Our Canal Companion Guides have been invaluable. Each page dissects a 4-5 mile (about 2 hours travel by narrowboat) section of the canal offering a detailed map and an informative narrative. One such section on today’s travel upon the 200 year old Trent & Mersey Canal enticed us into pausing for two very rewarding hikes.

Yesterday’s post provided photographs of the enchanting Longacre Wood that is cared for by the Woodland Trust. If you have not yet seen those pictures they are worth the “visit” to that post and give some insight into the beauty that surrounds us on these ancient canals.

The second hike mentioned in the Guide is to the Dutton Locks on the Weaver River Navigation. Less than half a mile walk down a public right-of-way that travels along farm fields we intersected this inland waterway.

Into the late 20th Century one could see large coastal vessels navigating these waters. From the Trent & Mersey Canal the upper decks of large ships would seem to magically appear and ghost across the land and woods in the distance, the Weaver waterway being hidden from the eye. Sadly, the perfectly good Weaver has been abandoned by commercial trade and is slowly falling into disrepair for want of the funding required to maintain it. The sunken hotel boat Chica may well be a predictive metaphor for the future of the waterway and locks.

It is almost comical to see the two huge Dutton Locks (one of which has been out of service for 30 years) serving small pleasure craft. The lock-keeper told us that upstream is a narrowboat club and on holidays the club will send as many as 60 vessels into the lock where they assemble in an orderly fashion and pack together like so many LEGO blocks for a single downriver discharge. At the end of the day, presumably after a few pints, the boats return and present an impossible confusion of narrowboats colliding into one another in slow motion. For some reason their skippers are unable to replicate the morning’s feats of seamanship.

The locks were first opened in 1874, technological wonders of the 19th Century. 14 water turbines powered the valves and gates, controlled by large iron levers and windlass handles. Today the task is powered by electric motors and is controlled by the lock-keeper at a switch laden panel. He candidly states his preference for the reliability of the old system.

Another nod to the remarkable ingenuity of the 19th Century looms in the distance. In 1837 Joseph Locke designed and built the imposing Dutton Rail Viaduct. Composed of 22 sandstone arches, it has carried rail traffic across the the river valley for 180 years, from steam railroading’s infancy to the bullet-trains of today. It remains one of Englands busiest rail corridors bearing up to the scores of trains that cross is every day.

In contrast to the bustle of the distant viaduct was a peaceful green and well placed bench that provided us with the perfect opportunity for a self-timer group photo.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. I am typing this post in the very early morning hours of May 2nd. This is our last travel day on Great Britain’s canals as we will be returning to our Middlewich port this afternoon. Salten-Fjord has been our home and our transportation for 3 weeks. The inevitable question presents itself, will we do this again. I have to reserve judgment but promise more on that another time. We still have 3 weeks left ahead to us to this journey.

11 pence UK is roughly 14 cents US. I am 67 years old and in my experience it has been 60 years since 11 pence could purchase anything meaningful. As a child of 5 it bought a candy bar or a small bottle of Coke… a cup of coffee for an adult, even an order of french fries (called “chips” here in the UK) at a McDonalds. It has been decades since the equivalent of 11 pence was usable pocket tender… Now it doesn’t buy a stick of gum or even 15 minutes of time on a parking meter. Today it was the price of a priceless experience. Please read on.

On January 1, 1894 Queen Victoria dedicated and officially opened the Manchester Ship Canal. At 36 miles long it is a major commercial shipping artery that connects Manchester to the Irish Sea. It can accommodate vessels that are up to 65 feet wide and 600 feet long. Then the largest ship canal in the world, it remains the world’s eighth longest, slightly shorter than the Panama Canal.

Today our narrowboat plied the the tiny Bridgewater Canal and took us to within a short hike of The Manchester.

We moored near the town of Thelwall, an attractive village that traces its origin to the year 923 when “Edward the Elder Founded a Cyty Here and Called it Thelwall.”

From Thelwall we walked to the set of the major shipping locks on The Manchester, strolled along the edge of the chamber’s open chasm, and then across the actual lock gates. A pleasant stroll marked for the public, this is something that would NEVER be permitted in the States.

