Limping back...

I didn't mention that when we broke down on Saturday, a group of women came along the towing-path and immediately showed great concern over our plight. I was just stealing myself to launch off the side of the boat, over tall stinging nettles and onto an invisible bank at the time. After my breathtaking jump and perfect landing, I looked up into the face of Jane. Jane and her husband Michael are old friends from when we lived in St Albans. Michael was our minister at the Baptist church there, but had left to go to Poland to teach in 2005, and returned four years later to take up the pastorate of Rugby Baptist Church, where we met up again in 2012. They live in Hillmorton, quite close to the place where we broke down.

Jane and her friends, having been assured that there really was nothing they could do to help, apart from telling us the nearest road bridge for the RCR man to drive to, went on their way. Later, I got a FB message from Michael offering us whatever help we might need; beds for the night, for example.

" I suspect this is not like calling out the AA?" he asked.

"RCR arrived quickly, the problem was sorted out, and we were on the move within a couple of hours." I replied. " It really is very much like calling out the AA - only wetter!!"

It had been a nice coincidence.

Talking of coincidences...

It was later that day, while we were moored and recovering, that Michelle and I had our "Hippocampus" moment. Do read about it if you haven't already! We're still amazed.

On Sunday morning, with Grace and Michelle still in a lot of pain, we carried on to Hillmorton Locks, which we ascended solo, though with a bit of help from a vollie at the bottom lock. We moored above the Admiral Nelson lock at Braunston. Another light day.

Sunday had been hot and sunny. Just the three Braunston locks had been a sweltering experience. Monday was cooler. We finished the locks in tandem with NB Mister E,

did the tunnel in style and a lot of drips, turned left at Norton Junction

and ran into a hold-up at Watford Locks.

The 45 minutes was enough time for us to have a bite to eat, after which Michelle got out to do the locking on this final flight. The rest of the journey was frustratingly slowed by a boat in front of us which was travelling so slowly that even our tick-over speed was too fast. He was well aware of us, but made no attempt to let us past for ages. Sorry, but, in the circumstances, we were a bit annoyed. Eventually, he stopped for us, and apologised as we overtook.

"I only go slow", he said.

Back at Yelvertoft, we had a very welcome dinner at The Wheatsheaf, and Michelle drove back home on Tuesday morning. We all agreed that, despite the injuries and break-down, we'd had a really good time together.

Getting hotter....

It was but a short taste of the Ashby, but Michelle loved it, so it was worth it. The next morning, we winded just after Basin Bridge and headed back whence we'd come. Michelle's knee was a bit better now, but our thoughts of visiting Coventry were dashed when Grace stepped into a space which had previously not been occupied by the end of the tiller and now was. She'd almost certainly cracked her rib, and was in a lot of pain.

It soon became clear that this was going to slow our return to Yelvertoft. There would be things that Grace normally did from the stern that she couldn't do now, so I was going to have to do those as well as my normal routines at the bow - handling stern and centre lines, stern mooring, closing lock gates, that sort of stuff. And she'd need to lie down and rest from time to time, too. Then Michelle twisted her getting-better knee, and that ruled her out of doing too much as well. Coventry was struck off the itinerary.

We carried on to Hawkesbury, filled up with water, and went looking for a mooring. There wasn't the smallest space available this time, so we moved on another mile to Caters Bridge 11, moored, and lazed and watched Wimbledon for the rest of the afternoon.

At this point, my photos become scarce. I guess my attention was on the injured crew now.

The next day, after a bad night's sleep, Grace's ribs were worse, and so was Michelle's knee. We would have to shorten each day's trip now, to allow time for them to rest. Fortunately, Michelle had the whole of the following week off work, so there was no hurry for her to get back.

Continuing through Ansty (why can't boats moor there??) and Stretton Stop, we moored again at Easenhall Bridge 34. Lunch, rest, Wimbledon. Sun, peace and quiet.

