7th July
It was another good evening last night. I did a chicken tagine with cous-cous for dinner, and we sat about and nattered until eleven again.
This morning I walked into the village and shopped at the Mills newsagent and the greengrocers. Despite John's advice last night, I didn't find the Co-op. Apparently you have to go well past the chip shop and the village hall, and on round the corner to get to it.
Back at the moorings, we had a merry time winding Waimaru. The canal looked just about wide enough, but our first attempt ended with her stuck across the cut needing maybe another two foot to get round.
I reckoned that it was just that bit wider further up, so we all hauled on various ropes and moved along a bit, and sure enough, round she went.
The crew of a cruiser tied nearby were a bit mystified, and a bit anxious I think. They didn't seem to appreciate my explanation that I thought that the morning was a bit quiet and that we wanted to do something to liven it up.
Be that as it may, we said our farewells to John and Nev and set off for the routine plod to Torksey. A bit more than half way there, weird noises came from the engine. At first I thought it was something on the prop, and chucked back, but that didn't help.
Investigating under the engine boards showed the bad news; the engine alternator belt had jumped its pulleys and was rattling around. Even as I watched, the rev counter started to slow as the alternator ran down (the tacho is driven electronically from a winding on the alternator), and the warning light and siren came on to say that the start battery was no longer being charged.
I stopped the engine, and we coasted into the side. Sheila got off the bow, having first done what she could with the boat hook to clear away the rampant nettles on the bank, and took the centreline.
I got the engine boards up, and found that the belt had partly delaminated, so that it was no longer taut, and had a bit missing underneath, so it had come off the water pump pulley,which is the highest one it goes round. We had a spare, but that belt is the innermost of the three on the engine, and there was nothing for it but to take them all off.
This task was made more exciting by the fact that the engine was very hot, of course, but eventually it was done, and the new belt persuaded into place. Then there was just the fun of tensioning them all. The new belt was no problem, and the Travelpower belt is an old friend and soon co-operated, but the domestic alternator was its usual awkward self.
Meantime, it started to rain.
The last belt was finally tightened up, and the engine restarted. Sheila scrambled back on board, and took over the helm whilst I sorted tools away, tidied up and got washed. A check under the boards showed everything spinning round just as it should.
I then abandoned Sheila to her fate as it really started to rain, a torrential downpour. She was wearing a waterproof top and shorts, and got inside the back doors and just had to tough it out. On arrival at the Torksey visitor moorings, I took over the helm in the downpour, and Sheila hopped off onto the landing to take the lines.
After making all secure, we retreated below to dry off and (in Sheila's case) change shorts. At least bare skin is easier to dry than trousers, and it's just as well all this happened today, rather than somewhere on the tidal Trent tomorrow.
We're running a washload as I type, so as to give the engine some work to do and to check that all is hunky dory on the engine again.
I've been and spoken to the lockie just to cross check timings. The optimum departure for us is 0850, so we'll be in position waiting to pen down at half eight tomorrow. Newark here we come.
Showing posts with label Saxilby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Saxilby. Show all posts
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
Monday, 6 July 2009
Farewell to the Witham
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Saxilby
Sunday, 14 June 2009
Visits and boating in the sun
13th & 14th June
Yesterday was, as hoped, mainly taken up by a visit from the junior branch of the family, in the shape of Cathy, Graeme, Daniel and Alexander. They turned up mid morning, and stayed with us for lunch and well into the afternoon. It was great to see them all, and both grandkids are clearly thriving.
As you'd expect, Graeme and Cathy spend a lot of time worrying about whether they are getting it right, and all we can do is try to reassure them that they are doing a splendid job. I guess almost all parents go through the same thing – by the time you've got the hang of it, the kids are old enough to tell you where you went wrong, a phenomenon known as adolescence.
The weather continues to be flaming June at its best, which is particularly enjoyable on these waters.
Other stuff about Saxilby:
I think I commented last time on the popularity of the local chippy. During the afternoon, one of Cathy's friends who lives in the village came over with her two offspring of much the same age as Dan and Alex. In her opinion, the chippy isn't in fact that wonderful, it's just the only one between Gainsborough and Lincoln. We didn't sample it, so I pass on the info uncorroborated.
The mooring we chose alongside the picnic area, turns out to be used as an open air pub by the local twenty somethings. Most of the time, this wasn't a problem, but as the drinking, shouting and occasional fighting went on until midnight, it did get a bit tedious.