We continued back along the north shore of The Manchester to a point across from Thelwall. Hundreds of yards of water stood to thwart our return. But read on…

Before the founding of Thelwall, perhaps reaching into the recesses of pre-history, there was a footpath at the place where we stood. Under English Common Law that footpath had become a public right-of-way. When plans were laid to dig the massive ship canal that small footpath could not be ignored. An accommodation was reached whereby the canal company would establish and maintain a ferry crossing for pedestrians. We stood on one side of the canal and hailed across to the other. In response, a lean man who appeared to be tending a small green on the opposite bank picked up a very long oar and boarded a small aluminum boat. He “sculled” the boat across the channel to us much as a Venice gondola-man might have.

This was Kevin. A very pleasant man who for 17 years has been providing this one man ferry service as an employee of the canal company. He lives nearby and except on Sundays and bank holidays he rows folks back and forth between the two established wharves that he maintains.

Kevin spoke of his early years at the tiller. The waters were oil polluted and immune to freezing. Clean water legislation thankfully changed all that, but when the unusually cold winter of 2010 struck the canal froze. It was no impediment to shipping which just punched through the 3 inch thick sheet of ice, but it stopped Kevin for a time. Little else does.

He pauses his service during ship passings and for the occasional vacation (another local takes on Kevin’s duties to allow him to take his holiday). Understandably, the passage is not free. Since 1982 price increase the established fare, including tax, is precisely 11 pence UK, or about 14 cents US. Although it does not appear upon the sign, experiencing the short crossing with Kevin at the helm is priceless.

Peace Everyone. Pete

Christine became a fan of Strongbow Hard Cider during one of our prior travels to the UK. This post is not about that beverage.

In case you missed my last post, we awoke at 2 a.m. this morning to the raucous laughter of some young drunks. They pounded against our hull with their fists and thus called the four of us from sound sleep. I peered out the window to discover that they had untied us from our moorings and set us adrift. We restored order soon enough, but the adrenaline charge assured that there was to be no more sound sleep at that docking.

We slept-in this morning to stave off sleep deprivation. By the time we had dressed and taken a bite of breakfast the predicted storm “Hannah” was hard upon us. Concern even motivated our Welsh friends, Huw and Nina Thomas, to give us a ring. The rain sodden zephyr had crossed their location to the south and was of sufficient intensity to even threaten long established trees. The weather reports were properly pessimistic as I watched the barometer dip into some serious storm territory. Nevertheless, we proceeded down the canal with intentions of a 4 hour cruise to the Anderton Lift, one of the “Seven Wonders of the British Canals”. There will be more on that destination when we make it… a hint that we did not make it today.

We pressed on against the force of the storm for over two hours. Driving rain and brutal headwinds slowed our progress to the point that full throttle threatened to become insufficient in some stretches. On a “normal day” we should have seen dozens of fellow narrowboaters plying the waters. We saw only one while underway. Prudence dictated that I find a secure mooring, and when good fortune presented an opportunity I seized upon it.

We are tied to concrete embedded mooring rings in an isolated picnic grove that is only accessible by boat. There should be no miscreants tonight unless they drop in by parachute. The weather should clear by morning as this “StrongBlow” plows through. In the meantime we are four souls stuck by circumstances in a submarine-like interior space that is barely 6 feet wide and 50 feet long. We half expect a cigarette smoking Rod Serling, wearing a pencil-thin tie, to suddenly appear on shore speaking to an invisible audience… “Given for your consideration, 4 friends set out for a pleasant narrowboat holiday only to find that their destination has become… The Twilight Zone.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. This evening, in spite of the cramped quarters, Christine and Tom prepared a marvelous onboard dinner for the four of us. Nanci and I handled the KP (clean-up) duties afterward. The sharing that we celebrated became the highpoint of the day… thus we have now found ourselves in The “Highlight Zone”!

