This is going to be our most ambitious cruise yet hence the name The Big Cruise. The plan is to do a round trip to Manchester and back with our friends Dorothy and Alan in Nb Dorothy May from our mooring at Crick - about 300 miles in all. And the reason for Manchester is that Dorothy who moors next to us wants to do the Rochdale Nine. It’s on her tick list of ‘things to do’ so we thought why not?  Of course we had heard of the Rochdale Nine but naively not of their infamous reputation. Needless to say that in due course we became intimately and painfully acquainted with this flight of nine locks. As a result we fully respect their deserved reputation - but more of that later on. The usual pre-cruise preparations were completed including bizarrely mopping up quantities of shower gel that, whilst we had been away from SM had leaked into the shower tray and the pump chamber below decks unseen and out of sight, so that for days after we were subjected to unplanned invasions of foam similar to famous Ibiza night clubs.

Somehow we also contrived to set out on day one on Friday 13^th! Were we superstitious? - well actually no but we did have an eventful cruise over the next five to six weeks. So down to Braunston for the first night and then on to the North Oxford canal - our rough outline plan is to cruise up the east side canals and return down the west side including a stopover on Birmingham. I’m not a great fan of the North Oxford canal mainly because we rarely appear to get any good weather. It seems to always be either cold, wet or windy - sometimes separately and sometimes a mix of all three. And  this time it was a just very keen cold north wind but at Hillmorton we passed a day boat with a dozen party goers on board seemingly determined to have a good day despite the weather which lightened our spirits somewhat. They were having a high old time, well oiled but nonetheless well behaved - it was Saturday afternoon after all and apparently party time.

The Atherstone visit also set another personal trend for me for the whole of the cruise and that is the seeking out, purchasing and the devouring of good fish and chips. Now I am particularly partial to a portion of fish and chips (with lashings of salt and vinegar of course) especially if they can be eaten in the open air and preferably out of a paper wrapping or at a pinch, a polystyrene tray will do as a poor second.  Unfortunately we were too early at 11am for the party to agree to have fish and chips at Atherstone despite there being a very good source of this product in the High Street and they were frying! However I bowed to the majority much to my disappointment but this (continually unsatisfied) search was to continue throughout the cruise, more of which later.

The good weather did not last and became cold and miserable which was reflected it seems in everybody’s mood on the cut. There were no “Hello’s” from other boats as there usually is, and everyone seemed to be in a grump. We took on water at Fradley junction (Coventry and Trent and Mersey canals) just before the swing bridge and at the same time I took the domestic rubbish to the BW tip nearby. On the way back I closed a lock gate for a passing boat and I might as well have been invisible because there was no thanks or even acknowledgement that I existed. I’m not looking for a medal but a simple  ‘Thank you’ would have been nice. We have always had mixed feelings about the junction - it doesn’t seem to be very welcoming - perhaps it’s us - but back to the action.

I also ran foul of the owner of the permanently moored vintage boat (“An 1898 Counter” states the on-board notice) just before the lock by stepping over onto his counter to gain access to the bank in the heavy cross wind. There is only one mooring space before the lock and the moment I stepped on his boat he shouted at me. I am convinced he patrols the bank to make life uncomfortable for us. The grim news continued later in the day when we moored and spoke to a single hander. He had travelled most of the system, had been ‘stoned by yobos’ at most of them including Manchester where we were headed. His advice was start early before they get up (but perhaps he had not followed his own advice?) 

Day nine, Saturday 21 June is forecast as black clouds, high winds and rain all day and so it turns out so we stay put for the day and find pottering jobs to do inside. We are already miles behind the Canal Planner schedule but still have time in hand for a more relaxed five to six week cruise so we are not pressured ‘to get ’em ahead’ and can take some time out. The day after the cruise continues in strong winds as we pass through Stone where apparently some chap has a heart attack two boats in front of us but everyone was in such a slow mood today so can’t say we noticed any significant hold up. At Trentham lock I found some dog poo and stood in it (a bit of a natural talent I have to say) but discovered it before walking it through the boat - again a reflex action to examine the soles of my shoes if I have been on the towpath - see natural talent above. Through the Harecastle tunnel - never one of my favourite experiences but I am getting better at it - and a left turn into the Macclesfield to moor up just past the first lock close by our friends Paul and Jean’s boat Enchantress. They are not about when we first moor but turn up later after a shopping trip.