Down in the engine compartment, I noticed that the bilge water below the stern gland was deeper than it ought to have been. I'd been pumping it out daily, and that was fine, but I really needed to tighten the gland nuts a little to slow the drip. Also, there was a small amount of coolant in the bilges. I was aware of it, and watching to see if it increased. And we were both keeping an eye on the temperature gauge, too, but I couldn't find where the water had come from, so there was nothing else I could do but monitor the situation.

This decision was to backfire on me later.

We were alarmed by a boat that was reversing in to moor behind us. Not that the reversing was a problem, but rather that there was a very loud bang from the boat, and its engine stopped abruptly. I hopped out to help them back up to the bank. They didn't know what had caused the noise, but thought it might have been a log caught in the propeller. That could be very difficult to remove!

But they must have done it fairly quickly, because they left the mooring the next day, quite some time before us. Newbold Tunnel next, a lovely, sunny day, and a beautiful canal. We were pleased to see Nikki and Ralph on NB Miner Bill coming in the opposite direction, fellow tweeps whose boat we've seen more than once before, but whom we've never met. The meeting was brief, of course, but it's always good to see the faces of Twitter or Facebook friends.

At Newbold Quarry Park, we stopped. We'd been meaning to visit for years. There's no real mooring for boaters who want to visit this park, but we managed, with the help of passing boats that lifted us aground in their haste. Michelle and I wandered through the park for a while, very pleasant but nothing special. We were glad we spent the time there, though.

After lunch, we drove on to Rugby. Michelle sat and read under the shade of a tree while Grace and I did a quick shop at Tesco. Just 20 minutes after we left that spot, an alarm sounded from our gauges panel. The engine was overheating. Both of us had failed to check the temperature since Newbold. Grace steered Kantara into the reeds on the bank, and turned off the engine. Mooring was a challenge. The bank was badly, unevenly eroded, so there was no straight edge. Additionally, there were reeds and weeds galore that hid the water's edge very effectively. There was nothing for it - I had to jump! With the centre line in my hand, I launched myself as far as I could towards the towing path.

I landed on solid ground. Mooring pins had to be driven in amongst stinging nettles and other offensive plants, but a fairly secure mooring was made. There was no getting off for Michelle or Grace, however, so down came the gangplank from the roof - the first time it'd ever been used. Now I had to check the engine. It was hot! But there was really nothing I could see to suggest the reason for the overheating. The pool of coolant in the bilges was not significantly bigger. The water level in the header tank was fine. The domestic hot water wasn't hot, the skin tank was cold, and the filler cap had blown off the header-tank. I could only think that the water pump had gone. Time to call in RCR.

Steve the RCR man arrived within 40 minutes. He discovered fairly quickly that the fan-belt was loose, so the pump wasn't being turned. I was almost right, then. I pointed out to him that the belts had been checked by the RCR man who'd done the annual service back in November. Steve tutted.

He then discovered that the caps for the radiator and the header tank had been swapped, so the pressure cap was on the header tank and the simple cap was on the radiator. This explained to Steve, though not to me, why the header tank was still full. I shrugged. The RCR man had removed the caps back in November, I told him. Steve tutted. What was the name of the idiot who made these mistakes? I went in and got him the paperwork for that job. Steve looked at the signature.

"Oh!" he said, rather alarmed "That was me!"

Embarrassment ensued.

To his credit, having discovered the fan-belt tension issue, Steve then investigated the coolant leakage, and found that the rubber hose feeding the calorifier with hot water from the engine was split. I'd not found that when I was checking for the leak. He cut off the end of the hose with the split in it, refitted the good(ish) bit, refilled the system, tested it all for some time, and urged me to get the in and out hoses to the calorifier replaced. With that, he made his merry way back to his van half a mile up the towing path.

We moved on a short distance to a decent mooring, grateful for the work done.

Spring-cleaning in the rain

That was yesterday morning. The rain started before it was light. Soft rain, big drops, gentle fall that became torrential within a quarter of an hour. This was the rain that Phil and Jackie had deliberately missed when they brought NB Achernar back to the marina on Saturday, having travelled more miles in the previous four days than they usually do in fourteen! (Phil's words)

We were rather concerned that  the weather would be like that when the man from RCR came to do the winter engine check and service in the afternoon. But he arrived over an hour early under blue skies, and it only started raining again as he was packing up to leave. But, job done and RCR paid, he left under a new patch of blue.

