The Grand Tour Continues

A week in, and I’m creeping up on a milestone. Literally creeping AND literally a milestone (well, mile marker...) The Grand Union Canal boasts sturdy mile markers along the towpath, mile after stately mile. And all those signs count down to a place called Braunston at the junction of the Grand Union and Oxford canals. As I set off last Saturday morning I noticed one of those mile markers, one I’d probably seen 20 times before, reading "Braunston 86 miles". And then it hit me: I’m actually going to Braunston! For my whole canal-dwelling life I’ve been floating past those mile markers and in all that time Braunston has been a little like the Emerald City - basically mythical. And now I'm almost there, chugging along my yellow brick canal.

Here's an example from Wednesday. Now I'm sooooo much closer. I think I'm at Mile 19!

Day 5, Bulbourne Junction to Leighton Buzzard:

My first day of serious boat travel alone, facing the Marsworth flight of seven locks, and a further alotment later in the day. (Note: the collective noun for a closely packed group of locks is a flight.) I got an early start at the top of the flight, setting off at 7:30 am on a chilly grey day. Nervous, as it’s been a while since I descended in locks, and I was doing it all single handed. Happily, I had a bit of help on the way, and soon got into the rhythm. Passers by on the towpath are usually very friendly and will often open or close a lock gate, especially for a lone boater.

Like these CRT volunteers who patrol the Marsworth flight of locks. CRT stands for the Canal and River Trust, the not-for-profit organisation that manages the inland waterway. Recognisable by their blue shirts and fancy life jackets,

On Day 5 I also instituted the mid-morning coffee break which I enjoyed with a Millionaire's Shortbread the size of my head from Bluebell's tea room, situated at the bottom of the Marsworth flight. They also supplied a Cornish pasty I had for lunch.

My hands, which complained on days two and three with the amount of time spent tightly gripping ropes or windlasses, are now toughening up remarkably and I’m getting some pretty impressive callouses. (I sometimes treat them to a few minutes gripping the long-suffering bag of frozen peas in the evenings). I’m also getting an epic farmer tan, though on this day there was very little sun and my feet were wet from dashing about in dewy grass in porous running shoes.

My trip down the Marsworth flight turned out to be quick and smooth, and I ended up getting much further than intended that day - all the way to Leighton Buzzard, where I ended the day with a dissipriting pass through town looking for a mooring. It seems the entire city centre is reserved for permanent morning, so I ended up going even further than the already-much-further. (Screw you Leighton Buzzard.) By the time I finally found a mooring I was very happy to make the walk along the towpath to the Globe for the Wednesdays special of pie and chips. Totally knackered.

The pub, after 10 miles and an epic 18 locks, single handed.

Day 6, Leighton Buzzard to Old Wolverton:

I got some help the previous evening when mooring up a Leighton Buzzard from a friendly boater named Gavin, who was on his annual week of holiday boating along the canals. Holiday hire boats are very popular, especially with couples of a certain age. My grandparents were keen fans and came on many narrow boating holidays, so it was nice to meet Gavin and his wife Pat. The next morning we shared the first lock and met up again periodically through the day, sharing locks later on.

Here’s Lucky Nickel waiting in a lock alongside Gavin and Pat’s boat, with Pat waiting up top at the gates. After this photo Gavin and I executed a lovely synchronised exit from the lock that was a joy to behold. My manoeuvring skills are getting much sharper.

I also stopped to fill up on diesel and hit the chandlery (AKA: shop for boaty stuff) at Willowbridge Marina. Mostly I needed a few more fenders, which are the little bumpers that hang off the side of the boat and stop it from getting too banged up when I miscalculate. I've always maintained that narrowboating is a contact sport, so I figure a few knocks come with the territory and consider fenders semi-disposable. And I noticed that I really needed an extra pair of fenders on the back end, so it was fun to be able to find those and a few other bits and pieces.

Later I had a quick stop in Bletchley to stock up at Tesco and get some more magic elixir from Halfords. (For Canuck readers: when I say Halfords, in your mind you can substitute that with “Canadian Tire”). I’m using my Brompton bike a lot for these short jaunts, which is working really well.

