Boat uncovered

First trip on Winter Solstice, up the lake from Mountshannon on a summery evening. Joe had been replacing filters on the engines, but had only done the port side when I cycled down to see how he was getting on.
'We could take her out tonight anyway,' he said. 'While the weather's good.'
Not the first time we've travelled on one engine.We were pulling out, nice and steady, all the canvas covers off except for the one on the coachhouse roof, which was flapping alarmingly.
'The cover's flapping alarmingly,' I said to Joe.
'It'll be OK! Don't worry!'
I put the throttles forward and picked up a bit of speed, the wind got under the front of the canvas and lifted it high, peeling it back towards me.
'Joe! The cover's coming off!'
He was on the deck and rushing forward. The boat slowed, the engine ticking over gently while he grappled with the unwieldy cloth. Thank goodness it wasn't windy. Finally we were secure again and set off, rounding Cribby Island where the white-tailed eagles nested last year. The cover gave an experimental flutter, teasing me, then settled down, behaving itself until we turned into Dromaan Harbour forty-five minutes later. 

There she is, tucked into the far corner. 

We put her there, nose in, because of the one engine business. It's always the last bit that's tricky with one engine out of action, trying to get the boat to turn against itself, port engine pushing to the right, wheel hard over to the left to counteract it. There were two sailors having a barbecue who came to catch the ropes, their faces giving away their thoughts - 'look at these incompetents coming in. Woman at the wheel, what d'you expect.'
'We've one engine out!' I cried. 'It's tricky!'

It was here we removed the cover from the coachhouse roof a couple of days later, before the rains came back. 

She doesn't look too bad in the photo, but close up you see the varnish peeling and the paint looking scruffy. At least one side of the deck looks good.

We moved Winter Solstice to her new berth on Thursday last week, just up the lake from Dromaan. Here she is in Holland's newly done-up harbour.

And again.

Lovely part  of the lake. Halfway up with a choice of destinations. We popped over to Domineer to the Whiskey Still for dinner that night. We'll be doing that again.

Banagher to Portumna

We were both on board with the small dog as far as Meelick Lock. It's an easy cycle back to Banagher for the boat, along quiet and narrow lanes. After that it was Joe on Winter Solstice and Aoife and me in the car. I decided to follow my nose to Portumna instead of going back through Banagher, turning right as I came onto the main(ish) road from Meelick Lock instead of left. I've been caught out like this before. Roads that seem to be going in the correct direction sneakily turn without you noticing until you're miles out of your way.

I thought that had happened to me here when I came out on a proper main road, not too far from Birr. But then I always forget how close we are to Birr on this part of the river. I pulled into a small road, took out my phone. A car came up behind me, then alongside, so I rolled down the window.

'Portumna?'
'Go that way, then turn right. About ten miles.' Excellent. I did as advised. Two minutes later I knew exactly where I was. I'd found a short cut. I was annoyed I'd stopped and had to ask. Much more satisfying to have come upon it as though I knew where I was going.

I waited for Joe at Connacht Harbour. Lots of sniff time for Aoife.

Here he is coming in:

Nearly home.

Lock and bog

I dropped Joe in Drumsna to bring the boat a little ways down while I went to Cavan to do a poetry reading at a bi-monthly event called At The Edge. Back the next day to join Joe in Rooskey, where we just made the lock before it stopped for lunch. Two barges went in before us, so it was touch and go.

It was at Rooskey that we discovered the new lock gates at Tarmonbarry didn't fit. The engineering company had come and measured up using fancy laser devices, went away and made the gates. Too small! You can see the effect of it here:

The water was pouring in beneath them the whole time we were going down in the lock, trying to fill it up again. Fortunately water was pouring out the other side just as quickly, the net effect allowing us to descend. To be honest the total time it took to get through the lock didn't seem much different to usual - this one is always slow for reasons that are generally to do with the lock keeper rather than the lock gates.

