Onto the Shroppie

Croxton Flash

We overslept a bit on Sunday morning, and got moving at around 10:30, only to stop again about a mile and one lock (Middlewich Big Lock) later. There's a Tesco close to the canal, and we had a short shopping list that had grown out of what we'd forgotten in Lymm.

photo - www.tripadvisor.co.uk

The stop, brief as it was, turned out to be rather unfortunate, for we now found ourselves ascending the narrow locks behind a hire boat. A boat from Canal Club (name and shame time), who had shamefully allowed a woman with an invalid father and two children to ascend the locks without having had any useful basic tuition. The mother was clearly very stressed because she was struggling to drive the boat, her little boy of about five was out of control (her fault, not Canal Club's), the teenager hadn't a clue about operating locks, and the old man, though he claimed to have “done the whole system” seemed to know little more than anyone else in the crew.

My biggest concern was their safety. The little boy was sidling up and down the gunnels, the teenager was dancing on the roof, juggling the windlass, and the old man, overweight and breathless, looked fit to expire at any moment. None of them wanted to take any notice of my advice. It was all very sad. At best, they were not going to have a very enjoyable holiday, and at worst, one of them was going to die. I helped them all I could, gave instruction and advice, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears, and their very slow progress to Middlewich Junction caused a great deal of distress amongst other boaters. Feelings were running high.

photo - www.waterwayroutes.co.uk

The last we saw of them was as they drove into Wardle Lock, with a young man, possibly from Middlewich Boats, now at the helm. He'd heroically jumped aboard when it became quite clear that the poor woman was not going to be able to make the 90 degree turn onto the Shropshire Union Canal.

Meanwhile, we'd passed the other boats that were waiting their turn to turn off the Trent and Mersey, and pulled up outside the chandlery there – only to find they close on Sundays. Grace reversed Kantara away, and across in front of one of the waiting boats.

After a boat had entered the scene from King's Lock, there were no fewer than six boats waiting to enter the Shroppie. When two craft from Middlewich Boats came onto the scene in reverse, wanting to wind and reverse back to their base, the whole pound took on a rather chaotic character. It reminded me of this video, though not nearly so bad!

Here we stayed for some time – time enough to make and eat a light lunch – until finally our turn came and we started up the Shropshire Union Canal.

It was only then that I realised that, having not taken any photos when we went down the Middlewich Locks because it was raining, I'd not taken any this time, either, having been rather distracted by the Canal Club Boat.

Standthorne Lock; photo - canalplan.org.uk

It had taken us 4½ hours to travel the 4½ lock-hours from our overnight mooring. Standthorne Lock was slow, the two miles after that were fine. But come bridge 22, where there's a perfect visitor mooring, we'd had enough for the day, and we moored there. 

The Shroppie's looking beautiful. The spot where we moored overlooked Top Flash and the River Weaver. We sat back and enjoyed it.

Favourite boat name of the day – NB Nomad Rush. Very appropriate, don't you think?

Back onto the Trent & Mersey

Friday morning saw us heading into Lymm, with stops for water and Elsan on the way. We had to wait a while for water. Another boat had beaten us to it, and the flow from the tap wasn't best. The crew of the other boat had found a lay-by café van at the side of the nearby main road, and were filling their faces with the hugest breakfast baps I'd ever seen. I walked up behind one of them, and asked him how long he thought they'd be, unaware of the fact that he was eating. When he turned around, he simply couldn't speak because of the bap.

“It's OK,” I said, “we're in no hurry.”

We moored in Lymm, not intending to be long. We needed a few things from Sainsbury's there, and would look for some DVDs in the charity shops. TV at the moment seems to be all Olympics, Proms and repeats. 

The shopping took us longer than we'd anticipated, so we had lunch at the San Fairy Ann narrowboat café before continuing our journey.

Most excellent ham, cheese and tomato toasted sandwiches, chased by first-class cappuccino and tea. Fare which matches easily that served at Braunston's Gongoozlers' Rest.

It was very windy all day long, becoming particularly gusty mid to late afternoon. So we got blown down past Grappenhall and Thelwell, Stockton Heath, Moore and Preston Brook. There were far more boats about today, the GRP cruisers finding the wind rather hard going. Grace was now enjoying this rather more varied and interesting stretch of the Bridgewater Canal, having largely disliked it before.

