The weather was good, the new heater had been installed, the diesel had been polished; the boat was ready, and so were we.
We didn't plan a long journey. There were to be celebratory jubilee functions in the marina over the coming weekend, so we planned to head out towards Stoke Bruerne and see how far we got. We weren't going to hurry; we were out purely for enjoyment, not achievement.
Watford Locks
We spent the first night opposite Welton Hythe Marina.
Then came the seven-lock Buckby Flight, which was a doddle; though it did keep me busy enough to forget to take any photos after the top lock.
We moored for the night just outside Weedon, at a quiet spot where campervans park in a field opposite. Our peace was violently shattered later in the day, however. It was pouring with rain, but we were safe and dry inside, relaxed, playing cards. The sudden loud bang and shaking of the boat was horrifying. I thought the boat in front if us had had a gas explosion; Grace thought we'd been struck by lightning. I ran to open the side doors, where I found a hire boat slowly passing very close to us. There were no other boats around that might have caused him to move over close to us, and the canal is wide at that point. There seemed to be no reason for it apart from carelessness.
The man standing at the bow just looked at me blankly. The skipper was contrite. His declaration that he wasn't inexperienced and that he'd "done this many times" left me wondering if the "this" referred to driving a boat, or to crashing into one. We took down the details of the boat in case we had suffered any harm, and the boat limped on.
We inspected Kantara when the rain had stopped, and found to our relief that there was some paint missing from the side of the bow, but no structural damage. I was tempted to contact the hire company anyway, but I didn't want to make things worse for the hirer, whose holiday had probably just had a cloud gather over it. I let it pass.
We spent the next day at the same spot. The following morning, we turned at the next winding hole, and set off on our return journey, hoping to avoid the chaos of craft headed to the Crick Boat Show. Continuing for another day wold have added two days to our travel, and we'd have missed the jubilee celebrations at the marina on Saturday.
We shared our ascent with Stan and Anne on NB The Earl of Greystock (AKA Tarzan) which speeded our progress and gave us the opportunity to chat with them on the way. The rain threatened all the way up to top lock, below which we moored, waving goodbye to the Tarzan folk. Then it poured!
We spent the next day there, too. It's another favourite mooring of ours. There's an amazing little shop just above the previous lock. It's filled with hundreds of nick-nacks, mostly canal related, and we bought a painted wooden flower trough for Kantara's roof. It's years since we had flowers up there.
Aware of the possibility of the last stretch of our trip being slowed by numerous boats crawling up to the Crick Boat Show, we set out uncustomarily early the next morning, and arrived at Watford Locks to find no queues. There were two craft on their way down, so, rising the first two locks, Grace moored in the waiting pound, and we had time to eat a leisurely breakfast before moving on.
The only slow going was as we passed Crick, with boats sitting two abreast for several hundreds of yards.
We arrived at the marina shortly afterwards. It had been a thoroughly enjoyable trip. Next time, we'll go further.
There was a lot on over the Platinum Jubilee weekend, but most people won't know about this event. If you do, you're most likely a boater.
"From cruise liners to destroyers, frigates to motor cruisers, narrowboats to ferries, if you've got a horn, then blow it!"
So we did, and the noise was most impressive! Yelvertoft moorers had been informed by Neil, the manager and, on the dot of twelve, we sounded off. Imagine how many craft were involved, right across the UK and her waters - and in foreign waters, too. Did the Queen hear it as well, I wonder.
Three and a half hours later, moorers were gathering in the lounge. A few hardened folk sat outside until the weather turned really antisocial. A fabulous spread of food brought by moorers was laid out on a long table. We all brought our own drink, too, and that was supported by numerous bottles and boxes supplied by management.
It was an excellent opportunity to get to know each other better. Coincidence had it that the group we were in were all close neighbours of ours and of each other, but we still had plenty to talk about, lots of tales to tell. It was gone nine the first time I looked at the clock; we all left just before eleven. Knackered!
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