Half way through the evening, another broad, tall cruiser turned up. It was unusual in that it had a flaming barbeque on its bow deck, and I'm not being antipodean in my use of language here.
They tied in front of us, and at one stage we were concerned that the flames were going to set fire to the willow tree overhanging the mooring, but all seemed to be well. We never actually saw anyone cook on the thing – perhaps they were just using it as a primitive navigation light.
This morning, I popped to the shop to get a paper, and on my return, tidied up the picnic site. It wasn't as bad as might have been feared from the amount of booze consumed during the six hours or so the party was in progress, but it still made sense to clear it up. Scruffy areas tend to get scruffier, whilst tidy ones encourage folk to leave them like that, so it seemed a worthwhile exercise to us.
We then set off on another glorious day to boat through to Lincoln and beyond. The water point in Saxilby was being used by two large wide beams, so we went on and used the services block on the approach to the city. It's just beyond the long length of permanent moorings, and has all services except recycling.
As before, we noted that the best moorings for shopping in Lincoln are on the Witham. If you go through the Glory Hole and under the modern sculpture "Empowerment", there a lot of rings on the wall between there and Stamp End Sluice. Tying here would be far better than trying to use Brayford Pool, which sadly continues to look rather scruffy, run down and frankly unsafe.
Stamp End Lock was its usual awkward self. It has one of the slowest opening guillotine gates on the system at the top, and this time we had the complication that as the lock started to fill, it became apparent that the bottom gates weren't going to close properly as there was a chunk of tree between them.
Giving the gates a shove only succeeded in bringing on the "Bottom gates open" light in the control box, which meant that it wouldn't let us close the guillotine. We had to draw the bottom paddles, and then shove the gates open despite the flow of water coming through from the slightly raised top gate, so that the wood eventually floated free.
Then we could shut them and fill the lock at the snail's pace the automated system allows. By the time we'd got through and closed up again, we'd spent half an hour at the place, amidst a smell of sewage and the large dead fish in the lock.
But that was the only downer in the whole day. We stopped on the pontoon at Washingborough for lunch, then carried on through Bardney Lock to Bardney Bridge pontoon for the night.
It's very peaceful here, despite the traffic over the bridge just downstream of us, and we're looking forward to a quiet night.
Yesterday was, as hoped, mainly taken up by a visit from the junior branch of the family, in the shape of Cathy, Graeme, Daniel and Alexander. They turned up mid morning, and stayed with us for lunch and well into the afternoon. It was great to see them all, and both grandkids are clearly thriving.
As you'd expect, Graeme and Cathy spend a lot of time worrying about whether they are getting it right, and all we can do is try to reassure them that they are doing a splendid job. I guess almost all parents go through the same thing – by the time you've got the hang of it, the kids are old enough to tell you where you went wrong, a phenomenon known as adolescence.
The weather continues to be flaming June at its best, which is particularly enjoyable on these waters.
Other stuff about Saxilby:
I think I commented last time on the popularity of the local chippy. During the afternoon, one of Cathy's friends who lives in the village came over with her two offspring of much the same age as Dan and Alex. In her opinion, the chippy isn't in fact that wonderful, it's just the only one between Gainsborough and Lincoln. We didn't sample it, so I pass on the info uncorroborated.
The mooring we chose alongside the picnic area, turns out to be used as an open air pub by the local twenty somethings. Most of the time, this wasn't a problem, but as the drinking, shouting and occasional fighting went on until midnight, it did get a bit tedious.
Half way through the evening, another broad, tall cruiser turned up. It was unusual in that it had a flaming barbeque on its bow deck, and I'm not being antipodean in my use of language here.
They tied in front of us, and at one stage we were concerned that the flames were going to set fire to the willow tree overhanging the mooring, but all seemed to be well. We never actually saw anyone cook on the thing – perhaps they were just using it as a primitive navigation light.
This morning, I popped to the shop to get a paper, and on my return, tidied up the picnic site. It wasn't as bad as might have been feared from the amount of booze consumed during the six hours or so the party was in progress, but it still made sense to clear it up. Scruffy areas tend to get scruffier, whilst tidy ones encourage folk to leave them like that, so it seemed a worthwhile exercise to us.
We then set off on another glorious day to boat through to Lincoln and beyond. The water point in Saxilby was being used by two large wide beams, so we went on and used the services block on the approach to the city. It's just beyond the long length of permanent moorings, and has all services except recycling.
