Post by Deleted on Apr 3, 2021 18:34:19 GMT
Last Sunday lunchtime I finally prised myself out of the lovely cocoon of Swanley Bridge marina, at the peak of the high winds.
Sadly but predictably, a few innocent boats were bumped on the way out, but I'm not sure even Christopher Columbus could have piloted the boat out without at least a couple of knocks in those conditions.
Being a skilled mariner, Mr Columbus would not have set sail in the first place during bad conditions.
BUT if his mooring fee was due to be renewed on the Monday morning, as mine was, perhaps he might have been tempted to set forth, brave the weather, and avoid paying another £70 for a week's stay.
So anyway, since that embarrassing departure, I've been very slowly moving down the Llangollen, a few miles at a time.
Today near Wrenbury I came across a novel and most unwelcome obstruction- the lift bridge.
I knew that several of these devilish contraptions lay in my path, and I'd gone to the trouble of watching a youtube video by the chap who does the 'Narrowboat Journeys' channel.
He explains it all in detail, including the potential pitfalls for the single hander when the bridge-lifting controls are on the opposite bank to the towpath.
Knowing that these could be tricky for the single hander, my plan was to go through the first lift bridge today, then moor up at Wrenbury and tackle the busier lift bridge tomorrow morning, well before 8am- so that the inevitable pantomime would have a smaller audience.
At no point in my research did it even occur to me that other boaters might make this fearsome passage easier.
I dallied this morning with minor tasks and drinking coffee, deliberately delaying the short cruise to Wrenbury. My reasoning for the delay was that it might allow time for some boats to leave the visitor moorings ahead of me at Wrenbury, and that might make it easier for me to find a spot when I arrived.
So I was lazily donning my wellies (the towpath was muddier than a world war 1 battlefield) , when I noticed a boat chugging by, and only then did it finally occur to me that just as with locks, teamwork with another boater might make lift bridges easier to navigate.
I scurried out of the stern hatch like a meerkat, to see the boat heading off towards Wrenbury, with only one man visible on the stern.
Perhaps this chap could open the lift bridges and push on, and I would close them behind us..?
Either way, the promise of saving a lot of effort spurred on my final preparations, and I started the engine and set off just a few minutes later, in hot pursuit of the unknown boater.
I knew the first lift bridge was less than a mile away, so my quarry would not have opened up a big lead- and sure enough, as I approached the bridge, there was my new boating team-mate ahead of me.
Even better, there appeared to be a crew. There was a small crowd around the bridge, but crucially two figures (that I shortly discovered were teenage boys) were manning the windlass point on the offside, as their boat cruised through. There had been no signs of life below decks as the boat passed me earlier, but such is the way of things with teenagers. They seem able to remain inactive and largely devoid of life, until the point that something interesting happens on the internet.
I was still several hundred yards away, but these angels in human form spotted me coming, and they kept the bridge aloft as I approached.
My gratitude knew no bounds as I passed them. I offered to double whatever their current salary was aboard the other vessel. It turned out they were on zero wages. Scandalous of course, blatant child exploitation- but they would not be tempted to even temporarily swap boats.
So this lift bridge game was clearly a lot easier than people had been making out.
I passed the boat as they waited for the two lads to lower the bridge and rejoin them, thinking it was probably best not to mention my attempt bribe their crew, and I pulled over to the visitor moorings to moor up for the evening, as per my original plan.
But even as I started to moor, this agile and numerous crew of hire folks suddenly opened up new possibilities in my mind. It was still the early afternoon, after all.
Could I perhaps pass through the dreaded lift bridge now? In broad daylight? With traffic?
As their boat passed by, I inquired politely of the helmsman/father whether they might by any chance be considering going through lift bridge 20 this afternoon.
He was frustratingly non-committal.
'Maybe,' he offered with a smile. 'We're not sure yet.'
What could this man be thinking? The bridge was barely 300 yards ahead. It was this kind of wishy washy attitude cost us the Empire, by God. These hire boaters were acting as if they were on bloody holiday.
Since his boat showed no signs of slowing, and there were no more mooring places between him and the lift bridge, it became clear that they were going for it.
So I thought- why wait till the morning? I can waft through this thing like royalty right now, in the wake of this able crew and their infuriating but very pleasant father.
Decision made, I hurriedly untied and set off in pursuit once more.
They slowed down on the approach, and the two lads disembarked onto the stern of a moored hire boat, and scampered off to the bridge.
A gaggle of anglers and bystanders were disturbed by their approach. There were some exchanges, and within a few minutes the traffic barriers were closed, and the bridge started to lift. A queue of cars started to accumulate immediately, but I cared little for their frustrations as they sat in their little tin boxes.
I sailed through the narrow opening in my large tin box- for once without hitting the sides- and I felt compelled to offer a gracious apology to a brace of glaring anglers, for having interrupted their sport.
The anglers remained unmoved by my expressions of sympathy.
Undeterred, I cruised under the bridge and swept out onto the canal like Caesar entering Egypt in triumph, smiling benignly at all about me.
And who should I see coming along the towpath but my elusive electrician and her equally elusive assistant?
I laughed, and greeted these questionable professionals like old friends that I hadnt seen for a decade.
For who could possibly be mean spirited at a time like this? This was a time to rejoice.
The lift bridge of doom was defeated, and no further man-made obstruction could now prevent me reaching Whitchurch within a few days.
A few hundred yards later my serene and regal progress was somewhat spoiled when I made a complete mess of the next lift bridge, as was bound to happen. But a gongoozler, of all things, came to my rescue, and manfully worked the bridge for me.
Are not human beings the greatest works of God?
Yes, the noble gongoozler has his place in nature's hierarchy.