The Adventures of Warren, Louise and Cadenza

Club members, Warren and Louise Shave who set off early in 2007 on a wonderful trip to do the waterways of England and Ireland in a specially commissioned Kiwi boat …well here's the full set of delightful chapters:

Chapter One – Why a Logan 33? (March 2006)
Chapter Two – The Great Shrink-Wrap Caper
Chapter Three – “ Oh to be in England…”
Chapter Four  -  “Sweet Thames Run Softly …”
Chapter Five – “Never cast a clout until May is out”
Chapter Six -“Well, if I wanted to be in Ireland, I wouldn’t be starting from here ..”
Chapter Seven – “Hello-How’rya-Gran’Day”
Chapter Eight – “Pools among the rushes that could scarce bathe a star”  (W B Yeats)
Chapter Nine - ‘Twould make even angels weep
Chapter Ten - “A little wayside lake asleep, can catch the eyes of stars that peep”
Chapter Eleven – The Northern Irish Experience
Chapter Twelve - “Turn left by the old dog”
Cadenza in 2008
Chapter Thirteen - “Dublin”
Chapter Fourteen - “Journey's End” (August 2008)
 

Chapter One – Why a Logan 33?

For any self-respecting Logan owner, that question would seem quite spurious!  Logans are, of course, the best boats in the world.  However, let me take you back to the ‘once upon a time’ stage …

For those who don’t know, Warren and I shared ownership, with another couple, of a 20-metre Dutch Barge in Europe for six years (from 1993 to 1999).  Built in 1916 and weighing 53 tonnes, she was a steel Luxemotor, powered by a marinised 120hp Daf truck engine and had been used mainly for the market trade around Amsterdam.  When purchased, she was lying in a shipyard in Holland, partially converted for eventual charter use.  With the great assistance of the shipyard owner, the conversion was completed to our specifications and we spent much of the following years taking her through Holland, Belgium, France and even on the Rhine and Lahn Rivers in Germany.  Our adventures were numerous and would take many pages to recount.  Suffice to say, we travelled thousands of kilometres of canals and rivers, through almost 1000 locks, over hundreds of aqueducts and up and down various engineering marvels – Victorian shiplifts, inclined planes and the like.  We explored tiny villages and big cities, met amazing people, watched the seasons unfold around us, had road bridges under which we were to pass almost fall on us (yes, really!) and even made momentous decisions like, ‘Which wine shall we have with dinner?”!  Life was amazingly perfect.

Obviously, we had not quite got the water gypsy lifestyle out of our systems.  Since ‘Dankbaarheid’ (‘Thankfulness’) was sold, we have continued to hire boats in France (to do some of the smaller canals not possible in a 20-metre boat) and to take trips on larger commercial vessels to explore the Scandinavian Canals and the Norwegian Coast.  But all the while, that nagging feeling has existed that doing things in your own boat is definitely best.  Just to be able to decide what, if anything, you will do today; to have no plans as to where you may end up that night, but to wake each morning to new countryside with wee voles on the bank beside you and a family of tiny moorhens nibbling the weed around your waterline – that is magic!

By a stroke of luck, we met Eric Knight of Logan Classic Boats at the Boat Show in Auckland in 2000.  His love of the Logan 33 – original design by Arch Logan and launched in 1912 – and its charm and foibles, was irresistible, and so our own ‘Condrieu’ (Hull No 14) was duly launched in August 2001.  Since then she has carried us faithfully on many hundreds of coastal miles, given us many hundreds of hours of cruising pleasure and delighted in acting as finish boat for some of the Gulf Harbour Yacht Club Cruising Series.

So, it was inevitable that we consider the Logan 33 as an option for a boat in Britain.  True, with a beam of 8 feet, the Logan is too wide to travel through the 7 ft locks of the narrow canals, but there are some wide waterways (with double-width locks) criss-crossing the country, and her proven sea-going abilities make her a perfect ‘combination’ boat.  Although shipping will be expensive, we believe that the certainty of knowing we have a very well-built, reliable boat on which we have already lived comfortably, will more than make up for that.  We also believe that she will really impress the Brits and, hopefully be the first of many to that market.

So ‘Cadenza’ (so named because we believe she really will be our ‘final flourish’ – and because that name is easier for people to understand on the radio than ‘Condrieu’ – and because there is an NZ in the middle!!) joined the Logan fleet (Hull No 34) on 25 November 2005.

There have been a few times (very few) in my life, when I could cheerfully have strangled my husband!  (The first, some 35 years ago, was his idea that we live in a camper van in Europe for 13 months with two 4 year olds and a 2 year old – but that’s another story…)  More recently, the maiden voyages of both ‘Condrieu’ and ‘Cadenza’ are forceful examples!! 

‘We need to test everything we can on her,’ he commented sagely. 

Did that really include going down Whangarei Harbour in 45 knots plus, wind against tide, with green water breaking over her for several hours until we could tuck into a sheltered bay near the entrance?  I was gratified to hear his rueful confession the next day that he thought he might have put me off a bit!  Anyway, enough whingeing – the trip did show what a superb wee boat she is, and even I was impressed by the boat-handling of the Skipper.

Over the Christmas period, we have been dutifully putting ‘Cadenza’ through her paces in the Bay of Islands and she has come up trumps.  We have had great fun trying to figure out how to utilise every nook and cranny to store what we will need to live on her for 7 months – “everything must have at least two uses”, I have been warned.  She is now back in the yard awaiting a few, very minor, mods before she is shipped to London in mid February.  We, ourselves, leave in mid-March.

One shrink wrapped boat picture below!!

Click picture to enlarge (just 400kb)

The plan is to take her initially up the Thames and then across the Kennett & Avon Canal to Bath and Bristol, tuck around the Welsh Coast and wait for a fine day (and that jolly well better be ‘smooth seas and light sea breezes!!!) before we cross the Irish Sea to spend time on the waterways of the Emerald Isle.  This voyage has been a long-held dream, so we hope you will all cross your four-leafed clovers for us that the dream becomes reality.

We wish you fair winds and a good year. Chapter 2 will be forthcoming ….

Warren and Louise Shave 

Chapter Two – The Great Shrink-Wrap Caper

We are already into Irish Mode!  Just when you think you have everything planned to the last detail, Murphy will surely throw one of his curved balls.  The plan to spend a leisurely couple of days in the shipyard at Whangarei, “some time during the next month at our convenience,” carefully stowing all our gear on board and checking and double-checking all systems, was obviously not complicated enough for the said Irish gentleman!   

Shipping a vessel is not without complexity.  Destinations and prices vary widely and we had begun to be a little concerned at having no definite date or price for Cadenza’s transport to England, with our own departure date looming ever closer.  So the sudden offer of a place on the Poni Palliser (container ship bound for Tilbury in London) was far too good to turn down.  BUT we had only a few days to get organised.  150 kilometres apart, two groups of people were galvanised into action.

For our part, shipping details and insurance had to be arranged and, on a more mundane level, the piles of relevant safety and navigational equipment, books, clothes, linen, saucepans, crockery, cutlery etc, which had been slowly threatening to bury every inch of the living space in our house, had to be taken up to the shipyard within 24 hours.  The first problem was to fit them in the car.  Finding space in the boat seemed simple by comparison!

As we arrived at the yard, we found a similar hive of activity.  Last minute touches were being added to Cadenza – extra coats of antifouling on her hull, an additional bilge pump so that she complies with the CE Certification, delightful small touches such as a wooden hanging rack for long-stemmed glasses, a clever new seat in the stern (where we hope to enjoy our quiet breakfasts on gentle waterways), wiring checks and so on.  Obviously the last thing the guys in the yard needed was for the owners to arrive to slow down their progress! 

An excellent meeting with Stephen, our shipping agent, ironed out most of the technical paperwork and, somehow, all operations were completed to everyone’s satisfaction by the time the crane arrived in the afternoon, to “drop” Cadenza in the water.  (Warren has been asked to rephrase that expression he uses – we would all prefer something with gentler finality!)

After final calibration of the engine, Warren was able to set off in Cadenza towards Auckland, while I drove the car back and some 12 hours later she was installed at Westhaven Marina – due to be lifted out at Orams on Monday afternoon.  The delivery voyage allowed a new speed record for us in a Logan – 10.5 knots, as she surfed down waves in her haste to be helpful!  With that part accomplished, we drove rapidly north again to meet with Rolf Eidt, the CE Inspector, to collect the final Certificate and Manual of Compliance for Cadenza and to be available to do the finish of the Gulf Harbour Yacht Club night race to Islington Bay on Rangitoto Island.  We looked forward to a well-earned, quiet weekend….sun, sea and congenial yacht club company.

Enter Murphy once more!  As we motored to set the finish line for the race, our reverie was interrupted by a call from Eric.  He had just been advised that, despite all the careful planning of Stephen, and of Eric himself, Cadenza would have to be lifted out at a different marina – Westpark – about one and a half hours up-harbour from her current position. AND the lifting was to happen at 8am on Monday.  Employ Plan B!!

Monday dawned (well actually it didn’t dawn until we had been up some hours!!!).  At 5am, as Eric and Trent left Whangarei in their van, we left our home to drive to Westhaven to collect Cadenza and re-position her.  Our arrival at the travelift attracted a great reception committee including our daughter, Nicky and two wee fascinated grandchildren.  (Three-year old Cam has followed the progress of this boat with the delight and infectious enthusiasm of small boys. Now there were even more big machines!) With a growing audience of interested bystanders, the boat was lifted out of the water once more and placed carefully on the waiting flat rack.  As the ends of the rack were folded up to protect her bow and stern and she was securely strapped down, suddenly it all seemed real!  This adventure was really going to happen….

Now came the interesting part.  As Trent continued the securing operation, Eric set off to East Tamaki – some 25 kilometres – to collect the material which would be used to protect our small boat from the dirt and grime she might experience as she travels her 12,000 miles.  We had been advised that she would either be placed inside the container vessel, or would occupy a small place on the very top layer of the huge stack of containers on deck.  Either way, she seemed very vulnerable, so any process which could be employed to lessen our cleaning task at the other end, seemed well worth while.  In such situations, it has become the custom for boats to be – quite literally – shrink-wrapped.  The material looks and behaves exactly like that you would use in your kitchen.  The only difference is that this stuff is 1.5 metres wide and comes on huge rolls.

Our earlier discussions had indicated that the wrapping was a simple process.  Obviously we would just start at one end and keep going round, so that the film clung to the previous layer, as you would do in your kitchen.  Huh!!!  After several attempts we realised that, while one can easily cover a dish of food or wrap a simple parcel in this manner, a boat with various levels, angles, anchor, small mast, dorade vents etc, presents an entirely different set of parameters.   The group of onlookers grew exponentially with our frustrated and only semi-successful early efforts.  The sheer brilliance of a caterpillar in the seemingly nonchalant, but highly efficient, production of his/her cocoon stunned us! The sun baked down on a glorious Auckland day as we struggled with the filmy layers.  No-one had anticipated just how heavy the roll of cling-wrap material would be.  Heaving it up and down over the various appurtenances made for very hot and tiring work.  A work-out in the gym would be entirely superfluous for at least a week after this operation!  Worst of all, the truck was due at 3pm to collect her for transport to the container wharf.  This was a deadline we could not miss.

Fortunately, as the afternoon progressed, so, too, did the skill of the wrappers.  A roll of tape to secure wayward ends of film, the brilliant Heath Robinson idea of ropes and a broom handle to support the heavy roll, several bottles of water to quench our parched throats, brief halts for munching on muffins and other delights provided by our wonderful daughter and sheer, stubborn persistence by the guys (Eric and Trent) and we finished the monumental task just as the articulated transporter rolled into the yard.  While not exactly emulating the neatness of the caterpillar’s production, this human effort seemed quite presentable to us!

The skill of people who work with boats – building, transporting them, lifting them, diagnosing their woes and fixing them – never ceases to amaze me.  Our cheerful, enthusiastic truck driver was no exception. With a hand-held box no bigger than a mobile phone and almost imperceptible movements of his fingers, he manipulated our wee girl onto his monstrous machine, positioning her precisely.  Moments later, she was gone – on her way to Fergusson Wharf.  She looked so tiny and we both experienced some feelings of nostalgia. 

I could not resist going down to the wharf next day to try to catch a glimpse.  The Poni Palliser looked enormous – a floating skyscraper – as the pile of containers being loaded on her deck rose skywards, layer by layer.  Cadenza would seem utterly inconsequential and microscopic at the highest level.  She was nowhere to be seen and I was, of course, not permitted any nearer to the ship than the perimeter fence.

Poni Palliser sailed at 10.04pm that night and, from our lounge, I watched her progress as she cleared the harbour – the row of lights along her side just like the spots on the chrysalis of a Monarch butterfly caterpillar.  The full moon seemed a good omen and I silently and sentimentally wished Cadenza well for her long journey.  The ship goes through Panama en route, so that will be her first canal – and she must do it without us! She is expected to arrive in London on 20 March, the same day as we arrive by air.

Special thanks to our Nicky, to Eric and Trent (Logan Classic Boats) and to Stephen Bol (Worldwide Freight Management).  Although it was hectic, we thoroughly enjoyed the last week and hope you did too!

Warren and Louise Shave 

Chapter Three – “ Oh to be in England…”

We are back in the world of  “Wind in the Willows”.  Moorhens and coots are busily building nests in overhanging willow branches or on various pieces of flotsam and jetsam in the canal.  Even a floating tyre provides a nest site.  We wonder how the poor bird will feel as he drifts into the lock with us and then continues up to the next level!  Swans sail regally past our windows as we make breakfast and metre-high herons stand guard over ‘their patch’, watching us out of the corner of their eye, inevitably taking off just as we pass by quietly, a metre or so away.  Actually it’s a bit hard to know which bit of literary heritage we are experiencing as, today, we also saw both a hare and a tortoise/turtle!!! 