We're getting through our "spring-cleaning" list pretty well. Grace has sanded, stained and varnished the interior window-frames, which had suffered over the years from repeated wettings from condensation. I've unblocked the drainholes in the brass frames, hopefully reducing the condensation problem. We run a dehumidifier on a low setting overnight at this time of year, and we wake to a pleasantly dry boat. But still the condensation forms on the windows as the day moves on.

We have a washing line under the cratch cover, but it's only useful in warm weather, particularly when we can have the cover open for a draught to blow through. In autumnal and winter weather, the air out there's too cool and damp. In the past, we've used the shower room for drying washed clothing, and stood the dehumidifier in there to speed the job up. But the shower room's rather small! So we've now put a two-strand line up over our bed, standing the dehumidifier on the floor at the foot of the bed, and this works really well, putting some additional heat into the room, too. The line is very quickly put up and taken down. We don't sleep under it!

Having swept the chimney of the Bubble stove, I've now given the stove itself a good cleaning. I ought to do that every month, to stop it coking up. The diesel fuel burns remarkably cleanly, so the floor of the stove only collects small bits of carbon, and the sides and the flue just get a thin dusting of soot. But that's not something you'd want to accumulate. A neighbour who burns a solid fuel was having to chip the deposits off the inside of his flue with a hammer and chisel the other day!

The same neighbour's just related to me a nasty incident he and his wife experienced out on the cut. I didn't quite grasp the finer detail, but the climax of the moment was him getting hit by the branch of a tree and being knocked backwards off the stern. His wife was in the shower, blissfully unaware! He was, fortunately, unhurt, and was able to wade out of the canal and pursue the boat along the bank until she ran aground. It could have been far nastier!

With Emma Jane still out of her berth, Grace and I've had the pleasure of watching birds in the reeds outside our window. In particular, a pair of wrens, and several reed buntings, who feed off the seedy reed flowers.

The warring geese have moved on, taking their conflict elsewhere, and ducks, swans and moorhens have declined in number, too. I wonder where they've gone, and why. Gulls, however, have increased, and can be very noisy just around dawn. Even noisier are the terns, who squabble with the gulls as a matter of principle, it would seem.

In between bouts of busyness, life aboard NB Kantara is quiet and relaxed. We're going back to see the kids on Wednesday, then driving to Torquay to spend a week with Christine and Mike. We've missed having them with us for the past couple of years. Now we're visiting them in their new home.

I'm putting the finishing touches to a new book, which I hope to publish on Kindle before the end of the month. This one's rather different from "Life with our feet under water", though it's still boat-related. A sequel to my first book is also under production, but I have no deadline for that yet. I have to say that "feet" has proven to be far more successful than I ever imagined it would be. But, success or not, I just simply love writing. Sales, I can't deny, are a great bonus! Watch this space.

It's just started raining again! Torrents!

And it only lasted three minutes!

Ian to the rescue!

Sunday
Ian Skoyles arrives (lovely surname!) at 9:30 with a big box of tools, two empty plastic containers and a big smile. And a story of how very tired he is because of working very late very often. I'm hoping he'll be able to think straight, despite his fatigue.

Between his countless horror stories of previous jobs, the lovely Ian pumps all that expensive diesel fuel and oil out of the engine, and replaces the lift pump. He's then able to say with confidence that Sam had made the right diagnosis of the situation. Phew! He tells a few more stories, then pours new oil in where the gunk had been pumped out. And turns the starter. There's a very loud bang. Which dismays all three of us.

“That doesn't sound good,” he says, as if we don't know it. I offer him a cup of tea or coffee.

“Not now, thanks. I'll have one to celebrate, when I've finished!”

It occurs to him now that there's probably fluid in the cylinders, so he removes the fuel injector from the first cylinder, and tries it again. This time, the loud bang is accompanied by a large quantity of gunk being propelled from the cylinder at high speed, covering Ian and the inside of the engine-room. This is going to be too messy a business to be repeated another three times.

