An incident that I seem to have left by the wayside is
probably one of the funniest, at least where I was the source of amusement. It
was at one of the real bugbears, a swing bridge, of which there are a profusion
on the Leeds Liverpool. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, the mooring points
are on the opposite side of the canal to the mechanisms to open and close them.
Of course single handed it means you’re stranded on wrong side once the bridge
is open, so you can’t get back to the boat to bring her through. But it only
takes a little ingenuity. I tie the bowline to the bridge itself, then open it.
As the bridge swings open it leads the boat through, needing a little careful
manoeuvring using various lines, first bowline, then mid-ropes and finally the
stern line. Once the stern line is secure, on the opposite side of the bridge,
it can be closed. Then all you must do is pull the boat back to you, untie it
and cruise on. On this occasion a farmer had sat on his quad bike watching
patiently so he could cross said bridge. He actually stopped to compliment me on
the skill at which I completed the awkward task. Only for me to make an
unscheduled leap across from the boat back to the bank, misjudge the length of
the rope I was holding and plummet into the murky waters of the canal. (Photo: The daunting sight of the boat lift from the River Weaver - Anderton, Trent and Mersey Canal)
If you can’t laugh at yourself you’ve no right to laugh at
the misfortunes of others. At least I was saved public humiliation, the farmer
had actually disappeared round the corner by the time I fell in. It would have
made a worthy spectacle. I’d actually looked at the length of the rope and
realised it was too short, but convinced myself it would stretch enough to
reach the bank. And of course it didn’t! Serves me right, I savour the advent
of visitors, always expecting someone to take a plunge accidentally. Only one
has so far and I’ll allow them their anonymity. Of course I do enjoy guests,
whether or not the get wet. And there’ve been a few recently, both potential
buyers and personal friends. The feel good factor is wonderful. Bearing in mind
the number of problems that have occurred since I bought the boat, gaining
pleasure from the perspective of others is crucial, otherwise I’d have deserted
her long ago, capital investment or not. I can’t help but feel a bit of a
scrounger though. People come and lavish me with kindness and gratitude. Don’t
get me wrong, I’m not complaining, and they always leave feeling the exchange
has been worthwhile. 
My route since Wigan, when leaving the Leeds Liverpool, has
again taken me round through the suburbs of Greater Manchester. This time it
was from north west of the city to the south, on the Bridgewater Canal, in an
anti-clockwise direction. Thankfully it was a delight compared to my journey
last year over the other side of the metropolis. Graced with numerous wetland
areas, known as flashes; Pearson’s Flash, Pennington Flash and Scotsman’s
Flash, amongst many other smaller bodies of water. The area surrounding the
canal is particularly gorgeous, the only trouble being it’s all interspersed
with intensive housing projects which brings out the hoards given the slightest
hint of good weather. Actually that sounds awful, it’s good to see so many
enjoying the natural beauty of the area, and the vast majority treat it well
enough, if not exactly with the respect it deserves. Lack of understanding is
the main problem, the average person is not brought up with the knowledge of
how to conduct themselves around nature. I can’t claim litter to be a major
problem, but there shouldn’t be any. Thoughtlessness aside there is only a tiny
minority who wilfully abuse their natural environment. 
My route since Wigan, when leaving the Leeds Liverpool, has
again taken me round through the suburbs of Greater Manchester. This time it
was from north west of the city to the south, on the Bridgewater Canal, in an
anti-clockwise direction. Thankfully it was a delight compared to my journey
last year over the other side of the metropolis. Graced with numerous wetland
areas, known as flashes; Pearson’s Flash, Pennington Flash and Scotsman’s
Flash, amongst many other smaller bodies of water. The area surrounding the
canal is particularly gorgeous, the only trouble being it’s all interspersed
with intensive housing projects which brings out the hoards given the slightest
hint of good weather. Actually that sounds awful, it’s good to see so many
enjoying the natural beauty of the area, and the vast majority treat it well
enough, if not exactly with the respect it deserves. Lack of understanding is
the main problem, the average person is not brought up with the knowledge of
how to conduct themselves around nature. I can’t claim litter to be a major
problem, but there shouldn’t be any. Thoughtlessness aside there is only a tiny
minority who wilfully abuse their natural environment. 
Since I first moved onto the canal I’ve wanted to experience
the Anderton lift, a marvellous piece of machinery built in 1875 to raise or
lower boats 50ft between the River Weaver and the Trent and Mersey Canal. There
are two huge water troughs, each capable of holding two narrow boats at a time.
Originally the tanks acted as counter-balances to each other, this was achieved
by releasing water from one and allowing the weight of the other to raise it as
it lowered itself. Nowadays they’re fully independent, or can be. They still
tend to operate together, one lowering while the other rises, but no longer
have to. Like many features on the canal, the feat of engineering is great, a
marvel to see. Though I must be honest the bitching from the operators made the
experience less than exciting. We were told off for leaning over the side to
see clearer, sitting on the roof, walking down the gunwales. I know it may
sound as if we were playing silly buggers but we were well aware of what we
were doing and there was no potential danger in our actions. 
I descended with my friends Pat and Simon Parker, and we
weren’t exactly bawled at, but we were told off for our actions. Interestingly
I returned alone (no I hadn’t rid myself of them by any nefarious means), and
they were very accepting of me peering over the edges and taking photos outside
the confines of the water trough. So I blame my friends entirely, serves me right
for allowing disreputable looking people aboard. They spent a couple of days on
the River Weaver with me, chilled out completely, and left feeling totally
rejuvenated. Such is the life on the inland waterways, at least when your boat
isn’t causing you problems. I spent an extra four days, doing nothing but
reading and sleeping in quiet little spots along the River. There is a
surprising difference between being on a river chugging along down the canal.
