Enniskillen Beckett Festival & back to Mountshannon

This was the theatre space for Stirrings Still, Beckett's last prose piece. Doesn't look like the usual for a thespian venue, does it? We were picked up by a bus just outside the castle in Enniskillen for a 45 minute journey to a secret location. Isn't it astonishing how anything secret, even when you're grown up, is more enticing than something you know about?

Off we went, following Lower Lough Erne towards Enniskillen, watching the clock to see were we close, trying to guess where we were going. At least that's what I was doing. Was it going to be Belleek? No. The bus passed the pottery factory and out the other side, passing through a bit of the Republic on the way. It's years since I was there on the boat. Looks pretty much the same.

The signposts were telling us we were on our way back to Enniskillen by the time we turned off, the bus squeezing through great stone gateposts into the grounds of Castle Caldwell. The building in the photo is right beside the jetty where we'd stopped a couple of times on the boat.

Up the stairs into the chill of the derelict building. Actor Ian McIlhinney was sitting in a room within the room, playing the part of a man watching himself rise and go. His pre-recorded voice read Beckett's words. It was extraordinarily moving and very cold. Thank goodness I'd gone in my usual state of over-preparedness for the Irish summer.

Our last day in Enniskillen. We'd spent the night on the jetties at the Ardhowen Theatre where there was a contemporary dance event (weird and wonderful). We trolled off to the Round O in the rain, needing to hook up to electricity to charge the phones (inverter caput). As we sat there in the now driving rain and many-miles-an-hour winds, we noticed the bandstand in the park beside the Round O. Here it is:

The cars form a protective barrier against the weather, the one facing us with the boot up. The people in blue are the brass band. You have to hand it to them. No audience, vile vile weather, and still they turn up for duty.

It finally stopped raining as we came into Carrybridge. We'd already decided the only thing to do in such weather would be go to the hotel for dinner. They do a mighty steak and chips, and a sublime panna cotta for desert.

Next day we paused in the tranquility of Trial Bay and played a few tunes. Warmth. No wind. Sunshine.

And back to Mountshannon. Weather wild again, but at least it had warmed up a bit. People were daring themselves as the waves jumped onto the pathways.

This week it's been trad. The Feakle Festival is on and we're off playing tunes in the pubs.

Back to the boat next week.

Going North to the Erne

This was taken at Ballyconnell before the rains started in earnest. That's real clover on the top. The cockpit is green too, but I don't think it's real grass. A dotey little boat.

And then things started to look like this:

I was outside for the next lock. I got absolutely drenched. It was too windy for an umbrella and I hadn't taken the precaution of the Drizabone ankle-length coat and Tilley hat.

We made it to Houghton's Shore on Garadice Lough in windy weather, quite late. It was full. Ended up tying against a Freeman that had nobody on board. Wind and rain all night, but in the morning it was better. We became lurkers, waiting for someone to leave so we could take their space. In the end they all went at once so we had a choice. Here we are against the wall.

The Waterways Ireland vessel Inishendra was busy at work. It came and parked on the slip while they had a cup of tea (I assume), then out to plant a new marker.

And finally to Belturbet, getting there mid-afternoon. It lashed for the rest of the day and most of the night. We played tunes, read, took the dog out struggling with umbrellas (she wasn't impressed) and finally went to bed. It was still raining.

But in the morning it stopped and things began to look up. There were fisherman floating around outside the boat in blow-up armchairs.

Then Crom Castle in sunshine, and Tirraroe, a name I always remember as Tiramasu. This is where we met the harbour dog again - a very matted but sweet sheepdog that divides its time between Knockninny and Tirraroe.

The reason we stopped here was because we needed to cycle to Derrylin for emergency butter. Hillier than we thought.

And Enniskillen and the ducks on the jetty. This one was trying to get in the boat.

At the moment we're at the Lough Erne Yacht Club (WiFi!). We'd planned a trip out to Lusty Beg on the Broad Loch, but it's too windy, and the small dog is very wobbly on her legs these days. She'd probably be in bits if we tried for it.

The RNLI went out as I was walking Aoife this morning. Someone had gone onto rocks near Lusty Beg. They were off again, but the RIB went out anyway to check they were OK. Not clear if it was wind or a wrong turn that put them on the rocks.

