair

....so that was a waste of time, apparently. We can look forward to the next aspiring KOM attaining the 20 MPH average speed record, sometime soon.

a morning badger

I put the kettle on, then steeped over to the open galley hatch. And froze. 

There on the bank opposite was a badger, drinking from the canal. Presently it turned and ascended into the wood, becoming invisible almost immediately in the undergrowth and the half-light of the early morning. 

For some time I heard it slowly truffling its way through the wood, in the general direction of home.

After my bucket of tea, I went up to the wharf, half a mile away. (When the hot weather began, I moved Eve to the shadiest spot I could find, in the shade of some great ashes and oaks. It's made a big difference to the temperature on board, which is now bearable). There are some wild cherry trees up there, and I'd noticed the day before that they had reached a peak of ripeness, some being deep red and some so deep that they looked almost black. One tree's fruit was quite sweet but a little bland; the next tree's fruit looked exactly the same, but was really sour, but with a strong flavour coming in behind the sourness. I thought it would be just the thing for putting in vodka...

The blackbirds were already busy in the tree; once wild cherries are ripe, they're gone in next to no time. They clucked petulantly and occasionally flurried at each other, even though there was plenty for everyone. A thrush darted up, plucked a cherry off on the wing, and returned to a chick, almost as big as itself, and presented it with the fruit.

I filled my Tupperware tub, and watched the martins that had begun wheeling over the housing estate over the water. Then there was a PLOP that is always worth investigating, and, watching the other bank, I saw a water vole swim along, then scramble out and start nibbling noisily at the reeds. Another one joined it. You could easily spot where they were, as the vegetation shook under the onslaught of their nibbles.

I got the camera out, then put my specs up on the top of my head, the better to see through the viewfinder. I turned, and PLOP. 

This time it was my specs.

Nothing else for it; off with shoes and leggings, and into the water. It was a great relief to find that the bottom was gravel, and not the slimy, foul mud that you often find down there. I guess the swash of many propellors had kept it clear. The water was just about waist deep. After ten minutes of probing with my toes, I found the specs and lifted them out.

And so home, to the second shower of the day.

Shame it was such a poor picture of the vole. Sometimes it's better just to enjoy the moment.

the exhibition in Bath

Last week was the exhibition in Walcot Chapel, Bath, for Gypsy, Roma, Traveller (and Boater) Month, organised by Julian House in Bath. I was v busy painting in the run up to it, and displayed eight paintings, of which the one above, of Jacqui at home on Aster, is the latest.

I sat in on the exhibition for quite a while, and got to meet all sorts of interesting and interested folk. Here's Brian, whose granddaughter once owned Netty, the boat in this picture. She'd asked him to come along and say hello, as she is over in West Wales.

Here's Maggie Smith-Bendell, author of Rabbit Stew And A Penny Or Two, who came for the opening of the exhibition and talked about her life

...and here are Jenks and Helen, whose boat rides on Lady Lena are apparently the most romantic thing you can do. Ever. Helen is the sculptor. Connie and Sam, the organisers of the whole thing, are there on the right.

....and Katie, with her picture....

wild times on the canal

Sitting out on the back hatch while the sun comes up; one of the joys of summer on the canal. If you keep still, you tend to get ignored by kingfishers and whatever else happens to be around, so you see lots. Yesterday morning I heard a clop, and turned, startling a roe deer on the towpath right next to me. It dashed back the way it had come, and dived into the canal, swimming across and scrambling up into the woods, where it did that disappearing trick that roe deer are so good at, only the white rump persisting a little longer, like the Cheshire cat's smile.

Up by the Sainsbury bridge in Bradford on Avon, a flight of steps ascends from the towpath to the road. I was heading up that way, and about to insert the front wheel of my bicycle into the ramp that allows you to get bikes up and down, when I saw a slow worm wriggling its unhurried way down.

I put the bike to one side and took its picture. A woman appeared at the bottom of the steps, pushing a pram with two small children in it. I told her about the slow worm, thinking the children might find it interesting.... they were more than interested; they picked it up and started to squabble over it, playing tug of war as I attempted to intervene without shouting at someone else's children, and the mother made ineffectual remarks; she evidently wasn't concerned about the welfare of the poor slow worm...

...and its tail came off and wriggled furiously. The brats were persuaded to deposit the creature in the grass, and led off crying. 

Hey ho.

Then there was the dog that came galumphing along the towpath, leaping into the water and emerging with a Huge And Very Dead eel. It dumped it by the side of my boat, and trotted away. Well, thank you.

I heaved it into the middle of the canal, and for the ret of the day it drifted to and fro in response to the vagaries of the water flow down the lock and up through the pump.... I began to contemplate means of sinking it or attaching it to a passing boat. But it was finally lost from sight and smell.

I hope.

making tracks, following them, staying put

A dusting of snow the other morning meant that I was up and out as soon as it was light, looking for footprints. There was some mink spraint under the bridge where I found some a couple of weeks ago; this was so fresh it was practically steaming...

...and a trail leading away to the nearby winding hole, where the undergrowth is thick and tangled. The trail ended there.

I was telling Mark, my neighbour, about it, and he found it odd that I should go around photographing poo. Each to their own, Mark. Think of King Pellinore, with his horn full of fewmets! 

The ice has limited my boat movements; it doesn't take much ice to make manoeuvring a narrowboat difficult. But it has allowed for some good photograph opportunities. Last night's sunset

was very quickly followed by the rising of the full moon. There is less than an hour between these two pictures

Towing Aster

Jacqui lives in nb Aster, a 1931 wooden narrowboat that's usually moored at Bathampton these days. In December it was towed over to Semington Dock for some work on the hull, and I volunteered to tow it back to its home mooring. 

I checked out the work when I arrived at Semington, though I managed to avoid getting my hands dirty.

Jacqui and her helpers, but mainly Louis, were patching up the hull using challico, a mixture of pitch and horse dung, boiled up together.

flooding the dock at the end of the job

Ian and Jason of Semington Dock ease Aster out into the pound

poling Aster round to the lock

making Aster fast to Eve ready for towing

I was a bit busy keeping a steady course through the wind and the rain for the next two days, so there aren't that many pics of the trip. Here's one that Craig Marshall took as we crossed the Dundas aqueduct, though

getting ready for day 2

Jacqui

top image from http://collections.canalrivertrust.org.uk/bw197.4.1.1.68

icebreaking

As I moved around the boat, I heard a tinkling noise outside. Pushing out from under the cratch cover and bracing myself against the icy air, I saw that the canal had become iced over; and the gentle rocking of Eve had set the ice scraping against itself, making strange noises, that reminded me of the way the fence wire sings as a train approaches. You know the one?

And then there was the swan convoy.

bunkering on the canal

Spencer and Victoria came by yesterday on nb Aquilo, their arrival heralded by the clanging of the handbell. They're based at Hilperton, and travel between Bath and Pewsey with fuel and chandlery.

I bought some Calor gas and coal; there's still plenty of diesel in the tank from their last visit, and of course I'm still burning the ash wood that Jim dropped off the other week. So that's the fuel supplies sorted till the new year and beyond...

Suzanne goes Electra

Suzanne's 'year in a paragraph' was read out on iPM ('the programme that starts with its listeners') on BBC Radio 4, yesterday. So I put a slideshow together to go with it, as it was a year that I was fortunate to have some share in, and in which I met lots of terrific people afloat, and elsewhere.

Here is the account of the trip up the Severn to Sharpness
Here is the trip from Bristol to Portishead