It is Monday 3 April and just exactly two weeks since we arrived in England.  Whereas our last two weeks in New Zealand seemed to have been a little fraught with problems, these latter two have been a real delight – with, seemingly, almost everything going our way.

To regress a little: during the last two weeks in NZ the hard drive on our brand new computer (with which we planned to keep in touch by email) managed to self-destruct – and this just after we had all the software sorted for the complicated techo stuff necessary to download from a mobile in a foreign country!  Solution:  Take The Beast to one of those ‘Fix-it’ companies, try to communicate with the ‘fix-it guy’ (who was definitely not accustomed to communicating with ordinary people, and who shook his head sorrowfully as he cogitated the remote prospect of ever managing to “ghost” all our precious info after he had replaced the jolly hard drive.  (At this stage we couldn’t even understand his language, let alone make suitably encouraging noises!)  On the edge of our seats we waited several days to see if this “ghosting” could be managed.  (It eventually was J.)

Problem No 2 meanwhile occupied our thoughts. Despite all our efforts from NZ, we had been unable to establish just exactly what duties etc we might have to pay for Cadenza on her arrival in the UK.  The best advice we had was that it depended on the Customs Guy on the day!  It is not a comfortable feeling leaving home to collect your boat from a ship 12,000 miles away knowing that, if some guy in an office has had a domestic tiff, or is suffering from a hangover, you may well be up for something like $40,000.  Our shipping agent advised that we prepare ourselves for the worst-case scenario.  We did L. 

Move to Problem No 3. Don’t rely on web sites!  Since Christmas Warren had been attempting to contact one of the marinas off the Thames (River) in which we hoped to spend a week on our arrival – time to sort out paper work and draw breath.  With no reply from the advertised web contact, we did not know which way to turn.  Enter two marvellous new friends met at Opua while we were up north at Christmas. (David and Heather, who are English, have a narrow boat in England and a converted tug in NZ so they are Real Boaties).  On hearing of our dilemma, they immediately contacted Roger Squires, Chairman of the London Branch of the Inland Waterways Association, to enlist his advice.  Not only did he help us to get a berth at Limehouse Marina, but he also put us in contact with his own insurers (See Problem 4), and offered any further help we might need on our arrival. 

Problem 4 had been trying to arrange UK insurance for a boat built/registered in NZ.  Thanks to Roger, this has now been accomplished, although it did provide us with some amusing moments.  Initial cruising limits provided by the UK company gave us, “The Norfolk and Suffolk Broads down as far as Munckton Lock”  - now that was interesting – we had requested “UK/Ireland canals and rivers and  coverage for the sea crossing to Ireland” – nowhere near these places,!!!  We patiently emailed back once more, reiterating all our qualifications and experience and grovelling suitably.  Back came an amended policy with the delightful comment from the issuer, “ I must have pressed the wrong button” .

So we left Godzone on 19 March with two small bags and the hope that all would come together – which it has J.

On our arrival we found that Cadenza had made landfall two days previously and had already been cleared by Richard, our UK shipping agent, with absolutely no problems and no duties, taxes etc to be paid.  She would be put in the water at Tilbury at 1pm two days later (timing to take advantage of the incoming tide) and we could set off – yes really!  Not only had Richard sorted all the bureaucracy, but he also planned to collect us from the nearby station and accompany us through the busy port to assist with getting Cadenza into the water.  Eric Knight (Owner of Logan Classic Boats in NZ) had also come to London as he is hoping to export Logan 33s to the UK.  The three of us met up excitedly that night to celebrate events thus far and to make plans for the next few days.

You cannot believe how delighted we were to arrive on the dock at Tilbury– complete with official passes and an escort of two security guys with flashing lights – to find our wee girl sitting on her cradle, surrounded by giant ships and container cranes, shrink-wrap still intact and with no obvious signs of damage.  We kept pinching ourselves and each other to believe it was real.  Everyone in the area became infected with our excitement and round-table discussions were held as to the best way of  “dropping her into the Thames”, some 14 metres down from the wharf.  In the end the problem of getting Warren and the wheelchair so far down the ladder clinched the decision to move the boat to an enclosed part of the basin and let us go down through the giant shipping lock.  (Little did they know how the first mate’s heart had been pounding at the idea of having to descend from that giddy height!!)  Within minutes a straddle crane and forklift had been commandeered, Cadenza was unwrapped and unstrapped from her cradle, her seacocks were opened, she was gently put in the basin, we started her engine and we were off to the accompaniment of friendly shouts and waves and comments like, “She’s very pretty but I wouldn’t be going up the Thames in her!!” from the wharfies and guards. (Little did they know how many sea miles we have already done in her..)

Nevertheless, the sea lock was prepared for us and, feeling like Scuffy the (toy) Tugboat, we reported in to London VTS (the important body which monitors all huge shipping movements all the way up-river), and then motored out into the tidal part of that wonderful sinuous river which has seen so much trade and history over the ages.

To our surprise, the wide lower reaches of the river were quiet that day, with few ships, and, as we made good progress under QEII suspension bridge and through the impressive Tidal Barrier up to Limehouse Basin, we actually had time to marvel at the Millenium Dome and Greenwich Observatory. 

Safely tucked into the marina at Limehouse, we spent the next week obtaining our licence to use the waterways, sorting out other paperwork, entertaining Roger Squires who kindly came to see if he could give any more help, being visited by London friends, interviewed by Classic Boat Magazine and answering loads of queries about Logan 33’s.  Cadenza is definitely the centre of attention here.  She already has a fan club and it’s often hard to get anything done!

By Thursday 30 March we were ready to continue up the Thames.  Spring tides and very strong winds were whipping up the waters of the river and, worse still, the lock was absolutely full of rubbish.  You cannot believe how ghastly is the rubbish problem here – plastic bags, planks and logs of wood, polystyrene, bottles etc all jostled in the water through which we had to pass.  Because we had already experienced the effects of a plastic bag round our shaft on the day we took the reporter out, we were inevitably apprehensive.  It seems that rubbish is always “someone else’s problem” and the way of coping with this particular one is for the authorities to open the gates of the lock at low tide and allow all the junk to flow out into the Thames, from whence it will inevitably flow to some other area!! We were horrified.  (By the way, the gates on this lock are mechanical and without paddles.  They simply separate to empty all the lock contents – water and rubbish – in a deluge.  It’s a bit scary if you are the boat waiting to exit!)

We reported again to LTS who, by now, recognised our boat name and greeted us like old friends.  Timorously, in the wild waters, we set off up-river. Eric had stationed himself near Tower Bridge and he tells us he has a marvellous photo of us as we came through under the Bridge and continued all the way up-river, through 22 more bridges, past Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, Fulham Football Ground (Warren’s comment!), crews practising for the annual Oxford/Cambridge rowing race, to come in at Brentford on the Grand Union Canal.

And here we are – learning to cope with manual locks two-handed (lots of closing gates, opening paddles to fill/empty locks, putting ropes on bollards, opening gates again, closing paddles again etc etc.)  It is fun, if somewhat exhausting, and we can only will improve our technique!  We are currently in a boatyard, having some repairs to minor transit damage but will continue tomorrow to Paddington Basin in central London where we can have 7 days free mooring to enjoy some quiet “London time” before continuing once more up-river. 

Although spring is definitely beginning, with the willow trees breaking into leaf and daffs and hyacinths lining the bank, it is still incredibly cold.  I sleep in floor-to-ceiling winter nightie with red woolly socks and a hat with earflaps, which I have not used since Nepal trekking days – and all of that under a feather duvet and additional sleeping bag and clutching a hot water bottle.  Warren just sleeps in his clothes and sleeping bag and keeps insisting that he is very comfortable.  Hmmm….

We thank, sincerely, all those who have helped us on this leg of the journey.  Stephen and Richard (shipping), Eric (wonderful company and assistance with wheelchair on Underground!), Andris who collected us from the airport, helped us to provision Cadenza and continues to be such a good friend, Roger (IWA) for his invaluable help, and Marty who has done our repairs and got us converted to the British Gas system.

Warren and Louise Shave

Warren and Louise Shave

Chapter Five - “Never cast a clout until May is out”

Chapter Six - “Well, if I wanted to be in Ireland, I wouldn’t be starting from here ..”

Warren and Louise

Chapter Seven – “Hello-How’rya-Gran’Day”

Says it all, doesn’t it!  Nobody on the Irish waterways ever greets you with a simple “Hello”, and neither must you ever expect to have a brief conversation.  Priorities are adhered to strictly - interest in you and your health, followed by the inevitable weather comment, and after that … Well, “time enough”, as they say here.

Mind you, we discovered that “Grand Day” actually has several versions as follows:

1.    Beginning of July – Version 1 – weather actually overcast and cool with occasional showers, but obviously an improvement on that experienced in the weeks previous!

2.    End of first week – Version 2 – mornings dawned humidly, still overcast and sometimes with drizzle, but the sun made a watery appearance later.

3.    Next two weeks – Version 3 – incredibly hot sunny weather – sometimes with the additional comment, “just a little too warm, perhaps?”  (These days often ended with spectacular electrical storms where thunder reverberated round us like canon-fire and the sky exploded with lightning flashes.)

4.    And then – Version 4 – cool and blustery winds –“Grand day, just a little brisk.”

Our Irish is improving and I may write a phrase book of useful definitions ….

Now the locks are another challenge!  Here ‘paddles’ (small gates/openings to allow water into/out of lock) are called ‘racks’, a windlass is a ‘lock key’, double locks (two chambers to negotiate) are still counted as one lock, red marker buoys have faded to yellow and yellow ones are used to denote something different for navigation (that was interesting!), and so on…

We’ve had so many hilarious adventures, it’s really hard to know where to start.  Waterford provided the first glimpse of what was to come.  Our instructions had advised arriving on the jetty, tying up, exiting through the locked gate by pressing a hidden button, making one’s way to the Harbour Office where, on payment of relevant fee, key would be provided for re-entry to jetty.  However, the reality was that payment and key collection were from two different offices.  The offices were 5 minutes walk apart.  It was Friday afternoon so they both shut at 4pm – (we had arrived at 3.30pm). The key I was given did not work. I then learnt from a neighbouring Welsh boat (at 40 decibels over the top of the locked pier gate) that I might be able to exchange that key for a completely different card at the local hotel and perhaps that card might let me back in, if the proposed system change had actually been completed …

(Obviously a ‘work-in-progress’ as, on our later return to Waterford, the gates were left permanently unlocked – are you surprised?)

Since we last wrote we have travelled from the entrance to the harbour at Waterford, up the Suir River to Carrick-on-Suir (the highest navigational point), back and up the length of the Barrow River and across the Grand Canal to the River Shannon – the longest river in Ireland.

We came slowly from our entry point at Hook Head (apparently the oldest lighthouse in the world), leaving the dolphin ‘welcoming committee’ at the harbour entrance, past typical coastal villages like Duncannon with its tiny, brightly painted cottages heading purposefully uphill towards the castle and its fishing fleet snugly tucked inside the high stone breakwater, to arrive in the city of Waterford.  Here, in 795AD, the Vikings slipped up the river to pester the monks and plunder the monasteries.  Subsequently the history of Ireland was changed with the invitation, in 1170, of Dermot McMurrough to Strongbow, Earl of Pembroke, to assist him in his battles with other bothersome Irish kings.  That was the moment of Anglo-Norman arrival in Ireland.  (We had re-enacted that arrival as we passed the very spot where Strongbow made land and, according to the rhyme, ‘at the creek of Baginbun, Ireland was lost and won.’)  The new Museum of Treasures, set in an old grain store on the harbour front at Waterford, with its priceless collection of artefacts, imaginatively displayed, makes it easy to picture those tempestuous days of the city’s early history.  It is one of the best museums we have ever visited.

While in Waterford, we took the chance to visit the Waterford Crystal Factory – definitely not to purchase, as the tiniest liqueur glass was 45 Euros (about $100 for us).  We also caught a bus to Cork in the south west, via the coastline and the fishing towns of Dungarvan and Youghal.  With the tide out, boats were lying high and dry on the sandbanks – a photographer’s delight.  We really enjoy making this sort of expedition.  Every so often you need to get a different perspective from the ‘low-down’ travel on canals and rivers – a chance to understand the countryside a little better.  The rural scene was one of small fields with rough hedges or stone walls to separate them.  There seemed to be no predominant use – just a mix of cattle, sheep and crops of all kinds.

A later bus trip from New Ross took us east to the large river fishing port of Wexford.  The fleet here was large, modern and very well maintained.  We did wonder if all the Wexford cast-offs retired to Waterford, as the latter fleet was old and rusty.  In Wexford the one remaining town gate had a toll window and a ‘Runagate’ prison, forcible incarceration in which was the fate of those toll dodgers who were caught!

The three main rivers of this area are known as the Three Sisters – the Barrow, Nore and Suir. All three are tidal – the latter two being very limited in depth.  Using the incoming tide, we followed the meandering course of the Suir River up to Carrick-on-Suir.  Apart from a few spectacular ruined castles on the banks beside us, a few fishermen snap-net fishing (net stretched between two moving canoes to catch passing salmon), a farmer working on his patchwork field in the distance and cows drinking at the water’s edge, we were alone in the world with picture-book Ireland.  Teams of twelve horses used to tow barges on this river, through the braided islands and the tricky weirs.  We were glad of the chart provided by the local boating club, whose Commodore had had the forethought to arrange for visiting boats to pass his security key to the marina from one boat to the next (and for us to have free berthage) while he was up the Barrow River.