My self declared “Intermission” has apparently ended before it began. As I said in the last post, topics seem to fall from the sky. Yesterday afternoon and night stand as proof. Read on…

We returned to The Boar’s Head Inn, which had been our billet for our first two nights in England. There we met Tom and Nanci who had arrived minutes before by train and taxi from Birmingham. Liz, the proprietor of the establishment, stood duty behind the bar and served our first round of pints with the warmest of smiles. I gave passing notice without much thought that the pub seemed very busy for 5 p.m., and that the patrons were all well dressed by usual pub standards. My attention became seriously sharpened when one of the nattily attired customers approached our table and made reference to our own appearance. He accusingly declaring that we must be narrowboaters. I was somewhat relieved that he was smiling, but became alarmed as he continued. “You look like Canadians arrived from Birmingham… and you (me) must be Peter who came in from Manchester and plans next week to travel to Chester with your lot!” The four of us were dumbstruck, it was as if the air had suddenly left the room. We each silently struggled to fathom the depth of the man’s clairvoyance. He then laughed at our drop-jaw shock and revealed the nature of his insights. It was Andy, owner of AK Private Hire. Back in the States I had arranged with Andy via email for one of his vans to transport us from Manchester Airport to Middlewich, and earlier in the day I had confirmed arrangements with him for transport of the four of us and our luggage to Chester next week. Andy made great use of his “inside knowledge” at our expense. With relief the four of us now joined his laughter and he joined us, pint in hand. Andy was at the pub to attend the wake of a friend which was being conducted in the next room. Thus was explained the assembly of well dressed people.

Tom, Nanci, Liz, and Andy (and perhaps the recently dearly departed) stand at one end of the human spectrum, which for the purpose of this post I will deem the “Saints of the day”. They did not stand alone.

During the 90 minutes preceding Tom and Nanci’s arrival I sought to visit the nearby St. Michael & All Angels Church of Middlewich. The ancient church and grounds had drawn me when we first arrived two weeks ago, but I was denied a visit as all the doors were locked.

Today Christine remained at Salten-Fjord reading, so this was a solo venture on my part. I was once again thwarted by locked doors so I was left to walk the grounds and examine the hundreds of tombstones that had been laid in the horizontal creating a walkway and patio area. I was later to learn that they were once conventionally arrayed in the vertical but years ago the church green space had been seriously reduced by the incursion of two intersecting highways.

I was approached by a gentleman who asked of my interest in the church. Upon my reply he then asked if I wished to see the interior… he was Mike Reed, a member of the parish governing body, and he had the keys! Mike ushered me in, turned on the lights, and most kindly gave me a brief tour that included instructions for accessing the church website.

One of their very tech-savvy parishioners had assembled a remarkable virtual tour of the interior highlights that includes a “Heritage Trail” and separate 360 degree viewing feature. Here are links that will give you access to the history of the church, the interior “Heritage Trail”, and the 360 degree viewing image:

Church History (“Click” Past, Present, Future, down the page) http://www.middlewichparishchurch.org.uk/mhome.html

Heritage Trail http://heritage.middlewichparishchurch.org.uk

360 Degee Tour https://my.matterport.com/models/XFBCnSc8tQc?section=media&mediasection=showcase

I have included some images to entice your visit to the above websites, but I will defer to those sites to provide you with details and insights. I offer my gratitude to Mike, another “Saint” of the day, for his generous grant of time and knowledge that made this sharing possible.

Now for the “Sinners” of the day: At 2 a.m. this morning we were awoke from our slumbers aboard Salten-Fjord by rowdy voices. Soon, there was the sound of pounding fists agains the steel hull of the vessel with accompanying laughter. I peered outside and saw that the canal towpath was moving… we were adrift!!

The four of us clambered from our beds and assembled on deck to find that a group of drunken rowdies had untied our moorings and those of the vessel berthed astern of us. I engaged the engine, and navigated back to the canal-side where Tom held us in place against the current while Christine and I searched for our mooring lines. In short order we secured our vessel and the neighboring narrowboat. A call was made to the police and to the nearby Andersen Boats yard to give warning of the mischief afoot. Nanci made coffee and tea (decaf, of course) and after some deep breathing we all returned to bed.

The world is populated by both sinners and saints. This was a rare day that brought me into close contact with the extremes of that spectrum. I prefer hanging out with the Saints.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. During his impromptu tour of St. Michael’s Mike explained that the church was undergoing a much needed restoration. Over £300,000.00 has already been spend on just one portion of the roof. There is need for another £1,000,000.00 to continue the work. If there are any who wish to lend a hand by way of a contribution, please do!!