Mists and Mellow Fruitfulness

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October 27, 2009

Oh to be in England now that Autumn is here – and I was, lying contemplating life, as I try not to move in the very squeaky bed and feel the pain of the weeks sailing all over – when suddenly a knock at the door and ‘Your breakfast is on the table’ lilts over the room. Christ! Kim, quick, food – first time I have ever been woken up for breakfast in a hotel/b&b/inn but here it was at the Devon and Cornwall. We dressed quickly and rushed down before the sausages cooled – hurried but delicious none the same. We looked at the weather – we couldn’t see it for the fog. Oh well Plymouth Hoe was out – that was how we saw it, or rather didn’t see it, last time we passed through.

The Torpoint ferry is a chain ferry – totally silent as you watch the sat nav take you over the water, then through some dodgy looking dockyard areas and off to Lyme Regis to stand on the Cobby (please do not stand on the rocks sign) where Meryl Streep’s art director put on her cloak and pretended to be her standing out in the spray. We wandered into a cafe with nautical themes of flags and had one of the best cream teas ever – what a great start to the day. Then it all went wrong.

Our sat nav was doing a splendid job – until we hit the section of the road that had just been closed for sewage work. We ended up in a loop seeing the Black Dog pub three times before heading off somewhere only to return to the same crossroads half an hour later. Finally we broke free and arrived at Durdle Door in Dorset – a beautiful part of the Jurassic coastline with an arch and white cliffs.

Tyneham is a village where the villagers were evicted to make way for soldiers practicing for the all important D-Day landings. They were permanently evicted and the village lies in the centre of an MOD firing range. However it is available to visit at weekends when the ranges are closed, and a fascinating place it is to visit. The school house has an exhibition and each house has a board with pictures of the villagers.

Onward to Boscombe Pier at Bournemouth, a new minimalist pier which is a joy to tread the boardwalks of. We had 5 minutes before closing but they were a good 5 minutes watching the sea infested with surfers. The Bournemouth Eye – a tethered balloon was not inflated today (either due to it being October or because of strong winds) so it was northward to Salisbury for the night at the Kings Arms Hotel and its huge bathroom and beams and odd angle stairs you need to be drunk to climb up.

A morning walk to the cathedral meant one could wander around with a camera without people tutting – it is truley a wonderful space. We heard the service start with a disembodied voice and no congregation. Salisbury itself was very picturesque and the Autumnal colours matched it well. SInce the weather was so nice we decided to visit the gardens at Stourhead nearby. A two hour stroll was a joy with the gardens a riot of reds and oranges and greens – and with classical follies to provide unexpected views at most corners (so they began to be more expected). The rain started just as we finished the walk – perfect timing.

The plan was to race to Leek and Buxton (sounds like a soup dish) but we stopped at a farmers market/restaurant for some Broccoli and Cheddar soup before racing wind powered northward to Derbyshire and discover the Gladbach Youth Hostel from whence we could find Lud’s Church. This is a natural chasm in a woodland where Gawain met the Green Knight of Arthurian legends, based on the pagan Green Man.

Well we would have found it if we hadn’t had to put the clocks back an hour and so it was now dusk and we were wandering along a darkening path in what turned out to be the wrong direction in the rain. The consensus was that was particularly stupid so we decided to retire to a hotel in Buxton and we were glad we did.

The Buckingham hotel is a large Victorian pile and with the warning Rotary Club sign wasn’t really tempting – but tripadvisor had it listed as no 3 in Buxton. However it did look different on closer inspection with a picture of Basil Fawlty, and a charging structure that included Germans and Hotel Inspectors, a magazine stall that included Warships and Canal Boats magazines, photographs of movie stars littering the walls and stairwells, toys including the Banana Splits in glass cases – the girl pointed to the lift but we used the stair so we could see the other stars.
All the rooms had a beer mat above hte number and we were beside the Green Man which sounded prophetic. We had the room with photographs of Al Pacino everywhere and a larger bathroom than the Kings Hotel where I could get wifi if I positioned a chair near the bath.

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Categories: Travels.

Day Skipper

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October 27, 2009

All my waterproofs packed and it was off on the SouthWest airline flight from Newcastle to Plymouth. The board gate information gives a counter down in minutes labelled ‘Time to shop’. Musing at the queues of woman holding plastic sacks of toiletries to maintain them during short flights I boarded to find my manly waterproof jacket smothered in flowers as a woman packs a large bouquet into the overhead locker.