From Carrick we caught a train to Clonmel to explore the area from whence came one of my Great Grandmothers.  It must be time for another Irish story ….

If we are planning to use public transport, we usually check it out the day before, to establish best wheelchair access.  So, duly following our custom, (and the various circuitous directional signs), we made the goodly walk from the town up a small road, round some corners, past tractors mowing hay – to the tiny station to be met by the Station Master himself.  As usual, there were two rail tracks.  An overbridge, with steps, provided pedestrian access from one side to the other.  We asked his advice as to which side we would need to be, to catch the relevant train. 

“Well, to be sure, which side would you like?”, he asked.  “ I will just bring the train to wherever is suitable. ‘T’will be no bother”.   And the next day, so he did, diverting the entire Waterford-Limerick train to the nearest platform for us! 

Ireland always wins accolades for its picturesque scenery (about which more later), but, for us, it has been the people who make this country.  We cannot believe the kindness and generosity we have experienced from every person we have met.  Lock keepers have taken us as their special responsibility.  ‘Handing us on’ from one to the next, they have worked us through each lock with hilarity and enthusiasm, providing brilliant advice on where to moor for the night, (mostly directed to the most suitable pub!), shifting other boats to give us easy shore access, helping to fix an engine problem (including driving off to find the relevant necessary part and subsequently refusing to take any money in payment), taking me shopping to the nearest supermarket and, funniest of all, giving us thumb-nail sketches of the next lock keeper!  (“He likes his hair, you know.  I’ll say no more.”  -  ‘He’ did – it was glossily coiffed and shoulder-length!) Since we have been deeply into Irish history for the past several months, we found it fascinating to be in the care of Butlers, O’Neills, Moores and similar – the Great Chiefs of times past.  Hardly surprisingly, their knowledge of their country and its history is encyclopaedic.

The list of kindnesses is endless.  The marina at New Ross is awkwardly situated, parallel to the very strong tide flow, so that boats are broadside to the tidal current before they turn into fingers.  This makes access very tricky indeed.  Inevitably, just at the perfect moment, ‘John the Harbourmaster’ appeared like the proverbial leprechaun to give us the exact help we needed to make safe entry/exit.  Then there was ‘John the Taxi’, who, in the local school bus, could not resist showing us as much of Ireland as possible in the two hours he had before lunch – including a detour to his own village of Stradbally – for the cost of a bottle of wine.  There was the lady in Scariff, who insisted on transporting us, with our 11.4kg replacement gas bottle, back to the boat in the distant harbour.  We’ve been gifted charts of various waterways by boat owners we have met, loaned books which might be useful, presented with an innocent-looking plastic bottle of ‘poteen’ (highly illegal and incredibly potent barley whisky which would not only put hairs on your chest but would also singe them!) …

Eventually, leaving Carrick on a suitable tide, we made good progress back to the main estuary and turned onto the Barrow River, (the longest and deepest of the Three Sisters), which would eventually lead us to the Grand Canal and thence across Ireland.  The Barrow is tidal as far as St Mullin’s lock, flowing through a steep-sided, wooded valley with not a sign of habitation to spoil the serenity.  Once through the lock, we were suddenly back in the world of small-space cruising with river sections alternating with canal cuts.  This was to be the beginning of a rather frustrating time for us. 

Throughout July the weather was glorious – Version 3 for the most part…  The down-side of this is that water levels have been the lowest in living memory.  Fortunately, since Cadenza draws only 0.6 metre, we have grounded only twice.  We really feel for other boats of deeper draft, which have come to a complete halt, unable to continue, or even had to be craned out with severe underwater damage.  At least we have been able to limp slowly on each day. The other warm-weather-related problem has been the horrendously rapid growth of weed in the waterways.  In the Barrow canal sections and right across the Grand Canal, it has often been like driving through a mattress.  Long green filaments wrap themselves tightly around the propellor and the coiled springs of bright green elodia lie in wait to insinuate themselves slyly into the engine water-cooling intake, necessitating stopping five or six times each day to sort the problems.  L  In one section it was so bad that Warren decided the best remedy was for him to row the dinghy, towing Cadenza behind him, while I fended off where necessary with the extendable boat hook.  Anyone old enough to remember the film “African Queen” will appreciate the scene.

However, and as though in an attempt to make compensation, nature has provided the very best-ever show for slow travellers.  Water lilies tug and pull beside us, like huge yellow buttercups and the iridescent blue and green damselflies and brown/orange dragonflies alight and remain like brilliant jewels on the boat.  The scent of honeysuckle and meadowsweet is almost overpowering.  Swallows and kingfishers work the river, the latter coloured like the finest Thai silk, and reed warblers peek shyly from the brown feathery reed plumes just inches away.  It’s paradise or, to quote one lock keeper, “Well, it’s certainly no nightmare!”

Our stops along the route have included towns like Graiguenamanagh with its 13 pubs (large numbers of the latter being a staggering feature of tiny Irish towns).  Here we explored the Butler castle ruins and the wonderful Cistercian Abbey of Duiske (of which the total cost of recent restoration was born by the local community).  We’ve also enjoyed lovely rural and isolated spots like Maganey, where we met two of the world’s most delightful people. Rita and Edel, who live in the lock cottage, welcomed us on arrival with offers of tea, pots of pesto and pate and licks from their two gorgeous dogs, Gilly and Cuddy (from MacGillycuddy Reeks of course).  Since then they have, on occasions, driven miles to visit us, to check on our progress, or to deliver something they thought we might need (which we did!!) and have taken us miles to visit areas in and around Kilkenny, including the magnificent 13^th century Cathedral of St Canice with its Round Tower and black marble tombs, the Abbey of Jerpoint (to see this most famous of Irish abbeys had been one of my hopes),  the charming village of Inistioge on the Nore and the impressive ruins of Woodstock by moonlight.

We’ve travelled through incredibly varied landscape on our way across the country.  One of the most spectacular areas was the Bog of Allen – a vast ‘raised’ peat bog, more than 10,000 years old and stretching through the counties of Offaly, Laois and Kildare and with a story of its own. Because of their acidic soil and the lack of oxygen in their layers, bogs have great preservation properties and have long been a source of historical finds – fragile artefacts, bodies and even tubs of butter (still gloriously yellow and completely edible after 5000 years!)  In former times peat for fuel was always cut by hand, using a spade-like implement known as a Slean.  As the peat was removed, the top layer was replaced so that the bog would continue to ‘grow’.  In modern times, the bogs have been exploited for use, especially for electricity generation.  Enormous machines now carve up the landscape, removing everything with no thoughts of regeneration and leaving behind a desolate wasteland.  Should the present rate of destruction continue, it would not be long before the bogs disappeared completely.  Fortunately, their importance seems now to be recognised, and there is a move afoot to preserve at least 4% of these lands.

Building the Grand Canal across such an area, prone as it is to subsidence, must have been a nightmare.  Imagine trying to maintain a level passage or trying to prevent breaches in the canal sides.  In fact, the problem was solved by opening a series of drains, crossed by other transverse drains.  The material excavated was dried in the squares created by the drains and then wheeled to the canal to form a high embankment.  The channel along the embankment was then lined with clay to hold the water in.  We had to spare a thought for the men who laboured through 10 soggy winters to achieve this remarkable stretch of canal.

One afternoon we found an unspoilt area, bearing only the traces of hand-cutting (many locals still have turbary rights and still use the old methods).  As you may imagine, I could not resist making a flying leap ashore - clutching at gorse bushes in my undignified exit from the boat - to search for some of the amazingly adapted plants of bog areas: tiny sundews which supplement their diet by catching little insects, glorious yellow bog asphodel which send its roots down through the layers of moss to find distant water, and miniature prostrate heathers with the tiniest bell-like flowers I have ever seen. My nature ramble successfully completed, we made preparations to continue along the canal.   About 500 metres in front of us was a swing bridge over the canal, which would have to be raised to allow us passage.  Usually the operators of these bridges, seeing your approach, have the bridge up and ready.  At this one we waited and waited – nothing stirred.  Finally I walked through the bog and across a small rail bridge used by the peat trains, to knock on the door of his wee house.  There he was, at his table, sound asleep over his newspaper.  I knocked ever so gently.

“Jaysus, Mary and Joseph!!!” rent the air, as he shot up from his seat.  It was several moments before I managed to reassure him that I was neither the Spirit of the Bog nor any of her relations!

There have been so many other magic moments.  We’ve explored ‘Pale’ towns, like Monasterevin.  (These 14/15th century towns were laid out and built by the English to try to exert control over the Irish and the degenerate Normans who had intermarried and become ‘more Irish than the Irish”.) We’ve climbed up to prehistoric hill-forts (Raths). We’ve posted cards in rusty green letterboxes which still bear the label, E II R.  (Mum, I do wonder if they really are reaching you!!).  And did we narrowly escape arrest when we were shouted Guinness in a pub, while the landlord was running totally illegal bets on all the televised races??

With great relief we came off the weedy canal a few days ago and joined the beautiful Shannon River which runs from Lough Allen in the north, to Limerick in the south, providing many other gorgeous lakes on its way.  We are currently in Lough Derg – 130 sq kms of glorious water, islands and harbours – And the weed is manageable!  We plan a couple of weeks on the lake before heading for Athlone.  Here I must leave Warren and Cadenza for two weeks while I look after the Odyssey Irish Programme.

Many people have asked us to scan and send photos.  We are sorry not to have been able to do this, but we are using a simple laptop, mobile phone and a system which would cost the earth to attach photos.

However, recently, Peter and Catie Whitely joined us for a day and we know that they have sent some  photos to the Logan website.  (Actually, although the photos should really be attached to this current chapter, you can find them with Chapter 6.)  The site is www.loganboats.co.nz.  For the other boring 800 or so, you will have to wait for our return!

Kindest regards to all – next update will not be until after mid September!

P.S.

We’ve finally cracked the code of the weather forecasts J.  Conclusions:

1.    The forecaster is paid by the Education Department to use as many different headlands/reference points as possible so that everyone learns the obscure geography of the Irish Coast.  Never in any month should he use the same two points or headlands.

2.    He is paid for only 30 seconds (regardless of the weather pattern) so he must read said forecast as fast as possible

3.    Each forecaster is employed for his unique accent.  He may read the forecast only once in each month, lest anyone should become accustomed to accustomed to his brogue.

After that, it’s a breeze …

Warren and Louise Shave

Chapter Eight – “Pools among the rushes that could scarce bathe a star”  (W B Yeats)

We have just spent two marvellous days in Dublin with my cousin and her husband, catching up on the news and family gossip of the last 30 years, re-meeting their ‘children’ and making the acquaintance of the grandchildren of that family – a very special time for us.  It was such a strange feeling to be back in a real house once more, to enjoy beautiful sculptures on real tables, wine in lovely crystal glasses and a proper bathroom!  I think they found our ‘suffering-from-small-space-syndrome’ a most amusing phenomenon!  These days were tucked at the end of my time away working with the Odyssey Irish Programme – two weeks of great fun, although very different from our boating life. 

Much to our amusement, our brief absence was obviously time enough for various small wild-life persons to move on board and we arrived back to find spiders busily abseiling round the cabin.  Heaven only knows what an absence of six months will produce!!

When we last wrote we had just left the narrow confines and low waters of the Barrow River and the Grand Canal.  On those stretches we had often traveled for days without ever meeting another boat.  What a different world we encountered as we turned from the Canal onto the Shannon (the longest river in Ireland).  It was almost a culture shock.  In the space of five minutes, seven large and very fast cruisers seemed to attack us like frantic fat bumble bees. We had been warned that the lower reaches of the river are like this – a playground for fast boats and hire cruisers.  Fortunately the season for those is short and the lakes are large, so the ‘crowded’ feeling is transitory.  We continued gently, at our own slow pace, down the river, being passed by the whole world at large, before finding a small, peaceful river arm at the village of Innishee.  Here there were real ‘pools among the rushes’, the night was incredibly starry and we had time– time to disentangle the last of the canal weed and to walk some 25 kilometres to visit the tiny 12^th century cathedral at Clonfert.  The original 6^th century monastery here was built by St Brendan, the amazing saint who navigated a tiny wooden-framed, leather-covered boat all the way up the west coast of Ireland, to the Faroes, Iceland, Greenland, and Newfoundland – and he got back again!  (His voyages put our own into insignificant perspective.)   The Cathedral is famous for its exquisite Hiberno-Romanesque doorway – one of few so perfect.

Since that first stop we have come south through locks various and lifting bridges to explore two of the southern lakes fed by the Shannon - Lough Derg and Lough Ree – both glorious stretches of water, dotted with tiny islands and surrounded by the glacier-scoured mountains which characterise Ireland.  We’ve delighted at being on anchor once more – able to enjoy peaceful evenings away from madding crowds or wayside pubs.  We love the freedom to row ashore in isolated bays and make our own barbecue with turf bricks.  You should try it some time – the smell of the slow-burning turf and the flavour it gives to very ordinary sausages, are unbelievable J

Although most of the lake islands are now inhabited only by small flocks of sheep which appear like white specks in the distance, the ruined monasteries and churches provide spectacular evidence of their past history.  Having your own boat allows you to visit such tranquil places as Holy Island and Clonmacnoise in the early morning or late evening, when no-one else is around.  Then it is easy to picture those monks living and working and being frustrated that their peace was broken each time the Vikings appeared on their horizon to raid and sack their monasteries. 