Apart from the obvious size difference, which isn’t always true, there is a
softer, more gentle periphery to your surroundings. While canals are not always
obviously man made, they rarely look wholly natural. You may find rugged rush
strewn edging worn path, a bridge in the distance, the route more defined.
Cruising down rivers feels more of an adventure, you can’t necessarily stop
just any old where. 
However far out of town you seem there are always passers-by
on the towpath, the banks of rivers are much more inaccessible. The chances of
meeting people out for a leisurely stroll, or a quiet bike ride, is pretty
slim. Though saying that, we did end up running a mercy mission on the Weaver.
We’d just got under way, heading back upriver when a woman started hailing us from
the bank. With the engine noise below me all I heard was something about bulls
and dog. Knowing there were bulls in the field I thought the least charitable
thought, ‘is she really expecting me to stop because she’s afraid of passing
the bulls with her dog?’ I damn near kept going. But being the good Samaritan
that I am, I turned round, tracked back, turned round once again and made an
impromptu landing to see what was wrong. Fair enough, she wasn’t totally overreacting.
She was worried about the bulls, but that was the least of her problems. Her
weimaraner had gouged her leg while her and a friends were out with the dog on
a cycle ride. They’d taken a wrong turn, came a long way off course, so were
lost, knackered and concerned about the dog’s injury.
Let’s be polite and say they’d got themselves in a bit of a
pickle. I must be honest and admit I wasn’t best amused, bemused but defused
would be more accurate. So I let Simon deal with them while I held the boat
steady. Two bikes, two women and a dog later we were loaded up and set sail
again. Hey come on, I thought cap’ns were meant to scowl and cast gloom on
everyone’s day. I did at least provide a first aid kit, and they were very
appreciative of the make shift veterinarian service. They also really enjoyed
their boating experience, they’d never been on a narrow. So it all turned out
quite an exciting adventure for them. And Caradog, Pat and Si’s dog, fell
totally in love with their bitch. How sweet! To be quite clear, I handled the
whole situation without being outwardly belligerent, what I thought and what I
expressed were vastly different. And I didn’t mind really, my natural cynicism
at people’s behaviour can be quite scornful but I’m more than capable of
keeping it to myself. Jeez, I sound like a miserable old fart. Whilst I can be,
I put in considerable effort when needed not to offload that tendency onto
others. 
Most things I like to be open and above board, especially
when it comes to selling vehicles. Having put the boat up for sale I was
worried about an overheating issue with my engine. To me it seemed the initial
stages of the cylinder head blowing. Yep, the same problem I had last year, when
I got ripped blind by, ‘Canal Cruisers Co,’ in the town of Stone. Thing was,
despite charging me for 15 hours of labour for a four hour job, they failed to
check the condition of the cylinder head itself. It should have been skimmed,
as a matter of course, and checked for cracks. They failed in these most
rudimentary aspects of the job. And I’m too honest for my own good, people
viewing the boat would have it explained, that I thought it necessary for a new
head gasket, and the head to be skimmed. Faced with this daunting prospect it
put the first few off straight away. So I decided not to go into detail, to
merely inform them of the rise in temperature after a few hours. Now that
sounds much better. Everyone who’d looked had really liked the boat, but my
honesty and detailed explanation frightened them off. Fact was, I didn’t have
the money to get it done, I could barely afford the expense of advertising. The
very next viewer agreed to buy it. 
I was to deliver Pankina
to Droitwich, a journey that would prove one way or the other just how bad
the overheating problem was. Being paid a non-returnable deposit meant I had
cash to sort out any problems that may occur. ‘May occur,’ I ask you. Sods law,
like so many others, rarely goes in my favour. For the first few days the
overheating got no worse, it was how I described at the point of sale. The last
of those days I travelled eleven miles and negotiated twenty-one locks
(single-handed, a new record for me), which gave me confidence that it would
get me to Droitwich OK. No such luck though, the very next day I could barely
run for an hour without the temperature creeping up. Yet I still coaxed it on,
never allowing it to run too hot or for too long. Needless to say it steadily
got worse, and starting drinking coolant at a rate of knots. My choices were
limited, whether or not I could nurse it all the way there I could never,
consciously, fob them off with the engine in such a condition. So I limped into
Wolverhampton, where I now sit awaiting, not just a new head gasket, but a
whole new cylinder head. Funnily enough, the complete job, parts and labour
will only be the same sort of price I got conned with last year. 
What a bind, but it can’t be helped. This boating lark has
certainly not been kind to me over the last year. Or rather this boat hasn’t.
It’s a lovely boat, but so much needed sorting. In a better frame of mind there
are a couple of the things I could have done myself rather than pay someone to
do, but physically it would have given me grief. I have done a lot, and paid
the price in aches and pains. Age and injuries aren’t being too kind either,
and there’s nothing I can do about that. If I’d had a motorbike to work off my
frustration it might have eased my despair. There is so much about living on
the canals that I appreciate, but deceitful sellers and rip-off traders are so
numerous you invariably get taken advantage of. So many boatyards skim extra
off work on the boat if they organise work for you. It doesn’t matter that
you’re already paying for their facilities, if they call in a welder or
electrician for you they’ll add a percentage on top of the tradesman’s charges.
It’s like a license to print money, they know your options are limited, so
unless you can generate a decent income yourself, or be self-sufficient, it’s
hard to maintain your vessel. 