There was embarrassment before we went into the lock. We weren't long up, I was still drinking my first cup of tea when we decided to go for the first lock of the day. Two other boats were already treading water waiting for a boat to come up. For some mad reason I decided to go out nose first (I blame it on lack of tea), forgetting the eddy that had made it difficult to get into this spot in the first place. Got trapped against the bow of the hire boat in front of us.  I was mortified.

We got on the bikes at Lanesborough to cycle back to Tarmonbarry and the car. The road we took crossed a Bord na Mona working bog. A strange and peaceful world.

Next time we'll cross Lough Ree and almost be back in our own territory.

Cover up

We took the scenic route to get to the north east over the long October weekend so we could put the covers on the boat - we're leaving her up near Carrick-on-Shannon for the winter. We were in the camper van which has an astonishing amount of storage space, especially if you use the shower area as a very big cupboard. Out of the boat came duvets, cushions, memory foam mattress toppers, tea cosy, wooden spoons, charts and books, all carried across the handily laid shortcut across the gap between pontoon and grass.

Putting on the covers takes longer than you expect, even when everything goes according to plan. It's these things that make it so tricky:

Shock cords that are easy to pop over the knobby bit that sits just under the rubbing strake (undoubtedly it has a proper name but I can't even think what to Google to find it) when you're standing on the jetty, but devilishly difficult when you're kneeling on the deck and feeling for said knobby thing while trying to stretch the elastic over it.

Joe began that job up at the bow where there's a nice broad deck, but when I offered to do a bit he said yes rather too quickly. The closer you get to the stern the narrower the deck, difficulty compounded by the stanchions linked by chains that hem you in ever tighter to the coach house roof. There are many of these shock cords.

The job was almost finished in a stiff breeze and sunshine, but the black clouds approached. Hurry hurry.

Not quick enough.

But finally the back was zipped up and the final touch of the piece of twist wire secured the zip.

At which point we decided we needed to put on a spring to stop the boat drifting back and scraping herself against the pontoon. The spare line was in the cockpit.

All wired up again.

Deck shoes still inside.

All wired up ...

You get the idea.

But finally all done. Winter Solstice tucked in for the winter.

Pumping out in October sunshine

Friday evening, Dromod, eating pizza at Harkins. Saturday morning we moved the boat to that dreaded part of the harbour, the pumpout station. We hadn't tried the Dromod pumpout before, but I wasn't hopeful. Would it work? Would we remember which way to set the lever on the holding tank? Would there be shouting? I was expecting No to the first question, but if yes then No to the second. Yes to the third whatever.

So up came the seat in the saloon.

Aoife retreated to her bed at this stage, tail down.

Joe was ready, holding tank pipe secure in the hole in the deck. The card had been put into the slot in the pump out machine and credit taken. The readout in the little screen prompted me to press the button on the right. And away we went.

 Stuff was coming out. I pressed the button for another eight minutes. Stuff was coming out. Then no stuff. Joe reckoned it was pumping water from the river now, so time to switch The Lever. There was to be a system. I'd switch the lever and Joe would tap on the window once for OK and twice for Not OK. I switched to the left. There was a wild scuttering on the window pane. I switched it back to the centre and scrambled out of the boat.
'What??! You said you'd knock once or twice.'
'I panicked. Try the other way.'
Back in the boat, switched to the left. Four knocks on the window. Back to centre. Out of the boat.
'So what this time? You said ...'
'I know! I'm not sure.'
'The noise changed. It sounds like it's really doing something.'
'OK switch it back.'

So this is the record of what we did. The centre to start, then switch to the right.

The answers to the questions turned out to be Yes, Kind Of and No. The best result ever. Hire boats having to use the pump outs is, I'd suggest, what's made the real difference.



The astonishing weather continued into Saturday. Here's Winter Solstice in Drumsna shortly after we pulled in. It was late morning. By evening the harbour was chocka. I'd say people are putting off lifting out their boats, keeping their fingers crossed it continues like this until the October weekend.