As before, we noted that the best moorings for shopping in Lincoln are on the Witham. If you go through the Glory Hole and under the modern sculpture "Empowerment", there a lot of rings on the wall between there and Stamp End Sluice. Tying here would be far better than trying to use Brayford Pool, which sadly continues to look rather scruffy, run down and frankly unsafe.
Stamp End Lock was its usual awkward self. It has one of the slowest opening guillotine gates on the system at the top, and this time we had the complication that as the lock started to fill, it became apparent that the bottom gates weren't going to close properly as there was a chunk of tree between them.
Giving the gates a shove only succeeded in bringing on the "Bottom gates open" light in the control box, which meant that it wouldn't let us close the guillotine. We had to draw the bottom paddles, and then shove the gates open despite the flow of water coming through from the slightly raised top gate, so that the wood eventually floated free.
Then we could shut them and fill the lock at the snail's pace the automated system allows. By the time we'd got through and closed up again, we'd spent half an hour at the place, amidst a smell of sewage and the large dead fish in the lock.
But that was the only downer in the whole day. We stopped on the pontoon at Washingborough for lunch, then carried on through Bardney Lock to Bardney Bridge pontoon for the night.
It's very peaceful here, despite the traffic over the bridge just downstream of us, and we're looking forward to a quiet night.
Friday, 12 June 2009
From tidal to still waters
11th & 12th June
Not long after I'd finished the last post, Peter and Anne of Agapé turned up and Sheila nipped out and had a long chat (I was cooking chili con carne by that time). As we hoped, they had no problem with us being tied outside them, and seemed genuinely pleased to see us again.
In the course of the evening we had phone chats with both Elanor and Graeme, in the latter case making some tentative arrangements for the next week's family rendezvous (what is the plural of that last word, or is it its own plural, like sheep?)
Whilst all this was going on (meaning I don't recall just when) a pair of swans with 14 cygnets turned up, so Sheila took some photos of them through the side hatch.
Next morning, some of us had a bit of a panic at the sight of the increased flow through Newark dyke. If it's this fast in the canalised section, we wondered, what will it be like in the main river?
We did some shopping and dumped the recycling, or at least as much as there were bins for at Waitrose. Then I walked back up to Town Lock and had a chat with the lockie when he came on at half nine.
He said that we would be fine to go down to Cromwell, and the start of the tidal section, but that we should take further advice there about going on to Torksey. Meantime he would contact Newark Nether Lock and let them know we were coming. This was particularly useful, as the upstream lock landing for Nether is out of sight of the lock itself.
Back to the boat I went, and we set off at once. As we approached the lock, I gave the lockie a call on the VHF, and was told to carry on past the landing and into the basin above the lock. He could only open one gate as there was a load of detritus behind the other.
He also rang Cromwell whilst we were penning through, and said that the advice was to keep going all the way to Torksey in the one day, as there was a lot of "fresh" coming down the river after all the rain in Derbyshire, and the next day (i.e. today) would be trickier.
So on we went, Sheila taking over the helm for the tidal bit. It was the last of the ebb, but there was so much extra water in the river that we had little trouble with depth. This had not been the case for the unfortunate Emilyanne, which we passed about five miles below Cromwell.
It looked as if she had tried to cut the corner on a bend and paid the price, running well aground. Indeed, as we went by, most of her hull was exposed as she sat fair and square on her flat bottom.
We lunched on the way, and got to Torksey at around quarter to two. At Sheila's request, I took over the helm for the turn into Torksey Dyke, and we tied on the pontoons below the lock. I walked up to the lock to find out how long we'd have to wait to get through, it being slack water at the bottom of the ebb, when there's not usually enough water over the cill of the lock to use it.
The lockie said that we could come straight through, so that by the time I'd got back to Sanity and we'd started up again, the lock was almost ready. In we went to the enormous chamber, and with little trouble came up into the oldest canal in the country.
Although I don't suffer from quite as much anxiety as Sheila does about boating on moving water, it was nonetheless a relief to be on a canal again. The lockie said we could stop on the service moorings for the night, so we were able to pull over and tie up straight away. The proper visitor moorings are a good half mile further down, at the end of all the long term stuff.
I broke out a beer and we sat in the sun and relaxed properly for the first time since we saw the red light at Redhill at the beginning of the week.
Today, we made a leisurely start and ambled down to Saxilby, the first place of any note. Being a) Roman built and b) in the fen country, the Fossdyke is very straight, with just the occasional bend to keep the steerer awake.