Anyway, we'll head back to Enniskillen where the Happy Days Beckett festival has just started. Beckett was a pupil at Portora Schoool between 1920 and 1923 (boaters know Portora for the sluice and lock on the way from Enniskillen to Lower Lough Erne). We've had a bit of sunshine this morning. Maybe it'll warm up a bit too.

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.

Steam boats, bats and butterflies

Enthusiasts being enthusiastic

We were in Crom the night before we came back home along with more than half a dozen steam boats. These shiny shiny things are owned by enthusiasts, much, I imagine, like the people who do things with steam traction engines.

The people we met were mostly (all?) from the Steam Boat Association, formed in 1971 in the UK 'to promote the enjoyment of steamboats and to represent the interests of steamboat owners'. I feel there should be small print saying 'Enjoy steam boats sensibly'.

The shiniest, prettiest of the steam boats.

The varnish on these boats made me want to hide Winter Solstice under a tarpaulin. It was as though they had been French polished. And the engines were on show with not a drop of oil upon them. The Association members were recently on a trip to Lake Windermere in Cumbria, half a milk carton of which was emptied into Lough Erne. A sharing of the waters.

Swallows in the morning mist at Quivvy Marina

I had a mutual guilt experience on the way home. We'd just left Quivvy Marina where there are no rubbish bins - the one downside of staying there. So we stopped in Belturbet and I walked to the bins with my bundle of newspapers and white plastic bin liner. There was a fellow mowing the grass. I thought one of those pathetic wimpy thoughts I have when in the presence of anyone in uniform, albeit only a grass mower - is he going to come and tell me off. And the bugger did. 

'Those bins are only for people on boats to use,' he said.

'But I am!' I exclaimed. 'We're just on our way home but we were here all week and the boat's just up the river and isn't this a fantastic place we had such a great time and we were at the Fleadh in Cavan...'

'Oh I'm really sorry but we get so many people dropping their rubbish and....'

'I know and we have the same and you're doing exactly the right thing...'

He was an incredibly knowledgeable fellow called Brendan. Lots of local history stuff. I left ten minutes later, each apologising to the other. I still feel guilty though.


The garden is full of butterflies. There's a few varieties, but this afternoon Small Tortoiseshells are everywhere. This must be the hatching from the little black caterpillars that colonised a bunch of nettles in the garden.

There was also a bat in the house. Just before we went away the last time, every evening at dusk a bat appeared in the glasshouse that the sitting room/study door opens onto. This door was open, so we never knew if the bat was getting into the glasshouse or into the sitting room. Today it appeared in the sitting room. Flew into the spare room and round and round. Eventually back into the sitting room, into the glasshouse and out. Ho hum. Not sure where it's getting in. They're tiny and climb into little cracks to get into the roof space. It's getting in from outside but for some reason has taken to a morning exit into the house.

The difficulty is that Joe doesn't like bats. At all. This was after a nasty experience in a belfry. And I'm going away to Blighty for a few days tomorrow. Further posts will be from Nantwich where I'm visiting the parents.

Fleadh in Cavan and other stories

No photos alert. It won't upload. Damn it. No more time. Battery low on computer and Joe and dogs impatient in car.

Days later get a couple of pics into this post. See below. Can't get them to sit in the place I want. Don't know what they're doing to the photo uploader.

We really had planned to move. We arrived back at the boat in Quivvy Marina on Sunday in amazing sunshine. A whole day of it without showers. We had a half arrangement to meet up with friends at Crom Castle on Monday evening. On Monday it rained. And rained. And rained in that persistent, disconsolate way it sometimes (often?) does when you know it's in for the day. The friends couldn't make Crom so we stayed put. Crom is gorgeous, but not the place to be on your own in the gloom.

We still haven't moved. This is because the Fleadh Cheoil na h'Éireann is on in Cavan ten miles down the road. We were at two of the Fleadhs when they were held in Tullamore and had a brilliant time watching the whole pageant of it and playing tunes. It was particularly fabulous because the Grand Canal runs right through the town so we were in the middle of things, but able to escape (very necessary) at the same time. We didn't think we'd do much at the Cavan one with having to drive to get there, but somehow it's become compulsive again. And we can still escape.

