beautiful 90-degree left curve and, at a nod from Dave, Geoff unwrapped the rope from the bollard and just stepped aboard; we were off.
With Dave at the tiller we moved slowly and gracefully through the other boats; he turned her out of the basin and on to the canal then stepped aside and said to me, âHere, grab this.â
It is a fact that if someone says, in a casual tone of voice, âhere grab thisâ, you automatically take what they hand you and there was a moment of panic when I realised I had control of 70 feet and 23 tonnes of steel; the panic bubble welled up and then just went âpopâ, melting away into a sort of worried, pleased surprise. Happy was doing just as she was told. We were pottering along very slowly, the sun was shining and other boaters were waving and smiling.
There was definitely a sense of slightly dangerous contentment to be in charge of something so big and cumbersome but which also was incredibly stately and graceful.
Our first major encounter with another boat killed off any nerves I might have been experiencing and highlighted the weirdness that I probably would need to expect living on the river. I had the tiller and thought I was doing pretty well, getting the hang of it, puttering along. I was starting to see the draw of this lifestyle, passing slowly and stately around a sweeping bend. Smiling at Mother Natureâs decorative style and half drowsing in the sunshine, the throb of the engine was lulling me into a semi-hypnotic state.
Dave suddenly stopped slouching with his elbows on the roof and stood up to his full height, frowning down the canal in front of us. He reached down and pressed the horn, then grabbing my arm, reached past me to throw Happy into full reverse. It took me a couple of moments of complete confusion to work out that something was going on ahead of us and I looked along the length of the roof to try and work out what it was.
About 30 feet ahead of Happyâs nose, a much smaller narrow boat was floating sideways across the canal, no one at the tiller. For a moment I wondered if we were seeing the inland waterways version of the Marie Celeste , but then I noticed the raised buttocks of two people, leaning over the bow, trying desperately to fish something out of the water.
This is where I learned another, very valuable, lesson. Narrow boats donât stop! That drowsy hypnotic drift is one of the most dangerous states to be in. Youâd better pay attention to what is going on a good way ahead of your nose â and in our case, thatâs a fairly long way ahead â because bringing 23 tonnes of steel to a full stop against forward inertia does not happen quickly, if it happens at all.
Luckily, Dave had been paying attention and his quick reactions meant that we just gently kissed the back of the other boat. It transpired that their kitten had taken a suicidal leap overboard and in their panic to get it out of the water they had both rushed to the front to try and fish him out, leaving their boat adrift.
Pandemonium reigned for what seemed like about half an hour but was, in reality, only a couple of minutes. Kitten retrieved, the young couple, suddenly aware that there were queues building up either side of them, rushed about getting their boat underway again.
Putting Happy in forward and taking up the tiller again, I hoped Dave hadnât noticed that I had been wool gathering â fat chance!
âAlways best to keep a really good eye ahead,â he murmured, smiling gently.
I smiled, and nodded, damn! Caught red-handed.
Our next odd encounter of the day was with a lady going very slowly in the opposite direction. Geoff was at the tiller and, noticing her lack of speed and that she seemed to be looking in all directions, leaning out over her boat to inspect ahead and around her, he slowed down. Dave nodded in approval, while I sighed and hailed the woman.
âIs everything all right?â We had slowed to a crawl
With Dave at the tiller we moved slowly and gracefully through the other boats; he turned her out of the basin and on to the canal then stepped aside and said to me, âHere, grab this.â
It is a fact that if someone says, in a casual tone of voice, âhere grab thisâ, you automatically take what they hand you and there was a moment of panic when I realised I had control of 70 feet and 23 tonnes of steel; the panic bubble welled up and then just went âpopâ, melting away into a sort of worried, pleased surprise. Happy was doing just as she was told. We were pottering along very slowly, the sun was shining and other boaters were waving and smiling.
There was definitely a sense of slightly dangerous contentment to be in charge of something so big and cumbersome but which also was incredibly stately and graceful.
Our first major encounter with another boat killed off any nerves I might have been experiencing and highlighted the weirdness that I probably would need to expect living on the river. I had the tiller and thought I was doing pretty well, getting the hang of it, puttering along. I was starting to see the draw of this lifestyle, passing slowly and stately around a sweeping bend. Smiling at Mother Natureâs decorative style and half drowsing in the sunshine, the throb of the engine was lulling me into a semi-hypnotic state.
Dave suddenly stopped slouching with his elbows on the roof and stood up to his full height, frowning down the canal in front of us. He reached down and pressed the horn, then grabbing my arm, reached past me to throw Happy into full reverse. It took me a couple of moments of complete confusion to work out that something was going on ahead of us and I looked along the length of the roof to try and work out what it was.
About 30 feet ahead of Happyâs nose, a much smaller narrow boat was floating sideways across the canal, no one at the tiller. For a moment I wondered if we were seeing the inland waterways version of the Marie Celeste , but then I noticed the raised buttocks of two people, leaning over the bow, trying desperately to fish something out of the water.
This is where I learned another, very valuable, lesson. Narrow boats donât stop! That drowsy hypnotic drift is one of the most dangerous states to be in. Youâd better pay attention to what is going on a good way ahead of your nose â and in our case, thatâs a fairly long way ahead â because bringing 23 tonnes of steel to a full stop against forward inertia does not happen quickly, if it happens at all.
Luckily, Dave had been paying attention and his quick reactions meant that we just gently kissed the back of the other boat. It transpired that their kitten had taken a suicidal leap overboard and in their panic to get it out of the water they had both rushed to the front to try and fish him out, leaving their boat adrift.
Pandemonium reigned for what seemed like about half an hour but was, in reality, only a couple of minutes. Kitten retrieved, the young couple, suddenly aware that there were queues building up either side of them, rushed about getting their boat underway again.
Putting Happy in forward and taking up the tiller again, I hoped Dave hadnât noticed that I had been wool gathering â fat chance!
âAlways best to keep a really good eye ahead,â he murmured, smiling gently.
I smiled, and nodded, damn! Caught red-handed.
Our next odd encounter of the day was with a lady going very slowly in the opposite direction. Geoff was at the tiller and, noticing her lack of speed and that she seemed to be looking in all directions, leaning out over her boat to inspect ahead and around her, he slowed down. Dave nodded in approval, while I sighed and hailed the woman.
âIs everything all right?â We had slowed to a crawl
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