There's a curious phenomenon in some of the Leitrim harbours, especially noticeable in Drumsna. People were drawing up in cars, filling containers with water and driving off again. The Shannon, of course, is the border between counties all the way up the country, and here it divides Leitrim from Roscommon. Much of this part of Roscommon doesn't have a clean water supply - there's been a boil notice in place for the last couple of years in some areas. So people come to Leitrim for their drinking water.

Wonder what will happen when water is metered.

Perhaps at least then the glorious new body of Irish Water will sort out the Cryptosporidiosis problem in Roscommon. I suspect the put-upon residents are not holding their collective breath.

Cat-on-a-boat

This was a visitor to Winter Solstice on Saturday night. We were in Richmond Harbour in County Longford in a village that is signposted as Cloondara and Clondra. These signs appear right next to each other on the way into the village. Whatever the spelling it's a sweet spot on the river, although slightly marred by the noise of the traffic on the N5 (just need to go and check that's the number of the road). Tis indeed the N5, which passes through Tarmonbarry also spelled Termonbarry.

The cat was very vocal and had no worries at all about the small dog. Aoife gave it a couple of sniffs then went and put herself to bed. The cat was too confident by half for her. It settled down for a nap once it had checked if there was any food available (there wasn't ).

The weather was unbelievable for the end of September. As we left Richmond Harbour I was stripping off clothes ready for the lock. Yes I know that sounds odd but it can get very hot down in the slime of a lock with the sun beating on the boat and no breeze.

Once we'd done the cycle / car thing, had ice creams, brought the boat to Dromod, we gazed in wonder at the Mediterranean-like lake.

Joe and Aoife watched the boats in the harbour:

We went to order pizza from Harkins Bistro, the little restaurant right beside the harbour. I just opened their website to get the link, came back to the blog when music came from nowhere. I wish they wouldn't do that. It's startling to say the least.

The great thing about the all-new pizza menu at Harkins is that they do gluten-free ones. Amazing! So a pizza apiece and a house salad. We said we were on a boat right there and they said they'd bring it down to us. Half an hour later (they'd warned us they were busy) and I look out of the boat to see the owner and a waitress.
 'The plates are very hot!' said the owner. Jesus. Rush into the boat for the oven gloves. I wasn't expecting this. Takeaways normally come in boxes. The salad was in one of those wonky bowls that are higher on one side than the other. Some service.

Here's the bistro, umbrellas up, outside tables busy.

The pizzas were good. So was the salad. And look at that sky.

Sorry to go on about the weather but really.

Cold at night though. The range is lighting tonight for the first time this year, even though it was sunny all day. I suppose winter will be here soon enough.

Shipping on the Shannon

When we pulled into Dromod this ship was taking up the whole of the end wall. It was Thalassa, a vessel we first saw cruising up Lough Derg. We were in Terryglass, a crowd of us leaning on the wall, staring astonished at this elegant monster, asking foolish questions like 'What is it?'. She tied up on the outer wall, crew and four Jack Russells on board (two of them pregnant). (Jack Russells that is). We had a tour, as did the rest of the harbour. They'd only just brought the boat onto the Shannon, so were still in proud showing-her-off mode. Half the boat is taken up with engines, one of which is the engine to start the engines. She used to be an American patrol boat on the Rhine.

Next morning Thalassa was leaving, but this was no easy lifejackets on and off we go. The pre-engine was rumbling well in advance, giving time to clear boats out of the danger line. The corner behind Thalassa was first. We were tied up on the wall where the harbour narrows - it's not the easiest of harbours for a big boat, requiring a jinking motion as you come in and out.

We moved to the opposite side before Thalassa began her manoeuvres. Here she goes.

The ducks are too busy to notice - someone's throwing bread for them.

I've done this back to front. Before Dromod we were in Drumsna where there was a snorkel / swim in aid of the Simon Community organised by the local sub-aqua club. Forty odd took part, starting below the weir (of course) in Jamestown and following the bend of the river to Drumsna. It took about an hour. Here's some recent arrivals at the slip in Drumsna. This fellow looks like he's grown an extra-long arm.