Navigating the river and its rocky-bottomed lakes has proved a challenge at times. On the one hand, the river has been mercifully weed-free, eliminating the necessity to stop several times each day to clear the weed trap or cut the mass of tendrils from the propeller.  However, we have learnt by bitter experience that Irish navigation markers have the same characteristics as their road signs – a certain degree of unreliability!  On our way south down Lough Derg, we had carefully entered way points on our chart plotter to facilitate easier navigation on the return journey.  But there is always a first time to find one’s destination!  Following the recommended channel markers to enter Rossmore Harbour, much to our consternation, we suddenly found ourselves aground. How could this be? The chart showed a black marker in the area but this one was definitely red – in fact the only black thing about it was a cormorant drying its wings on the very top of the pole. (Closer examination later showed that, although the marker had once been black, the top coat of paint had worn off exposing the original red in all its glory.  Apparently the timetable for the re-painting of such markers has fallen behind schedule!!) 

I quote from the Skipper’s log: “ If ever there was such a thing as a friendly rock, this was it.  It was conveniently low in the water – of a height that we simply ran up it and were held as in a cradle.  It was covered by moss and weed which, as well as cushioning the initial impact, later assisted our eventual departure.  Thankfully we had been moving at very slow speed and had managed to stop with the rudder and propeller still in clear water of a depth of two metres.”  But friendly or not, we were firmly stuck on the jolly rock.  For the first time in our lives we sent out a “Pan Pan” message to the local Coastguard, advising them that we were in no immediate danger and would attempt to free ourselves.  They were having a really busy day with people far more stuck than we were!  The lake is notorious for groundings and for its changeable weather conditions.  Several boats had grounded for similar reasons and others, struggling with the increasing wind and choppy waters, had overturned, tossing their crews into the very cold water.

Having established that we were definitely not taking water and assessed that, with the current wind direction and increasing wind speed, we would be in more danger to stay where we were, we began to explore options to extricate ourselves.  Initial gentle bursts of reverse power had no effect but a stronger burst, mingled with judicious prods of the extendable boat hook and redistribution of weight, managed to free Cadenza from her rocky perch and she slid gratefully back into deeper water.   As you may imagine, we were a more than a little concerned about possible damage, but subsequent diving under the boat showed that the only indignity she had suffered was the loss of some antifouling.  (We knew those stabilising fins were a multi-use feature!!)   With relief we reported back to the Coastguard and were most impressed that they continued to monitor us until we were safely moored at night.

We had read that there was to be a special carnival weekend in the small town of Scarriff on the lake edge and decided to join the festivities.  Such activities are always fun and a great way to meet people.  The grand occasion was the opening of the new Waterways Ireland building by the TD (Member of Parliament) for County Clare, Sila DeValera, grand daughter of the very man responsible for the Irish Constitution.  Suddenly we found ourselves virtual guests of honour – ‘world famous in County Clare’!!.  No-one could envisage that people could come from as far afield as New Zealand and certainly not by sea as we had done.  Bunting was produced to adorn our wee boat, reporters and photographers arrived for an interview, and we were visited by various dignitaries like the Chairman of Waterways Ireland and the Inspector of Navigation - each and every one offering assistance should we need at any time.  So we dug into our deepest locker and came up with our Sunday best to attend the occasion – not quite the garden party hat and gloves, I fear, but people were too polite to comment.

It was a grand weekend.  Once the official part of the opening was complete, the village square became the centre of non-stop activity – children’s busking and drawing competitions, a craft fair where traveling ‘tinkers’ produced copper coal scuttles, beaten and folded together by hand in the old-fashioned way and local women knitted the most beautiful Aran-type sweaters.  In the evening everyone collected pints of Guinness from the local pub and gathered to listen to traditional Irish music and watch the dancing.  Suddenly the gangly young girl from the supermarket developed a captivating pair of twinkling feet and became the most sought-after dancing partner as she whirled through the complicated sets. 

The more thought-provoking part of the weekend was provided by the presence of two groups from Northern Ireland – events like this being part of major initiatives to overcome the past troubled times of this Country.  Formed in the wake of the Omagh bombing some eight years ago, the Omagh Youth Choir has both Catholic and Protestant young people singing together like the proverbial angels.  The second visiting group was a youth hurling team, which had come to challenge the locals.  Hurling is one of the fastest and most energetic sports in the world – a Gaelic form of hockey, crossed with some of the principles of egg-and-spoon racing, but which seems to allow much more violence!  Although you are not actually supposed to whack people with your stick, it is apparently OK if you can say you were trying for the ball!  We marveled at the skills of the young people who kept up an unbelievable pace for two halves of 45 minutes each.  We will never know how they managed not to kill themselves or each other and were very relieved to find that relations between the Republic and the North seemed not to have worsened during the frenetic game!  We never did manage to come to grips with the complicated scoring system, but were reliably informed that someone did win in the end.

On the final, brilliantly sunny, day of the weekend, I joined a walking group to climb high in the hills and pretend I was fit and the walk was easy!  Hmm ….   Fortunately there were many excuses to pause and look back down to the glorious views over the lake and surrounding country.

Everywhere we have stopped has provided magic moments.  In Killaloe, at the southern extremity of Lough Derg, we discovered an Ogham stone.  These are peculiarly Irish standing stones dating from the 4^th to 7^th centuries AD.  Ogham, an early form of Irish script, used notched vertical strokes across a horizontal line.  This one had old Scandinavian runes on one side and Ogham on the other.  In the same churchyard was the most beautiful little oratory with a ‘fitted’ stone roof. We marveled at the craftsmanship which had produced such a piece of architecture – still standing after hundreds of years.

We spent a week at Portumna, wandering through the grounds of the 17^th century castle, being given fresh tomatoes, potatoes and red onions from the castle’s organic garden.  Afternoons here were spent ‘solving the problems of the world’ with the locals who gathered to sit on the harbour wall beside our boat with cups of tea (or stronger beverages as the hours wore on …..) and evenings were for walking in the nearby forest to watch the shy herds of red deer.

Irish people continue to humble us with their incredible generosity and kindness and we have made so many friends here it will be hard to leave.  But … in the small towns the Virginia creeper on the wee white-painted houses is now brilliant scarlet.  Chestnut conkers cascade in heavy showers from the trees and fallen leaves are piling up ankle-high in the streets.  The hills all around us are wearing skull caps of soft purple bell heather.  In the flatter areas the hay is cut and crops have been harvested leaving only fallow, ploughed fields.  Small tractors and trailers buzz to and fro through the narrow country lanes, like worker bees to their hives, as farmers bring home their loads of turf for winter fires.  As the tractors turn the sharpish corners, bricks of turf are catapulted from the top of the piles to the side of the road where local kids (me among them!) collect them to use for a last barbecue of the summer.  We celebrate the season by devouring the last plump and incredibly juicy blackberries – a glorious treat seemingly undiscovered by the locals. J (Just as I wrote that, one of our friends, Bridie, arrived with a home-cooked blackberry and apple pie for our dinner – how special!).

The mornings now dawn much later and the evenings and nights close in earlier, with that Autumn chill about them.  It’s time to be flying south with the swallows which are leaving in whirling droves.  It’s hard to believe that we have travelled over 1151 miles and worked 297 locks in the past seven months.  This will be our last update for 2006.  We now have a homeward flight booked and will be spending the last few weeks travelling a little further north before tucking Cadenza to bed for the winter, awaiting our return next year.  She is booked into a yard on Lough Ree where the owner has a Kiwi wife – she will be in good hands, we know.

See you all soon

Warren and Louise Shave

Chapter Nine - ‘Twould make even angels weep

We’re gazing out Cadenza’s windows in utter amazement and awe as the poor local birds attempt up-wind, crazy landings in gale-force winds (Force 9) and driving, horizontal rain.  I’m really concerned that they may not have had time to anchor their nests in the, as yet, sparsely covered tree branches and they will have no chance of family life this year!  It’s like the worst Wellington airport experience you can imagine.  We’ve just watched as a support boat has headed out through the harbour entrance, crashing and banging, to rescue a hire boat in apparent trouble.  What on earth happened to summer!  Since we arrived in Ireland the weather has been, bluntly, appalling.  According to the lock keepers – and almost everyone else we’ve met – we missed summer this year.  It was apparently in April…  Every day except three, it has rained and the temperatures are very low.  Thank heavens for all the winter gear we left on board.  We’ve needed every stitch of it in layers.  Even the Irish are struggling for conversation and we had to smile when a very brief moment between rainstorms, produced an automatic “Grand day”, from one elderly fellow.  We’ve decided that 2007 has identified a Version 4 of the usual greeting.

Now that I’ve got that off my chest I will endeavour to regain my usually optimistic spirit!!  The good news is that we are safely tucked into a delightful wee stone harbour at Dromod on Lough Bofin, north of Roosky (for those of you who follow our progress on your maps).  Here we will remain until the lake ceases to resemble a maelstrom.  The plan for 2007 is to head north up to Lough Erne, exploring as much as possible of the Shannon River and its contributory lakes.  We are lucky that we do have time on our side and, honestly, the weather has to improve – doesn’t it, she asks plaintively?!

Our arrival in Dublin on May 3 was really welcome – after 35-hour flights this time.  To have the smiling faces of our Irish Angels, Bridie and Damien, to meet us, was special.  They had driven all the way from Athlone to collect and take us to our Dublin hotel where we planned to spend a brief ‘unwinding time’, catching up on sleep and seeing a great play at the Abbey Theatre – “The Cavalcaders”.  Not content with one trip to Dublin, B & D returned to pick us up and appropriate us to stay with them while we sorted the re-launching of Cadenza from her winter storage shed.  Once more, we’ve been humbled by Irish hospitality.  They have taken such care of us and spent hours and driven hundreds of miles helping us to sort the minor problems (‘frozen’ rubber in toilet pump, solar panel reporting problem and even a broken wheelchair wheel), taking us shopping to provision the boat, filling our cupboards with home-made chutneys and jams…  ‘Thank you’ proves, once more, such an inadequate word. 

Cadenza was duly re-launched on 8 May.  She’d been well looked after at Lakeside Marina and she slid happily back into Irish waters to become, once more, a centre of attention.  Everyone who sees her stops to talk and we feel we are certainly doing our bit for the boat-building industry of NZ.  Probably because their owners have more sense, there are very few local boats using the River at present.  Most of the traffic seems to be hire boats – generally crewed by Swiss or Germans (mad-keen fishermen) who are obviously a hardy lot. 

After a few days in Athlone Marina, unpacking, fixing things, sorting gear and revelling in the wonderful skittering sound of wagtails dancing frantic mazurkas on/over the roof at 6am, we began the journey north.  Initially we are travelling over familiar ground.  Our first real night on the boat was spent in Blackbrink Bay, one of our favourite bays on Lough Ree, anchored off the oldest oak wood in Europe and watching on our depth sounder as shoals of fish moved under our hull, surfacing briefly to gorge themselves on the hatching mayflies.  At least a dozen crested grebes and a hundred white swans graced us with their presence during that first evening.

As we’ve progressed up-river, most things seem to be smaller and more picturesque – reflecting the comparative size of the river itself.  Villages have the usual plethora of pubs but often only one store, and that if you are lucky.  And yet, the most striking feature of this part of Ireland would have to be the row-upon-row of brand-new, seemingly very good quality, houses.  We’ve been stunned by these developments.  Will they all sell? Who will live in them all?  What will the inhabitants do for business?  Will they commute hundreds of miles to work?  As yet, this is all a new mystery to be completely solved, but, to be sure, if you are a builder/electrician/plumber in the world, there’s work for you here in the Emerald Isle (as long as the EU money and this boom lasts.)  It’s a different scene from the white-washed, thatched cottages of the 70’s and it seems almost surreal.

To take advantage of the third fine day in the month, we took the train from Dromod to Sligo.  It’s irresistible to have the train diverted for the wheelchair – the station masters seem to love the power it gives them to shake the locals out of their customary habit of always catching the train from the same platform!  It was great to whizz through the countryside and remind ourselves how the countryside at this time of year resembles the Irish flag itself – vivid green grass and brilliant golden gorse separated by incredible cascades of whitethorn.  A superb lunch beside the River Garavogue and a great wander through the town, capped the experience.

Initial problems with email seem now to have been sorted - (no thanks to clear.net!) - so we are back in communication.  For a while we were worried, as internet cafes are hardly prolific on the river bank, as you may imagine.  So, when the weather improves, we’ll update you again.  Meantime, continue to enjoy your lovely Indian Summer and keep your fingers and toes crossed for our Team NZ.

Warren and Louise Shave

[Ed: They won Race 1 on 01 June 2007 by 8 secs]

Chapter Ten - “A little wayside lake asleep, can catch the eyes of stars that peep” – (Child’s poem)

If you hold the tip of your thumb to the tip of your index finger, you will be able to visualise the size of the prolific blackberry blossoms, now replacing the cascading whitethorn in the fields and along the river banks.  If the blossoms are that size, how big will the berries finally be and, by extrapolation, how good will the pies taste?  And that’s not all the glory at present.  The water meadows are a carpet of golden irises and my milk jug is full of crimson clover, bright copper beech leaves, a primrose or two and a delicate early purple orchid.  And all of this despite the saying that, ‘land in this county (Leitrim) is sold not by the acre, but by the gallon’!!  Indeed the rain continues – sometimes, to quote our friend, Bridie, “coming down like stair rods!”), nights are cool and, on some days, the temperatures still only reach a high of about 9 degrees, but there are definite signs of summer.

