Five on a boat to Oxford - part 5

It's Sunday, 17th September We're half-way through our trip - no longer to Oxford since we don't have the time - and we're wanting to get to Thrupp by the end of the day. Tomorrow, we'll turn and head back towards some location as yet unspecified where Dorothy's son Martin will meet her and drive her back to Wellington in Somerset. In fact, Thrupp is the better winding-point, because the canal down towards Oxford itself is far from pleasant, and the city end of the navigation leaves a great deal to be desired. Those who actually want to visit Oxford, a fine city worthy of a visit, tend to moor in Thrupp and catch the bus.

As we set off towards Somerton Deep Lock, our hearts sank. We very soon caught up with an extremely slow hire-boat. Clearly, they had had no previous experience of narrowboats, and were finding it very hard to keep a straight path on the straight bits, and to turn appropriately on the bends. And there were many bends! However, they were aware enough of us to pull over at the lock, and let us go down first, apologizing profusely as we passed.

"No need to apologize," we called out. "You did the right thing. We can be very fierce!"

The last time I managed Somerton Deep Lock, I failed to close the bottom gate. It was extremely heavy, and my honour was saved by a woman from the boat in front of us, who came back to give me a hand. This time, I'm glad to say, it was no problem.

At Bakers Lock, one starts the short trip upon the River Cherwell, flow conditions allowing.

Shortly after this lock, the Cherwell flows in from the right, the water's deeper, and the speed kicks in! It's wide and winding, fast and fun!

And, all too soon, we arrive at Shipton Weir Lock, which takes us down away off the river and back onto the canal.

There were just three lift bridges now before Thrupp, each of which needed to be opened, one of them electronically. And at Thrupp, we chugged slowly past long lines of moored craft, hoping to find a 60-foot space for the night. We passed one, gambling on there being more closer to the wharf, but that was in vain. We pulled over for the services, winded and made our way back to the space we'd passed. It was still vacant, and we were grateful!

Stir-crazy

At last, we got to take Kantara out the other day. We went not knowing how long we'd be out for, though we'd have to be back by September 9th to pick up Christine, Mike and Dorothy, to give them a two-week holiday. And that, we've decided, will be a trip down to Oxford and back. Though we might wind at Thrupp, Oxford itself being such an unpleasant stretch of canal. So anyway, off we went into the wild blue yonder. It was warm, dry, still, very encouraging. But...

...the engine started to misfire, or at least run unevenly. And quickly, not the slower hunting that we'd experienced when our alternator failed last year. All the gauges were reading fine. I checked all that I could, and couldn't find the cause. So we sighed, winded as soon as we could, and drove back to the marina.

Where we found that the domestic water had not been properly heated by the engine, so there must be an air-lock in the system, or a faulty thermostat. A call-back for Roy, methinks.

We're still waiting to hear when he can come to us.

So Grace gets back to door-painting, and I get back to being stir-crazy. We've done so little faring this year, it's ridiculous! There are a dozen things I could be getting on with, but I just can't raise the necessary enthusiasm. Sad, huh?

But yesterday, we took advantage of the continuing decent weather, and we drove out to Calke Abbey in Leicestershire.

 This is not a stately home. This is what the National Trust delight to call an "un-stately home".

"Hidden away in a hollow within ancient park land, Calke Abbey appears to have turned its back on the modern world. The telephone first rang in 1928 at Calke and electricity wasn't introduced until 1962. The often eccentric Harpur-Crewe family preferred a solitary life which excluded mod cons."

The park around the house is huge, with herds of deer and flocks of sheep. The gardens are large, and beautiful at this time of the year.

The house itself has suffered from generations of very eccentric folk adapting the place in very strange ways to accommodate their own particular circumstances and desires. Hence it has a very random, disorganised, interior, with most of the upstairs rooms and several of the others being stuffed full of  paintings, trophy animal-heads, and dead animals and birds in glass cases. And junk. Lots of it. They collected "stuff".

Some of the rooms are in a fairly good state, but much of the pace is very run-down; cracks in walls and ceilings, wall-paper peeling off or long-gone, paintwork badly deteriorated. The NT has done a lot of work to preserve the building, largely by fixing leaky roofs, walls, windows and doors, but the sheer size of the job of complete restoration is so huge that it would be beyond their resources. They've done the wise, clever thing of making its condition its attraction. Where their other houses paint a picture of the rise of noble families, this one tells the story of a fall. And if yesterday was anything to go by, it's a very popular attraction indeed.

