Fair-weather farers

Despite the BBC weather forecasts, the weather over the past several days has been... excessive! The rain has been torrential, and the wind is blowing a hoolie. The boat's rocking and rolling - literally! Over the past week, we've had very low temperatures, lots of very strong wind, rain, fog, sleet and snow. We've been using the Bubble stove a lot during the day, replaced by a fan-heater in the bedroom just before we go to bed, and when we wake.

It took us a while to admit it when we first had Kantara eleven years ago, but we accept now that we are fair-weather farers (looked down on by a certain contingent of hardy canal folk.) The weather is most definitely incompatible with faring at the moment, so we're using the time to get various important jobs done.

An engineer from River Canal Rescue came yesterday, not to rescue us, but to service and inspect the engine. I've done the service myself once or twice before, but would far rather pay to have it done. It's not expensive (and my philosophy is that, if anything goes wrong, they're insured. I'm not!) Kantara passed the inspection with flying colours.

Lee from Days Afloat (now Lee Afloat since his boss retired and sold him the business) has been to fix a water leak in the loo, discovered that it's not fixable, and arranged a date to fit a new one. He'll change the coolant in the engine while he's here, too. (I chickened out when I realised how much bilge water is involved!  And then there's that insurance thing again.)

Colin visited us yesterday to discuss the installation of a Webasto heating system to replace our iffy Alde, which could spring a leak at any moment. It's been great, but they're known to leak when they get old. Emma Jane's (sharing our pontoon) has recently done just that, and theirs was a fair bit younger than ours.

There are jobs for us to do as well. Replacing he seal around the top of the shower tray; finishing a pair of seats Grace designed and made for the well-deck; painting and fitting the taffrail; washing, waxing and polishing the outside of the boat; touching up rusting and damaged paintwork; giving the stern deck rather more than just a touching up; varnishing the interior of the side doors... I may have missed a few! Cleaning the cratch cover was once on the list, but the past two years of our absence and consequent negligence, and the many attacks of bird poo, algae and moulds over that time, have been too much for it, so we'll be having a new one fitted later in the year.

The biggest problem with that list, however, is the weather; nearly all of the jobs are outside. The weather forecast for tomorrow is promising.

We'll believe it when we see it!

On the cut again!

And when Michelle arrived on Saturday, the wind speed was extreme. I'd already contacted her to tell her to take it easy on the roads, there was no hurry because we weren't going anywhere in that wind. Nor did we on Sunday, for the same reason. Only wetter. So we chatted, had a Sunday roast at The Wheatsheaf, played games and enjoyed the pattering of the rain on the roof and the rocking of the boat by the gale.

Monday was much better, so off we went, Crick Tunnel, Watford Locks, and first stop below Buckby Top Lock.

As you can see from the photos, the weather was in our favour. Once moored, we wandered down a few hundred metres to the Anchor Cottage Crafts Canal Shop. Grace and I had sailed or walked past it so many times, but never given it more than a glance. We expected it to stock bread, milk, tea and coffee, that kind of thing, along with a handful of crafts. How wrong were we!? Its tiny space was cram packed with a huge range of lovely crafted items. Not a loaf of bread or bottle of milk to be seen, though there are ice-creams.

Grace bought a wooden egg-box, having searched low and high for one for months. It now sits happily on our galley worktop.

Our descent of the rest of the Buckby flight the next day was simplified by sharing with another boat, and more often than not finding locks ready for us to enter. There was a nationwide shortage of water across the whole network and, like many other locks no doubt, opening times were restricted and boaters encouraged to share as often as possible.

We stopped at the bottom of the flight for shopping at the marina, and for lunch, before moving on to Weedon Bec.

 

The weather was perfect until the next morning, when it poured with a wind-driven rain that made the camper-vans opposite look bleak. When that eased off, we pushed on towards Stoke Bruerne, but the rain paid a return visit and Grace and I got totally soaked while our guest was under orders to stay inside. Blisworth Tunnel was very welcome - it was a lot drier in there!

courtesy of waterways.org.uk

We changed out of our dripping attire and had lunch. Then an abatement of the downpours allowed us to go out for a stroll around the wharf, and the afternoon was really pleasant. Until I ran the engine.

Our batteries had been showing signs of failing. They're six years old, way past their guarantee age, and no longer holding their charge very well. I ran the engine for a couple of hours to recharge them so that we'd have 12v power throughout the evening, and I was on my way to switch it off when the engine coughed, spluttered and stopped. After a good deal of head scratching and not daring to try to restart it more than once, we left the flipping thing and went to the Boat Inn, where Michelle treated us to a fine dinner.

I called RCR first thing the next morning, and Dylan duly arrived within a couple of hours. It didn't take him long to find what was wrong. Diesel bug!