On 19 May the wind dropped a little and we were able to leave Dromod Harbour and cross Lough Boffin and Lough Boderg to spend two delightful nights on anchor in the peace and serenity of Carnadoe Waters and Kilglass Lake.  The latter was so still and reflective that it seemed as though we were actually driving the boat through the clouds.  Swallows appeared to be swooping under and over us at the same time.  A gentle breeze, arriving in the evening, managed only to rustle the reeds around the margin of the lake.  It was like having a flock of green and gold flamingoes wading cautiously at our bow.

Kilglass, in Irish, means ‘the green church’.  Was it named because of the rocks on the hillsides where Mass was said during the religious persecution of penal times or because a new layer of moss and ivy was put on the church roof each time the bishop visited?  (There are always at least two versions of any explanation in this Country – makes for good stories.)  There is certainly thought that St Patrick visited this area in his 5^th century travels and there is a sobering cemetery on the hill above the lake, where victims of the dreadful potato famine (1845 – 49) are buried and remembered.  A plaque reminds the last buried that he/she must act as guardian until the next poor soul arrives.

The lakes in the north reflect the complex history of Ireland.  I remember writing, last year, of the Thames River, that you could teach history by simply travelling up-River, and the same seems to apply here.  The lakes cover all the ages.  Many of them have small, round, artificial islands – crannogs – which are the equivalent of a Ring Fort on water.  These date back to the Bronze Age and, like the Ring Forts, were used up to the 17^th century.  Originally constructed of timber rafts loaded with stones until they sank to the bottom, they are now mostly overgrown and used by graceful swans as isolated nesting sites.  If it were not for their almost perfectly round shape, they would now be difficult to distinguish from ‘ordinary’ islands with their ‘more modern’ ruined monastical settlements.  Our dinghy allows us to explore such places and quiet backwaters where we are the only humans.

For centuries the Shannon River was an important trading route through the heart of Ireland.  After the building of canals and improved navigation of the river during the 18^th and 19^th centuries, its importance continued until – like most of the mighty rivers of Europe – it was supplanted, commercially, by the railways. 

Continuing up the Shannon, we moored at the small villages of Drumsna and Jamestown – important crossing points of the river in early times.   17^th Century Jamestown was a delight – a wee town which really knows how to make the best of itself.  Its local historian has produced a pamphlet and numbered map which takes the visitor on a guided tour of every conceivable point of interest – the ‘St Brigid’, one of the large barges used for transporting barrels of Guinness; a tiny 19^th century octagonal gate lodge which was originally home to two families; the village water pump once a feature of every Irish village, and, best of all, the round tower of the original garrison now put to modern use with a green post box in its stone work.  I was not game to actually post my cards in it, as I could not fathom how the postman could get them out!!  I’ve decided that I could definitely put Murrays Bay on the world map with a little thought and imagination.  It was intriguing to us that both Drumsna and Jamestown seem to have by-passed the frenzy of new house-building so evident in most of this western part of the country, making them all the more appealing.

By now the Irish Elections were in full swing.  All prior polling and commentary had made no secret of the fact that Bertie Ahern’s financial scandals would see the end of his party’s hold on Government, so you may imagine the amazement of the entire Nation when he rose like the proverbial phoenix from the ashes (or as one irreverent commentator put it, like Lazarus from the Grave) to take his party to their third term.   Although the Irish have a system of proportional representation, it’s somewhat different from ours in NZ.  They have multi-candidate seats and the most incredibly complex system of preferential and surplus allocation of votes.  I had been to a political meeting with the Delaneys in Athlone, so was intrigued, first-hand, with the ramifications of the exercise.  Votes are collected 2/3 days early from far-flung parts of the country (Aran Islands), polls are open on Election Day from 7.30am to 10.30pm.  Votes are not counted until the following day so there is no radio or TV coverage until about the middle of that day.  Posters are allowed during the election and for ‘a while after’ and every lamp post or pole has at least three, resplendent with photos of beaming, benevolent-looking candidates exhorting you to vote for No 1!  Exit polls are allowed.  The resultant situation reminds us very much of our first MMP election in NZ.  Now almost two weeks later, Bertie (Fianna Fail) is still attempting to arrange a working government with whomever he can – Progressive Democrats, Greens, Labour  or .. Watch this space… (Shades of Winnie the Kingmaker ..)

Eventually, via a series of smaller lakes like the one in the child’s poem above, we arrived at Lough Key.  It is said that this lake has an island for every county in Ireland.  I dare to say that this glorious part of the world will forever be one of our favourites.  The lake has everything magic - wooded islands (with 12^th century ruined abbeys and 19th century follies); reed-fringed margins to provide homes for hundreds of nesting birds; and, for those of us privileged to be here, lovely stone mooring jetties in safe bays. 

Every day was a delight.  Breakfast was usually interrupted by the various resident duck families, who had obviously smelled the toast.  The tiny ducklings, not yet sure of their favourite gourmet delights, alternated between gobbling for our crumbs and attempting, unsuccessfully, to lift themselves from the water to snap at little flies above their heads.  They brought a smile to our faces, as they so much resembled our wee grand daughter, Talei, whose attempts at jumping, until recently, included only her upper body – feet staying firmly on the ground.   The evening entertainment was provided by the most handsome Great Crested Grebe prancing about with his brilliant Louis XIV costume.  Had he doffed his superb feathered hat at the end of his performance, we would not have been surprised.  Strangely, he did not seem the slightest bit bothered by our presence and often came within feet of the boat.  Many Little Grebes fished shyly at a greater distance.

This was once the territory of the great lords of the Kingdom of Moylurg, the MacDermotts, who ruled until 1603 when their lands were confiscated by the English under James 1 and given to another king – this time a certain John King from Staffordshire.  His brief was to bring the Irish to obedience by enforcing the penal laws in the area.  Over the next 150 years his descendants proceeded to make their name and fortune and built the great mansion of Rockingham House.  Sadly, Rockingham was destroyed by a fire in 1957.  Nothing remains now of the house, apart from the underground tunnels used by the servants to move around the house and grounds without being seen by the nobility.  However, with great forethought, the land was purchased by the Irish Government and the entire area – some 290 hectares – is now forest park.  And we could moor beside it and explore it for a whole week. J

Wilderness trails led through different areas of the forest – beech, birch, conifer – and bog gardens with the most spectacular (and in full flower!!), mossy-trunked rhododendrons.  Not since Nepal have I seen anything like them.  And the birds!  Is there somewhere in heaven where they give special voice training to Irish birds?  The Morning Chorus was like complex polyphony, sung by the most talented choir of Cistercian monks.  On our rambles through the forest we saw robins, blue tits and tree creepers.  The calling of cuckoos became almost commonplace.  The paths were lined with the deep blue shades of germander speedwell, bugle and bluebells and the vivid purple of early orchids contrasted with the white carpet of wild garlic.  You simply cannot imagine the beauty of the place.  For me it was utter Paradise and I couldn’t walk enough miles each day.  Generally I would suss out a track on one day and then, if possible, Warren would come the next day.  Because the paths were so well formed and maintained, the system worked well and he was able to see almost as much as me.  Only a few really boggy areas were beyond reach of the wheelchair.

We’ve learnt to respect the rapid-changing conditions of these large fresh-water lakes.  Within minutes, they can mutate from serene mirrors to white-crested, almost angry, waters.  However, just as in our own Gulf, there is almost always a sheltered anchorage, so we were able to move easily from our favourite mooring off the Forest Park to the enclosed harbour at Boyle, if the lake cut up too much.

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Boyle is a lovely hillside town through which we had passed on our train voyage to Sligo.  Now we explored it at leisure, sheltering in the abbey ruins in the rain, enjoying lunch in the old Royal Hotel, choosing ultra-fresh vegetables, sea trout and home-made relishes from the organic farmers’ market.  We visited the refurbished King House – a lovely Palladian Mansion built by the aforementioned King Family before they moved to Rockingham and now an Interpretive Centre, where activities for children – and child-like grown-ups! – include writing with quill pens in copperplate script, making soft leather shoes, donning warm Irish woollen cloaks and learning how to fasten them with traditional pins.  After the departure of the King Family, this mansion served as a military barracks for the fearsome Connaught Rangers (Wellington called them the ‘Devil’s Own’) from 1788 until Irish Independence in 1922.  The Regiment has a special interest for Antipodeans, as these fearsome guys served with the Anzacs at Gallipoli.   The Abbey was a surprise – the only Cistercian Abbey we have ever seen with quite intricate decoration - carvings of animals and even a Little Green Man (one of my fascinations) adorned the tops of the columns. 

It was really hard to leave our Paradise, but, if we are to achieve our goal for the year, we do have to keep moving. 

I know I keep talking about Irish hospitality, but you have no concept of how kind people are.  Bridie arranged for a mooring for us in a private marina at Carrick-on-Shannon.  She had phoned Tom Murphy, who knew that Paul Martin was away with his boat ….  We had scarcely entered through the narrow gap in the reeds when everyone in the marina arrived to make us welcome.  We were given a key to the gate, shown how the mink have to be trapped in the area (or they get onto your boats with their fish dinners!), offered lifts to the market, etc, etc.

Carrick gave us a marvellous evening of traditional Irish music – Uilleann pipes, fiddle and flutes.  Lots of good craic (conversation) and stories.

One of the only ‘down-sides’ of living on a boat on canals and rivers is that you feel the need to get off and get high! (metaphorically speaking ..)  We were delighted one morning when Bridie phoned to say it was freezing cold where she was (well, it definitely was where we were too) and she was on her way to rescue us for the afternoon.  So what did we want to do?  Well, - how did she fancy an adventure to try to find the Drumanone Dolmen?  To give her credit, she didn’t blink and off we set – and we found it.  It’s the most superb dolmen we have ever seen – one of the largest in Ireland, measuring some 4.5 m by 3.3 m and constructed before 2000 BC.  Suffice to say it was down a road, up a small, unmarked lane, over a railway line (which required the opening and closing of several gates), up another small bit of lane, through a farm, through another small gate … you get the picture.  But it was marvellous.  Flushed with success, we then set off to discover a Bronze Age passage tomb – enough said!!  (She suggested that Warren throw away that guide book…)  

However, the search actually provided the most magnificent - though completely unplanned  - climax to our voyages so far.  During the course of the expedition we left Lough Key, driving higher and higher and crossing the Shannon watershed.  From the top of the world we could look down on Lough Arrow which drains in the other direction and exits at Sligo on the west coast.  The scenery was in stark contrast to the wooded lakes we had left behind.  Here soft streaks of brown furze coloured the bog areas and the landscape was broken only by the low drystone walls so typical of Connaught.  It was not hard to imagine the trials and difficulties inflicted on these people by Cromwell as he sent the native Irish “to hell or to Connaught”.

We celebrated that night with a delightful dinner in a hotel she knew.  It almost pains me to confess that Irish steak is the best in the world – and they know how to cook it perfectly.

Warren and Louise Shave

Chapter Eleven – The Northern Irish Experience

The anticipation we had for travelling this northern section of the Irish waterways has certainly been justified J.

In the past month we’ve come from Leitrim (in the Republic), at the start of the Shannon-Erne waterway, all the way to Belleek (on Lower Lough Erne in Northern Ireland) – as far north as it is possible to go by boat.  On this waterway every moment of every day has provided different scenery and varied experiences. Almost everything in Northern Ireland is different: the accents and pace of speech, the absence of spoken Irish, the money (Pounds instead of Euros), the cost of living (which appears to be less – certainly in terms of food and wine), post boxes (which are red instead of green), there’s less of the flurry of new-house building.  The only constants are the same friendly approach and conversation which characterises this Country and the Music.

When we last wrote, we were moored at Drumshanbo at the southern end of Lough Allen, making plans for the journey north, while enjoying the weekend of An Tostal (festival of Irish music, fairs and medieval jousting – the latter taken extremely seriously with real weapons and battles which were certainly not choreographed!).  Shortly after, we moved to Leitrim to await the Delaneys who were making a very rapid passage up from Athlone in their boat, to join us for 10 days.  And what days they were - nine marvellous, stupendous, fantastic, sunny days in a row.  The ship’s log for those days makes great mention of delightful evening barbecues, calm waters, short sleeves…

With their help, we moved quickly through the 16 locks which begin this waterway.  Although quite deep, for Irish locks, at 3 metres, they are all automated which makes life easier.  In advance we had purchased a special card which allows us to operate the locks, pump out facilities, showers and even occasional laundries which are provided along the entire length of the waterway.  Once you have inserted your card, a series of excellent instructions takes you through the necessary sequence.  Unlike similar French locks, the sequence is not pre-set and you can operate gates, shut paddles, etc, at will, all at the push of a button.  (And, mostly, they work seamlessly!).  The great thing is that there is always a Waterways person who responds to any call for help and seems really pleased to do so.  Waterways Ireland, with the encouragement and support of the Inland Waterways Association, has done a superb job of providing free, floating mooring jetties/marina piers with water and rubbish collection.  It has been one of the ‘Hands across the Border’ projects – seen as non-political – and is highly successful and so much appreciated.

We also appreciate the great system of markers used up here.  Each marker is half-red, half-white.  Mostly they are numbered and you pass on the white side of the marker.  Solid red markers alert you to dangers which, on the chart, carry such dire warnings as “Keep out of this Bay!”  With my ever-failing eyesight, I am much happier trying to spot these markers than the somewhat variable black and red ones in the south.  We also feel it must be much easier for non-boaties and hire boats to follow.  However, just to keep us on our toes (and so that we know we are definitely still in Ireland) every so often the same number is used twice – or the marker you are expecting has been relocated! 

