Martin Phillips wrote: > Next step is to shift down to the Poulteney Weir moorings on Friday if > space permits, then on to Bristol on Sunday to wait the tide and weather. >
And now the last bit.... Having tied up on Monday morning at Bath just off the 72 hour moorings above the Sydney Gardens footbridge, I took a stroll into town for a nice cup of coffee and a bacon sandwich. Back to the boat, tidied up and ambled down to the station to catch the train home for a couple of nights. On Wednesday evening, scrounged a lift with a colleague back to Bath, and had a pleasant evening drinking in the Old Green Tree. What a splendid tavern, no music, one felt comfortable sitting reading a book, and a nice selection of ales. Up early next morning for a lift back to work, and back to Bath that evening where I enjoyed an evening with my chauffeuse and her husband. Friday morning rose slightly later than intended, thanks to Alex's generosity with her red wine. Wandered down to Pulteney Bridge and found the moorings pretty empty, so back to the boat and single-handed back down to the weir. Bath Deep Lock (over 19 feet) was quite scary, and I could only get one gate mostly open, so a squeeze to exit it. Tied up below the weir, with what must be one of the finest sights from a mooring in the land. Sixteen quid for two nights. A quick trip to Waitrose to restock the wine bilge and then, later, a walk to the station to collect the missus and kids. Two pleasant nights spent in Bath, with nice meals in Brasserie Gerard (a sort of up-market Cafe Rouge, but no more expensive) and in Fishworks (expensive and fishy). Noisy nights with screeching drunks, and was woken at 0230 by a woman banging on the roof. "Are you Tom?" she said. "No, I'm not ******* Tom you ******** ***" I replied, having emerged half-naked onto the front deck (nothing to be ashamed of...). I think she was looking for a dealer and had missed the crusty boats above Bath locks. Sunday saw us up not too early, untying around 1000 and heading down river. The first lock, Weston, took forever to fill and just as long to empty: we must have been there for forty minutes. Thereafter it was all much faster. The Avon along here is very pretty, and seemed little used other than by rowing boats. The weekend was one of spring tides, so we'd timed ourselves to come out of Hanham lock at low water (when the level is held up by Netham Weir). As we approached Bristol the river was still interesting, with the banks rising steeply on both sides, eventually being replaced by industrial land towards Netham Lock. The locky at Netham was off on his lunch break, but returned after twenty minutes to relieve us of a few days mooring fee. A short run along the feeder canal took us to the Floating Harbour, where we tied up with a couple of other boats on the pontoons outside the Arnolfini Gallery. As we came in on the final approach it became apparent that the engine was not responding to the speed control. A quick inspection showed that the control cable had sheared at the rod at the Morse control end. Could have been nasty if it had happened an hour of engine time later! The wife and kids left for a train home, and I stayed on for another night (excellent beanburger and beer in the Watershed, followed by a film - "Away We Go" - OK to average). The next morning I walked over to Force 4 Marine and picked up a replacement speed control cable. Fitted in ten minutes, most of which were spent inserting a fiddly little split pin. Back home on the train for a couple days at work, and then back to Bristol by train to sort the boat ready for the estuarine passage. Another pleasant evening in the Watershed, back to work for a day, and back by train to Bristol. I'd invited Barbs, another colleague, round to the boat for drinkies on the poop deck. She was rather impressed that, as she arrived, the Matthew (replica of Cabot's boat) turned the corner and stopped by our off-side. Told her I'd arranged it for her. Some bottles of wine and an Indian followed. A good evening. Up on Friday morning, and finished preparing the boat. Neap tides starting this weekend, and a good weather forecast. Anchor was placed in front of the back hatch with the chain next to it, secured with a carabiner to a rope stretched across the roof between the rails, and the warp in a bucket at the stern but tied off to the front stud. The theory was that it could be rapidly deployed, and attached either at the bows (by default) or wrapped round a rear stud if necessary. FItted the cover for the front deck. Two VHF radios set up on channels 14 and 12, (Bristol Docks and Bristol VTS) and the two GPSs locked to satellites (one with an OSGB map loaded, the other programmed with WGS84 co-ordinates). Once ready, wandered over to the posh restaurant on the other side for a nice cup of coffee and a croissant. The bloke on the next door boat was also heading down-river. He'd only had his boat for a month, a rather elderly and uncared for 56 footer in need of overplating and a full refurb. When he'd taken her over, he'd pumped 25 l of nasty out of the fuel tank, and had found only 2 l of oil left in the SR3 engine. He was also having some problems with the alternator, which seemed to be missing a key to secure the fan to the shaft. We untied and headed down to the Cumberland Basin together, he pausing to pick up a pilot on the way. Two cruisers, us two narrowboats and a yacht locked down to high water in brilliant sunshine. I opened the engine up after Clifton Suspension Bridge and left the other nb and the yacht behind. River very pretty, and not much flow. Called Bristol VTS as I passed Shirehampton, and was given the all-clear to carry on. The river starts to widen rapidly beneath the Avon Bridge carrying the M5, and one hugs the north bank to avoid the shallows on the south side. Ahead lay the open water of the Bristol Channel, with the new Severn Bridge just visible through the haze. Out into the Channel, but had to postpone turning south towards Portishead due to an EA Survey vessel approaching rapidly. Once she had passed, I swung south and tried to work out where Portishead Marina was. Wished I'd bought better binoculars than the 50 p jumble sale ones I keep at the stern. A look at the GPS (a happy discovery that taking off the polarised sunglasses made the screen visible) made me happy that I was heading in the right direction. The wind was strengthening, and a bit of a chop starting to rock the boat (but nothing like as bad as the Thames out of Limehouse on a windy summer afternoon). Called Portishead Marina on VHF, and was told the next locking was in twenty minutes. Took shelter by the harbour wall for a few minutes while the lock was opened, then in and tied onto the rising pontoon. The other nb from Bristol came in just before the gates closed fifteen minutes later. I'd taken ninety minutes, he 105 minutes. Decided that our speed differential was more a matter of perception than actuality, as I'd imagined him an hour behind having lost him in the first ten minutes of the trip. We breasted up on the end of one of the pontoons, and I was relieved of £25 for a night in the marina. Next episode: up the Severn. -- Martin Phillips [email protected]
