From narrowboat to Dutch barge
Whilst struggling to find somewhere to stay with our dogs for a family wedding, I stumbled across an advert for a very economical end-of-season week on a traditional narrowboat. As the price was equivalent to a two-night stay in a hotel, I booked it without a second thought.
I then had to sell the idea to my husband, who was far less enchanted than I. He pointed out that his only experience of boats was the Channel ferry, and since the arrival of Eurotunnel we hadn’t even used that for years. I tried to reassure him by stressing the economics of my purchase and reminded him that I had done a little crewing in a dinghy ( when I was 12,some sixty years earlier). I also added that if we didn’t have to move the boat if we didn’t want to—and if we hated it, we could leave at any time and go home.
On arrival at the boatyard, our narrowboat was not ready. We were told that the previous renters, a “stag” party, had abandoned Maggie and that she had only just been recovered; housekeeping was still underway. I quickly ushered my husband off to a nice local pub with a good menu before he could back out of the whole idea. When we returned, we were given a lightning-speed tour.
“Wheel, starter, throttle, oil this first every morning, tie up the front and the back, and this is how you turn her around. Have a great week. Bye.”
And we were off—straight into a very very dark narrow tunnel.
Maurice flatly refused to take the wheel, so as this had all been my idea, I had to get on with it. After that slightly bumpy first tunnel and the help of an extremely kind and capable lockkeeper—who truly deserves a medal—we slowly cruised on. We found a quiet stretch of bank, tied up, walked our very patient dogs along the towpath, returned to find the boat still there, and opened a rather good bottle of wine to celebrate our success.
Everyone we met was helpful, and as the week went on we were constantly learning. Everything happened at a very slow pace, and I apologise again to that very embarrassing 12 point turn in the middle of Market Harborough. On the plus side I soon realised that my workaholic husband was relaxing for the first time in our forty-year marriage. We attended the family wedding and couldn’t wait to get back to Maggie to finish the week—chugging along, enjoying the countryside, listening to birdsong, and relishing the calm.
On the drive home, we talked about how much we had enjoyed the experience, and I tentatively suggested that perhaps we could consider having our own boat. Long story short, we went out looking for a narrowboat and came home with a sixty-five-foot Dutch barge.
Ruby Tuesday—our first boat—was a Piper Dutch Barge, love at first sight, it was absolute madness. One week pottering along on a narrowboat does not qualify you for a leap like this, but with a great deal of encouragement and extraordinary luck in finding one of the finest Dutch barge builders, Piper Boats, we have never looked back.
Simon Piper overhauled Ruby Tuesday, sent us on a short boat-handling course, and that summer we spent cruising the Thames. What a glorious summer it was—through Sonning Bridge towards Henley, then back via Reading and Pangbourne, on to Wallingford and towards Oxford, our thanks goes to the kindness and helpfulness of those we met along the way, particularly other Piper boat owners.
After a few more courses, France began to seem possible. The following June, Ruby Tuesday docked in Calais with the assistance of a marine captain, and we entered the French canals, steadily meandering south.
Boats are rather like cars: you pass your test and then you begin to learn how to drive. Every day on the water is different. There is so much to see and do, but you choose the pace—sometimes mooring alongside others, sometimes alone on the bank. We have everything we need on board, including a generator and solar power, allowing us all the comforts of home, as you would expect from a Piper Boat.
We have now enjoyed our second summer in France, having done 3000 Km and more than 900 locks (thank goodness they have mostly been electric).Many highlights, one being a journey all the way to Switzerland, where we found half of Basel floating down the river during a heatwave, it was extraordinary.
So what to do in winter? I can’t work on the boat—it’s too cold—so instead I am trying my hand at something else I have never done before………
Jill & Maurice
