Narrowboating in the English / Wales Countryside

It’s been a blog-less week due to the blissful internet free environment we had on our Narrowboat. Narrowboat, you ask? Yes, Narrowboat. It is aptly named for it’s dimensions. Our boat, the Askrigg, measured 67ft long by 7ft wide (1ft of which is the hull, which leaves 6ft of livable width). These boats utilize the vast network of old cargo (9ft to 30ft wide) canals throughout England, Scotland, and Wales. The cargo has given way to folks on “holiday,” like us. Our boat was a fully functional house on water, complete with kitchenette, sleeping quarters, a fireplace, and, for some odd reason, two full bathrooms (odd because two people can’t really shower at the same time). Mind you, getting from bow to stern requires a bit of shimmying and side walking, but that’s all part of the charm.

It's a Bond Class, "James" Bond, that is.

View from front to back. I'm back there somewhere.

Other Narrowboats moored along the bank.

The Canals
Firstly, let’s talk about the “water.” Considering all the drains from the sinks and showers literally dump right in to the water (I shall go on faith that the human waste is indeed being collected in the vessels); they are mostly lined by cow and sheep ranchland; and the boats are constantly stirring up the bottom; the water is a perfectly opaque brown. However, to further the magical feeling of this adventure, I prefer to think that we were motoring along milk chocolate rivers just like Willy Wonka.

The canals are nearly level with an imperceptible current, yet the surrounding areas are still a bit hilly. Water has a tendency to remain level, so when it’s time to climb or drop, it’s time for locks. (These boats are not white water rafting vessels). While daunting at first, they are quickly mastered with a modicum of science at a bit of logic. Nicole was officially our lock-master, Autumn and Zane were the brawn, I commanded the vessel in and out, and Bryce...well, he took his forward position to ensure all was well.

Look how good I am... Steering and Filming... Simultaneously!

Preparing lock gates for entry

Bryce, monitoring to ensure all was well.

Clearly he has his own style.

https://youtu.be/S30lMoEoqDs

Steering
Narrowboats are about as simple as it gets. A fixed propeller in the rear spins forward or reverse. Behind the propeller sits a tiller connected to a lever. Want to turn right, pull lever to left, and vice versa. When reversing, there is no steering. Speedboats, these are not. Maximum speed...about 4mph (a brisk walk). Additionally, making contact with the sides or other vessels is perfectly acceptable (as long as you’re not in ramming speed). Given these parameters, one might think you just put it in forward and just let the canal do all the work (like the log rides at an amusement park). One would be wrong.

A narrowboat is deceptively heavy and when they get going in one direction, that’s where they go. They are long, so getting something 67ft in front of you to turn with a tiller the size of a tennis racket, takes some effort. Add in the cross wind, and the subtle changes in water flow through the canal, and it becomes a full time effort. Hand on the tiller all the time (other hand on a beer, of course). Mind you, it only moves 3 to 4mph and it’s built like Fort Knox, so it can be forgiving if you make a mistake.

One point of solace. It was nice to know that most of the other captains on the water were as novice as we, so a little bumping and grinding was typically met with a shrug of the shoulders and a sheepish grin.

All this being said, I truly enjoyed driving the boat. It suited my brain, as Nicole would say. Steering required planning and thinking about the turn after the turn. It was like a chess match. The canals are curvy, and, I think for the sport of it, they put bridges right over some of the hardest turns - which narrowed the canal to about 10ft. Add in oncoming boats, boats moored to the sides, locks, and eye stealing scenery, and I was constantly on point. I was shocked how a simple three second release of the tiller resulted in a minutes worth of course correction.

About Six Hours a day of doing this. Just outside this picture, an Amstel Bier.

Everyone had their chance at the helm. 

Don't be fooled by the look of speed. That's just a gust of wind or something.

This is looking back on one of the more "treacherous" stretches. It's about a 125ft drop to the valley below. It's called the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct. Google it for some fun facts. Note, we took those biker dudes for a ride across. Good fellas from Liverpool. 

Aqueduct from below.

A typical bridge to navigate. Gives you about 10 inches on either side to make it through. 

Threading at 67ft long needle

We had to navigate a couple of pretty long tunnels. A bit spooky really.

We're riding on the Chirk Aqueduct, parallel to the Chirk Viaduct for trains.

And What Else? 
Considering the destination is more or less inconsequential, and you cover about the same distance in one day as you would on a one-hour jog, the whole point of narrowboating is to unwind and do basically nothing. The kids caught up on some studies, we would step off and walk along side the boat, bird watch, explore the local towns and hills, read books, and, of all things...talk and hang out as a family. It was blissful.

A typical scene. People just relaxing.

Plenty of wildlife to take in. Autumn was in heaven with her camera.

Lots of pubs along the canals. All you do is pull over, stake your boat to the side, get off and dine. 

Tried to work in some P.E. in to the day. 

Of all the awesome things we did and saw during our canal trip, one image will always be burned in to my memory. On our last day, we moored up along a perfectly serene section of canal with pastures on either side. This section was also inhabited by a local old gentleman out for an evening of canal fishing. Zane couldn’t keep his eyes off of him, so I offered to break the ice and see where it would go. I left them for a quick afternoon jog, fully expecting Zane to wander off 2 minutes later. However, as I rounded the bend upon my return, I was stopped in my tracks. There Zane was, sitting on a chair next to his new friend, Alan. Two hours later, after the rains set in, Zane finally made his way back to our boat. He sat quietly with Alan, grandfather of seven, and soaked in his fishing knowledge and strained to understand his gruff Welsh accent.

Zane's friend, Grandpa Alan.

The Final Verdict
If we had such a thing in the states, Narrowboating would probably become an annual tradition. For those looking beyond the standard UK holiday, this should be high on the list.

Our last night. Crystal clear evening after a rain storm blew through. Zane is playing with his make shift fishing pole.

Final Sunrise. Our boat moored to the side.