 We all repair to Strange Magic and have a convivial evening until about 11.30. There was a point when I thought that the alcohol supplies would run out but thankfully time ran out instead - fortunately none of us have the staying power of our earlier years. Despite a late night, Celia has to get up early as Jean has offered to take both her and Dorothy shopping at the local Tesco (at least that lets Alan and I off the hook and we can take our time getting up - having said that Alan always rises early around 6am every day anyway - but it gave me plenty of time to surface). Jean needs to be back by 10.30 because she and Paul have a morning appointment in town hence the need for an early start. Four large bags of shopping later (why do we always needs SO MUCH shopping? Are we sure there only the two of us on board? Do we have a stowaway who is raiding the food cupboard at night?) we cast off at around 10.30 after fond goodbyes to Jean and Paul who we will bump into again much later in the cruise on the Shropshire Union - cue another boozy evening.

A call in at Heritage Marina later in the day confirms that our plan to cruise into Manchester and its environs should be OK. A live-aboard says he has done it recently and if their hire boats can also do it, then we should be able to. “Just get up early in the suburban areas” is the received advice. We press on a bit more comforted after the gloomy forecasts received earlier in the week. The scenery continues to be stunning and we moor up relatively early at 2.30 at the Dane aqueduct just below the Bosley locks feeling somewhat tired after the long and heavy day (and evening) yesterday.

Drama from the outset early next morning. Alan calls and states that we won’t be moving today because he has a major water leak and will have to call RCR. Now Alan bless him does tend to panic at any actual or potential ‘disaster’ so I offer to take a look (once I had dressed because as noted above, A. does get up early, much earlier than we can drag ourselves to sensibility). Luckily it’s just a hose that has become detached from its manifold and after a quick reconnecting of the pipe and tightening of the jubilee clip, we cast off not much later than usual at 10.am. As a postscript I must put in a word for Alan at 74 or thereabouts because he really does well for a man of his age - I am sure that I won’t be boating in my seventies. Also don’t forget that the remaining three of us are all in our mid sixties so he has to ‘run’ just to keep up with us and by and large does a really great job. The second piece of (light) drama today is that one of my bike tyres sustains a puncture shortly after the first lock so its shank’s pony for me for the rest of the flight. Bugger. Despite this we ascend the twelve lock Bosley flight in good time despite someone taking our water (“Sorry didn’t see you!” was the cheery greeting “Yeah right - how come we could see you?” was the thought on the tip of my tongue where it remained. No point in getting upset - a cup of tea is a much better remedy for rising anger).

 The weather deteriorates during the afternoon so before it drops a load of wetness on our heads we moor at the Gurnet aqueduct at around 3pm. There is scant opportunity to drive stakes in and although we do both succeed after much sweat and effort - we later watch a new arrival actually hammering his stake into a bend in his attempt to achieve a secure mooring.

Day 14 -Thursday. It’s a squally journey today with occasional sun, high winds and driving rain at intervals although it is warm. After a short while we moor early in the afternoon at Bollington and batten down the hatches when the rain finally settles in. We will be at the top of the Marple flight tomorrow. OK cruising weather the next day and more drama at another water point (I’m now beginning to think of calling this piece Drama at The Water Points Cruise because there are more to come - dramas that is). This particular point is just adjacent to the Braidbar boats marina and inevitably is situated in an awkward place for more than one boat - between a bridge and the entrance to the marina - and naturally (Mr Sod again?) there was already someone taking on water. No problem in that and Alan was able to moor in the one space between them and the bridge. Because the canal bank on the previous side of the bridge was reedy and looked shallow I decided to wait in the bridge hole (yes I know! wrong decision but I didn’t think that they would take all day to fill a water tank) and we waited….and waited…and waited.  Of course we are all entitled to take as long as it needs to fill our water tanks but do these people really have to very, very slowly roll up their hose with detailed attention to EVERY crease - and take an age for every crease? Apparently it seems they do. Fortunately the cut was not busy but inevitably after a time I had to haul SM back out of the bridge hole to accommodate a passing boat which only added to my mounting frustration. So after what seemed an eternity I walked up and asked them diplomatically (a new departure for me but I am trying to grow up if a little belatedly)if they would be long. They merely said that they were aware that we were waiting and then continued to roll up their hose in the same frustratingly anally retentive way as before. Grrrrrr! DO IT LATER was the scream in my head but oh! sod it! lets have a cup of tea, what’s the hurry anyway? Eventually they moved on and equilibrium was achieved.