Surely, moored boats CAN'T slow down!

At Preston Brook Tunnel, we joined NB On Reflection whom we'd met back at Plank Lane. They were waiting to go through, and we joined the queue behind them. The skipper's an interesting guy, having cruised a lot of the UK system, including the Ribble Link and Lancaster Canal - which I think we might well travel, now he's put our mind at rest about the rather scary-looking River Ribble! He and his wife live in an old lock-keeper's cottage that they bought at auction. It needed a lot of work doing to it, but they love it.

We had half an hour to wait for our allotted time for passage through the tunnel. Two boats emerged from the opposite direction in the last ten minutes, then through we went.

There's a shallow stop-lock at the other end that's a bit of a mystery. It's wider than a single lock, but too narrow for two boats to go in together. Very odd!

At this point, we were back on the Trent and Mersey Canal, leaving the Bridgewater behind. We hadn't been chased by Peelers, or stopped and fined. Grace breathed a sigh of relief.

After a search for good mooring at the end of the day, and after a couple of failures where the bank was too rocky or the water too shallow, we tied up in Dutton, between bridges 212 and 211.

A hot day's cruise to Worsley

And it was hot – very hot! It hadn't been as sticky a night as we had expected, and the day started dull, but the heat was beginning to build and the skies had cleared by the time we left Lymm. As we slipped out into the countryside again, we realized that being on the water, where the air is cooler even without the breeze we had, was going to be the best thing for us if the temperatures were going to rise as had been forecast.

Hot weather's good for nature's scents, and privet was dominant today, with meadowsweet and rose adding their accompaniments from time to time. Buttercups and clover splashed over the towing-path bank, and countless other flowers whose names I know not, but which made the day brighter still.

We parted company with the railway for much of the time, losing it altogether after it cut across Sale on its way east, so our journey was all the more peaceful for that. There were very few boats on the move. We had the canal to ourselves for long spells of time.

Little Bollington was quickly passed. It is very little! Then into the Dunhams, with the stately Dunham Massey Hall on our right.

And then into the sprawl of Sale. I had been given a bad impression of Sale; we found it to be largely unjustified. It was the now familiar scene of expensive homes on both sides of the canal, gardens, private moorings on the berm bank. We moored for lunch in such a place on the southern tip of he town, though here was no different from yesterday's experience of the Bridgewater in presenting us with a stone-edged bank with neither armco nor mooring rings, and a grass verge so stony that hammering in pins was something of a challenge.

The clean, tidy appearance of Sale's canal faded as we headed north, and we arrived in parts in which we'd not choose to moor overnight. The expensive properties had gone, and graffiti adorned bridges, walls and fences. Grimy industrial sites further blighted the picture, and litter was commonplace. This got worse still as we moved on into the smaller town of Stretford.

All the while, the canal had been uncommonly straight, and this continued after we'd veered left onto the Leigh Branch, up through the huge Trafford Park Industrial Estate to the Barton Swing Aqueduct.

This is a straight canal!

Barton Swing Aqueduct, this 19th century engineering marvel, is a 235 foot long crossing over the mighty Manchester Ship Canal, which swings at 90° on a central pivot to allow tall ships to pass. Sadly, we didn't get to see that happen.

Approaching the aqueduct

I've learned recently that the Bridgewater Canal is considered to be the forerunner of all modern canals. Engineered by James Brindley, opened in 1765, it follows a single contour for its entire length, and has, therefore, no locks. It crosses the River Irwell on a stone aqueduct, a pioneering concept in its day. And so it became the inspiration of many of the canals which followed it. “Indeed,” says the Nicholson Guide, “its wide gauge, lock-free course and frequent use of aqueducts makes many later canals look retrograde.”

Passing through a very new-looking pair of floodgates south of Worsley, and seeing several other boats moored on both sides alongside parkland, we tied up for the night.

The heat didn't really let up. The fridge ran for hours without ceasing, and the battery voltage had dropped quite low by bed-time. But it was a beautiful night, the western sky multi-coloured until very late, opposite a full, red moon.