The solution is to syphon the fluid from each cylinder, but for that, Ian needs his syphon pump. This is at home, so he has to go and get it. I suggest he has a quick lunch while he's there. He showers, and changes his oily clothes while he's there, too!

Returning an hour or so later with the pump, a smile and another story, he empties each cylinder of gunk, then tries again to start the engine. Zilch. Now he finds there's diesel/oil mix in the exhaust pipe, so he removes the injectors again, to reduce the internal pressure of the engine whilst cranking the engine to clear the pipe, and he cranks and cranks for seconds at a time, and I'm amazed he doesn't flatten the battery. Diesel and oil get pumped out of the exhaust pipe over the grassy bank. Encouraged by this, he keeps going until it stops spilling out. Then he replaces the injectors.

And starts an uncomplaining engine. We all cheer!

Then follows a period of much white smoke pouring out the back of the boat as he runs the engine to burn off all of the excess fuel in it. The smoke, dense as it is, elicits various responses from walkers and boaters alike. Perhaps you might imagine some of them.

My favourite is, “I thought you were having a barbecue!”

Ian cleans up the mess from the engine and the bilges, and goes on his way. He's spent more than nine hours on the job, and he's still smiling. What a star! 

He tells me a few more stories while we're carrying all of his stuff back to his van.

Alternator alternatives

I'd heard nothing from Simon, but never mind. I had a look at RCR's handbook, to see if alternators were covered in our Bronze membership - and they are! So I rang them, and an engineer was lined up to visit. However, the roadways in the marina are in the process of being resurfaced, and there's no vehicular access at the moment. So I arranged for the RCR guy to meet us at Yelvertoft Wharf instead. It's only a matter of a fifteenish-minute trip by boat. So off we went, the engine hunting pitifully as we went.

Yelvertoft Wharf is no longer much of a wharf, but it's a rather good spot for mooring.

Yelvertoft is apparently well-known by RCR for being an area of very poor phone signal, so communications between us were dire. But a young man arrived around 2:00pm and poked, prodded, tugged and tested, and concluded that, yes, the problem was with our 16 year-old domestic alternator. That is, the one of a pair of alternators that charges our domestic batteries; the other one is exclusive to the starter battery. The problem was that, having diagnosed the problem, there was nothing he could do about it. RCR's service is focussed on dealing with issues that stop boats from travelling. And this problem wouldn't actually stop us from cruising, it'd simply make it more difficult for us! 

So I'd have to get someone else to supply and fit a new alternator. (The two alternators co-exist in a very small space with little access. There was no way I was going to even attempt the job myself!) RCR have a list of trusted engineers, and they could get one of those to do the work for me, so I asked RCR to email me their best quote. I still haven't received that. I texted Simon, too, and haven't had a reply from him, either. Meanwhile, Grace looked on Ebay for the replacement alternator, and found a really good-looking fitting service from a man who specialises in Barrus engines like ours. Ed Shiers of Four Counties Marine Services in Leek. Ed's travelling down to us today, to fit a bit of kit for less than we can buy it for elsewhere. I'll report on the result in my next post.

When Tom, the RCR engineer had gone, we now had to turn around in order to return to the marina. But the nearest winding hole is beyond bridge 28. That's a total of an 8½ mile journey, simply to get us to back the marina just half a mile behind us! But the weather was good, and it's always a pleasure to be cruising. Smiling, we set off. With a hunting engine.

Feeling restless

I'm getting twitchy. Some days, the weather's dreadful, and I'm happy to be here in the marina. But some days, or some parts of some days at least, the sun's out, the sky's blue, and I'm wishing we were out on the cut. I've washed the boat, tidied the engine room, painted the chimney cowl, been for walks. And felt restless. RCR engineers will be servicing the engine next week, and I'm paying for an additional 20-point inspection this year, too. A bit like the MoT for the car, but without the legal requirement. I'm looking forward to having that done.