It was here we met Donnacha Kennedy and his wife Tikkie - their grandson was swimming. It was Donnacha who, in 1975, raised the barge 45M from the bed of Lough Derg, where she'd been resting since she sank in the winter of 1946. I love those unexpected meetings on the river.

Here's Aoife in Rooskey saying 'won't'. She'd just gone belting down the road towards the lock, then trotting back, full of purpose. I've no idea what the purpose was. It's usually to sniff, but not this time. I had trouble keeping up with her. She's had a series of four weekly injections of a drug called Cartrophen, and it's made the world of difference. She was barely walking ten metres before the treatment. It's for arthritis, has mending properties as well as painkilling. At nearly sixteen it's given her a new lease of life (in being bolshie as well as walking).

And here's Winter Solstice in Rooskey. I've just put this in as I like the photo.

In Boil-the-Water Land

 I was taking the small dog for a pre-breakfast walk in Boyle Harbour, and as I passed a boat a voice asked 'Is the roof on yet?' Someone who read my blog!? I didn't want to presume so muttered some class of query. But it was. And Angela gave me a DVD of her travels too, called Angela's Journey, 2013, so a splendid start to the day.

Of course Angela asked the question because the house build has taken over this blog, but we've been boating too, driving up to Leitrim for a few days, then back to do house stuff. We were in Leitrim Village, first on the dodgy jetties where this notice makes you nervous:

 These jetties were supposed to be released to Waterways Ireland, who built a bridge allowing access to the carpark and facilities. Never happened. The developer went into receivership and apartments just up from this sign, and the jetties, are now the responsibility of NAMA. Some boats outstaying their welcome were chained to the jetties, a boaty version of clamping.

So we left the boat on the wall below the bridge while we went home for a few days:

Then part of a timber-boat sandwich in Cootehall:

And then to Boyle, where there's a boil notice on the water. There was one in Cootehall too, but I couldn't resist the boyle and boil. Sorry. This water problem has been going on for 18 months, and is unlikely to be solved until the new water authority comes into being. Fortunately we were forwarned so filled up our water tanks before entering Cryptosporidium County.

After Boyle we mooched into Lough Key, heading for the Forest Park's new jetties. We'd seen them from the land a couple of times, and they didn't look particularly appealing - we were sure we'd prefer our usual spot on Drumman's Island - but no harm in dropping in for an hour or two. We slotted into a spot that was surprisingly pleasant. Everything looked different from this point of view. We could look out into the lake and the island with the castle on it, were close to trees. Not so bad after all.

It was also a great opportunity for Joe to do his salesman thing with 'Skipper', which he did with his usual verve. He's truly amazing. I'm still shite, embarrassed in the background.

There's all sorts of jolly activities at Lough Key. Look at these guys on Segways:

I've just found out more than I ever knew about the Segway from Wikipedia. It's proper name is Segway PT, PT standing for personal transporter, which sounds a bit Star Trek to me. The name Segway comes from segue, which means smooth transition. Segue is one of those words you see written down more often than you hear it spoken. When I was doing my MA, one of the tutors was going on about one thing segueing into another, and he was saying segwaying. My God, I thought, he's making a fool of himself. Fortunately I said nothing, thereby saving myself a red face (why is it OK to confess such things on a blog?). The thing is, Joe thought it was pronounced 'seeg' too. You know, as in words like vogue. How you get segway out of segue seems peculiar even for the English language.

Another activity was this sort of thing:

No, monkeys haven't been introduced to the park. This is a man. There are many children too, clipped on and clambering, zipping, climbing, swinging, even cycling through the trees. This was the domain of Zipit Forest Adventures, and I have to say I was tempted. Not by this stupidly high-off-the-ground stuff, obviously, but by the low-down zipwires designed for eight-year olds. Maybe tomorrow.

Tomorrow, however, started damp and got wetter. No zipping. No cycling until we finally went out in the rain in late afternoon. We finally left, still waterproofed up, and decamped to Carrick where it finally stopped raining.

And then, finally, to Drumsna to relax with tools and wine.

Escape from Lough Derg!

