Powerless!

While everyone else was having a lazy Bank Holiday Monday under the sun in parks and gardens, in canalside pubs, sunbathing on the grassy areas around locks, or cycling maniacally and sweatily along the towing-path, or running ditto, we left our Winkwell mooring, winded below the next lock, and made sedate progress up the locks towards Berkhamsted. The locks tended to be slow to fill/empty, and/or leaking, and/or had iffy winding mechanisms. But we had no need to hurry, and it was too hot for that anyway. We would have liked to get to Berko before all of the moorings were taken, but we're ideologically opposed to rushing. Suffice it to say, however, that it took us around an hour and a quarter to cover the distance we'd walked up the canal in half an hour the day before.

We arrived at our destination at around half-past three, finding the one remaining space after dallying below Gas 1 lock, having that "Well, we could moor here. We don't want to pass up a mooring down here and then find there's nowhere to moor above" debate.

We needn't have worried. The mooring above had our name on it.

That's Kantara, fourth boat down!

Berkhamsted was full of  people having a lazy Bank Holiday Monday under the sun in parks and gardens, in canalside pubs, sunbathing on the grassy areas around locks, or cycling maniacally and sweatily along the towing-path, or running ditto.

We awoke the next morning to a no-power situation. Our battery bank was registering 12.1 volts on the monitor when we went to bed, but the fridge must have taken that down to the cut-out level during the night, so now we had no water and no heating - all of them have electric pumps. I filled a water-carrier from the water-point opposite and put the kettle on for tea, and bread under the toaster. Then the gas ran out! Okay, no problem. Switch to the second gas bottle (and for goodness' sake remember to buy a replacement!), and sit back to enjoy tea and toast.

At 8 o'clock I ran the engine to recharge the batteries and, within thirty minutes, systems were restored and we had cold water to flush the loo and for drinking. After an hour, we had hot water for showers, and I no longer had an excuse not to do the washing-up. We moved on after I'd been shocked by the coating of bird poo that had been splattered over Kantara by birds in the tree above us. Shocked into washing the boat. They'd made a really good job of it.

The other side was even worse!

A strange mixture of cloudy sun, bright sun, rain and various strengths accompanied us up to Cowroast Lock. Here we met a couple on a share-boat who'd not long descended the lock but were now wanting to turn around and go back the way they'd come. These unfortunate folk had both sustained injuries which were too painful to continue with. Their logistical problem was that the nearest winding-hole was the one we'd turned in earlier, back at Winkwell - five miles and fifteen painful locks away, after which they'd have to do the same 20 lock/miles to get back to where they were now.

However, there is a winding-hole above Cowroast, so they shared the lock with us, reversing in as Kantara slid in beside them. It's quite odd to see two boats facing opposite directions in a lock! Out of the top of the lock, they continued in reverse, first to the water point, then to the winding hole. We carried on while they were taking on water, and they came along later and moored for the night close to us.

It was a rainy night, with rising winds.

An oddity we passed on the way!

And on we go...

Fenny Stratford to Soulbury Three Locks, to Linslade Tesco, to bridge 109, to Slapton Wharf, and then to Marsworth Bottom Lock on Tuesday. Progressing slower than usual, and loving it. Drama free, stressless, cold but getting warmer. Then came the drama.

Okay, it was only a minor drama. We set off alone up the Marsworth Flight on the foggy Wednesday morning,

and got stuck almost immediately. Literally stuck! The pound above our first (bottom) lock was very low, and Kantara grounded as Grace tried to ease her out of the lock. There's only one thing to do in this situation. Unless there's a vollie around, then you let them do it for you! I opened a top gate of the next lock, Grace took Kantara back into her lock, and I closed the gates in front of her to protect her from the coming deluge. Then it was a matter of opening one paddle in the bottom gate of the lock above us and watching the ensuing flood, waiting for the water to rise enough for Kantara to pass through and into the second lock. Fortunately, the pound above the second lock is a longish one, and draining that much water out of it didn't make too big an impact upon it. It's always a danger!

Drama over, we carried on up the flight. At the next lock we met NB Daisy from Wyvern Shipping Co., out for ten days on a trip down into London, and we shared locks up the rest of the flight. It was easy going, and the weather was really good by now. Enjoying the locking too much, I neglected to take any photos. There were a couple of vollies around who might have taken the load off for long enough for me to take a few snaps, and they did indeed promise us three times that they would prepare the next lock for us. They did the top lock.

It was well past lunch time, and we were very thirsty and hungry, so we paused below Bridge 135 for refreshments, continuing afterwards, now without Daisy, down through Cowroast, Dudswell and Northchurch locks to moor for the night just above Bushes Lock.

Let it rain!

The rain started, and the rain stopped. It started again. The sun came out, warily. And the rain stopped. So we set off at 11:30, daring the threatening blue-grey clouds to pour any more upon us. And they didn't dare. They continued to threaten, but we ignored them.

We descended Cowroast Lock, and approached Dudswell Lock just as the crew of a solo boat were closing the gates behind them. A couple of blasts of our horn stopped them, and Kantara slipped in alongside them. The two women on the boat were taking it to Brentford. One of them had only recently bought it, and they's just collected it from Cowroast Marina. It was their maiden voyage. Once at Brentford, they would join the Thames and carry on to Kingston-upon-Thames, where the owner would be living on the boat.

As we went down the locks with them, the sun came out.

Cowroast

Dudswell

The name "Cowroast", incidentally, has a lot to do with cows, but nothing at all to do with roasting them. The village used to have a number of large animal pens, and these were used by cattle drovers on their way to markets in and around London, to keep their cattle in overnight. Originally, the name was "Cow Rest". It's still a pretty odd name for a village though!

We parted company with the two ladies after lock 32, Gas 2 (and that's an odd name, too!), and as they continued on their journey, we pulled over and moored at a lovely spot in a small park in Berkhamsted. It started to rain heavily again shortly afterwards.

When that stopped, we walked to the nearby shops for food and some books to read. Grace spends more time reading than I do, and she gets through novels at quite a pace. At the marina, we have the benefit of a large lending library. On the cut, once our small bookshelves have been exhausted, we have to rely on charity shops.

Back at Kantara, no sooner had we finished unpacking our shopping, than it rained. We'd managed to stay dry all day long!