After a bit of solitude to grapple with my restless grief, on Tuesday a boat appeared around the bend; one I recognized. It was my friend Ray on NB Stronghold, fresh from the Braunston Historic Boat Rally where, as a member of the Historic Boat Trust, Ray had the responsibility of steering the trust boat Nuneaton with Official parade Marshall Tim West aboard and towing the butty Brighton with actor (and Tim's wife) Prunella Scales and others aboard.
Ray moored up in front of me and we had two lovely days together, in which he introduced to me the The Cobb BBQ (Lakeland Kitchen store has them at a reasonable price) and Stilton Cheese Puffs, and I introduced Ray to some North and South American musical groups: The Indigo Girls, Pearl Django, Jean Pierre Rampal and Claude Bolling, and Strunz & Farah. We both have very catholic tastes in music, enjoy cooking and eating a good meal, have been educators, and have lost a spouse to illness. So Ray is comfortable with my grief and no words need to be spoken about it. He has walked his own road and he knows what it is; meanwhile I was privy to all the scuttlebutt concerning the boat rally--and a good time was had by all--and we improvised a meal together and I was able to see The Cobb in action.
|Ryan in the blue T-shirt on his boat Southern Star, at Braunston, © Ray Oakfield, 2017|
Now on this boat when the water tank is full, the boat sits lower in the water. After six years of daily life aboard with no gauges to tell if the water tank is low to empty, I gauge where this is at by the feel of the boat. When full, NBV sits low with the cut cradling her and she has a heft that makes it easier to bring her in to moor up on a windy day. As the water tank empties, the boat rises in the water and feels lighter, like an 18 ton leaf skimming the surface, and she rocks about more when I walk or when the wind blows.
I am perfecting this "feeling gauge" now. I last filled up a week ago on Thursday. The boat was now sitting high in the water and the tank had burped (what I call the sound of the stainless steel tank when it expands or contracts and makes a metallic sound as the water is used up), so I dipped the tank with the measuring stick Les made years ago. Surprise, surprise!! I still had half a tank of water, so I went ahead and got some laundry out of the way and took a shower which took me down to just under a quarter of a tank left. Time to move!
At Braunston Turn there was someone on the water point and traffic was picking up so I decided to moor up in the first spot I saw--just past and opposite The Boat pub, and fill with water later. I had not slept well the night before. Four hours of sleep is a rough gig and that is my usual since Les died. Some nights I manage five and only rarely have I pulled six consecutive hours of sleep so after sorting out mooring up (putting up the TV antennae, putting out my small step in the bow that makes it easier for me to get in and out), and taking a walk over to Midland Chandlers to see what they had in stock that is on my list of needs, I decided a nap was in order.
I fixed myself another coffee and warmed a Croissant in the oven which I enjoyed while reading the paper. Boats came and went constantly. At one point I heard the distinctive putt-putt of a large old working boat so I popped my head out the window in time to say hello to Sarah on NB Chertsey! We have not seen each other since 2012. She looked grand and glowing at the tiller of her boat.
After reading for several hours I walked over to The Boat Pub and splurged on a burger and fries for lunch. Back home a nap was in order. I was waiting for the boat traffic--which is heavy through Braunston on the weekends--to die down. By 5:30 PM all was quiet. The golden evening sun caused water reflections to sparkle on the roof. Time to move...
I made my way to the water point by the Braunston stop-house, moored up, began filling the boat with water and dumped the rubbish. I washed the dishes, filled the tea kettle, put on a load of clothes to wash, and cleaned the windows on the towpath side. Not another boat came by and the canal was quiet during the dinner hour. Once the tank was full, it was time for me turn the boat in the entrance to Braunston Marina. This is the reason why I waited for the quiet of evening. I maneuvered NBV around the cafe boat which is always moored just after the water point and just before the marina entrance. I took my time and gently turned the boat. I didn't do it as smoothly as Les would have done, but I did it without trouble and in my own way and headed back the direction I had come from yesterday.
|To turn the boat around here, one must pass the Cafe boat, turn the bow right and just put it into the bridge hole, then put it in reverse with the tiller over hard left and slowly turn the boat, straightening the tiller as the bow comes around.|
In the hour and a half it took me to cruise back out to Bridge 103, the sun disappeared behind a low bank of silver clouds and the breeze freshened into a twelve mile an hour wind with gusts raking the trees, turning leaves inside out, making the weeping willow trees wave wildly in the wind. As the evening air cooled I found a spot, pulled in, moored up, set up the TV antennae, and enjoyed a scalding hot shower. Dressed in clean pajamas, I allowed the night to fold itself around me like a soft, sweet glove.