South of Lough Ree again

When we got back to Lanesborough Joe went off to Roscommon with the car and bike and tried to find the station. Not an easy job, it seems. While I was waiting for him to cycle back I went for a bit of a spin myself (have to justify eating cake somehow). When I got back the harbour was full of Shannon One Designs and bustling people - it was the end of a Regatta, and they were all getting ready to go home after the final prize giving.

They've tizzed up the riverside below the bridge in Lanesborough, putting in a whole new walkway. It was being constructed when we were last in the town on our way north. All finished now:

I had to look at this twice when I was picking the photos for the blog. It was only the red marker that made me realise it was in Ireland and not some continental paradise, with a photo snuck into my phone by some alien trying to confuse me.

It was mid-afternoon by the time we set off across the lake heading for Athlone. Flat calm and bright. A good day for it. We tied up against the wall in Athlone and set off on the bikes to see where we would eat. Joe was keen to have a Lebanese meze, but I'm hopeless with those, full after only a couple of courses. We went for it anyway in the end, and had the bright idea of making up our own, smaller meze instead of going for the set menu. Obvious, really.

While Joe went back for the car on the bus I headed off downriver.  A couple of hours later me and Winter Solstice were tucked into Shannonbridge. While Joe used the glorified hair dryer he had on board to remove the deck paint (a new discovery. Happy Joe!) I went for a spin on the bike to Clonmacnoise. It's interesting coming to it along the other, non-water, great highway, the Esker Riada, a ridge from which you can see for miles.

And here's the castle at Clonmacnoise. That blurry thing on the right above the bushes.

It was just after I turned to go back that I had a giant nosebleed (look away now if you're fainthearted about blood). A whole box of tissues wouldn't have staunched it, so I stood dripping on the side of the road until it eased, pretending I was looking for something when cars went past, then cycled back with my head up, breathing through my mouth.

When I got back Joe was on someone else's boat full of chat. Seems they have a house near us in Clare. Quick check of the mirror and clean up the nose so they don't think I've been in a fight.

I was with my mother when we stopped at this gorgeous bridge:

It's a trick. It's not on the Shannon at all. It's the River Dee, dividing Wales from England, Holt on one side, Farndon on the other. I was on a few days visit to Cheshire, bringing my niece Sara back with me.

Who became skipper for a bit as we brought Winter Solstice closer to home. Not a bother with it.

This time it was to Banagher. The walls are so high here, you have to hitch yourself up and out onto your rear end. Not very dignified. We need higher water levels to bring us up a bit in a boat the size of Winter Solstice.

Back soon.

Going South

We left Belturbet to the sound of a power washer on the jetties opposite, the ones that used to belong to Emerald Star and are now a private marina. A very loud power washer. So loud it made us leave before breakfast. We wound our way up the River Erne to the junction where right takes you to Crom Castle and beyond and left takes you back to the Shannon-Erne Waterway. We were tempted by Crom. The sun was shining, and we sort of had time, but we resisted and turned left.

I dropped Joe at Ballyconnell where a bus would take him back to Belturbet and the car, and met him again at the next lock - didn't fancy trying a lock on my own, though I suppose it's feasible as they have ladders. Then it was on to Garadice Lough and Haughton's Shore. Joe took the car again. Last time we'd stopped in Haughton's Shore in vile weather it was full and we had to tie off someone else. This time it was earlier in the week and earlier in the day.

Joe phoned to say there was one space left. The pressure was on. I fretted all the way along the Woodford River. As I approached the final bridge before the turn into the harbour a hire boat came towards me. Did this mean it was already full? Damn.

It didn't. My space was still there. In we slipped, Winter Solstice and I. Then it was car to Ballinamore for the next stage, bikes on the back for the return cycle. I was hoping I'd make it OK as I've had this wretched knee ligament injury.

I did. Joy! Only a bit of rain. No wind. And photo op as we neared home - Garadice in the evening.

Actually Joe had the photo idea first.

And here we are back at the boat.

Next morning we woke to thick fog, but you could see the sun was going to burn it off. We left as soon as we could see well enough and crossed the flat calm lake. And into the gorgeous Woodford River again.

A land of kingfisthers and high tree-lined banks.

This was at Lock 5 - Ardrum - a very deep lock. It was good to come up out of it and see daylight again.

A hot day. Unbelievable. This called for an anchor drop for lunch. There's a small lake called Kiltybarden just off St John's Lough south of Ballinamore. It takes a small leap of faith (well, tiny really) to find it - I called for back-up from the crew who wasn't impressed as he was scraping paint off the deck (a very long-term project) and couldn't see what the fuss was about. 'There's the markers' (you eejit was implied). 'Wrong markers though!' I could say in triumph. 'That's the way we came.'

We found it easily enough really, but turned and came back to a little spot between St John's and Kiltybarden where it was sunny and sheltered.

And I had my first swim! What bravery, swimming off the boat in weather that, although warm, was certainly not sweltering. Down the ladder into the black depths, kicking off into the freezing waters, barely surviving the temperature. Ahem. Get a grip here. And admit. I put on the wet suit. Yes I know that's pathetic, and I only did it because there was no-one around to see except the crew and the dog. But at least I got into the water.

Next stop Keshcarrigan. This time I got a photo of this lad:

Isn't he magnificent?

