Harecastle Tunnel

It was just a mile from Westport Park to Harecastle tunnel. There were three narrowboats waiting to go through, and another joined the queue behind us soon after we arrived. It was good timing. Traffic is one-way through the tunnel, so there's a timetable, scheduling craft times to enter in alternating directions.

The tunnel is 2926 yards long, the fourth longest on the UK canal system, and it has something of a reputation for being tricky because of stretches of low roof about half-way through. Sadly, there was a death last year, probably caused by the man hitting his head on the roof, and falling backwards off the end of his boat. There was no-one with him at the stern at the time. Needless to say, CRT are now very much more sensitive to safety issues here now. Before our entry, all waiting boaters were gathered together by the duty Keeper, and given a sheet of safety instructions, which he gave to us orally as well.

There are actually three parallel tunnels at Harecastle, needed to deal with the volume of traffic which once went this way. One was a railway tunnel. But two of these have been closed over the decades since, and only the one is in use now. Built by Thomas Telford in 1827.

After a convoy of five or six boats had emerged from the gloom of the tunnel into the sunlight, our keeper beckoned our group in, one by one. He urged us to maintain normal cruising speed. And to mind our heads! Unfortunately, however, the front boat went very slowly at times, and this is a problem in a narrow tunnel like that, because at very slow speeds it becomes more difficult to steer boats, and no-one wants to bang their shiny boats against the rough brick walls.

But all went well, and we duly drove out unscathed about forty minutes later. A striking phenomenon here is the striking change in the colour of the canal water. Where it had been normal greenish-brown at the eastern portal, it is now bright, rusty yellow. From iron ore in the ground.

Several boats were gathered here, waiting to take their turn in the other direction. I waved to working boat NB Halsall, a Twitter contact of mine I'd never seen before.

Almost immediately after the tunnel comes Harding's Wood Junction, where the Macclesfield Canal turns left off the Trent and Mersey, runs parallel for a hundred yards, then turns sharp right onto an aqueduct over the T & M, to head off north-east while we continue north-west.

The aqueduct carrying the Macclesfield Canal

Five more locks now, the Red Bull flight, nothing at all to do with the energy drink, followed by another six at the start of what is known by some as Heartbreak Hill. It's not that bad, really! Most of the locks from here on for several miles are twinned narrow locks, like those at Hillmorton.

The sign says "Lock Closed" - that's the one, on the left, with all the reeds growing in it!

At one of the locks, a vollie was training a man with no previous canal experience. It was his first day of training, and his instructor was giving him masses of detailed information. He looked over at Grace bringing Kantara into the lock.

“And this young couple”, he told the learner, “are quite clearly not without experience. The gentleman holds his windlass the right way up, and the lady brings the boat in without bashing into anything!”

The countryside has become gently hilly, and there are beautiful views from the canal.

Anyone know what make and model this fine old car is?

After the six locks, we were in Church Lawton, the village we'd designated as the place for our mooring at the end of the day. But we'd made faster progress than we'd anticipated, and it was only one o'clock, so we had a bite to eat and moved on another ten lock-miles to a beautiful countryside spot below Pierpoint Locks.

Cows and donkeys chewed grass contentedly in the field opposite, the weather was good, the scents of wild flowers filled the air, the coffee was superb. This couldn't be beaten!

On up through Stoke on Trent

Barlaston was a good place to moor. Pleasing to the eye, peaceful to the ear. Apart, that is, from the nearby railway. Though Grace and I have realized recently that we generally filter out railway noise these days, and don't really notice it at all.

We were expecting today to be a long one, so we started out towards Stoke on Trent a bit earlier than usual.

I'll mention the weather today, because it was quite significant. The weather forecast first thing was a bit indecisive. It might pour with rain. It might not. Maybe. We were not going to be deterred, however, so we took the risk. And got a bit wet, to say the least. This was solely because of three or four cats, dogs and buckets episodes, none of which lasted longer than fifteen minutes. But at that order of magnitude, that was quite enough!

At Trentham Lock, 12 foot seep, so it was going to be a slow one, we found ourselves at the back of a queue of four other boats waiting to go up. Another joined behind us shortly afterwards. We hadn't queued at a lock for ages!

Two of the boats were folk on holiday and understandably slow due to lack of experience. One of the crew from the craft immediately in front of us, chosen to operate the locks, had never done it before, nor had it explained to her. I was happy to assist.

Incidentally, neither Trentham Lock, nor any others today apart from that at the top of the Trent Flight, had anti-vandal locks fitted to the paddle mechanisms. I was misinformed yesterday.

After Trentham, we came up behind this holiday boat at each successive lock, and another came up fast behind us, so I got to chat with the crews quite a lot. The main man from this second boat was in his late 40s, I guess, and he'd been on a canal holiday most years since 1977. His youngest daughter was with him, his sister and brother-in-law, and his mum. His wife and eldest daughter had stayed at home. They do very year. They don't like canal holidays.

Welcome to Stoke on Trent!

These were deep locks, still. Trentham is 12 foot deep. Most were gentle as they were filled, but the last one, taking advantage of how we were accustomed to being slow and kind, took us all by surprise. It caught Kantara in a strong current and threw her at the top gates. Grace gave the poor engine full reverse throttle, and I dropped a top gate paddle. There was rather more than a tickle between Kantara's prow and the gates, but no harm was done. Except to Grace's nerves!

Relics of former potteries...

Some of the locks...

Etruria Lock

The hire boat in front of has had been having its own problems. While they'd been in Etruria Lock, waiting for it to fill, there came cries for help. Neither their crew at the gates nor the helmsman Dad seemed to hear the shouting. If it's not one of their party, I thought, perhaps it's Grace. She was hidden from my view. I ran to the bridge across the bottom of the lock (photo above) and looked down. Much to my relief, all was well with her, so I hurried back to the lockside, to see Dad scurrying down into his boat.

It transpired that the elderly mother had fallen and hit her head, which was bleeding profusely. His wife got called in to help, and I sent the other woman to go with her, leaving me to deal with the gates. After some wait, Dad drove the boat out and moored it immediately. We brought Kantara up, and continued past the troubled holiday party.

It was very definitely lunch time now, and we needed somewhere to moor. A fellow boater had earlier recommended to me a good mooring alongside Westport Park, so this is where we stopped for lunch. And remained there until the morning.

The holiday family arrived some hours later, and moored not far from us, but when I walked past the boat in the evening, the windows were curtained, and the people had gone. What a sad, sudden ending to their holiday.

Westport Lake, next to our mooring.