Boat uncovered, ready to go (at last)

Long time no blog. It's been a bit of a tumultuous year so far, and boating didn't come into it. My father was sick, then died, we sold our old house and had to move out, and the new house was only partly ready. Thank heavens for the camper van.

But we finally got back up to Winter Solstice for a proper trip away last week. We'd unwrapped her from her winter covers a couple of weeks before, so we were ready to leave Albert Marina and hit the river.

We didn't get far on the first night - Drumsna just round the corner - but the second night we went all the way to Dromod, ooh, about an hour away. It was getting breezy as we headed south, but of course this is nothing like traversing Lough Derg or Lough Ree. OK the Shannon widened into Lough Bofin and Lough Boderg, but they're sweet little lakes with only a small chop on them.

Dromod Harbour was packed and getting packed-er. There was a small marquee / large gazebo set up on the grass beside the harbour wall which was the clue. The Boyle River branch of the IWAI were having a barbecue.

We took our chance and turned sharply into the old harbour while there was still space, tucking in neatly down at the end.

The big boats were still coming in, rafting up against each other, then smaller ones tying to the entrance wall, then a couple more fitting in at the entrance to the old harbour. Dromod's always busy but I've never seen it this busy.

And still the wind rose, rocking Winter Solstice gently, like being in a cradle. Then the foam started to form. It's that thing that happens in peaty water - the small river at our old house foamed up like a bubble bath after heavy rain, and the wind was doing the same job here.

Then escape to the tranquility of Lough Key Forest Park via Clarendon Lough.

With its beautiful weir.

The Forest Park is very different these days of course, with its new building, activities for all the family and new jetties with electricity and so on. We pulled in there first, just to see, but tranquility there wasn't. There's a small ship on the river, a liveaboard, and they were sharing their music with the rest of the marina. Mm, lovely. We bought ice creams and hot boated it over to Drumman's Island. Phew.

I don't think we've ever stopped at this end of the jetty before - it's always been taken, and now I know why.

The island is not as populated as it used to be before the new jetties. There were three of us on it the first night, two the second.

But can you beat an evening of looking at this.

Finally to Leitrim Village where we had dinner at the Marina Hotel. This was a first, the hotel having been at various stages closed or suffering a poor reputation. It wasn't half bad, the evening being helped by meeting old friends from Enniskillen and sharing a table.

We left the boat against the wall in Leitrim, ready for the next stage. Back again next week and up the Shannon-Erne Waterway to the north.

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.

The Skipper & Her Mate

I left my phone turned on all night and close by just in case I didn't wake up, risking bleep annoyance. I needed to be ready for the courier who was delivering to Winter Solstice in Portumna Castle Harbour. I brought the phone with me as I walked the dogs, checking it every so often in case I'd accidentally put it to silent. I was only just back on board when it rang, the courier seeing if it was Castle or Connaught I was in. Joe, drinking tea in his bunk, got dressed in a hurry. Ten minutes later here it was:

It seemed completely appropriate that it was delivered to the boat. It's beautifully produced - my publishers New Island Books have done a fantastic job. And wouldn't you know, as the day went on the sky turned the same colour as the cover.

I would probably have been happy to just look at them all day, but my manager (aka Joe the Husband) was having none of that. Off he went to our neighbouring boat, barely awake, to offer them a copy. He came back still holding the book. I knew it. Nobody would want it anyway. How embarrassing. But no! I was to go back and sign it.

So here's a rare photo of  the author (yes!) and Joe Trimble, the fellow skipper who bought book number one, aboard Joe's boat.

'Go and ask the people on that boat,' said Joe after that. 'And look, catch them before they leave.' This was what I was afraid of. I'm completely shite at selling anything. The idea of doing it cold left me not just cold but frozen.

'That's the whole point of having a publisher,' I said. 'I really can't do that. I can't I can't.' Fair play to Joe, he understood that.

But never mind. As the day went on, he accosted people (nicely) as they sat on their boats or he helped them tie up. I even sold a few all on my own. A few days later, between Portumna and Terryglass, 60 copies were gone and many people were reading the book. Some said they were rationing the pages, savouring it to the end. Some had it finished. Some came back for another copy for a friend.

Oh my oh my.

Should you want a copy for yourself you can buy it here. It's also available on Amazon.

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.

And onto the Royal Canal at last

The Royal Canal is very short of WiFi hotspots, which is no bad thing for the state of mind but not great if you want to update a blog. So this will have to come in a couple of batches and in retrospect. Here we go heading for the first bridge leading from Richmond Harbour at Clondra.

We were a little dopey, I have to say, having gone to bed at 3 am. We'd wandered into the Camlin Bar after a dreary pint in the Richmond Inn where in the bar a fellow was complaining loudly about everything and in the lounge a country and western singer was droning. We were on our way back to the boat, really, and to bed, but thought we'd have a look. There were four accordian players well on in their years and a singer with a guitar. The standard of the accordian players, I have to say, was a bit rusty but it looked fun and welcoming. The rust was because this was only the second session of the year due to the postponement of summer, and they didn't play in between these Wednesday sessions. We ran back to the boat in lashing rain to fetch the instruments.