The one thing in the house that's in good condition is a magnificent bed, a wedding gift three hundred years old, but never having seen sunlight! It's absolutely pristine.

It's a fascinating, haunting place, and we had a great day out there.

Now back to those jobs...

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Please note that another update to "Hints and tips..." has been added to the Addendum Blog.

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Moving on from Stoke Bruerne

We left our mooring at 8:30 on Monday morning, a good couple of hours earlier than we would normally start to move out, but in time to avoid pushing our luck with the 48 hour limit. We descended the locks solo in warm, breezy weather and continued towards Milton Keynes. After Thrupp Wharf, we were in new territory, never having come this far south before - well, not for 20 years anyway.

We stopped at Cosgrove village to buy bread and have lunch. Moving on, we missed the left turn at Cosgrove Lock, and found ourselves navigating the Old Stratford Canal, the remains of which is only a few hundred yards long. Reversing out with red faces, we turned into the Lock, to be joined by another boat going the same way. As we came out of the lock we were greeted by the crew of NB Etoile du Nord, who had been moored opposite us at Yelvertoft for some time.

The Grand Union from here on is wide, almost river-like. Not always deep, but very picturesque much of the time. We came into the outskirts of Milton Keynes, but couldn't find suitable moorings until we came to a lovely, isolated spot by bridge 75, to the north-west edge of the town, where we spent the night.

It was a very warm night, but we were awoken abruptly at 6:15 by the sound of a heavy downpour. I hurried out to put the cratch cover up - we don't really see the foredeck as an all-weather space-, but the rain only lasted five minutes. The rest of the morning was dull and overcast, but it had started to clear by the time we set off, and we moved on under blue sky with fluffy, white clouds, and the sun burning down through the gaps.

Traffic on the canal was still light. We're not used to seeing so many wide-beam craft as we were seeing now, and are totally puzzled as to how some of them, with high canopies over the stern, and even tall masts, could have got where they are. Most of the bridges are far too low.

We moored just below Stoke Hammond Lock 23.

Quiet, and beautiful, just how we like it!

"Welcome to Oxford"!

...or, “This is Oxford, and you're welcome to it”!

It rained heavily on and off during the night. I wouldn't have known, had it not been for the frequent passage of railway trains throughout the night, on tracks just tens of meters away from the boat. So I didn't get much sleep. Fortunately, Grace slept fine. Wednesday morning brought clear blue skies and warm sunshine, so, after a half-successful shopping trip to the local Londis, we cruised on into Oxford.

It turned out that we had made the very best choice of mooring the evening before, for the bank along the towing path continued to be totally unusable because of excessive reeds and rushes, or severe deterioration – and often both. The only half decent places were designated Long Term mooring, or “Agenda 21”, a local authority response to shortage of affordable accommodation in Oxford, and mostly looking very slummy. The only decent visitor moorings came another mile further on, after bridge 240. And the frequent signs said, “Welcome to Oxford”. The funny side of it was that other signs generously offered 24-hour mooring in a number of places where no-one in their right minds would dream even of attempting it!

The last two miles into Oxford look and feel generally neglected and run down, despite the fact that some pleasant, no doubt expensive, houses flanked parts of it. Finally, we arrived at Isis Lock, the end of the Oxford Canal, surprisingly still some distance from the heart of the city. Boats over 50 foot long were unable to wind (turn around) without first passing down through this shallow lock onto the River Thames, there to turn around, re-enter the lock, ascend, and return back up the canal, out of Oxford. We had not been impressed, and could think of no reason to stay even for a short while.

The weather all the while had been fine, but this changed now, and we had a number of squally showers from which we could not escape, owing to the absence of anywhere to moor up for a while. We needed to press on and find somewhere pleasant to moor for the night, so we simply had to carry and on and get very wet. But even then, a warm sun broke through from time to time, making us and Kantara steam.

We were a little alarmed to come across NB Jorja, a boat we had seen several times over the past months, moored at the stern, but drifting her bow out across the canal and almost blocking it. There was no-one aboard, and the bow mooring pin had been pulled out of the very wet and soft ground, probably by the passing of another boat. I boarded her from Kantara, retrieved the rope and pin, and pulled her back to the bank while Grace took Kantara on to where she could moor safely, and came back to me with a mallet which I used to re-pin the bow. We left, hoping that this new mooring would last until the crew returned.

We arrived at Thrupp just as the skies opened again, and moored up at a good spot just across the road from the cottages. It was getting late, we were tired and achy, and were glad to take the opportunity to enjoy an evening meal at The Boat Inn just at the end of the road.