The weather has been just superb, and we've spent a lot of the day sitting in the sun, reading. The visitor moorings here are excellent, with a park like surround to them including picnic tables and a barbeque.
Just after lunch, Cathy gave us a call, having noted the boat (and my cowboy hat, seemingly) as she drove past on her way to some friends. She stopped by for an hour, so I've finally had a chance to meet Alexander, though he's not got a lot to say for himself yet, except to gesture at his bottle and give contented little eructations as he consumes it.
Takes after his father and grandfather, really.
We're all going to meet up again tomorrow, though we may well just have a family do on the boat, as there will be a lot of pressure on what moorings there are between here and Lincoln on a sunny Saturday in June.
Not long after I'd finished the last post, Peter and Anne of Agapé turned up and Sheila nipped out and had a long chat (I was cooking chili con carne by that time). As we hoped, they had no problem with us being tied outside them, and seemed genuinely pleased to see us again.
In the course of the evening we had phone chats with both Elanor and Graeme, in the latter case making some tentative arrangements for the next week's family rendezvous (what is the plural of that last word, or is it its own plural, like sheep?)
Whilst all this was going on (meaning I don't recall just when) a pair of swans with 14 cygnets turned up, so Sheila took some photos of them through the side hatch.
Next morning, some of us had a bit of a panic at the sight of the increased flow through Newark dyke. If it's this fast in the canalised section, we wondered, what will it be like in the main river?
We did some shopping and dumped the recycling, or at least as much as there were bins for at Waitrose. Then I walked back up to Town Lock and had a chat with the lockie when he came on at half nine.
He said that we would be fine to go down to Cromwell, and the start of the tidal section, but that we should take further advice there about going on to Torksey. Meantime he would contact Newark Nether Lock and let them know we were coming. This was particularly useful, as the upstream lock landing for Nether is out of sight of the lock itself.
Back to the boat I went, and we set off at once. As we approached the lock, I gave the lockie a call on the VHF, and was told to carry on past the landing and into the basin above the lock. He could only open one gate as there was a load of detritus behind the other.
He also rang Cromwell whilst we were penning through, and said that the advice was to keep going all the way to Torksey in the one day, as there was a lot of "fresh" coming down the river after all the rain in Derbyshire, and the next day (i.e. today) would be trickier.
So on we went, Sheila taking over the helm for the tidal bit. It was the last of the ebb, but there was so much extra water in the river that we had little trouble with depth. This had not been the case for the unfortunate Emilyanne, which we passed about five miles below Cromwell.
It looked as if she had tried to cut the corner on a bend and paid the price, running well aground. Indeed, as we went by, most of her hull was exposed as she sat fair and square on her flat bottom.
We lunched on the way, and got to Torksey at around quarter to two. At Sheila's request, I took over the helm for the turn into Torksey Dyke, and we tied on the pontoons below the lock. I walked up to the lock to find out how long we'd have to wait to get through, it being slack water at the bottom of the ebb, when there's not usually enough water over the cill of the lock to use it.
The lockie said that we could come straight through, so that by the time I'd got back to Sanity and we'd started up again, the lock was almost ready. In we went to the enormous chamber, and with little trouble came up into the oldest canal in the country.
Although I don't suffer from quite as much anxiety as Sheila does about boating on moving water, it was nonetheless a relief to be on a canal again. The lockie said we could stop on the service moorings for the night, so we were able to pull over and tie up straight away. The proper visitor moorings are a good half mile further down, at the end of all the long term stuff.
I broke out a beer and we sat in the sun and relaxed properly for the first time since we saw the red light at Redhill at the beginning of the week.
Today, we made a leisurely start and ambled down to Saxilby, the first place of any note. Being a) Roman built and b) in the fen country, the Fossdyke is very straight, with just the occasional bend to keep the steerer awake.
The weather has been just superb, and we've spent a lot of the day sitting in the sun, reading. The visitor moorings here are excellent, with a park like surround to them including picnic tables and a barbeque.
Just after lunch, Cathy gave us a call, having noted the boat (and my cowboy hat, seemingly) as she drove past on her way to some friends. She stopped by for an hour, so I've finally had a chance to meet Alexander, though he's not got a lot to say for himself yet, except to gesture at his bottle and give contented little eructations as he consumes it.
Takes after his father and grandfather, really.
We're all going to meet up again tomorrow, though we may well just have a family do on the boat, as there will be a lot of pressure on what moorings there are between here and Lincoln on a sunny Saturday in June.
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