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.

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.

Winter water and camper van

 
Winter levels in Drumsna. As we pulled up in the van the ducks and swans came madly swimming. They must miss the summer scraps provided by boaters. The river was running fast and high and looked cold. A recurring fantasy (though that sounds like something I want to do) had me falling in fully clothed.

We stayed in Drumsna for the night in winds that swooped around our roof and shook us in our beds. I had to work at convincing myself the van wouldn't be blown into the river. This is all January stuff I think. The morbid thoughts of too long without sunshine.

We were checking on the boat, poor neglected thing, in Albert Marina. But of course she was perfectly well. Her covers are holding up beautifully, and there are people to keep an eye on her - thank you James, if you read this. A major and excellent effect of the all-over cover is that condensation, and therefore mould, seems to be minimal. Just as well, as the missing duvet was still on board along with the memory-foam mattress toppers, left just in case we went back for a last cruise.

 
Marinas are empty places at this time of year, as are most of the public harbours. But there's a different feel with the lengthening days to the dark emptiness of November. On board Winter Solstice we were thinking of jobs to do for the season to come. Joe measured up for a new fridge - the old one gave up the ghost on the day before we pulled into Albert Marina last September. Amazingly good timing. A new hob is waiting to be installed too. The old one still worked, but only just. The grill was working half time, one side only functioning, and we use that a lot - gluten-free bread has to be toasted to make it edible.

On Saturday night we went to our friend Rachel's for dinner, on board her boat in Athlone. But first we went to our favourite spot beside the lock. This is where we stop whether in van or boat, walking up to the steep streets of what is optimistically, but also truthfully, called the Left Bank.

The water was over the jetty below the lock.















We're starting to plan the summer cruise. Will it be the Barrow, or along the Royal Canal with Rachel to Dublin and the Tall Ships. Excitement flutters just below the surface.