6th May 2013
Soulbury Three Locks to Marsworth
Python waited at the bottom of Soulbury Three Locks for a crew change. Dave and Margaret were to go home while Glyn was to join the boat. All praise to the SatNav for getting him there for 11ish. And for organising sunshine. (Do you remember ‘sunshine’?). Anyway, after the ceremony of The Carrying Of The Plastic Bags Up And Down The Towpath, Barbara started up her motor and the departing crew set off back to Long Eaton.
Eddie and Glyn also set off up the locks, assisted by a friendly and chatty lock-keeper. It’s funny how the locks at gongoozler hot-spots like the Three Locks Pub or Foxton are always in good nick while the ones round the bend may well be decidedly dodgy. Once clear of the locks we had a nice trundle along to Leighton Buzzard with just the occasional lock. The main problem for E & G was to try to preserve their pale and interesting complexions from the glare of the sun. Of course, need you ask, all the locks were against us but we did have bit of luck at the swing bridge just north of Leighton Buzzard because, as we passed a boat, he told us that he was about to move to moor the other side of the bridge, so, if we left it ope,n then he would close it. Just as well, because it’s a stiff old thing! Then we sailed serenely through Leighton while acknowledging the merry greetings of persons on the towpath – and still in bright sun!
After Leighton you get views of the Chilterns, which cause the unwary to wax lyrical about scenery etc. etc., but, if you know this part of the G.U., you don’t feel so ecstatic because you know what’s coming – a lot of locks to get you over the hills! And, because we were heading for Ricky (Rickmansworth – ED.), we knew that there’d be no let up for us, no luxury cruise along Cowley Pound and the Paddington Arm. I bet you’re sorry for us.
If you imagine a combination of ten minutes chug and then a lock, then five minutes chug and a lock, then a pair of locks a hundred yards apart, and then permutate these into twenty combinations then you’ll get the idea of this part of the G.U. Never mind, it’s all good fun and you can cheer yourself up by thinking of how much this amount of exercise would cost you at a gym. Plus, only one set of gate paddles wasn’t working.
Sometime around six o’clock we arrived in Marsworth, where we heard the call of the local wildlife, the Marsworth Red Lion. We had to go up to the village to get a signal on the ‘phone to report our position, while doing this we were forced to escape the warmth beneath a sunshade. Then back to the boat for a gourmet meal based on Co-Op Irish Stew and ending with an early night.
You see, we had ‘complications of organisation’. There had been talk of the boat going past Ricky to Bull’s Bridge, Glyn had a limited time available, Python had to be at Ricky at some time and Barbara the Transport Manager had limited dates. The upshot of all this was that we were going to get the boat to Ricky on Wednesday in time for Barbara to pick us up early afternoon. (Another of those ’Good Ideas’)
7th May Marsworth to Hemel Hempstead
So, we heard the church clock strike six as Eddie prepared a formidable breakfast and we were off, quietly, at half past seven. Just as well because we met the lock keeper at the top lock about to run water. We went through, following orders to leave paddles up, myself being left in charge of the official notice telling boats to wait for the lock keeper before passing the lock. A boat did turn up, and the crew glared at me when I passed on the official orders to wait, but the official notice overawed them.
Then a nice forty minutes on the summit to Cowroast then lock after lock etc. down towards Berkhamsted where we found the locks with notices telling us to leave the locks empty with a paddle up. This guaranteed a ‘bad road’ of course. It looks to me that the locks are in poor condition judging by the desperate need for re-pointing in the chambers. These locks all seem to sit on their own little embankments rather than being dug into the slope of the ground as they are on the upper G.U. I guess this means that leaky chambers are likely to wash a lot of the embanking material away. It certainly meant that the intervening pounds were very low. And the gates were leaky.
But we got through to Berkhamsted to find the Waitrose we had heard about. We spotted just about the last mooring and slid gently towards it. There being many persons around gazing in admiration at the Historic Boat we thought we would do everything smoothly and competently. Under the bridge and Clunk! Hit something. It’s one thing hitting something solid which you can usually get off, slide on-slide off. But if what you hit then rolls over it can act like a jack and lift the boat up so that you end up with a ton or so sitting on whatever it is. And we rolled it over so the stern was inches higher than it should be. We couldn’t get off, not even with several people on the towpath pulling on ropes. Judging by the number of spectators we can claim to have effectively raised the profile of CCT! It turned out that we had not avoided the ubiquitous spies of Ms. Warsop, who assured us that our sticking would be reported! Somebody must have let some water down and, at last, we floated off to get into our mooring in as dignified a manner as possible. The locals said “We know about that bit. We never go down the middle because you get stuck. We always go to either side.” Of course, when you go under a footbridge near a supermarket you expect a shopping trolley or two but not as bad as that! Far be it from me to seem to criticise my betters, but it seems a pity that no-one with any responsibility for the canal does anything about such a well-known obstruction. Ah, well.
Everybody said “These pounds are always low because the locks leak. There’s always plenty of water below the next locks.” And there was, so we resumed making good progress. Apart from the lump under the footbridge, I like Berkhamsted. There’s a good castle and there are three pubs close together along the locks. The weather still being definitely warm, we paused for refreshment in the sun then finished off our run down to Hemel Hempstead and moored up just past the ‘Fisheries’ not too close to the road or railway after an eleven-hour day. (We must be daft!)
8th May Hemel Hempstead to Rickmansworth (Batchworth Lock)
After two days of sun, that night it rained. Our luck held, though, and it was fine by the time we set off after breakfast. We had made our distance which gave us a nice run through the last locks to Ricky. No shortage of water because you’re on the river there, but you have to remember that when hanging about waiting for the lock, or you find yourself drifting ever so slowly into the weir stream. We decided our E.T.A. then rang Barbara to set off from Chesterfield to fetch us. When we got into Batchworth Lock, we did panic a bit because the area where we had been told to moor seemed to be full of boats. There was one, rubbish, mooring left with half the boat alongside the towpath bridge over a river channel, but it had to do for us. Then, what about timing! The ‘phone went as we finished tidying up and it was Herself; not only had she just arrived in Tesco car park, but she could see us from her parking place.
And that was it, back home in time for tea! Just over thirty miles and fifty-eight locks in about twenty five hours – not bad for two old fellers!
Glyn Downey