Back onto familiar waters

Friday morning had us wondering whether to do a short journey that day, finishing at the bottom of Atherstone Locks, or the longer one to the top. Hmmm. We're really not in a hurry (despite the fact that our washing machine's not working, and we have a large pile of washing waiting in the shower room to be done), so we go for the short option for a change.

Down we went to Fazeley Junction, to join the Coventry Canal. Familiar territory once more. It was like Piccadilly Circus! As we approached this T-junction, a boat passed across in front of us. Then stopped. Reversed. Went forward again, and disappeared from view. We moved forward cautiously. Then his bow appeared in the bridge-hole, and he started up the Birmingham and Fazeley towards us. Grace backed Kantara off as he pulled over to our right, to moor.

Two more boats passed across in front of us, one in each direction. We edged forwards. Another stopped across our exit from the B & F, waited while another two passed him, then moved off, making to turn left up towards us. But then he saw us, closer than him to the bridge over our exit, and he stopped, effectively blocking off the top of the T. He beckoned to us to proceed. I indicated our intention to turn right (just as well, since he was blocking the left), he looked behind him and gave us the all-clear to complete our turn. Grace brought Kantara out slowly. The waiting boat had now moved across to the bank opposite our exit, reducing Grace's turning-space, but she did it with only a minor bounce off the far bank. With a "phew!", we moved on a little to moor up for lunch.

Unusual, castellated footbridge!

Glascote Locks, just two of them, were silly busy, with craft in both directions waiting to pass through. I locked with a woman from a 25' boat with an outboard motor, and weighing just 5 tons. It suffered badly from any significant wind, and even from the wash of bigger boats. We'd watched them being bounced around as we followed them to the locks. She and her husband had had her for six years, for use on weekends and holidays, to help them decide if they wanted a bigger one when they retired. Despite her disadvantages, they loved her, and it seemed very likely that they would, indeed, buy a larger one one day, and do more adventurous cruising.

They left us at Glascote Basin at the top of the locks. The boat was going to have her hull blacked while they took themselves off to Spain for a holiday.

We carried on through Tamworth, Alvecote and Polesworth, until finally we left the built-up areas behind and slipped into wide, green countryside. We found a lovely place to moor at Bridge 50. It felt as though we were miles from anywhere, but Atherstone was just two miles away.

A gentler day

Leaving our Minworth mooring

Thursday's trip took us through deeper, weed-free water, through Curdworth Tunnel - all 57 yards of it! - and through sunny, hot weather.

We met no boats. We had no problems. Nothing exciting happened. We descended all eleven Curdworth Locks without incident... 

 ...we even stopped to eat at a sensible time!

 ...and we moored perfectly easily at the bottom lock, alongside a lake.

That's fine. There's no shame in it at all. All boaters should have days like this!

Skirting Birmingham

On Wednesday, we moved on to the Rushall Junction, and turned left onto the Tame Valley Canal.

Through housing and industrial sites, the canal was still very shallow, and at one point Kantara was tipped violently to the left as we rolled over a mudbank in the centre of the channel.

This once had a toll booth on it, to collect passage fees from boaters

Brick pillars, built to support the huge rocks of the cliff along the bank

Perry Vale Locks, now - 13 of them. At the top lock, we cleared a mass of water weed that Kantara had picked up on her propeller on the approach.

At the next lock, I repeated the procedure. It was very frustrating for Grace. Weed like that on the prop doesn't just slow the engine, but it makes steering nigh on impossible. We had nine locks still to do. We took the pragmatic approach, which actually turned out to be the easiest one, too. We bow-hauled the boat. Pulled her by rope from lock to lock.

The biggest problem then was the huge mass of weed in the locks themselves. On one occasion, I simply couldn't haul Kantara out of the bottom of the lock because there were thick wads of the stuff jammed between the boat's hull and the lock walls. From that time onwards, Grace used the engine judiciously, just enough to get her past the obstacles, and moving out of the lock. When there's nowhere to go except in a straight line, the fact that she couldn't steer was irrelevant. Once out of the lock, the engine was put back into neutral, and we hauled. And hauled, and hauled!

After the ninth lock, we moored and ate a much-needed lunch. And I untangled more weed. We stopped in the next lock while I removed yet more weed, and an angler's catch basket, the wire frame of which was very well wrapped around the prop. Below that lock, however, the weed disappeared, and we continued as normal. We met no boats all of this time. There were three behind us, all of them struggling because of the weed, but all of them dealing with it by stopping and unwrapping it from their props.

This wasn't Spaghetti Junction, I don't think, but some time later, we passed under an amazing criss-cross of Birmingham motorway and other roads. (John on NB Samsara comments below, telling me that this is in fact Spaghetti Junction.) A mysterious underworld of shadow and huge concrete structures. Not many people get to see this. It's very impressive! 

Salford Junction

And before we left this weird world, there was Salford Junction, the confluence of the Grand Union and the Aston Canals, both of which take a route down through Birmingham, and the Birmingham & Fazeley Canal, which we followed.

We stopped for the night at Minworth, uncomfortably close to the A38, but just fine for rest and recovery!