Next day was the Marple flight. The wind and weather was still being  bit flighty so with not a lot of room to turn round we cruise the ‘wrong way’ up to bridge 21 of the Peak Forrest canal to wind and then we lead the way back and down the flight.  What an absolutely stunning set of locks in both scenery and variety. I worked the locks because the mechanisms are very stiff in places. Lord knows how D managed but  ‘she’s a strong Suffolk gal’ so seemed to come down OK although I tried to help by setting up as many locks as I could. There were only one or two boats coming up the flight. There was a jammed paddle at lock two and just by chance there were two BW men at the bottom so I told them of the fault and to my surprise there and then they drove off to investigate. Later they caught up with us and thanked us. Apparently some bolts had worked loose and thus the winding mechanism was out of line and could not function. If only all life could be as simple. Plenty of people about alongside the flight which was completed in a shade over 2 ½ hours. After a restorative cuppa at the bottom of the flight we continue over the impressive Marple aqueduct with its rail viaduct alongside (very similar to the situation at Chirk) and moor the other side of Rosehill cutting. We finish with engines at 2.30 after a very successful day’s cruising. 

Our next disappointment is that the locks are single.  For some reason we thought that they would be double and provide us with an easier passage than transpired however we entered the first lock at 8am. I climbed aboard the trusty wheeling bike to ease passage (earlier puncture now mended) but for some reason D chooses to walk the whole way down. This part of the Ashton is your typical urban canal with quite a lot of rubbish and varying degrees of regeneration along the way. We see no hint of any problems from the bank. At the first lock a steady stream of children is going to school across the lock bridge and scarcely give us a glance - more interested in their mobile phones it seems. We did pass through a swing bridge where in the previous weeks some young people had been playing about and disastrously a girl had trapped her legs and they had to be amputated on the spot but our passage through the whole part of this system was trouble free. So much for the doom mongers. In my constant (re)search for good fish and chips, along the way down we did pass a sign stating “Fish and Chips Only 5 Minutes This Way” with the obligatory pointy arrow but it’s surprising how many different and flexible interpretations there are of ‘only 5 minutes’ so I reluctantly gave this invitation a miss and my appetite (and research)remained unfulfilled.

What a day! I have never worked so hard and so long but we arrived at Piccadilly village in good time at 1pm. C & I  were all for stopping at the Piccadilly 24 hour moorings. Very nice they were too. New buildings, gated community and a nice clean area but D and A wanted to press on to the centre of Manchester on balance after we had had lunch it was only 2pm and there was obviously lots of cruising time left (ignoring the fact that we had been on the go since 5.30am, where do they get their energy?)

‘Pressing on’ as it turned out was a big mistake as it turns out later in the afternoon. We cast off and as is often the case on the cut, the correct way forward is not always blindingly obvious and you have to feel your own way forward. It was the same here - there were a number of short arms and mooring places to confuse the way towards the Nine but after turning left then right then left again - all 90 degree turns down seemingly dead ends (which weren’t as it turned out), we arrived at the top of the flight.

Good news - they were doubles - but bad news,  there was water everywhere and mainly it seemed flowing over the top of the lock gates even when the lock was full. It is said that Lancashire is wet but we could have done without the practical example. With some difficulty Celia managed to open one of the two gates for us to access the number one lock. She is apprehensive about taking the boat in these almost tidal conditions so I am at the helm. First lock down and we immediately disappear into the bowels of the earth. We are under a building and a main road and there are massive supporting columns and walls alongside the water with just enough room for two boats next to each other - and then we come to something we have never seen before - a form of block and tackle pulley attached to the lock gates. At first we ignored them thinking that they were leftovers from the past but later it became crystal clear that they were essential for lock operation in view of the quantity of water flowing down. So we accessed the second lock by one gate hoping that this would be a sufficient practice (using one gate and it’s paddle that is) for the whole flight. Oh no it wasn’t! When C & D tried to empty the lock using just one paddle, because of the quantity of water flowing down and into the lock we weren’t making much if any progress, so we needed to open the other gate paddle. Easy really? - well not this time. These are big ugly locks built for big ugly  boats. Celia and Dorothy have many attributes but being big and ugly are not amongst them and frankly they were beginning to struggle. Anyway Celia somehow crossed over to the opposite side of the lock by perilously balancing on the upstream gate. Then she had to get to the other downstream gate itself. Unfortunately between her and the gate was a large wall helping to support the weight of the buildings above us and this wall left just about twelve inches of very wet and slippery towpath between it and the edge of the lock to cautiously edge along to get to the downstream lock gate - which she tentatively did. Having no real option wasn’t a great help and when the boats were through because she didn’t like the look of the downstream lock gate she decided to retrace her steps but this time with an empty lock beside her to add to the excitement. Alan later said that he just couldn’t look at what was going on. But there was worse to come.  

