On to the Grand Union

After a days rest before I had even started Teri, Brian and Aoiffe arrived. “Where are you?” they asked on the telephone. Thirty seconds later they were at the boat, if I had stuck my head out we could have talked without a phone.

For lunch a chicken was slaughtered and cooked. Having a slight cash flow problem, it’s always good when people turn up bringing real food, it tastes so good. Teri and Brian were remarkably good at boat handling considering it was 13 years since they were last on a narrowboat, “It’s like riding a bike,” said Brian. I have experience of both and I’m not entirely convinced. We moored up at Cropedy, squeezing in the last suitable place available, fenders touching at both ends (bikes don’t have fenders), tied expertly by Brian using simple knot I haven’t seen before (photo), I’m useless as knots.

Cycling back to Adderbury to pick up the car I stopped at traffic lights in Banbury. A vehicle pulled up behind blasting it horn, the lights remained red, so I ignored it. It carried on blasting, somewhat impatiently, so I continued to ignore it, finally turning around to see what the problem was, then quickly leapt out of the way. Behind me was a fire engine, light flashing, at no time a siren going. I blame the council cutbacks, siren operators were the first to go.

Departing Saturday afternoon from Cropedy was surprisingly quiet. A couple sat on a bench watched me pass through a lock, “That’s the most professional locking we have ever seen,” they said. True it had been text book perfect, the boat allowed to drift in to rest perfectly at the top gates as I closed the bottom, where it remained as the lock filled. Thankfully they didn’t see me at the next lock 100 metres further along for I really cocked it up. The boat drifted back as the lock filled, the tiller swung around then the rudder wedged itself between the bottom gates, luckily freeing itself before I could close the top paddles. The long rural stretch beyond Fenny Compton was completely deserted, the canal was my own.

I started at six o’clock on Sunday morning, the plan to get through the nine locks at Napton before traffic jams built up. It paid off, but not in the way I expected. Mooring up at one of the last I emptied the lock as three boaters arrived telling me of a problem with the bottom gates, so much water leaked out, it never levelled at the top gate so they were unable to open it the previous evening. Our combined strength forced it open. Too much water had leaked from the pound above, leaving my boat grounded, tilting so much I saw bits of the boat I had never seen before. Another boat arrived at the lock above, the water sent down refloating my boat just in time for me to pass through the lock before British Waterways closed it sort out the problem. Below a queue had already built up.

Between Napton on the Hill and Braunston the Oxford Canal joins the Grand Union for 5 miles for a lock free cruise. It was packed, heaving, boats constantly passing the other way. On mooring at Braunston another boat moored right behind me, “We counted 30 boats passing the other way in 3 miles.” they told me.

The previous weekend Braunston hosted the Historical Canal Boat Festival, some still remained (photo), and very picturesque they were too. I walked along to the bottom lock, the first of 8 wide locks heading up, the locks constantly in use as a steady stream of boats passed through. “It’s nothing like last weekend,” said the lady in the shop, “it was really busy then.” I must remember not to pass anywhere when there is a festival on.

I arrived at the locks alone the following morning, another arriving just in time. We worked well as a team through the flight before passing through the 2,000 metre Braunston tunnel. I had planned to stop after the tunnel, but having a boat as company who were passing down the next flight was too good an opportunity to miss.

Mooring up behind the other boat as we prepared a lock I tied mine to the bank using the centre rope and piling hock. I obviously didn’t tie it tight enough as when I returned the rope guide had been ripped off, sheering straight through two screws, and bending the piling hook. The flow created by water entering the lock had made the boat move forwards and it clearly objected to being stopped dead. Lesson learned!

Filling up with fuel the following day I had stopped next to a boat yard, so I called in. “How much will a quick job cost?” I asked. “£1000. It’s a boat after all.” They drilled the screws out, created new threads and screwed the guide back in for a fiver. A good job done.