On Sunday night the town was noisy but it was rock music leaking out of pub doorways, not trad. But by last night things were in full swing. The streets are full of young musicians in search of sessions, or teenagers in little clots bitching about each other - no no no, sorry, discussing the finer points of the reel and the jig. The pubs were full of children playing to an astonishingly high standard. But we were on the hunt for a grown-up's session.

We'd done a bit of scouting the night before and the White Star seemed a good bet. The Blessings was suggested as another venue. In the end we were in the White Star when a couple of fellows came down from the upstairs restaurant where they'd been given dinner after playing tunes that afternoon. 'You can play, can't you?', said one of them. Shit, I thought. What's the standard going to be here. We just want a few tunes. Turns out he was a guitarist who needed someone to accompany, and the other lad was a six-string banjo player with hardly a trad tune to his name. Ho hum. Guitar man also had a banjo. Joe has a banjo. So a flute and three banjos. I was delighted when a young American on a piano accordion joined us. Accordions can be good in these situations as they are loud, and this lad was competing at the Fleadh so was good. We stayed until the bodhrán player arrived. That's usually the time to leave, and we needed to spring the dogs from the boat.

Joe mending the dinghy

We were going to go sailing again this morning - had a grand little potter about Quivvy Water yesterday. Except for the bit where we got caught up in weed. There's a huge amount of weed suddenly appeared in the waterways. It was round the rudder and round the centre board so we had to get out the oar. Thought it would be an outboard job, but suddenly we started moving and escaped. Can't sail this morning though. The gaff which has the main sail set into it is splitting and the sail is coming loose. Joe has just been glueing it together, so we'll have to see if it holds enough to go out tomorrow.

Seagull at Quivvy

We're quite settled here now, and getting used to the idea. We've paid David for a year's berth after endless to-and-fro discussions. Would we stay here? Would we go to Cootehall? Or somewhere else? Decision made thankfully. That's part of why we're in no rush to explore Lough Erne further. We have until the beginning of July next year. It's exciting to be on a different waterway with time to get to know it. And we're in excellent company. Another beautiful timber boat lives here. This is Seagull owned by Jonathan and Daphne Shackleton. She's coming up to 100 years old, and is looking in fine form ready for the big vintage boat event happening at Crom Castle at the end of August.

Gospel singing on the lake

I'm amazed we haven't stopped at Knockninny before. As we came around a small island and chugged towards the jetties we knew it was going to be good.

We're in a little bay with a sweet hill behind and a small hotel tucked at the bottom of it. We were glad to see a nice long jetty instead of finger pontoons - easier to get onto with only the one engine and the dinghy in tow. We tucked ourselves on the inside with our nose to the brisk wind and brought the dogs to land. Across from the public jetties is a small private marina, and there was Rose, the broad narrow boat, or small barge, or whatever class of boat it is, that we met in Mountshannon all those weeks ago. The owner was on board and we went around to say hello and see if he knew of a local mechanic who might sort out our engine problem. He did. Then he suggested we go up to the hotel and ask for Marshall who would most certainly organise it for us.

While Joe did that I went to check on the shower status. And joy! In the Ladies a large changing room and four splendid showers.

Marshall suggested that before getting a mechanic to the job Joe should give the starter motor a good hard thump and keep turning the key to free things up. The young fellow in the Yacht Club had tried the same thing but he'd only tap tap tapped. It needed a firmer hand. As I gathered my things for the shower Joe took out the hammer we use for banging in our mooring stakes on the canal. Gave the yoke a good wallop. Click click click went the turn of the key. Then the engine came to life. Brilliant.

There's a harbour dog here (the brown-eyed girl in the photo). She led the way when we went for a walk up the very quiet lane, looking back to check if we were coming. She's very overweight and very matted. Alfie from Rose told me the story this morning. Her name is Connie and she used to live on one of the islands, but her owner died and a farm up the road took her in. But she's obviously fairly neglected if very well fed. The heartstring pulling tale is that she sits on the quay waiting to be taken back to the island, but I suspect she just likes the company.

Aoife was trying to make a nest with her sleeping bag in the saloon so I threw it over her. Mmmm. This is nice she said.

Oh yes. And as I went for the shower cars started to pour into the car park - there's an amenity area here with picnic benches and mown grass, and there's a little beach too. Music was blaring from one of the cars already parked. And there was a mini-bus. Lots of children. On the side of the bus it said The Redeemed Christian Church of God, and Jesus Centre Dublin. The blaring music was all gospel. As I came from the shower block the food was being handed out. Back on the boat a while later as Joe was getting the barbecue going the Redeemed Christians gathered in the car park and sang a beautiful gospel song with leader and responses. It was completely surreal.