Writing this, I'm sitting at the table, opposite Grace, who's copy-editing and proofreading my book. It's quite unnerving! She's silent, though she does manage the occasional smile. She's laughed, too. And she makes notes from time to time, things she'll bring to me later for my consideration, correction, re-writing or deletion. It's important to me that she does this, and I'm very grateful to her, but it is an anxious time! I'm hoping to publish the book on Kindle (I've dropped the idea of Lulu) in about four weeks.

On the subject of my book, don't forget "A Friendly Guide to Exam Success", written for GCSE students, and already available on Kindle. And do remember that you don't have to have a Kindle reader to access these books. An app is available on the Kindle Store, for PCs, tablets and smartphones.

I went for a stroll along the canal the other day. I know this stretch so well, but I never cease to enjoy its simple beauty, especially in the autumn.

I mentioned a while back the arrival of NB Wreyland in the berth next to us. It turns out that new owner, first-time boater David is @CrusingTheCut I've been chatting with on Twitter for some weeks. He never said anything which suggested he was going to come to Yelvertoft, and it was purely by chance that he moored next to us. A strange coincidence! He's just announced that he'll be spending winter here. He had intended to go to another marina. He's out on his first, short solo trip at the moment, thoroughly enjoying himself! And he will, for years to come, I'm sure.

AA and RCR - well worth the money!

Having had to call out River Canal Rescue last week, it was with a wry smile that I summoned the AA when we got back to the marina. My oldish Honda Jazz Sport has been totally reliable since I bought it, and was assured on that occasion that it had been so since the previous owner had had it from new. Indeed, the AA man who attended this week said, "A Honda Jazz? They don't go wrong!"

It was only a flat battery. Well, a battery, one cell of which had died totally. The reason, said the AA man, was that I use the car too little, and allow the battery voltage to drop too low. I leave it for weeks at a time, several times a year, and even when we're living in the marina, it often doesn't get used for over a week at a time. So what happens, I was told, is that the plates in the battery cells develop deposits of sulphates, and these can eventually cause a short circuit between adjacent plates. This is what had happened to one cell in my battery. Time to get a new battery.

Mr AA man jump-started the car and left it with a charging pack for ten minutes, after which I took it for a spin to charge it more. The car would restart and drive several times that day, he said, but it'd be useless the next day. I checked on the web, and found that the Rugby branch of Halfords had a battery in stock, so I drove over and bought it, and fitted it there.

The AA guy also told me that the way to prevent damaging the battery through under-use was to buy a car battery solar charger to keep the battery fully charged all of the time. The AA had these on special offer on their website, so I duly ordered one, and await its delivery.

Thank goodness for these rescue services!

Sunday - pushing on back towards Yelvertoft

Sunday was another scorcher of a day. Cruising was relaxed, and traffic in our direction wasn't nearly as heavy as that going the other way. Boats were queuing to descend Hillmorton Locks, but we ascended with ease and speed.

Our enjoyment of the day was somewhat marred, however, when an alarming noise was made, apparently from the propellor, and we were forced to cut the engine and drift over to a reedy bank. At first, we thought it was something metallic wrapped around the prop or prop shaft, but an inspection found them to be totally free. Looking into the engine, however, I found two drive belts (that's right - the ones that were fitted last week!) had shredded. The noise had been the frayed ends whipping various parts of the engine as they flew around their pulleys.

I called RCR, whose engineer had fitted them last week, and two guys arrived within an hour and a half. Apparently, one of the belts fitted last week had been too narrow, and this had caused premature wearing. What had caused much the same to happen to the other belt, they could not say.

After a quick visit to the (fortunately) nearby Halford's shop to buy a belt, the engineer (the other young man was an apprentice) fitted it, but had been unable to buy a replacement for the generator. However, since that one isn't needed for the engine to run - and the generator control unit had already broken down - we were able to continue on our way, after a hasty lunch.

We finished for the day, overheated and somewhat scorched, at bridge 81.

Oh! And the fridge stopped working! In this heat! I checked the fuses and all the other obvious things, but zilch. Keeping food edible over the next couple of days will be a challenge!