From bjg@wordwrights.ie Sat Apr 17 22:34:31 1999
Date: Sat, 10 Apr 1999 09:39:57 GMT
From: Brian J Goggin <bjg@wordwrights.ie>
Reply-To: canals@blacksheep.org
To: canals@blacksheep.org
Subject: Trip report: Irish Grand Canal Part 2 (long)

Saturday morning in Shannon Harbour was not as sunny as Friday had
been, but at least it wasn't raining. Around us was a large collection
of boats: old wooden boats being repaired; old wooden boats falling to
bits; a couple of narrow-boats; GRP cruisers of all shapes, sizes and
conditions; canal boats; boats in dry dock .... All this in the ghost
of a harbour: the ruins of a large hotel remind us of the days when
passengers travelled on the canal, some of them heading for the
emigrant ships at Limerick and a life in exile. Now, the harbour is
devoted to leisure boating; Ireland's increasing prosperity shows in
the number and size of the boats.

After breakfast, we exercised the dog and checked the oil, the weed
filters, the water and the propellor. All was in order, so we started
up. Or tried to: although the wires glowed powerfully, there came not
a sound from the starter: not even a click (as when the solenoid had
stopped working two years ago). Out with the manual, at which I gazed
uncomprehending for fifteen minutes. The suggested causes of problems
divided into three categories:

- those I didn't understand at all

- those for which the services of a specialist were recommended

- those that I might just be able to do something about.

Then inspiration struck: I rang Joe Kirwan, who had serviced the
engine. Joe, as it happened, was in Clifden, on the west coast, but he
went through what had happened and said that there had to be a wire
loose. We looked, and lo! It was even as he had said. I checked that
it was safe to touch the thing (why did I ever desert the simplicity
of sail for the mysteries of diesel?); we reconnected it and tried
again --- and this time all was well.

We set off slowly. Our tickover speed had been set a bit high, but it
seemed to be just right for the canal. I checked the wash and looked
for water being sucked off the banks; as far as I could tell we
weren't doing any damage --- and pedestrians were overtaking us.

The keeper met us at the next lock and did most of the work, but
allowed me to help a little. His dog and ours didn't get on so his was
put in the back of the van, but another dog that had been following
him transferred its attention to us and followed us for the next
several locks.

The children took the opportunity to try the bikes along the (fairly
rough) towpath, with Ian using the walkie-talkie to keep in touch with
us. They cycled ahead of us for almost three miles, as we pottered
down the gorse-lined canal, until we all reached the lock I had been
dreaming about for months: the dreaded Belmont double lock.

A friend had told me about this lock. She said that, with a crew of
five adults, the lock had been difficult enough; we had two adults and
two children. The problem, she said, was not so much that it was a
double lock (15' 9" altogether) but that there is a bridge across the
lower chamber.

As it happened, there was a canal-boat, *Bowler*, going up just ahead
of us; we went to watch what happened. She didn't need ropes, though,
being big enough to fill the chamber. However, the keeper was there, a
most cheerful man who made everything look easy. He saw Bowler through
and then looked after us --- and suddenly Belmont wasn't such a big
problem after all.

The keeper was, it turned out, the uncle of the keeper at Rahan who
had allowed us to park our car in his quarry the previous day; he was
the seventh generation of his family to serve on the canals. The
previous keeper had phoned him to say we were coming; most of the
keepers along the way did that. And every one we met was cheerful and
helpful.

After Belmont, we had a 10-mile level. With kids and bikes back on
board, we pottered slowly along, over a small aqueduct and under some
bridges, with a good view out over the countryside around us. We
caught up on *Bowler*, which kindly let us past, and we said hello to
some kids who stopped to wave to us as we passed beneath a road-bridge
that we'd often driven over. We met two or three canal hire-boats and
passed a few small, moored cruisers, but there was very little traffic
on the whole.

At the next lock, we came into the hands of the quarry-owning
lock-keeper, Alan Lindley. He let a hire-boat down and then took us
up, allowing me to attend to a couple of paddles. Then we travelled
the short distance to the lock where he lives and where our car was
parked; Anne drove in to Tullamore (15 minutes by road, 2 hours by
canal) with the kids to do some shopping. Meanwhile the keeper, who
owned a boat of the same type as ours, and lived on it for two years
while his house was being rebuilt after a fire, fixed the leak in our
water-supply, helped to refill us with water, advised on maintenance
and repair, gave me a cup of coffee, chatted about the eight
generations of his family who had lived and worked on the canals
(including ETS Walton, who didn't work on the canals but split the
atom instead), discussed canals and waterways management and told me
that, in winter, he works abroad (often in sunny countries) as a
stone-mason. I had a most enjoyable afternoon while Anne was working!

When the family got back, I drove the car and Anne drove the boat a
couple of miles further on, to a canal-side bed and breakfast called
"Canal Side", where we had a four-course dinner. This was an
interesting enterprise, and one of the few tourist-related activities
that made direct and explicit use of the canal: a family farm with bed
and breakfast facilities (including a whole extra block built beside
their house), evening meals available, rowing-boats for hire, pedalos
for hire, facilities for kids' parties (swings, see-saws and so on)
--- and a peacock. It seemed a pity that more of the canal-side
residents and communities didn't try to use the amenity that runs by
their doors.

We spent the night there, well off the beaten track, but with the
lights of Tullamore reflected in the sky and the occasional pair of
headlights as a car headed to or from the bright lights.

bjg