Spent last night on the boat across the jetty drinking wine with two lads from Dublin and Kildare. Great sunset.

Might do a bit of sailing and cycling if the weather doesn't close in too much. It's a dull day, bit of rain in the air and the mountains have disappeared, but it's warm with a light breeze.

Enniskillen on one engine

We're back in Enniskillen. Getting to know this town well. We did get beyond here for a couple of days. It was glorious on Thursday and we pulled into the Lough Erne Yacht Club. The club is set in a sheltered bay and has a visitor jetty, although the status of this jetty is a little unclear - some say it's public, some say it is not. Anyway, we were made very welcome and we did a spot of business. The fellow on the boat in front of us was Mr Irish Spars and Rigging. We've been thinking about getting a winter cover for the boat for a few years. It usually goes like this when we first put the scraggy old tarpaulin onto Winter Solstice around November time:

Me (who hates the messing around with bits of fraying rope and overstretched bungees): We really should get a proper cover made. It would be so much easier.
Joe (who doesn't feel the cold or mind the messing): Sure this'll last us another year.
Me: But it such a faff putting it on. It'd be worth getting a cover.
Joe: Maybe. But this'll do for now.

Nigel from Irish Spars and Joe got chatting and it soon came round to a cover for the boat. Nigel knew exactly what we needed and gave us a good price. A deposit has been paid. Hurray! We'll have something easy with zips and velcro. No more shivering in the rain and the cold.

We decided to come back to Enniskillen last night, tried to start the starboard engine and nothing happened. After consultation with a Man Who Knew (aka a boat mechanic) it was concluded that the starter motor would need taking out. This is where having a twin-engine boat is so brilliant. It's a bit awkward getting into a mooring, but the challenge is interesting. On the way here we came around Devenish Island which has this amazing round tower. Didn't stop. It was nearly 8 and dinner was calling. Back to the great Indian restaurant in town. Yum.


The engine that's down is the one that heats the water, so no shower. I don't do cold showers. Even in tropical temperatures I don't do cold. So we're heading to Knockninny next where the chart says there are showers available. Otherwise it'll be boil a kettle and get out the flannel.

Getting (very) wet

So here we are back in Enniskillen. We had a great day yesterday. Began at Quivvy Marina where we'd arrived on Monday mid-afternoon. On Tuesday morning we returned to Crom Castle in glorious hot sunshine. First a walk with the dogs to the old castle. This is Aoife's favourite walk at the moment. The gravelly path changes to short soft grass where she can do her diving roll. Both dogs rolled and ran and rolled again. After a decadent lunch (glass of chilled white) we took the bikes around the Crom estate. The new castle is very imposing. You can rent the west wing of it. Not for those of us on ordinary incomes I don't suppose. Wonder whether it comes complete with ghost.

Last night we went to Carrybridge - there we are tucked in the bottom right hand corner of the photo with the dinghy attached. Our friend Helen Elliott was to pick us up and bring us to Enniskillen for dinner. First we needed to walk the hounds. Carrybridge isn't great for this, so we headed along the road and down to the marina that straggles along the shore. At the furthest point we turned and saw the weather approaching. Black, with curtains of rain. The boat hatches were open, as was the canopy. We were ten minutes away. Before we'd even left the marina the rain began. Big heavy torrents of it.

I arrived back first with Frankie who can move faster than Aoife who is contrary and refuses to move if you try to make her do something she doesn't like. There was a broad puddle on the seat in the cockpit. The floor was in flood. Inside the table had caught most of the water. I had the hatches closed when Joe arrived with Aoife under his arm. We were both drenched. Halfway through the mopping up Joe noticed another torrent pouring onto my bed. A pair of trousers had caught a lot of that. Jesus the rain that came down. It was plastic covers and duck tape and newspapers strewn and towels mopping.

Next time check the approaching clouds before leaving the boat unhatched.

Hope to get in some sailing this afternoon. Going up to Wetherspoons in a minute to upload this and check the emails. Free WiFi there. I won't drink the coffee this time though.