As soon as you enter Lower Lough Erne, you go back in time.  There is evidence of settlement in Celtic times and that was followed by the monks, who cleared and farmed some of the islands, building their monasteries and tall round towers.  Imagine our fortune at being able to moor at these islands – often the only boat – and then wander, in the late evening or early morning, over and through the ruins (or bush-wack through the nettles and brambles as I did) to find an exquisite Romanesque doorway and a circular graveyard – all that is left of such a settlement.  Special memories will include Devenish Island (6^th century monastery) with its unique, intricately carved Irish Cross - the detail of each leaf and vine still clearly visible after all those centuries.  Devenish was one of those early monasteries which provided accommodation for early traders and travellers using the Erne Route - rather like an ancient B & B.  The view over the lake was breathtaking – what money they could make if they were to return and go into business!  On White Island the cross was very plain by comparison, but the Hiberno-Romanesque arch was the gateway to something very special.  Here is a series of eight, 9^th century enigmatic stone figures, which have only recently been discovered.  They had been used as building blocks in the construction of the later 12^th century church – their faces turned to the wall, probably because they were just a little too ‘Celtic’ in pose, for Christian comfort!!!   Every detail of dress is still perfect.  You can still see the hem of the tunics and even the brooch worn by one.  The tops have slots or furrows, indicating that they were probably used as supports for a staircase, or perhaps front armrests for a preaching chair. 

The National Trust has three major properties in this area, two of which are possible to visit by boat.  At Crom Estate the ‘new’ castle is still inhabited by its owner but most of the estate, including the ruins of the former castle, is run as a wildlife sanctuary and open to the public.  During our wandering in the grounds, we were lucky to see red squirrels, and we know there are pine martens, badgers and otters, but as yet, no luck there L.  (We plan to return on the way south.).  Castle Coole has a different story.  Built by James Wyatt for one of the Plantation families, it is one of the most beautiful Neo-Classical country houses in Ireland.  Sadly, the owner was unable to keep it as he could not pay some Death Duties.  Fortunately for us, he gave it to the Government, complete with all the original furniture and much of the original furnishings.  It is not-to-be-missed.  I’ve never seen such glorious plaster work surrounding fireplaces and doors.

Often, in our travels, we seem to have been in a town either just before, or just after, some performance we would have loved to have attended.  This time, by chance, we got it right and managed both a concert (Cara Dillon, an Irish traditional singer of great reputation) and the following night a delightful one-woman show called “The Knicker Lady” – a romp through history using the proverbial.  The former was spell-binding, the latter hilarious.  Then, to cap off those days, there was a jazz concert at Castle Coole – a very professional group from Belfast, one of whom had been with Acker Bilk!  In fact this concert would normally have been performed outside, on the lawn and steps of the castle, but in view of the weather, it was held in the restored dairy/laundry building – a great venue.  At first we were a wee bit worried.  The weather was so bad that day that obviously most locals had been dissuaded from coming.  (Warren had to convince me to walk the 3 kms between showers to go!!).  When the group began, the attendees almost outnumbered the group, but nobody worried – jazz is really for the players to enjoy and if anyone else is there, that’s a bonus.  They discovered we were from NZ and dedicated a song to us and even presented us with their CD.

Social life continues in various forms!  With Damien and Bridie we were very warmly welcomed to the Lough Erne Yacht Club for a weekend.  This yacht club is one of at least four claiming to be the oldest in the world.  This claim, as you may imagine, makes for interesting debate over a Guinness!  It was a Regatta weekend so it was great fun to watch the racing and to meet people with similar interests.  (We pass on their best wishes to all at Gulf Harbour Yacht Club).  And the meals, the meals …

The knowledge that the America’s Cup racing was in full swing would have driven us mad, had it not been for the amazing texting network which kept us in touch.  Bill J (in Austria or wherever) forwarded the on-the-spot results from Amanda (his daughter in Valencia) and in turn we forwarded those to our Nicky and Steve in France.  Then we waited with baited breath for Steve T’s expanded account by email.  Eventually, at Enniskillen, we found a sympathetic pub staff who tucked us into a corner, fed us, changed one of their TV’s to the required channel and tried really hard to understand what on earth was going on!  So we were able to watch the most exciting of the races (Race 3) and celebrate, and two others after which we commiserated with our guys who tried so hard.

One hilarious discovery of the past 24 hours is that, despite the fact that it is my family who came from Ireland, it is Warren who has a namesake island in this Lough.  Honestly!  We spent last night anchored there.  Unfortunately it was too reed-fringed for him to be able to get ashore to claim Shave Island but we drank to its health and beauty anyway!

Another pleasure has been the occasional early-morning dinghy expedition to watch as teenage grebes and cygnets receive parental advice on what should constitute suitable breakfast fare for them.

And the weather?  Well, no wonder it took Darwin so long to convince people that Evolution was a long, slow process.  It is our firm belief that webbed feet developed very quickly in the Big Picture – ours must be budding already!  Everyone will know of the dreadful floods in the UK.  Our Nicky and her family have struck unseasonable rainy weather for their term in France and here we have had at least some rain on most days in June. It has been sobering to hear, as part of the daily weather forecasts, advice as to whether people may expect a brief window of opportunity to spray their potato plants for blight.  You can’t help remembering the dreadful 19^th century famine caused by the blight.

We have learnt to make use of any gap in the wet stuff and, surprisingly, have managed to cope with moving, navigating, mooring, washing, shopping, engine servicing, fuelling, explorations and just general living – which could have been fairly tricky on a 10 metre boat.  However we thought you might enjoy a selection of useful descriptions provided by fellow boaties and locals:

“You wouldn’t come to Fermanagh (the County we are in) for the weather..”

“We wouldn’t have the lovely lakes if it weren’t for the rain..”

“Fermanagh will be grand when they get the roof on..”

“Sorry, we don’t stock those..”   (in answer to Warren’s request for just a half day of fine weather)

For all that, the scenery in this place is without parallel – we are so lucky to have done this.

Chapter Twelve – “Turn left by the old dog”

The following is a true story.  None of the names have been changed “to protect those involved.” 

Background:
Above the tiny village of Keshcarrigan on the Shannon-Erne Waterway, there is a lovely ‘mountain’ – Sheebeg (about 500’).  Steeped in folklore, its summit is topped by a huge cairn which is supposedly the final resting place of the giant Finn McCool (he of Giant’s Causeway fame) and the slopes have a series of standing stones and a great dolmen – the bed of the mythical Diarmuid and Grainne.  According to the books we’d read, a meandering walkway (named for the blind harpist O‘Carolan) allows you to explore the area and the monuments.  You will not be surprised to hear that we were keen to do so.

Characters: 
Paddy-Jo (P-J) and Mikhail (M): (Two friendly Waterways staff who kept crossing our path in various places as we came through the locks on the waterway and they went about their daily chores – checking facilities, repairing locks, rescuing damsels in distress when laundry machines were stubborn).  Both are locals!

Herself (H) (Louise – the damsel? – occasionally the object of above rescues)

Problem: 
Nowhere on map or chart could we find where this walkway began.

Solution:
Ask a local.

The following ensued:

H: Good morning – Grand Day – How are you keeping?

P-J: And to ye.  We’re grand an’ all.  How’s Himself?

H: Sure he’s grand too.  Thank you both very much for fixing that machine yesterday.  I hope you have a quiet day today.

P-J: (The Boss and therefore Spokesman of the Team) Sure, t’was no bother.  Glad to be of help to ye.

H: I wonder if I could ask you something.

P-J:  Now, if you want to ask about the weather we’re not going to tell you in case you don’t want to hear it!

H: No, not at all – it’s lovely today and we thought we’d climb Sheebeg to see Finn’s cairn.

P-J: Sure, and ye know ‘tis a long way round and steepish.

H: Yes, we thought we’d take a picnic and make a day of it.  The views from the top should be wonderful today.

     Here’s my question.  Could you tell me which road out of the village leads to the walkway?

P-J (muses then turns to M):  Now, Mikhail, I’ve not been up there for many years.  Do you think she should go left or right?

M (after some thought): Well now, ye know, I’ve not been there meself, but I think maybe if she turns right?  Did we not pass that road on our way in yesterday?  Is it not the way that goes up beside Dechlan’s house on the far side?

P-J: I wonder if it’s not the one that goes near Deidree’s house by the big oak?

M:  It could be, but it might be the other right one that goes near the lake – where we stopped for our coffee?

P-J: You know I think the turning might be where that old dog lay – near Sinead’s – the old farm?

The conversation continues in similar vein for some minutes, before a brilliant solution is found.

P-J:  You know, ye might ask at the store.  She’ll be able to tell ye.  She’s from these parts.  Now, is there anything else we can help ye with?

Profuse thanks from Herself followed, wide smiles of relief lit up their faces, and we parted with many good wishes (as you do).

Sequel: 
So we wandered into the village to ask at the store and were – just as helpfully – directed to the hairdresser – who directed us to the pub….

Result: 
In the absence of signs, we eventually decided to try the left road at the end of the village. (In effect, either road would have served).  We duly climbed the hill, found the cairn and the dolmen was just near where the old dog still lay – although we did not meet Dechlan, Deidree or Sinead!   (The picnic was most welcome. J)

We finally left the northern world of magical islands with names like Lusty Beg and Lusty More. (Unlikely names for islands with monastical settlements, we considered!)  For a few days we were kept busy changing courtesy flags every hour or so, as we switched from Northern Ireland into the Republic and back again.  The waterway is no respecter of politics!

On the narrow stretches between the lakes – now lined with glorious-scented meadowsweet – we were accompanied by brilliant kingfishers.  Maybe it’s because we have such a quiet engine, but we do seem to be privileged with more than our fair share of these glorious birds.  They flashed just in front of the bow in relays.  On the lakes themselves, the reed ‘flamingoes’ of our early days had now become a phalanx of Roman soldiers, marching along the banks with their black bullrush spears.  Occasional days were so still, with reflections you would normally expect in summer, and our flags flapped lazily, if at all.  More often the winds were strong and the water lily leaves on the surface were tossed in the air like dinner plates, as though by some unseen underwater juggler.  We’ve finally seen a swan carrying a wee one on her back and another pair of highly successful parents proudly leading a record 10 cygnets – all nearly fully grown.  We’ve watched mink on their fishing expeditions and swallows massing in their hundreds. (It does seem early for them to plan their departure! Is there a message here?)  On a sad note, we’ve seen the effects of the vast amount of fertiliser that is now used on the farms.  Many otter habitats must be ruined and often there is a sludgy foam in the water.  Thistles in the fields are chest-high – is this another effect?

Each tiny village en route south seems to have provided special memories.  We found examples of huge straw Mummer figures in the schoolhouse at Knockninny; intricate High Crosses and round 16^th Century grave stones at Galloon.  Timing our arrival back in Dromod for a Sunday, we enjoyed an unparalleled experience in the museum of the – now disused -Cavan & Leitrim narrow gauge railway.  Here Warren was in heaven.  Never in his life had he seen such an eclectic collection of ancient/classic? means of transport – buses, ambulances, fire engines, planes, submarines, trucks, armoured cars, Guinness steam engines … all in various stages of restoration.  Of course his enthusiasm served only to further inspire (if that was necessary) the wonderful eccentric codgers who run this place in their spare time at weekends.  We learnt every detail of every machine and were even taken for a ride on their fully restored train.

The river has changed since our upward journey.  It is swollen with rain – about a metre above normal and overflowing into the water meadows.  Some mooring jetties are underwater and the current is very strong.  Waiting in the stream for locks, passing under bridges and mooring on jetties require much assessment, care (and some luck) before you accomplish the actual event.  Generally we reverse into a mooring so that it is easier for Warren to get off the boat.  On arrival back in Athlone, we managed to accomplish this – with great relief I might add - only to discover that the proliferation of hire boats arriving in the marina seemed to have a magnetic attraction for Cadenza.  Three times within the first hour we found one draped across our bows, as they misjudged the effect of the current and slammed, side-on, into us.   Since some of them were really large, heavy boats, we were incredibly fortunate not to sustain major damage.  Thanks to the great skills of New Zealand boatbuilders, the incredible fending-off efforts of all our neighbours and our own anchor (which protrudes a wee bit beyond the bow), we escaped completely unscathed, but, in self-defence, we immediately moved to an upstream mooring.

Athlone has been our haven for the past two weeks as we progress some important maintenance.  To reward us for our mundane efforts on this front, we have been rescued several times by the Delaneys who have driven us across Ireland to see some things which would never have been possible by boat – fulfilled dreams for us both.  Since I had prowled similar wonders in Orkney, I’d always wanted to see Newgrange and Knowth, the 3000BC passage tomb complexes of the Boyne Valley, north of Dublin, built by those ancient peoples with such precision that the sun’s rays light up the passage on the Solstice.  Warren had a dream to visit Birr Castle – a Plantation Castle owned and lived in by the same family for fourteen generations.  At the time of the signing of our Treaty of Waitangi in NZ, the Third Earl of Rosse was doing everything he could to assist his poor tenants during the Great Famine and then building the largest telescope in the world – through which he discovered the Whirlpool Nebula.  I loved the gardens with their 300 year old box hedges – the tallest in the world – and the equally old Carroll oak. (The land was originally owned by the O’Carrolls, so if Warren can claim his Island, that oak tree is mine!).

