Valiantly to Adlington

We'd planned to sit tight today and move tomorrow, but when we heard the forecast soon changed our minds. The remnants of Hurricane Bertha arrive tomorrow, so moving today was a bit of a no-brainer.

Accordingly, off we went before half seven and were on the new water point in Macc a bit after eight. It's not the fastest tap in the world but eventually the tank was mostly full. I manoeuvred the bow across to the towpath and Sheila hopped off to nip up to the Co-op to stock up on milk and tomatoes.

She caught up with me a couple of bridges later and we slithered on. We'd been warned that the section round Macc and Hurdsfield was the worst for shallows. Just before we got there we passed a boat off the K&A whose steerer was full of gloom.

“It's too shallow, you'll never get through” was the burden of his cry. I said a polite thank you and refrained from remarks about southern softies and the like. He brought to mind a verse from the song Working Boater's Way by David Blagrove MBE:

A worker true who will get them through
Is the type the water breeds
On a watery rut, like the Moira Cut,
Where every turn is full of mud and weeds
If the water‘s there we will take our pair
No matter what the dismal Jimmies say
When they're all in bed we'll be getting 'em ahead
That's the working boatman‘s way

It was tricky in places, but we got through all the bridge holes and narrows without actually stopping altogether. Some sterling work by the Macclesfield Canal Society dredging the worst bridges, 20 and 21, meant that they were no worse than the others.

It was just on twelve when we arrived at Adlington. The best moorings, through the bridge and opposite the marina, are restricted to 24 hours (God and CRT know why, I certainly don't) so we've tied on the shallower ones before you get to the bridge.

After lunch we were slumped reading the electronic Indy (me) and doing some crochet (Sheila) when Sebeq (Braidbar 77) was seen passing by. Helga was on her own and came in for a cup of tea and a right royal natter before carrying on to Macc for the night.

Tomorrow, I might actually get that fender finished as the rain lashes down and the wind howls. It might be the ideal conditions for watching Ruddigore, come to think of it.