We were perhaps entitled to hope that our troubles were over - they weren’t because there is no towpath between locks two and three. We had been warned by a boater earlier that this was the case but we thought we had misheard. We hadn’t. The other piece of information imparted by the afore-mentioned boater was that the bank side crew had to disappear into the side streets, (after finding their way down some slippery steps, under the road and buildings along an equally wet passage and up some steps again to emerge in the side streets of Manchester) walk through the gay village area then jump over the wall to prepare lock three. And so it was. Except the wall was high and there was a rather large drop to a sort of mounting stone canal side much too far down for either C or D to climb onto. Stalemate. Well not exactly because just by chance two BW lengthsmen suddenly appeared (yes there is a god) and after some banter and playing hard to get, agreed to operate the lock for us. They even refused a can of beer as a thanks -  I am always keen to say thank you for favours done and show that gratitude in an appropriate way which is generally in the shape of a can of beer but this time a simple thanks seemed to be enough. Anyway suffice to say that neither C or D could get over the wall anyway so made their way to the next lock by the side road. A note here about the gay village because it was really a lively area with lots of people enjoying themselves in the sun. There was even a bar called ’Queers’ with a notice inviting all ‘To celebrate your civil partnership here’.

Also a note about this flight. Despite the difficulties endured thus far (and there were more to come) this group of locks does have it’s own charm. Very much like the Farmers flight in Birmingham it is ‘buried’ between high buildings on both sides and you might even not be aware of it’s existence if you didn’t know it was there. It is an active towpath however for those in the know. What was not secret however was the water flow and at this point Celia felt she would prefer to steer the boat rather than fight with the lock mechanism so we changed over. So with a certain amount of male bravado (and probably needless cockiness in being a ’stronger’ male) we moved on through the flight.

Lock number seven was nearly my personal physical undoing. Throughout the flight, keeping upright and steady on the towpath had been tricky because for some days not only had it been raining a lot, the resultant extra volume of water had overflowed onto the towpath which in turn had no real opportunity to dry out because the sun (when it did shine) didn’t fall on it because of the high adjacent buildings. So the towpath was very slippery indeed particularly also at lock seven which is almost enclosed within the surrounding buildings. It all started innocently enough. Against the strong water flow D & I opened the towpath gate (Celia had meantime tied up on the opposite side to some railings next to a restaurant, unable to hover in the stream)  and then C began to inch her way into the lock which she did OK. As she prepared to steer across the lock to the other side so that A could draw in alongside I decided to give the bow of SM a helpful push. Big and bad mistake! Before I knew it I had lost my footing in the lock side slipperiness, flew through the air landing with a might thump on my bottom and was left sitting on the side of the lock up to my knees in the water. How I didn’t fall in the water I’ll never know. The pain was unimaginable. Instinctively I had broken the fall with my hands (old judo training still in existence somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind perhaps?) so my poor arthritic wrists took some hammering. Lord knows how high in the air I went before crashing back to earth but my whole insides felt as the had been through a blender after I had landed. I spent a long time crouched in a ball on the side of the lock just waiting for the pain to subside at the same time wondering if I had done any real damage.

So we completed lock eight and onto number nine. The final lock - hoorah! This lock has a bridge and is adjacent to a pub and quite a few cafes and restaurants so there were plenty of gongoozlers who I believe look at this situation much as the Romans did on the Christians in the Coliseum - this is the opportunity for some sport at some else’s expense and the Christians (us in this case) not quite sure to expect but on previous experience it  would probably not be good. Anyway not a place to cock up if you can possibly avoid it - I don’t think we did cock up. Because of the flow we casually waited for the water to equalise as much as it could and then employed the afore-mentioned blocks and tackles to open the gates without too much difficulty. Job done really and probably to the disappointment of the assembled crowd overhead who were trying to exert a nonchalant disinterest but were just waiting I am sure for some new spectacle to behold. Sorry to disappoint chaps.

We potter round a corner or two into the Castlefield basin and find two mooring with trees and benches where we collapse and drink some beer in celebration of our arrival. For us it had been a long and exhausting day involving twenty seven locks over the twelve hour period and one of the reasons for the accident at lock seven was that I was getting sloppy through fatigue. I’ll try to avoid such lapses in the future. Locks are dangerous places. Nobody is cooking tonight so we find a nearby restaurant and have a pleasant evening as part of Manchester’s café society. We shall probably be here for two or three days.

End of Part One. See Part Two for the return journey - with more water points incidents - and fish and chips at last.