Our friends at Gulf Harbour Yacht Club will be pleased to hear that we performed the official exchange of burgees with the Lough Ree Yacht Club Commodore on a lovely afternoon, after three new boats of the unique Shannon One Class had been launched at the Club.  It’s a very special feeling to represent your own Club at a time like this.  They all loved the fact that our Club was so young when theirs is one of the very oldest – hands across the sea/lake or whatever!

Cautionary tales from this year include: Irish boaties usually wear life jackets and I have certainly taken to doing so here.  Recently for the first time, we had to deploy a life ring ‘in anger’ to rescue a Swiss lady who had fallen in the water.  Now that was scary.  She simply stepped back off a jetty and fell in – and she couldn’t swim …

Also met a guy whose wife had fallen and broken her shoulder while attempting to moor the boat.  Suddenly I am much more aware of my frailty … definitely getting older.

Having said that, our plan now is to head south to enjoy our last few days revisiting some of our favourites like Clonmacnoise.  Cadenza will go back to Lakeside Marina on 22 August for the winter months as Warren heads home to prepare for getting his shoulder fixed and I go to look after the Odyssey Irish Programme.

This is our last newsletter for this year – another memorable one for us.

There may well be a change of crew for the beginning of next year as I do hope for some work in May.  At this stage, plans are fluid.

Kindest regards to all

Warren and Louise Shave

Cadenza in 2008
Here is an update from our intrepid travellers and sometime race finishers on Condrieu, the Gulf Harbour based Logan.

To pay or not to pay that is the question …?   Surely an Irish conundrum.

When we shipped Cadenza to London in 2006 we were not required to pay any duty or VAT.  We were granted Temporary Importation that allowed personal use for 18 months.  It eventuated that each winter when we put the boat into storage and left the EC to return to NZ, this time away from the EC was added to the 18 months allowed.  Thus we have been able to extend our EC voyaging to a third year.  It is now time to decide whether we pay the £10,700  in duty and VAT outstanding, which would enable us to sell Cadenza in the EC (probably the UK).  Otherwise we are required to ship Cadenza out of the EC, at this stage by 18 January 2009.

Cadenza is at present in Athlone on the Shannon in the middle of Ireland.  We have established that if we collected Cadenza from Ireland, crossed back to the UK, continued on to France, then by canal and coastal passages through Europe and Scandinavia, arrived at Norway, we would then be outside the EC and not liable for the £10,700 payment. This would be an ambitious voyage but we have devised a plan that leaves our options open. We will set off on the adventure and market Cadenza as we travel. If we can achieve a satisfactory sale price our voyage would terminate, otherwise Norway and the northern lights beckon. We will advertise Cadenza on www.apolloduck.co.uk. This web site has been recommended to us by both buyers and sellers who have had success with it.

Our rough plan is as follows –

          Preparing Cadenza in Athlone                             1 week

          Athlone – Dublin (via Grand Canal)                      2 weeks

          Dublin – Isle of Man                                         2 weeks

          Isle of Man – Glasson                                       2 weeks

          Lancaster Canal                                              1 week

          Leeds & Liverpool Canal                                    4 weeks

          Calder/Trent/Witham Rivers                               2 weeks

          The Wash – Norfolk Broads                                2 weeks

                                                          Total            16 weeks

The Norfolk Broads is an area that we have never been to but it is somewhere we would expect the traditional lines of the Logan 33 to attract potential purchasers.

Louise is to lead a tour group through France in May. Thus we have enlisted the assistance of Richard Lorimer for the first stages of the voyage. He is a friend from our university student days and has travelled with us previously on some of the French Canals. Louise will join us in mid-June, either on the Isle of Man or in north-west England depending on the progress that has been achieved.

There is sure to be general appreciation of her return as she has agreed to continue her literate and more loquacious recounting of our experiences and adventures. Meanwhile if you hear of any potential purchasers of a well cared for Logan 33 in England please ask them to contact us by email at shavings@clear.net.nz we would be delighted to hear from them.

Warren and Louise Shave

Chapter Thirteen- Dublin

Hi All,

Cadenza arrived in England on 31st May.

We had wonderful weather in Ireland this year.  For example from the 4th of May when Richie Lorimer and I arrived, till the 16th when we reached Dublin with Cadenza we had no rain.  In that time (with considerable help from our friends Damien & Bridie Delaney of Athlone) we had collected Cadenza and brought her via the Grand Canal from the Shannon River to Dublin.  It was wonderful to be able work the boat without having the rear awning out - it made it much easier to move around.

We stayed 10 days in Ringsend Basin.  There was an Inland Waterways boat rally over that time which made for pleasant company.  The basin is convenient located in downtown Dublin, up a lock from the Liffey.  When Cadenza and crew had been prepared for sea we moved to Poolbeg Marina in Dublin harbour for diesel.   What a contrast.  There were gale force winds, heavy rain, and monster wakes from some of the river vessels (but not the large container ships or ferries).  We were pleased to escape after two nights.

Our first sea trip was a two hour run up the coast to Malahide.  There we anchored in a peaceful river estuary.  The forecast was good so the next day before 6am we set off for the Isle of Man.  Ten hours later we had travelled 70 miles and reached Port St Mary, the fast time because of considerable help from the tide.  The only place in the Isle of Man that has pontoon berths is Douglas, in an inner harbour above tide gates.  But the TT motorcycle races were in progress so all berths were taken.  The tides are from 5 to 7 metres and the harbour walls immensely high with vertical ladders.  We anchored off the first night, then entered an inner harbour that dries and moored by a ladder.  Richie was able to get ashore and take the narrow gauge steam train to Douglas.  He confirmed with the Harbourmaster that no berth would be available.  Meanwhile, tilted on the sand, I prepared a course for England.

The next day, Sat 31st, leaving at 8am, 10 hours of uneventful travel saw us arrive at the entrance to the River Lune in Morecombe Bay.  The markers were few and quite different from the chart and with 3 knots of tide we were fortunate not to ground in our sprint across the sandbanks. When finally between river banks we did run aground three times we just turned off the engine and waited for the tide to lift us off.  It didn't take long.  When we arrived off the sea lock at Glasson we were unsure if it would operate on a Saturday.  We could not get a response by phone or VHF.  However at the predicted time of one hour before high water it opened showing a green light.  Two yachts suddenly also appeared and we all went in.  The lock to the boat harbour was also worked for us - it won't be after sunset and it was after 9pm by then.  Dinner at about 10pm was very welcome.

Thus with the change of plans it means that Louise will be joining at Glasson on the 5th June rather than the Isle of Man.

Warren and Louise Shave

Chapter Fourteen - Journey’s End

A publishing friend once advised me that I would probably not be a successful author, as my nature “is such that I tend to recount adventures as though they were no bother at all”.  “People like a bit of drama,” he advised sagely. 

So now, without any fear of contradiction (even from my husband), I categorically state that, during the past two months, we have experienced more heart-stopping moments and, thus-far-touch-wood, avoided more calamities than I ever thought possible for two old codgers supposed simply to be enjoying a tranquil and restful boating holiday! 

I take up where the Skipper left off..

The last stage of my own arrival on Cadenza on June 5 was made incredibly easy – thanks to Narrow Boat friends, Heather and David, who collected me from Manchester Airport and drove me to find the boys in Glasson Dock.  I was so relieved to see their friendly faces after my most-unfriendly grilling by an officious Customs Officer who seemed to find it unbelievable that I should choose to fly to Manchester from Paris.  I must admit, by the time I had managed to convince him that I had neither terrorist nor illegal immigrant intentions, I had begun to ponder the same question myself!  I somehow restrained myself from asking him scathingly why they had bothered to build international airports at both cities.  However, once on the boat, after a lovely meal, much good ‘craik ‘and a few celebratory glasses of good NZ white, life took on a better hue and forward plans were made for the next couple of weeks. 

We were incredibly lucky with beautiful sunny weather for our trip up the Lancaster Canal and we revelled in the variations of the canal.  Attractive tree-lined sections wound their relatively lock-free way up over aqueducts to more open sections where we could see down over Morecombe Bay with its vast expanses of sand at low tide.  We moored right in the heart of Lancaster City beside the old canalside mills which had been supplied by coal barges until 1947 and which are now converted to classy inner city apartments. 

When the boys had originally arrived in Glasson from the Isle of Man, they had contacted British Waterways to arrange permits for Cadenza’s cruising and a booking for the Ribble Link which connects the Lancaster with the Leeds & Liverpool Canal.  Unfortunately, on return to Glasson, we discovered that the Link was fully booked for passage until the end of July.  We had no choice but to wait for favourable weather and go back to sea to come in, further down the coast, on the Ribble Estuary and travel up the Douglas River.  We used most of the time for essential maintenance but did also manage a delightful bus trip, up to Keswick in the Lake District – Beatrix Potter territory.

The tides in this area of the coast vary from 4.8 metres at Glasson (where we had to exit on one tide) to 7.5 metres at Ribble Estuary (where we had to enter on the next tide, once there was sufficient water to pass through the sea lock).  As the black-headed gull flies (must use local birds!), the voyage is 50 miles.  At our cruising speed and in reasonable conditions, this would take only 8.5 hours.  Unfortunately, conditions can change very quickly on this coast and, with the added complications of no really safe intermediate harbour and time to kill before our arrival at the right stage of the tide, even the prospect of the voyage was all pretty nerve racking for this Cowardly Lion.  In the event, it proved to be one of the more torrid of our voyages and I remember muttering, fairly grimly, that my days at sea were now numbered!  We bashed our way through short, steep, choppy waves of 2 – 3 metres and, as I lay on the floor, I thanked my stars that Cadenza had more fortitude than one of her crew.  It was a real comfort to me that Rich was still with us to keep Warren company, as I would not have managed that task well.  Finally, after 12 hours, we were able to negotiate our way past scary, submerged, rocky training walls into the estuary and drift up with the tide to the sea lock at Tarleton.

It’s amazing to me that, whenever you have a really scary or awful experience, something happens to counteract the drama.  The drift up between the sandbanks, with so many unfamiliar wading birds going about their evening activities only metres from us, will remain one of the highlights of the trip.  The engine was off. We were too shattered to talk so there was total silence. We inched our way up the channel beside the birds who totally ignored us as they poked long, curved bills into the mud to prise out wriggling flatworms.  Just magic. 

At the lock we were greeted by what must have been the entire population of “Last of the Summer Wine”.  Even though it was almost 10pm, they had come out to work the lock for us.  There is no question in my mind that people on the waterways are a special breed.  Our lasting impression of the past three years will always be those we have met who have all been so kind to us in so many ways.  These guys were typical.  There were at least three to take ropes, four to push gates and open and close paddles, three more to chat over the top of the lock and of course the ‘foreman’, aged about 95, who stunned the Skipper into silence by suggesting that he back Cadenza into the lock - with the tide pushing from behind!  (At this point said Skipper developed one of his more effective hearing-challenged moments.)  Not only did they work us through the lock that night, but one returned in his car to take me shopping the next morning – enough said.

Now we were really back in the world of heavily-locked canals. Since Cadenza is 8 feet wide – just too wide for the locks on the narrow canals - the wide Leeds & Liverpool was to be our highway across England.  It is hard work!  Amongst the challenges were several flights (including the Wigan Flight of 21 which must be done at one time) and the Bingley 5 and 3 staircases. Generally the locks are high/deep and gates and paddles, although not as heavy and poorly maintained as those on the Kennet & Avon in the south, are certainly a challenge and make for fairly tiring days. Into this equation come the complications of probable vandalism to boats, stringy weed which does its best to wrap its tentacles round the prop and, far from least, the fact that the bottom of the canal is absolutely littered with car parts (or even whole cars), bicycles, supermarket trolleys, thousands of floating plastic bottles, hundreds of plastic bags full of rubbish and, at one point, even a complete lounge suite – sofa and chairs.  Every bridge was a nightmare as we bumped and lurched our way over whatever had been thrown down from it.  We concluded that, if the town began with a ‘B’, it would be one of the worst  - Burnley and Blackburn exceeded themselves.  It was disheartening to see this total disregard for a wonderful facility; infuriating for Warren to have to dive under the boat almost daily to clear the plastic packing tape which had insidiously tangled itself round the prop and frustrating for Rich to have to clear out the weed trap with such regularity that he could now do it completely blindfolded. 

However, much to our delight, we discovered that the saying ‘there is light at the end of the tunnel’ has basis in fact.  At the summit of the Canal is a mile-long tunnel with no towpath and absolutely no lights to guide you.  Once you have navigated your way through, you come out into a different world.  The eastern side is glorious. No rubbish, no vandalism, lovely wee, welcoming towns where we could moor safely and even a ‘B’ town (Barnoldswick) which broke the mould and entranced with its central market area and delightful parks.  The canal took us through the soft, green Pennines, following the contours of the hills to keep the same level for considerable distances so that there were many fewer locks on this side.  Almost artificially clean sheep grazed the walled fields beside us in what must be one of the most beautiful remainders of ‘England’s green and pleasant land’. 

Leeds, a really interesting city of incredibly contrasting areas, provided us with a magnificent inner-city mooring, just outside the Armouries Museum in the redeveloped dock area. We wandered for hours in the city, caught buses to distant laundrette to cope with the washing and enjoyed the Museum displays of armour and weapons from early history (even including one of HVIII’s suits of armour) and the jousting and falconry performances.  Here Rich was to leave us to train down to London and meet Sue on her arrival from NZ.  They would spend the next four weeks visiting old friends from their Teacher Exchange days and even catch up with us later for a couple of great days in Norwich.  As we said goodbye to Rich at the station, the rains began and were to stay with us for some time L.