I had to get to Southdown Marina near Millbrook which is a long taxi ride (fortunately I shared the first part of the ride to Plymouth station) then onto the chain ferry at Torpoint and an exciting ride down single track roads as the taxi driver is adjusting his sat nav. I joined the boat – which is a lovely catamaran, scaring Jim on board who was busy fixing his heater as I bounce on board. Andy an RAF Hercules pilot/navigator arrives, followed by Jordan a Bulgarian Yachtmaster examinee (and not Peter Andre’s ex).

The first night is a simple motor down the creek to an anchor point, where we learn about anchoring a catamaran with a claw to adjust its pivot point and settle in for the night. My cabin has its own toilet (head) and shower (in the same space which makes toilet cleaning easier…) and a ladder with which I chimney up between the wardrobe and the ladder and hurl myself into the narrow gap which is the bed.

Breakfast was fried cheese with plum tomatoes – what a start to the long day (they were all long days – starting early and finishing with lectures on diesel engines or navigation – this was no joy trip this was serious learning). Sailing around Plymouth Sound off the scary looking breakwater whilst naval destroyers cruised around. Busy little place. Captain Jim got us all together with the weather forecast – it was not looking good. Force 7 gusting Force 8 and in the wrong direction too. So he asked us in turn ‘would you consider going on a trip down the coast in weather like this, without me on board’ – we each in turn replied ‘absolutely not’ – and he said ‘Good, so lets go then, we need to be out of Plymouth as Jordan is getting tested there’. Gulp. We got the boat ready and drove through the four posts marking the exit to Plymouth and into a very rough English Channel.

We were being chased by HMS Daring at one point doing its manouvers and after an hour of bouncing around all over the place whilst I was in looking at charts it all got too much for my anti seasickness bracelets (I had forgotten to take my crystallised ginger as I had assumed we were just going to be in the calm waters of Plymouth Sound) and I promptly threw up over the back rail losing breakfast in a trice. I was put on the helm as looking at the horizon helps but lunch followed over the back and I was timing the projectile vomiting with helming quite well until I had nothing left to give to the fishes.

The entrance to Fowey harbour was impressively scary but Jim took over and we were soon in calmer waters. We parked near the lifeboat (they weren’t going out in weather like that) and I took the chance to go for a walk on land that doesn’t sway in all directions. We had to move up river to avoid the worsening wind and settled on a pontoon for the night.

Black wet suited Customs officers visited us in the morning on their scary black rib – possibly wondering about Jordan’s endless supply of Bulgarian chocolate and asked us various questions about our course before wishing us luck and heading off in their black boat again to interrogate someone else.

We had to pop into town to the post office (whilst it was not on strike) and another chance to wander around the picturesque town of Fowey (home of Daphne Du Maurier) – we had tied up and Jordan and I were strolling off the pontoon when another yacht came in at speed, in the same direction as the river current and smashed into the front of our catamaran. It had turned out that Mervyn (or Swervin’ Mervyn as he came to be known) had picked up something round his prop and didn’t have the ability to stop – he tried scuba diving but got told off for not having a diving licence. We suggested we could tow him tomorrow to a dry dock which he took up and we left to do pontoon bashing and mooring in the river to our hearts content.

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Categories: Sailing, Travels.

State of the Union

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October 10, 2009

Ali called ‘ I need to visit the Falkirk Wheel for my course’. In that sentence came the germ of an idea to paddle up the union canal and emerge on the wheel to meet him. Well so much for theory. I then found the Skippers Guide to the Union Canal on the internet and it made grim reading – lots of not allowed and an entire chapter on dangers. The Union Canal is a contour canal following the 240 foot contour and the length from Linlithgow to Falkirk Wheel only has locks at the end as well as the wheel. It was dug by the navigators (navvies) including Burke and Hare, the well known Irish serial killers who sold the corpses to Edinburgh’s medical schools as ‘bodysnatched’.

It still seemed a great idea so we strapped the kayak on the top of the car, learnt a new ‘lorry driver’ knot to tension the kayak on the car and headed off to find somewhere to launch it. That was easier said than done – I wanted to go over the Avon Aquaduct (second longest in the UK) because I had been over the others on the canal (walking and barge), so trying the bridges to the east of the Avon proved tricky – hedges, mud, cattle – until we reached the Linlithgow Canal Centre – and there was a ramp into the water – sorted.

Dry suit on, PFD on, boots on, hat on, paddle assembled, kayak on ramp half in water, waterproof torch stuffed down PFD, Mike in, Kim pushing him down the ramp, kayak not moving, Kim collapsed corpsing as Mike is doing his rampant rabbit movement to shuffle the kayak down until some kind narrow boat person helping to push and launched into the canal as an out of control narrow boat bears down. Rudder deployed and compass confirming which way to go and I was off, with no current to help or hinder it was paddling all the way.