Finished the day with a long lock-free cruise through Milton Keynes, when I stopped for for quick look at this - a pair of Victorian era brick kilns sitting in a park near the canal. Note that they're not brick kilns because they’re made of brick (though obviously they are). They were kilns for firing bricks, which were made by the zillion and then loaded onto boats on the nearby canal for transport across the country.

Also there was this manually operated swing bridge along the way. The glaring design flaw here is that it’s operated from the off-side. That’s the side opposite the towpath, where you can’t really moor in order to open and close the bridge. Luckily I was warned about this earlier by a friendly dog walker. (Most people on the towpath are dog walkers but this one was accompanied by a gorgeous red and white basset hound named George, who tugged at my heartstrings for obvious reasons.) George Walker’s advice was that you simply need to wait at the bridge until a pedestrian comes along, and ask them to work the bridge for you. WTF? How can that possibly be the system? Luckily a pair of runners came along at just the right time.

Totals for the day: 17 miles, 6 locks, one swinging bridge and one aqueduct (more on aqueducts later).

Day 7, Old Wolverton to Blisworth:

Setting off from the far end of Milton Keynes, but first I rode up the towpath for a proper look at “the oldest broad canal iron trough aqueduct”, opened in 1811, and still operating.

Gorgeous. It replaced a flight of eight locks crossing the Ouse.

And check out how thin the sides are!!

Then it was a long run up to Stoke Bruerne, home to a flight of seven locks going up, and the British Waterways Canal Museum. I arrived at the bottom of the flight in time for lunch, which I had on the boat before cycling up to the museum at the top of the flight.

A display about how women took over pairs of working boats to keep goods moving during the Second World War

And a replica of the stern end of a butty boat. Boats operated in pairs, one towed behind the other. The butty is the unpowered one. This replica showed the tiny living quarters and made the Lucky Nickel look like a five star hotel.

Then it was back to the boat to work my way up the locks, though there was some unanticipated time pressure because the top and bottom locks of the flight are currently locked up overnight in an effort to conserve water. I knew this and entered the flight at 2pm, thinking that if I was in before the cutoff time they’d have to let me out the other end. Not true. I ended up racing those seven locks, running up to the next one to get it emptied and ready while the current lock was filling with the boat bobbing around like a bath toy all by itself. I ended up making it out the top lock just under the wire, with the CRT man ready to lock the gates. (Apparently four other boats were getting locked in behind me.) I was sweaty and exhausted from running around working those locks alone on a very hot sunny day, and took a bow from the assembled audience as I exited the lock. They applauded politely while I braced myself for the next hurdle:

The entrance to Braunston Tunnel. 1.7 miles of darkness and drippy Victorian brick. Creepy.

Going through the tunnel was bizarre. The boat has a headlight, and I had a failing head torch. But it was still a long long way, and really plays tricks with your head.

I met two boats coming the other which gave me something to focus on in the distance. One was a tour boat that had a very strong light, which made this video possible. The crossing was advertised as taking about 25 minutes, but I was in there for close to 40. No sense rushing these things.

Once I was past those boats it just got odd. I was going slowly and there’s almost no steering required so it’s mesmerising. You know you’re moving, but you get almost no sense of it, except when you pass under the deep ventilation shafts cut into the tunnel after the introduction of steam powered boats. Water was pouring down the shafts, and I was glad I'd taken advice, worn my rain jacket, and closed the roof hatch. Before the advent of powered boats, horse-drawn boats would have to be “legged” through the tunnel, there being no path for the horse. Legging required two men, one on either side of the boat at the bow. Each man would lie on a sort of diving board affair sticking out the side of the boat and use his legs to push on the wall and propel the boat forward. It must have been exhausting.

Once I was through the tunnel, thoroughly chilled and wet, I was grateful to moor up for the night in the tiny village of Blisworth, where I now sit in the Royal Oak pub, tapping this out and enjoying a well earned pint.

Next up: the fabled land of Braunston!