Ha. And here we are in Wetherspoons. Or here I am. Joe's gone off in search of chutney. He's gone to the deli so will probably come back with handfuls of cheese and salami and who knows what else. Looks like a decadent lunch again.

Crom Castle and Russians

The trip back down Upper Lough Erne on Tuesday was fabulous. We didn't leave Enniskillen until nearly four - too much to do. There was beer to be bought (Joe has a passion for English bitter, and Asda had a great supply) and a whole series of other jobs. There was hardly a boat on the water and it was perfectly still. No mishaps at Carrybridge either, where I was extra vigilant. When the water is so calm and oily Winter Solstice leaves a beautiful pattern on the lake behind her. That's our dinghy in the photo, not someone tailgaiting.

We were headed for Crom Castle. This is a National Trust place that is still lived in by the Earl of Erne. The 1,900 acre estate is an important nature conservation site with the largest surviving area of oak woodland in Northern Ireland. The old castle (in the photo) looks out over the water towards a tower on an island. This is one of those follies wealthy people used to build (and probably still do) because they enhanced the view.

It was seven by the time we turned the corner to see the jetty ahead of us, but that's one of the delights of boating in June. Plenty of time to have a shower (we have hot water after the engine has been running), light the barbecue and feel smug because we were the only cruiser on the jetty (there's Joe in the photo below looking smug). There was another boat tied up though - a gorgeous sailing boat that we both recognised as an Ian Oughtred design. This is not to show off. Joe was a keen reader of Wooden Boat magazine for a while, and he'd toyed with the idea of building a day boat himself. Ian Oughtred provides plans and so on, and his designs are stunning, all shiny timber and sweet lines. By coincidence Joe had bought a copy of Wooden Boat in Enniskillen (the photos are pure boat porn), and there was a photo of a craft very like the sailing boat across from us. It turned out it was a Ness Yawl, and the family who owned it were staying in one of the Crom Castle cottages.

We were waiting for the barbecue to be ready when the inevitable happened. Another cruiser appeared at the turn of the waterway. A hire boat. With, it turned out, a Russian couple on board. They had very little English but said they were from Moscow. How exotic! In Ireland! The woman of the boat fell in love with Frankie and every time she passed spent five minutes whispering sweet nothings and petting and fussing her. Frankie was in heaven. She wants to be spoken to in Russian all the time.

To Lough Erne and Enniskillen

So here we are in Enniskillen. We arrived into Lough Erne on Saturday. Didn't have any problems with the low water levels, but you could see how much the depth had dropped along the Woodford River. We didn't hit bottom at all. Well actually that's not altogether true. It was a long haul up from Haughton's Shore with only a short stop at Ballyconnell. I have this as my excuse for going the wrong side of a marker just after Carrybridge. I was busy looking at the end of speed limit sign, then whoosh, poor Winter Solstice rose up and over and down. I was so embarrassed. I handed straight over to Joe and sat on the step in the cockpit to cover my shame, hoping nobody had seen and thinking what might have happened had it been rocks instead of a sandbank.

It was shortly after that, I think, that we decided to stop at The Moorings. We'd had enough and so had the dogs. This was a good decision. They have a brand new jetty there, so it was easy to get in with the dinghy - the previous visitor jetties were sideways on which could make it fiddly with the dinghy. Good weather, tasty steak and excellent company. One of the delights of this trip has been meeting so many new people, many of them in the IWAI. After dinner we gatecrashed a table and spent the night talking to Suzanne and George and their friends.

On Sunday we moved the huge distance to the Ardhowen Theatre. Half an hour felt about right after the day before's cruise. We'd never stopped there before but it had been recommended, and bicycles meant it would be easy to get into town. It was very windy so went right inside, which was a good decision, but if the wind hadn't dropped the following day I think we'd have had to spend the night in the reeds. It nearly pushed us into the corner on the way in. This is how we discovered there was plenty of depth. Another meeting of charming people. We came back to the boat to find Archie and Freda admiring Winter Solstice and we glowed with pride.

And now here we outside the Forum in lovely Enniskillen. We've had two great meals out - at Dollakis, a Greek restaurant and at Kamal Mahal the Indian restaurant opposite. A spot of shopping now, then out into the wide world of the Erne and to somewhere part way down the lake for the night. We're going to leave the boat with David Cole in Quivvy Marine for a couple of weeks, then come back for another week and some good sailing on the upper lake.