Autumn is a wonderful time – the colours of the trees and the mix of different colours is stunning and here we have this in duplicate as everything is reflected perfectly in the still canal water. This combined with bridges appearing as gateways – circles through which I would paddle through the centre like going through a Stargate or Orfee’s mirror. Delightful. And the canal was empty so far – some ducks which I could creep up on and at the last moment they would all take off.

A vista opened up and it was the Grangemough Oil Refinery which looked startingly beautiful from a distance. Polmont prison emerged with high metal fences and barbed wire and CCTV cameras. I was not going to accept hitchhkers. The bridges made great gateways and interest points – especially the laughin/greetin bridge with its faces (unsurprisingly laughing and greeting)

Litter – there were cans of tennents lager (probably empty), bobbing coke bottles, leaves, branches to jam my rudder, ducks and swans.
Yes swans – I had read about swans attacking paddlers on the Union Canal and here I rounded the corner and there were two of them straddling the middle of the canal like watchmen, paddling down the canal, and watching from side to side. I stopped paddling 20 yards from them and waited – without looking around they moved to one side and turned to look at me – I paddled slowly past and said ‘Thank You’, they nodded and went on patrolling.

There was a phalanx of walkers, individuals with dogs, fishermen, narrow boat people waving glasses of beer, cyclists, kayakers, canoeists and all were autumnly cheery and all waving. I thought I had the canal protocol – paddle on the right heading westward – eastward they are on the left – when a narrow boat emerged heading straight for me – I was reaching for my fog horm when she gesticulated widly that I was to go to her starboard side. I paddled there and she apologetically explained that the canal was too shallow for her at that side – we waved cheerily as we passed each other wish each other a fine afternoon.

The Falkirk Tunnel is a single lane 650 yard tunnel hewn from rock because the owners of Callender House couldn’t bear to see a canal from his house. It is lit and you can see the end and it has a Red Light and Green Light – the protocol is obvious – red light means don’t go* , green light means go. So what does Red Light and Green light flashing mean? I thought this would be easy. I looked behind there was no narrow boats to mow me down. I looked ahead and the tunnel was clear and the entrance didn’t have a narrow boat in it. It was decision time – I went.

[ Note well reading the Skipper guide properly I see that Red Light actually means it is clear to go! and you are supposed to wait for a steady green once you have passed a sensor (kayaks are obviously too low for the sensor) and blinking red light means there is a narrow boat coming to crush you kayakers - it still doesn't explain what flashing red and flashing green means however.... ]

Singing ‘Onward Christian Solider’s for solid rhythm, an unusual choice for an athiest, echoing through the tunnel as I did rapid deep strokes – I wanted to be at the end of the tunnel as soon as possible and was shifting fast looking at the end of the tunnel with fear fuelling the paddling. My torch strapped to the lines on the kayak started to make shadows on the wall and for a second I thoguht it was a narrow boat behind me – that caused a bit more rapid paddling and those Christian soliders had broken into a sprint… the tunnel roof was dripping water and was rough rock – it had a beauty along with the solid line I was paddling. The end of the tunnel arrived with a waterfall falling on my head as I left it.

I was relieved to emerge unscathed and not run down when the wind hit me – low paddling up the canal to the lock with the canal water less still. A narrow boat emerged and I made to go in – No Way – this is the end of the line – I talked portage but got a firm No this is the end of the line there is no way forward. I clambered out without falling in the canal which was a first for me. The lockkeeper and his colleague were friendly and helpful but this was it – they told me how Kim could pick me up there from the Falkirk Wheel. He even unzipped my dry suit so I could recover my phone, much to the amusement of his chum.

In the meantime Kim had taken Ali and his friends around the Falkirk Wheel (cafe, shop and very little else – crying out for some educational centre on engineering and physics) and Callender House (which allowed you to build a model of Antonoine’s wall). And the coffee table – the boys wanted a coffee table for their new luxury pad in Dundee – the one they wanted was presented by the straight faced salesman as a 6 inch box to go – he said that it included a glass blowing kit and everything else was inside. They believed him and he revealed it was a jest but they were stunned when the actual table arrived in a large box to fit in their small car (it fitted!)

Kim picked me up, although she was on the wrong canal at one point (the Forth and Clyde Canal) wondering where I was, then using sat nav drove to near the lock to see her bright yellow husband trailing a bright red kayak behind him on the canal path. We strapped the kayak on the roof and returned homeward via the Carfraemill where I could read the Guardian (Bad Science and Eoin Colfer explaining why he is doing a new Hitchhiker book) over a nice rare fillet steak. What a fabulous day.

Categories: Kayaking, Travels.