|Our overnight mooring|
|We got excellent phone and internet connection here!|
At the bottom lock, I had the great pleasure of meeting vollie Maurice Farndon. We're mutual Twitter followers. No only does Maurice have the distinction of being a really nice man who loves his volunteer work, but also that he features in one of Cruising the Cut's vlogs (in which he speaks about a new project at the locks), that he has a golden windlass, and that he's read and "really enjoyed" my book.
|Maurice Farndon - The man with the golden windlass. Narrow Boat nut. Volunteer Lock Keeper at Hillmorton and Watford.|
There was a lovely mood of helpfulness amongst boaters at the locks, with people operating paddles and gates for others who weren't on the right side of the lock at the time. I think Maurice sets a good example.
The sun was out, the sky was blue, and rabbits bounced into the hedges as I walked down the towing-path.
From Hillmorton, on now through Clifton-upon-Dunsmore and into Rugby, where we moored to do shopping at the nearby Tesco. This is our third day out, yet this spot is just a 25-minute car journey from our marina! After lunch, we moved on again. Brownsover, Newbold-on-Avon, and through the very short Newbold Tunnel.
|Tiny, or what?|
"Hatton Flight, pouring rain, two years ago!" Grace called out.
"Oh, I remember it well!" she said, pulling a wry face. We laughed and drove on.
The sky was looking a bit threatening, time was getting on, and we were needing somewhere to moor. The problem was that the bank now was not really moorable. In places, it was breaking up. Elsewhere, it was edged with bags of cement (which absorb water and become solid blocks) against which mooring's not recommended. Everywhere, it was overhung by grass and other plants. At one point, I told Grace with great confidence that we could moor "right here!". I jumped off the bow with a rope, expecting to help pull Kantara in to the bank, and tie her up. Instead, we found the water was too shallow there, and I lost the opportunity to get back aboard. I walked ahead, hoping to find a spot. Behind us, NB Takara, a hotel-boat, was trying a similar manoeuvre. They failed, too.
At a point where the M6 motorway crosses the canal, I waited for Kantara. I'd be able to get on from the concrete bank here. Takara had failed to moor, too. Grace waved them past as she moved to pick me up, and the skipper called out that he knew a place to moor.
The spot was the length of the two boats, and moorable. Far too close to the railway, but now was not the time to be fussy! We moored.
|Views through our windows...|