So we finally got away. It didn't happen last year for several reasons, not least because I was launching The Skipper & Her Mate at the Scarriff Harbour Festival at the beginning of August. If we'd gone north we'd have had to come all the way back down again. But off we went upriver last weekend, through Meelick Lock (still working during the usually sacrosanct 1 - 2 pm lunch hour!) and onto Meelick Quay. Here we are in the lock:

Well packed with boats. Everyone seemed to be going north. Nice weather, warm and partly sunny.

For now.

The car was halfway to Meelick - we'd cycled back to Portumna. That afternoon we were going to cycle back for it in lovely sunshine. We stopped at Meelick Quay as it was on the right side of the river for this. Had lunch. You'll have guessed what happened next.

And then this:

It was torrential all afternoon. This bowl and saucepan both filled, were emptied, filled. These were leaks we didn't even know were there. In the galley, in the saloon, cockpit, forecabin (oh no! Joe's bed got wet).

The day didn't improve much. We cycled back for the car. It was further than we thought. The route was disputed. Back at the boat it was discovered I'd forgotten the potatoes.

But there's always tomorrow. Who can beat this:

Taken at Shannonbridge. The jetties here were full. There was a contingent down from the North including Nigel who made the splendid winter covers for Winter Solstice - Irish Spars and Rigging were the company then. Now there's just himself working away.

There was the usual difficulty at Tarmonbarry Lock where the keeper has no interest in pleasing people. Forty minutes to lock down a lock of boats, and then, oh dear, it's one o'clock. Closed for lunch, thank you very much.

We got through the first lock after lunch. I'd say it would take him a couple of hours to clear the backlog. We were heading for Richmond Harbour but had to go the long way round, turning into the Camlin River above Tarmonbarry instead of going via the lock below, the lock having a fault and its mending time being uncertain. I'm glad we did though. It was beautiful. Sitting at the front of the boat daydreaming ...

And here she is in Richmond Harbour.

Back soon. Can't wait.

Trouble with calculations

This probably looks like a considerable river, a waterway that will easily take a boat such as Winter Solstice. To an extent it was, in spite of the overhanging branches we scraped past, scattering leaves across the deck and putting the fear of god into the bicycles strapped to the pulpit at the bow.

We were making our way down this channel into a small marina designed for fishing boats. We'd been offered free berthage here if the boat would fit.

We got as far as this, thinking 'we could cut back some branches, it's doable'.

That's the channel we came up, right ahead. If you were to turn to the left you'd see this:

Nice isn't it? Looks very possible. However, it wasn't clear of boats when we came in. Actually, we knew that as we'd driven down to check. Tied against the jetty right where we needed to turn was this yoke:

So we went aground, pulled ourselves free, moved the rib, went aground, pulled ourselves free and finally reversed all the way down the long channel back to the Scarriff River where we'd began. We're wondering whether to try the second channel - for there are two ways in - that you see ahead of you in this pic. A bigger area to turn, and maybe deeper ....

So we need to be more careful, plan a little, use measuring devices. For we nearly got into trouble again last night. We were in Rossmore halfway up Lough Derg, a quiet spot but somewhat exposed when the wind gets up, which it did. Winter Solstice was tied up against Knocknagow, a very steady big steel boat, and was bucking around a bit. It was suggested that we might pull around the corner where the slip enters the water.

 We'd be sheltered here, on that wall you can see. Joe went to have a look. 'I'd say there's enough depth,' he said. We donned lifejackets, started the engines, discussed how to rope her round.

'But wait!' said our friend, Skipper of Knocknagow. 'Are you sure of this? Have you made calculations?' If we'd had him with us on the Scarriff River we would never have got into trouble. The tape measure appeared, we put in a pole to check the depth, worked out whether there was space.

We took off our lifejackets, turned off the engines, pulled up the ball fenders to stop them banging. I cooked dinner braced against the bathroom door.

The wind died before we went to sleep. Next morning Joe took the boat to Portumna while I took the car. Here he is pulling out:

Will we learn to calculate before we go? Probably not.