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.

New crew and Carnadoe

The weekend crew arrived at Richmond Harbour mid-morning in the rain. Joe was about to set off for Carrick and Enniskillen to look at cars - he'd sold his Focus at the end of teaching in June and was looking for a new one. We began with a spot of training - basic information about the boat, then out on deck in the drizzle with a spare rope to practice throwing lines around bollards. Several goes and they were both flying it, both at bow and stern, so we were ready for off when the lock keeper arrived to let us down into the Camlin River.

We were entertained while we waited in the Harbour by several boats which rather resembled little fat grubs. These were Wilderness Narrowboats visiting from England. Here's one of them:

You might notice the lack of rain. I've jumped forward here to Drumsna where Beehive came in having left the pack behind for a little while. These extraordinary boats fit on purpose-built trailers. This crowd from the Wilderness Boat Owners Club had taken the ferry to Dublin, launched their boats and travelled the Royal Canal to Richmond Harbour along with members of the Royal Canal Amenity Group (RCAG).

The entertainment was several Wilderness boats practicing for that evening's parade around the harbour. The boats were to be lit up, and there was choreography planned. However, things were not going according to plan. A brisk wind had got up and was interfering with proceedings, but they were adapting their boat dance with great enthusiasm.

I'd love to have seen the final event, but we were to meet Joe in Dromod and needed to make a move. Crew at their places (Erin fore, Ryan aft) we let slip the ropes and made way. Into the lock they sat outside in the rain as we went down, and Ryan stayed there as we wound along the grey Camlin River and popped out onto the Shannon where they both had a go at the controls. Not bad for a first attempt.

Here's the two intrepid crew in Rooskey Lock:

Erin at the bow

I asked Ryan to look noble so he did rather splendidly

Relief when the weather cleared that evening. Joe arrived in Dromod with the camper van which was to provide extra berths. The clouds cleared, the sun shone, and we all smiled.

Next morning to Carnadoe for lunch. Joe brought the van while crew and I took Winter Solstice. Erin was already fishing by the time Joe arrived having brought her fishing pole with her. As I'm sure many will know, fishing pole is American for fishing rod, for both our friends were from New York City and State.

It was Ryan, though, who caught the fish. You might just about be able to see it - he's holding it - but on the other hand...











And then there was the swimming. This was Erin's idea, and into her togs she got as we swung at anchor. Down the steps, let go, scream, up the steps. I abandoned any small idea I might have had of joining her.


But then we did have wetsuits on board.

If Erin wore one too maybe it wouldn't seem so much like cheating.

Still took me ages to lower myself in.










Ryan, meanwhile, was back at the fishing:

Re the wetsuit thing. The next day Erin was talking to a woman who had been swimming every day for the last couple of weeks. The water was the coldest it had been, she said. Due to all the rain. We felt less nesh for our wetsuitness.

And back to Carnadoe for barbecue! In sunshine! Oh joy! Apologies for the exclamation marks, but it was an exclamatory event after the mizzle drizzle lashing rain of the day before.

Carnadoe is such a sweet spot for a barbecue. And I'd had visions of the van parked down by the quay, all nice and cosy. Hadn't reckoned on the very narrow entrance with stout stone pillars and shiny red gates. The van wouldn't fit through either forwards or backwards, so it was up on the wide verge of the very quiet road. What a tolerant crew to put up with this.



But who would want to move from a place like this:

Back to the Shannon

There was canoe polo going on in Richmond Harbour on the weekend we returned to the boat from a few days of crisis weeding, mowing and laundry. We knew this was happening. We'd had to put Winter Solstice on the bank beyond the first bridge, along with other refugees from the harbour. We would be allowed out between one and two on Saturday and Sunday, or after five.

Canoe polo is a very energetic game. There was a pitch marked out with floats and rope, the polo nets at each end more stable than the ones we'd experienced at (too close) hand in Ballybrannigan and Kilcock on the Royal. There are five a side and they play for ten minutes each way without a break. It all gets a bit wild, and the referee is as abused as in any game. You can use paddles or hands to catch, block and otherwise control the ball. I thought it was a new game but no - it's been going a while in Ireland and has been popular in other European countries for the last thirty years.

The dogs were ready to go:

We waited at the bridge for the games to stop. There was another cruiser in front of us, and this one approached from behind:

It was Cormac on 76M, one of the barges that used to carry goods along the Grand Canal. We'd seen it tied up at Abbeyshrule when we came through, so weren't altogether surprised to see it again. Cormac came alongside, a little unnerving when you've all those tons of metal settling against our relatively fragile timber. We were re-nerved, however, when the chilled white was passed across the decks. Cormac was, as ever, the hospitable gentleman. We went through the lock before him, so promised to return the glasses at Rooskey.


It was good to be back on the Shannon again. Such a contrast with the Royal Canal. There was boat watching to do again for one thing. There were so few boats on the Royal, and I missed that great distraction of seeing who is coming in and out and the entertainment of the boating equivalent of the hurler on the ditch. Nothing like sitting in your own cockpit having safely moored in a good spot to make comment on everyone else.

The river was busier than I've seen it in a while. There was hardly a spot in Rooskey, but it was late enough - we'd dropped anchor on Lough Forbes for a few tunes and read of the paper.

Rooskey is not the place it used to be. It's finally possible to see it as the village it once was thanks to the bypass. We tied up near the bridge on the road side, something we'd never have done before - you wouldn't have a wink of sleep with the juggernauts juggering past.

Next stop Dromod. It took us all of fifteen minutes to get there. We just popped in for lunch but ended up staying. It's a great spot, especially on the side away from the amenities where the dogs can mooch without annoying anyone. Great people/boat watching. There's a forest trail where we cycled down to another bit of the Shannon. And a pub which we were enticed into by the crew of a boat taking a break from the Shannon Rally.

The closest boat in the photo is a hire boat, driven by possibly the most incompetent hire-boat skipper and crew I've ever seen. This was unusual. These boats are hired by Sven on Lough Ree and he trains people properly. It's cruel of me to say it, I know, as I've been there myself. But Joe and I, even at the very beginning, were never so bad that we drifted helplessly for fifteen minutes between one wall and another without ever managing to come close enough to fling a rope.

Shower in the shower block the next morning. Arrived to find a face peering through the frosted glass, knuckles rapping frantically.
'I'm locked in', said the voice. 'Can you let me out if I push my card under the door?'
'Well I'm coming for a shower myself,' I said. 'But surely you can get out. Surely it doesn't lock you in.'
Not so, he said. So I put in my card, anxious myself then about being locked in. Out came the young fella, a teenager, looking calm enough in the circumstances.
'A buzzer goes,' he said. 'You'll be ok. I didn't come out in time.'
This still didn't seem right. I'd always assumed you'd be able to get out from the inside even when your hot-water-time was up.

Good enough shower, though not a spacious or powerful as those on the Royal. Good old soaping, then the water went cold. Shit. But not far to go. At least the hair was washed. Then it stopped. Shit shit I'm all soapy bugger bugger. What do you do in that situation. Frantic pressing of the start-stop yoke (like you get on the sinks in public toilets) and a dribble came out. Then the buzzer started. I think I was as sweaty when I came out as when I went in with the fear of it. Must send an email to Waterways Ireland.

All for now. More to come.