We were fortunate. There is a filter in the fuel line that extracts water as the diesel passes through, and this had collected all of the gunk that the bug creates (as seen above). It had got to the point where the fuel flow became totally blocked, stopping the engine. The second filter down the line was totally unaffected, but Dylan changed both filters anyway to be thorough, and left to attend to his next call-out. Excellent service!

The previous day, we'd moored a few tens of metres past the winding-hole, so we stern-hauled Kantara back to it, turned around and headed into the tunnel, on our way back now to Yelvertoft.

The weather was up and down, but never too extreme. We overnighted at the same spots we'd chosen on our way out, and stopped for an hour or so at Weedon for Michelle to see the old church, and to buy food and chocolate. Buckby Locks had to be navigated alone. There were no other craft behind us for miles as it happened. Anyway, the restrictions had been removed, so there wasn't the urgency about saving water any more. But that didn't excuse me for allowing a top gate to swing open and drop the level in the pound above quite significantly. Michelle and I hurried back to close it when Grace saw how low the water had got.

Watford Locks was... Watford Locks, Crick Tunnel was navigated behind a rather slow hire boat, Yelvertoft Marina presented a stiff breeze while Grace struggled a bit to reverse into our berth. We ate at The Wheatsheaf again, played our final game of cards, and Michelle drove home on Sunday morning. It had been very good to be out and on the move.

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.

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.

Well, this is fun!

Grace woke to a strong smell of diesel inside the boat. I got up fast, lifted the deck board, and looked down into the engine compartment.

Remember yesterday? I ask, "Will the diesel and the oil continue to seep into the engine?"

Sam answers, "No, not without the engine running."

I'm now looking at the result of the diesel and oil having continued to flow, and to fill the engine to overflowing. Sam hadn't closed the fuel stopcock. I closed it and swore. Only mildly, you understand.

I phone RCR and updated them, and cursed - only mildly, you understand - the rain that had started, and which is forecast for the whole day. RCR will pass on the information to Ian, the man who'll be fixing our boat. He'll be with us later, they say.

1:45pm No Ian. I phone RCR to chivvy them up.

"I'll check with Ian, and phone you back."

2:30pm I'm still waiting for them to call back.

2:45pm I call back. The pump has not been delivered as promised. Ian's working in an area with bad phone signal, and can't be contacted. I repeat my 8:00am update about the bilge flood. She seems to know nothing about that.

"Surely it's on your system?? You do HAVE a system, don't you?"

"I'll speak with Ian as soon as I can, and get back to you."

4:15pm No callback.

5:00pm The rain stops. the sun comes out, and boats and people are steaming as they pass. I'm steaming, too, but not because I got wet. People brighten up along with the weather, their customary greetings now more animated and genuine. Our solar panels begin to push some real power into Kantara's batteries, and eventually, the sun seems to do the same to me, too.

7:00pm OK, this is getting ridiculous. I know from experience that RCR engineers are excellent, but I'm seriously beginning to doubt the capability of their office staff. Time was that "I'll get back to you" meant that I'd hear from whoever it was, one way or the other. I'd know what was going on, where I stood, what I might expect to happen next. As it is, we're left feeling that no-one actually cares that we're very low on battery power, with weather forecast that's not going to replenish it, we can't use the engine to do it, and we're going to need water soon, and we can't drive the boat to a tap. And I'd have to carry a full cassette over a mile to the nearest Elsan point.

I'll be on the phone to them again first thing tomorrow, with my best teacher's-not-pleased voice.

So tonight, it'll be Scrabble by the light of one LED lamp, in order to conserve energy for essentials like the fridge and the water pump.

An unexpected delay

Wednesday
I rang RCR at 8:00 this morning, and reported our plight. At 9:00, I got a call back, saying that an engineer had been given the job, and we'd hear from him when he'd finished his current one.

I'm now pretty certain that the problem's a blown head gasket. That would explain the smoky exhaust and the oil in the water, which I discovered this morning. I can't imagine that it's a job which can be done on the cut, and I think the nearest boatyard is miles away, in Market Drayton, so I'll be interested to learn what RCR intend to do about it. We're thinking now that it's likely we'll not get to Pelsall in time for the festival, though we do have a few “spare days" on our itinerary. We shall see.

Audlem Locks have been very busy since 7:30. There's been an almost constant flow of boats in both direction. I put a notice up at Lock 4 above us, telling boats on their way down that we're moored, and not waiting to go up (so don't leave the bottom gates open for us, thanks).

The water that rushes out of the culvert at the bottom of the lock is a problem to everyone, regardless of their experience, though it has to be said that it's the hire-boaters who have the biggest problems. The strong currents hit the boats broadside as they head into the chamber, and this almost invariably results in them being knocked off course, and crashing into the entrance wall.