This tells you all you need to know:

We left the boat in Drumsna for a couple of days. Back tomorrow for the next stage back to Lough Derg.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Unwrapping, Garry and Terry

Easter Bank Holiday and the weather was looking good. Time for Winter Solstice to wake from her slumbers and get out of her bed clothes. First we took off the 'skirts' that cover the decks, taking care to fold them so the red (for port) and green (for starboard) were on display for that impossibly far off time called winter (I wish). To save the knees and ensure the shock cords that hold the covers on didn't drop into the water we pulled the boat round to attend to the port side. Then off with the doghouse cover. Himself looks very pleased with progress doesn't he?

Final folding ...

... and here she is:

It was getting on for evening so we didn't want to go far. Would it be Dromineer or Garrykennedy? Indecision! We tossed a coin, heads Garry, tails Dromineer. It was heads. Turn right and engines full on. Out past Hare Island and the waves were coming beam-on all the way from Scarriff Bay, so it took a bit longer than usual, into the waves and wind before turning once we reached the lee shore.

All the most sheltered berths at the land end of the jetties were taken, so we had a bit of a rocking going on. Lovely. And the view was great.

Look at that blue sky!

Next day we decided a cycle was in order as a few cobwebs picked up in Larkins Bar the night before needed blowing away.

'Let's go up the road beside the woodland walk,' said Joe.

'OK, but I'm sure it's a dead end,' said I. 

Bikes off the boat, gear on, faffing faffing, then away.

Then back to the boat for mobile phone (location map), and while I'm there the water bottle, oh, and a pump might be useful. 

The 'dead end', it turned out, was nothing of the sort, but was marked as a cycleway. Off we went up a bit of a hill to start us off, turned right, then right again, passing the sign saying no through road to traffic (ha! I was only seeing ahead of myself), walkers only, just to see. We thought we'd be turning back in five minutes, but no, on we went, fabulous views across the lake, a quiet winding road, and a puncture.

This puncture had been patched just before Joe put the bike on the car to bring it to the boat. That wasn't the first attempt to sort it but the third. You can imagine his mood. But I had a bicycle pump! Sadly, I'd not gone the one step further and put in the spare inner tube. Still, the tyre went up and Joe was already pedalling away so on we went to see where this road ended. So far the road was narrow but perfectly driveable. After another uphill the tyre was down again. Hills really did it. The pump experienced more action than ever before in its short life. I had to admire Joe's forbearance. We came out onto the main road to Portroe, passing several cars on the way. No idea what the no through road business is.

The lake was mill-pond flat, the sky was blue. It was time to head upriver to Terryglass. This is looking back towards Garry.

Garrykennedy is regularly called Garry, but I've never heard Terryglass called Terry. So I'll do it here. Terry was already busy when we arrived. We'd dropped anchor in Black Lough behind Illaunmore for lunch, so it was late afternoon. A nice space on the wall, though, in front of Dermot and Jacintha's Corncrake. 

We've a new way of keeping the small dog happy. This is her travel bed and she loves it:

Nothing like a bit of comfort for an old lady.

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.

Down Lough Derg

Down Lough Derg from Portumna Castle Harbour to Dromineer. It was a bit choppy so took two hours - longer than expected because we had to tack to avoid beam-on discomfort. The wind was more westerly than expected, so a long reach from Cloondavaun Bay and again from Coose. I started the cooking on the way down, just after I received an email saying there was a comment on this blog. Another Rampart 32 owner! What a thrill. The photo revealed a sister for Winter Solstice, an older but very recognizable version, kept in Wales. So hello Roland!

Nearly lost the dinner to the floor only once as Joe turned the boat to tack the other way. Dogs perked up for a minute before resuming their 'Oh God, this again', looks. They like things to be nice and calm.

We tied up against the wall for the sake of the dogs and rocked gently. There's quite a flow comes into the harbour through holes in the harbour wall, so less sheltered than it might be. The sun went in.

Next morning I was up first to take the dogs out. The wind didn't seem too bad from the beach.

But it had been an earplugs night. The aft line was creaking creaking until we could bear it no more. Unusual. It's normally the bow line or a fender that keeps us awake.

The offending rope:

So off we went, Aoife and Frankie and I, roll of plastic bags in my pocket - a new business for the plastics trade selling bags for picking up dog shit. Not very ecologically sound, but what can you do?  In Dromineer they had these signs:



Which is very necessary. They also have these (I love the contrasting pictures of the dogs):

Unlike in Counties Galway and Clare where they've taken away all the rubbish bins (except in Mountshannon) and you have to bring it home with you. Not pleasant with these little packages. I usually find somewhere dense and green like a bunch of nettles or the middle of a spreading bush to empty the contents so at least all you have is a tied up bag.

So fair play to Tipperary. 

When one dog rolls...

                      So does the other...








We moved the boat briefly into the floating pontoons to take advantage of some electricity left in one of the meters - to hoover! Yes, the new device is on board and vacuums up dog hairs beautifully. Maybe this will be the year of the clean boat (until the novelty wears off).

Then a quick sprint across to Dromaan. Nice and sheltered there. We'd planned to go there the previous night, but when we left in the car we noticed a boat which had been in Portumna at the weekend as we were having a barbecue, running its engines and filling the harbour with fumes. I made the mistake of asking would he be doing it for long...

A new form of harbour hogging:

Nothing like parking sideways on and taking up two places.








Does this count as cruelty to hounds? I noticed these blotches when taking the morning walk. Red wine?