The first novelty was the automatic lifting bridge between Clondra and Killashee. We hadn't been able to leave Richmond Harbour the evening before because the water patrollers (less well paid than lock keepers but having to do the same job) knock off at five except at the weekend and don't get overtime. The automatic bridge is supposed to rise automatically as you would expect, its sensor clocking your arrival and doing the business. But there's some problem. Birds can set it off apparently. And perhaps dropping leaves. Anyway, we didn't mind and the patrollers were as helpful as you could ever want. Here's the lifting bridge lifted. It's a tight turn to get under the lifting and then the old hump back.

First stop for the night Ballybrannigan. Very pretty, all done up by the local branch of the Royal Canal Amenity Group (RCAG) whose work we enjoyed all the way along the route. They've renovated the old ticket office which sold tickets for people emigrating to new worlds. There's a broken-down canal store too which the small dog was itching to get into to see if there was anything good to eat like pigeon shit or dead rats.

 

The ticket office is signposted from the main road to Cavan which we'd passed many times on our way up to the boat on Lough Erne. It was one of those signs you felt you'd like to follow, but there were still many miles ahead and you really wanted to get to the boat. We spotted this sign when we walked into Ballymahon for supplies and a glass of something. It's a decent walk and an easy cycle. Skelly's is a great little bar with good wine and a reputation for its food, though we didn't eat there. There's a picture of it in the Canal Guide.

This was happening beside the ticket office: 












There are great flights of locks on the Royal. On the Grand they're more spaced out, and there are ten fewer. It was the day of the thundery rain and the fat drops were coming as thick and fast as the locks. The water patrollers were in great form though and saw us through. One of the lads was employed by Waterways Ireland, the other was an agency worker. The agency workers get paid a lot less than the patrollers although they do the same job. There's trouble brewing here I'd say, and rightly so.

Over the years we've deployed a variety of methods for going up in a lock when there are only the two of us. On the Royal for some reason we found the easiest way was for me to stand on the bow with a rope while Joe did the muscle stuff with racks and gates. A big fender out at the port stern quarter and we were grand. With the lads doing the gates it could have been either of us outside, but I volunteered because I had the better rain gear. Drizabone full length waxed coat, my new Tilly hat (Christmas present) rolled up trousers and plastic Crocs. Invincible!

That was a long day ending in Coolnahay, the harbour of the beautiful flowers, all seen to by the lady of the house and her daughter in the lock keeper's cottage whose name I didn't get but should have. That's another difference between the Royal and the Grand - there are frequent harbours, good harbours, on the Royal. We didn't need our stakes and boarding plank nearly as frequently.

It was just after this we picked up the pigeon.

Wrapped up boat and new van

All wrapped up. The photo was taken by Tom Bailey.

Our first trip in the new van took us to the tip of Cavan to Quivvy Marina and the boat. We needed to check on her and take out all removable things that will go mouldy (bedding, cushions, tea cosy, wooden spooons). This was the first time we'd seen her since she had her new winter cover put on. It is an amazing piece of stitching. With protruberances. Don't laugh! (even though I did).

We stood for a while in awe at the snugness of the boat compared to how she looked in previous years with flapping tarpaulins tied on with bits of string. Which zip to undo first? And how would we deal with the velcroed flaps where the fenders and ropes came out?

The cover is ingenious. The sections that cover the side decks come off altogether so you can have just the dog house and coach house roof protected - useful in summer when you have to leave the boat in the lashing rain for a few weeks. Then, in winter, on go the side deck sections.

It wasn't as difficult as we thought it would be to get in - you can make a door opening at the back - but you have to remember to bring a torch. It's pitch dark inside.

It was threatening rain and in all the rush to get everything off the boat I forgot to take any photos. The one with the half cover was taken by Nigel at Irish Spars and Rigging who made the cover.

The van was brilliant. I spent most of Friday working out where to put everything and packing her up ready for when Joe got home from work. The dogs wouldn't get out the whole day.

First stop Athlone. In the rain but it didn't matter. We were toasty warm and comfortable - great heater. It felt so spacious! Although of course it's not. It's tiny compared to our kitchen. Or sitting room. Or bathroom really. But kingsize for a van and so cleverly designed. Oh I'm smitten. No question.

The kitchen

There's a great advantage in knowing the waterways so well - there's always somewhere to park a camper van. We stopped beside the lock in Athlone in a car park next to an apartment block. Very quiet and close to the good restaurants and bars. They call it Athlone's Left Bank which is pushing it a bit (well, quite a lot), but it does have a feel of an artisan quarter, a castle and, of course, the mighty Shannon.

We went to Al Mezza, an excellent Lebanese restaurant we've been to before. Great food. Very expensive wine though. Really you need to go with a few people. Or at least Joe needs to go with another foody. The meze is fabulous - lots of small courses - but I'm always defeated way before the end.

The second night in the van we stopped at Shannonbridge - riverside again. The Shannon is in its usual state of winter flood - the jetty wall had disappeared completely. We went to Killeen's on the Main Street, a family run pub that's hugely popular with tourists and boaters. Great crack anyway and the Killeens are lovely people. There's a shop attached too that sells everything which was just as well. I had to send Joe on an emergency mission before we could have dinner - chopping an onion is no joke with the sort of knife you use for cutting an egg.

There was live music in the bar. Hmm. We thought we were going to be sitting in the shop when we saw Singer-with-Guitar and one of those boxes that do the chunk chunk noises and a woman in black leather trousers. But actually they were great. Okay they obviously do weddings and so on but she played flute, they had a repertoire that included jazz and bluesy stuff, and I have to report that I did end up dancing. Not alone! There were others dancing.

Can't wait to go off in the van again.