I used the waiting time to wash Kantara. The roof in particular was filthy, not helped by the fact that we'd moored in the shade of trees which dropped a sticky sap over the boat overnight. We moved her this morning, just a few yards to a place where we were less in the way of other boats. While I washed the boat, Grace was making a couple of meals' worth of soup. It smelled delicious.

The RCR guy arrived before 1:00. I was talking to a passing boater when he arrived. The boater was commiserating over the head gasket, and saying how he'd had to call in RCR a week or so ago, to fix an oil leak, and that the young man who'd done it had been most impressive. Lo and behold, it was the very same man who arrived at that moment.

“I get around”, he said.

He lowered himself into the engine compartment, and looked around. I was wrong about the head gasket (thank goodness!). It's not water in the oil, it's diesel(!) An oil seal in the lift pump has failed, allowing fuel into the lubrication system. It's far more easily fixed, and cheaper, but there's still a chance of damage having been done to the engine before it cut out. We can only hope and pray about that one.

Having taken photos of the pump needed to fix our sick Kantara, Sam the engineer towed her up the next two locks to a Visitor Mooring where we'd be right out of the way of other craft. He took the lead, very carefully manoeuvring the boat into the locks, steadying her as they filled, and out again. Grace towed at the stern, I managed the locks and took a centre line when needed. It was clear that he'd done this job before, at the same locks. He was very impressive.

  

I asked him, "Will the diesel and the oil continue to seep into the engine?"

"No," he answered. "Not without the engine running."

That's a relief. I had visions of waking up in the morning and finding the bilges full of a nasty mix of oil and diesel.

It seems that we'll have to wait a day or three for the problem to be fixed. Meanwhile, Sam will order a new lift pump, and he'll call when it arrives.

As I type, a man's just cycled past, calling out in a silly, high-pitched voice to Percy and Isaac, his two dogs.

"Come on, Percy! Isaac, hurry up!." This several times. Then, "Who's that over there, Percy? Isaac, who's that?" They didn't answer. Perhaps they didn't know.

"It's Mummy! Go to Mummy!"

Since the dogs were different breeds, I looked out to see what their mother was like.

"Come on, my little darlings!!" It was a woman. I was disappointed.

Fellow-Tweep Fuel Boat Halsall passes us

Thursday was spent basking in the glorious sunshine. RCR called to say the pump had arrived, and it would be fitted tomorrow. They'd call to let us know when.

One odd place to another!

Nantwich is an odd sort of place. Pleasant enough. But odd, we thought. The cruise from there on to Audlem was beautiful, however. Dairy herds spread out across lush pastures, hillier countryside beyond. Swallows graced us with their presence a lot of the time, singing shrilly in the trees between sorties for food over the canal.

Hack Green Locks interrupted the tranquillity for a short while, and a brief encounter with shallows on the off-side whilst waiting for an oncoming boat to pass an obstacle. Kantara lurched quite violently to port as Grace drove her onto the invisible mudbank, but no harm was done, and we reversed off easily enough.

The Secret Nuclear Bunker is marked clearly on the OS map, and canalside signs make sure that all passers-by know about it. We didn't visit it - it claims to be a day's entertainment - but we've added it to our Llangollen/Weaver trip.

Arriving at Audlem, we filled up with water and disposed of rubbish after the first two locks, then moored at the Visitor Moorings above Lock 13. We had lunch at The Shroppie Fly ("No hot food today because of the hot weather"), and perused the fascinating Audlem Mill Canal Shop adjacent to it.

We strolled into the village, too, but it was here that we discovered that Audlem's also a pretty strange place. It has the feel of a very old village where not much has changed over time. There are few shops, and most of those were either closed or closed down. A Co-Op and a traditional butcher's shop appeared to be the only suppliers of food.

Back at the boat after two hours, we decided to carry on up the Audlem Flight, and stop for the night at the top - 15 locks up. It was a good decision. Nearly all of the locks were set in our favour, and, apart from the really tricksy sluices at the bottom of each one of them, pouring water out from the side across the canal in currents that made steering difficulty, all went well.

Until Lock 4, when the engine cut out without warning, just as Grace was taking Kantara in. The engine exhaust had been unusually smokey for a while, but nothing else had seemed to be wrong, and I thought, "Oh-oh!"

I took a centre line, and pulled the boat back to a place where we could moor her without being too much in everyone else's way. I tried to phone River Canal Rescue, found my phone had no signal, took it up to higher ground and tried again, failed and went back to the boat, tried Grace's phone, heard RCR's phone ringing. And it rang, and it rang, and it rang. They were closed for the day, except for emergencies. And this was not one of those.

So here we are. Stranded. I'll phone RCR first thing in the morning. It's a pleasant spot between two close locks, with the constant background sound of rushing water.