Cadenza now continued down the Aire River (few locks), across the Aire & Calder, the New Cut and the Stainforth & Keadby to the Trent – many pleasant variations of scenery, punctuated increasingly more regularly by nastily difficult swing bridges. Stories of the Trent had worried us a little – tides and currents can combine with wind to make the voyage unpleasant – but Cadenza took this one in her stride.  She seemed glad to be back in salt water and danced gaily up-river while the narrow boats struggled and wobbled precariously.

It has often amused us that NZ is so unimaginative in the english names of its glorious islands – North & South – but can you imagine the tourist incentive to cruise on the “Witham Navigable Drains”?  The joint Witham and Fossdyke Navigation is probably the oldest waterway in Britain still in use today.  The River Witham, from the Wash at Boston, was used by the Romans who built the Fossdyke Canal in 120AD, providing a through route to the River Trent.  Stone to build Lincoln Cathedral was transported along the waterway by the Normans in 11thC and you can see the Cathedral for miles as you travel the long straight reaches to the city.

We loved Lincoln - even climbing, with some difficulty, the Steep Hill to the Cathedral. Visiting it on a sunny day to the accompaniment of a pre-concert rehearsal of the Norfolk Youth Orchestra will remain as one brilliant memory and exiting the city by boat through the Glory Hole with its arcaded bridge, will be another J.

Now we had to plan for our final sea voyage. Cadenza’s dining table became submerged once more in charts and the Reeds Almanac, as Warren plotted our proposed passage – 23 waypoints went into the chart plotter, tide tables were pored over and the radio crackled with attempts to get as many weather forecasts as possible, beginning daily at 4.30am.  In view of the fact that I could not jump ship and desert my husband of so many years, I elected to go shopping and re-read my Irish history book!

Once at Boston we talked each day with the keeper of the sea lock.  Mike was great – giving us daily forecasts and his own very wise advice about how to tackle the voyage.  It proved necessary to wait several days, until conditions looked about as good as we could hope – winds from west (or at least anywhere with no north or east in them) and not more than Force 4.  However as usual, there were fun things to do, as well as the more prosaic, necessary preparations.  We thoroughly enjoyed a concert in the local church, given by three sisters (piano and recorder) who could easily have come straight from a Jane Austen novel and we added the Boston market to our list of great markets (Skipton and  Lancaster two other favourites).

The voyage would be at least 16 hours – as long as the Irish Sea crossing we did in 2006 – and with many possibilities of disaster, as evidenced by the number of wrecks around the coast. As we left Boston on the tide in late afternoon, to the accompaniment of Mike’s cheery wishes, I think we were both pretty nervous.  On our way down-river, returning fishing trawlers and great ships loomed towards to us or sneaked up from behind and we scuttled for the banks like a tiny boat in a bathtub.  Once outside the river mouth, we anchored for the night out of the shipping lane, in the shelter of a rocky training wall, and tried to pretend we were sleeping.  One of the more disconcerting problems was that the Coastguard was, once again, on strike ‘for fair pay’ so it was not possible to get relayed weather forecasts or to give them our TR.  (Both our coastal voyages had to be made without this service and it does leave you feeling incredibly vulnerable). We are even more grateful to our own NZ Coastguard for the wonderful job they do, entirely voluntarily! We are also very grateful to Heather and David who kept in contact by text as we made the voyage.

Before dawn we were on our way, following the blinking navigational beacons out into The Wash.  Although the first few hours were pretty horrid, as a strong incoming tide opposing a fair breeze built up a steadily increasing following sea – not one of my favourite points of sail!  However, conditions moderated as we turned east for the Norfolk coast and most of the voyage was reasonably comfortable.  For some hours we cruised at 8 knots as the tide pushed us quickly, then our speed would drop to less than 4 knots as the tide changed its mind.  We managed to avoid all shoals, sandbanks, ships (both moving and wrecked!), wind farms (yes, really – 30 huge machines in the middle of the sea) and lobster pots, as we passed such towns as Wells-next-the-sea, Blakeney, Cromer and Winterton-on-sea and eventually came in at Great Yarmouth.  It was one of the strangest voyages we have ever made. At one point, off Winterton, the sea depth changes very rapidly.  As you watch the depth sounder, the numbers shoot from 5 metres to 30 metres and back in as many seconds.  The visible effect of these changes is eerie.  There are upwellings, tide races, glassy-smooth pools and whirlpools.  No wonder those ancient seafarers believed in great monsters in the Deep.  We can relate to their unease.

Our arrival at Great Yarmouth should have been a happy event but in fact it, too, had its moments.  Huge construction projects were happening in the port. Despite the time of night, great barges carrying enormous lumps of rock to build a new breakwater were being manipulated by busy tugs.  Navigational channels had changed from the charts and Almanac. We could not, initially, find the harbour entrance at all!  Then the lights displayed at the entrance were not according to our books.  It was not fun.  Eventually we cautiously decided to make our entry and keep out of everyone’s way.  Although we thought we had done a good job - managing to avoid either getting into trouble ourselves, or causing anyone else to do so - we did later get a rap over the knuckles from the authorities and we could only apologise and not even attempt to explain our reasons.  You can only begin to imagine our relief at finally mooring up for the night outside a friendly pub on the Yare River, but too tired even to go ashore.  (You will be pleased to hear we did make up for that the next day with a marvellous Full English Breakfast and later a pint and a most enjoyable dinner to celebrate.) One thing about being on boats – you can never truly relax.  We had thought we had our mooring ropes sufficiently long to cope with tidal variations, but… fortunately, a 5am awakening managed to avert the disaster of being ‘hung up’ – something you always dread.

People wax lyrical about the leisurely and delightful possibilities of cruising on the Norfolk Broads.  The network of lakes joined by narrow dykes and wider rivers – all reed-fringed and with magnificent chances to bird-watch or fish for man-eating pike, if that is your wish – provide ideal conditions for such experiences.  The Broads Authority has provided some marvellous 24 hr free mooring areas or you can drop a mud weight in some of the wee broads (lakes) themselves. The potential is real.  BUT, may we suggest that you do not attempt to have this amazing experience during the height of summer!  Never have so many boats been hired by so many inexperienced people and crammed into so many small spaces.  The inevitable results are frayed tempers and many accidents.  A few days ago, as we were peacefully moored beside the ruined abbey of St Benet, quietly enjoying lunch after our exploration of the abbey, we were forcibly struck by a hire boat attempting to leave the mooring.  Only our anchor saved us from fairly severe damage.  As the hire boat impaled itself on our anchor, its boat rails and staunchions were sent flying.  To this moment I cannot stop thinking about the young girl who was standing on deck and somehow managed to remove her leg from the path of the devastation.  Boats are fixable, people sometimes not.  We were all lucky.

St Benet’s Abbey is just one of the fascinations of the Broads.  The original wooden abbey was built by the monks before the arrival of the Vikings, who did their usual trick of ensuring that it was razed to the ground.  Then Good King Canute, having found he could not turn back the tide (I relate to that one!), arrived on the scene and caused the stone one to be built.  Legend has it that the only hostelry on the site was known, by the monks, as The Holy Drinker.  In any event, some hundreds of years later, one of the marsh-draining windmills was built in the middle of the ruins of the gatehouse of the abbey and there it still stands – probably the most defiant ignoring of a historical monument category. Although no longer in operation, many of these marsh-draining windmills can be seen throughout the Broads, often beautifully restored and painted, with huge wooden ‘sails’.  They are lovely to see.

Although we suggest you come in a quieter time, this area has provided a Grand Ending to our voyages.  We have now explored most of the nooks and crannies in both the South and North Broads.  We have ventured up the tiny waterways (dykes) that are only one boat wide, moored in wee places like West Somerton and walked through the countryside to the long sandy beaches and high sandhills of Winterton-on-sea so that we could see for ourselves where we came round the coast.  We’ve entered Norwich in the good old-fashioned way – by boat – and moored just near the grand Cathedral with its soaring roof and intricate boss stones. Our very favourite mooring is at the end of the Waveney River.  To get there you have to pass under a fairly low bridge at Beccles, which excludes most of the hire boats.  Here we had a truly special 24 hours.  Two marvellous local characters sat on the bank beside us to tell us the history of the area. We went walking and met two artists in a field – 89 year olds, immaculately dressed – he in jacket and tie and she in lovely summer dress - sitting quietly, sketching and painting.  Not only did they stop to chat to us, but, as we exchanged stories, Margaret discovered that we had spent our first night in the Broads at the Berney Arms and she promptly gave us one of her lovely sketches of the windmill there J.  On the same walk we met our first snake – a metre-long, sinuous grass snake, showing off the almost hand-painted yellow markings on its head to best advantage, slithered across the path in front of us.  As we ate in the pub garden that night, we met a chap who worked on the wind farm we had passed at sea, so we were able to find out more about that.  And, almost strangest of all – the pub was the scene of a gathering of about 30 of the most gorgeous, sylphlike, incredibly expensively dressed young girls you can possibly visualise.  Yes, of course you can guess – my curiosity eventually got the better of me.  It was the end-of-year celebration of the local Dance School!

By contrast, the past 48 hours have provided some of the more stressful moments.  To get up to Hickling Broad, you must pass under the most difficult bridge on the waterways. 

The charts give Potter Heigham’s height, at the centre of the centre arch, as 1.9m (just exactly Cadenza’s air draft) and it is also shaped and narrow.  Hire boats must take a pilot and private boats are strongly advised to do so. We knew, from chatting to people, that the pilots manage by gunning the boat to full revs to push out as much water as possible so that the boat ‘squats down’, thus lowering the highest point and allowing the boat, hopefully, to slide through. Although we had seen the huge barges do this in Europe, we had never tried the technique for ourselves.  Since the pilots do not have a 100% success rate, Warren was, understandably, not keen to have someone else run Cadenza full-tilt at an immovable stone object built in 1385 and which had withstood far greater forces than she would provide on impact! So, he found a really low tide; we waited until the wind dropped in the evening and we cautiously and at very slow speed, slid through successfully with millimetres to spare. (My nerves would not recover for some days!)  Having thoroughly enjoyed the next 24 hours, we were then faced with the prospect of our return.  Although the late evening tide seemed favourable, it proved not to be as low as predicted.  Darkness arrived, the gauge still showed less than we needed and the decision was made to abandon the attempt. Problem!  Tides were on the make and would not be suitable for an attempt for at least the next two weeks.  Now that situation provided more difficulties than you can imagine.  We are due to leave Cadenza in the broker’s marina at St Olave’s on 16th August and we leave England on 23rd.  Both our minds were taxed overnight.

By early next morning decision had been made.  We returned upstream to fill Cadenza with fuel and water to lessen her air draft.  We lowered her mast so that it presented the least possible obstruction and took off the wooden struts which usually hold the awning. Back once more in front of the dreaded bridge at the bottom of the tide, we contacted the pilot who came to look at her and assess the situation.  After carefully examining the boat and all her appendages, he made his decision.  Thank heavens he made it there and then; the tension was killing us. The next moment he was on the boat – a boat he had never seen before in his life and certainly never had the chance to drive – and we were off.  In retrospect we are not sure who was the most nervous, but at least he had nerves of steel.  We approached the bridge.  He lined us up and increased the revs.  I ducked from trying to take a photo. We shot under the bridge. He avoided the two boats crossing in front of us and the two kayaks scuttling for the bank.  We were out the other side. He swung her into the smallest space you can imagine, on a jetty crowded with hire boats.  I had the lines on.  We were safe!  It was absolutely the most unbelievable demonstration of superb skill we have ever seen in our lives. He grinned at us.  “What do you reckon – an inch?!” I was too speechless to respond – and am still so.

Nothing more stressful could happen that day – could it??  Well, it did.  To relax we elected to go gently upstream on the last piece of waterway we had not explored – the Upper Bure River.  Remember that these rivers are narrow and populated by boats various – hire craft and sailing craft of all shapes and sizes, including large, traditional, gaff-rigged, wooden and highly-polished yachts.  Words like ‘quanting’ (use of long pole tied onto mast or stays to be deployed to get you out of trouble!) are bandied about.  As is normal, sailing craft have right of way at all times.  Try to imagine having to cope in the narrow waters without going aground yourself when, often, you have absolutely no idea where or when the yacht may or may not tack/gybe/broach or simply change his mind about his future plans entirely and take to the reeds beside you.  We can cope with normal stuff, but when you run into an Official Regatta being held in these conditions with over 60 boats in 4 classes all tacking and rounding marks most conveniently placed in the middle of the only deep part of the river, life becomes a trifle more stressful.  That very situation provided the end to that same day.

So.. we are moored today on a lovely stretch of bank where there is a resident moorhen with his/her colourful green and yellow legs, quietly pottering about in the grass beside us.  He has been on the boat once, quizzically looking through our window as he sits on the fender.  Pink Himalayan Balsam and purple Loosestrife provide our wild garden; dragonflies like 747’s dash about and zip over the water; our favourite Great Crested Grebes who, until a few weeks ago were zealously carrying their wee ones on their backs, are now vocally attempting to persuade them that the Time of Independence is Nigh. It is idyllic.

Tomorrow we will head downstrean again, through Great Yarmouth on the low tide and back to the Waveney where Cadenza will go to Anglia Yachts at St Olave’s to be cared for and – hopefully – soon sold.  We still have much to do, to complete paperwork, service engines, clean her, pack etc.  She has been good to us and we so hope she will find new adventurous owners.  We have come full circle according to the Great Plan.

Kindest regards to all

Warren and Louise Shave

“Cadenza”

PS  Do you think that was enough drama?

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