Why the French Canals?

I decided to write this adventure in three parts because the journey took six weeks and there is a lot to tell. There's also a lot of information about the practicalities which would be of interest to anyone wishing to do a similar trip in the future. Alas, time dragged on and I never wrote the other two parts. I still have the log, so, some day..

After getting to know my Flicka, Caraway, for a summer and a winter in the busy tidal waters of Chichester harbor on the South Coast of England I decided I was ready to move her to the South of France. There are various ways to get there by boat. You can sail the long way around Western France, Portugal and Spain, enjoying some great sailing with the challenge of Biscay along the way. You can put the boat on a trailer and go by road. Or you can drop the mast and potter along the French canals under motor for the entire length of France. Yes, the French canal network is in remarkably good order. It's huge and it's almost empty in many areas. It's not very deep, in fact the Flicka is pushing it at 1.2 metres draft but it is possible to navigate all the major routes at the right time of year. However, you are likely to go aground at some stage, especially if you seek out quiet spots off the beaten track.

I decided that given my lack of offshore experience, time constraints and the size of my boat it would be prudent to take the canal route. At a later date when I knew my boat better and had gained experience and confidence I could consider sailing her home the long way.

About the canals:-

The VNF (Voies Navigable de France) is the authority which controls most of the French navigable river and canal network. (Major exceptions being the Brittany canals and the navigable River Somme, which are under local management.)

The VNF website http://www.vnf.fr/vnf/home.vnf?lang=en&action=vnf has recently been improved, and now offers much more timely and up to date information. The home page is switchable between French and English, although the English translations are occasionally eccentric.

Maximum craft dimensions through France from Channel to Med are Length 38.5 metres, beam 5.00 metres, Air Draught 3.50 metres Water Draught 1.80 metres. Lack of dredging means that the choice of routes with the full depth is limited, and there is a much greater choice (and fewer difficulties when finding moorings) with less draught. The ideal boat is a canal cruiser with shallow draft, quiet engine, a large cabin and plenty of deck space with a good awning (It get's really hot inland on the canals in summer). A boat with a keel, even a small one like the Flicka is not ideal for this trip. For me the purpose was to reach the mediterranean safely and enjoy the delights of France along the way. A Flicka was the boat I had.

The best time of year to enter the canals in a keelboat is spring when there is still enough water to navigate all the way and the weather is beginning to cheer up. Winter floods make many parts of the network such as the Rhone too dangerous to navigate and many waterways are closed. The CNR (Compagnie National du Rhone) provides both current and historical information about the water flow in cubic metres per second on its website, http://www.cnr.tm.fr/gb/index.htm

For more information check out the company France Afloat (http://www.franceafloat.com) who organise holidays on the French canals.

All you need is a license (vignette) from the VNF that can be bought from France Afloat by post or at a VNF office in France. It costs about £70 Sterling (2003) and lasts for a year.

(nb: I'm not sure if France Afloat still offer the vignette service but it would be worth asking them.)

That means you can live on your boat in the canals very cheaply. There are some places that have free showers and electricity so you can really take your time. There are also several pleasure boat marinas where you can leave a boat safely and obtain all the usual amenities for a reasonable charge. But generally, one just finds a nice spot and moors up for the night. There are many retired couples from all over Europe who have spent months loafing on their boats somewhere on the canals. The only important navigational rules you must remember are to make way for commercial traffic in all instances and to drive on the right.

Crossing the Channel and Preparing the Boat

When I began to look into the idea and discuss it with my friend and mentor Benjy who has done the canal trip twice in an old calssic yacht I realized that this was a journey that would require many weeks. Unfortunately, this kind of trip does not fit into the short holiday allowed a software developer in a large corporation. But I am the kind of person that gets an idea in his head and finds that the idea simply will not go away. Instead it gathers momentum. So, I would take a break from employment and do the canals from top to bottom in about 5 weeks.

I decided to enter the canals at Calais and avoid the busy River Seine and Paris and all the madness that comes with navigating in waters with a 4 knot current. Entering at Calais also made the channel crossing much shorter. Dover to Calais takes about 5 hours in a Flicka depending on the conditions. It’s also an entry point that is usually open. St Valery down the coast is a much more beautiful place but was damaged by floods in 2000 and had been shut ever since.

The first stage for me was to sail to Brighton from Chichester. This I did in late March, single-handed on a mild sunny day. I kept Caraway in Brighton marina until July when my friend Benjy came over to help me across the channel and into the canals.

I had a busy time ahead buying all the things I needed for the trip and for the sailing at the other end. A huge list had been drawn up covering such things as engine maintenance, fenders, ropes, and stakes for driving into mud banks for mooring, first aid, and food.

It was July by the time I was ready. Benjy arrived and the weather promptly turned foul for three days. Westerly gales with lashing rain soon brought on cabin fever. By the time things settled we were raring to go but a little apprehensive. We decided to go anyway. Caraway inspires confidence at sea. We left quietly at about 10am with a following wind and a heaving swell on the quarter. But soon the seas died down and we had a terrific sail all the way to Dover and I remembered why I love being at sea and how lucky I was to have Caraway. We poled out the Genoa with a boat hook and ran at 5 knots finding Caraway so well balanced that the tiller pilot was barely necessary. She wanted to sail herself.

After a night at Dover we woke to a lovely sunny day. Visibility is critical in crossing the English Channel in a small boat without radar so we were delighted and set off first thing. The wind was only enough to drive us at about 3 knots so we decided to motor and get across as quickly as possible. Crossing these shipping lanes is my idea of hell. It's like being a snail on a motorway. I can never understand why people sail across to France and back for fun. I guess they don't fully understand the danger they're in. Experience has shown me that very large boats can appear out of nowhere extremely quickly. There is no way of knowing if they have seen you and even if they have they are unlikely to change course for a small boat. I had two radar reflectors up on the spreaders. We had headed west to get out of the cross channel ferry lanes but we still had ship after ship passing bow and stern. Fortunately the lanes themselves don't take too long to cross and the TSS (Traffic Separation Scheme) ensures you know their direction of travel.

On the approach to Calais we had to change direction very quickly when we found ourselves on collision course with a freighter. I could see the eyes of the crew on the bridge as they passed. Why they don't have a channel speed limit I'll never know. Some of the bigger ships do 25 knots I'm told and take several miles to slow down. Collisions are very common but given the speeds and frequent fog in the channel it's amazing there isn't more.

After a Sea-Cat multi-hull ferry kindly romped passed us leaving a ten foot wash we finally entered Calais harbor. We moored up alongside holidaying French and Dutch sailors and finally began to relax. We ate a hearty meal and took down the sails and packed them away. Then I drank myself stupid on cheap red wine and we slept like the dead.

nb: At this time Caraway still had the original bowsprit and teak platform. Also the pushpit had not yet been simlified. It now has only one rail across the back and is a few inches lower as are the stanchions.

Crossing the Channel and Preparing the Boat

When I began to look into the idea and discuss it with my friend and mentor Benjy who has done the canal trip twice in an old calssic yacht I realized that this was a journey that would require many weeks. Unfortunately, this kind of trip does not fit into the short holiday allowed a software developer in a large corporation. But I am the kind of person that gets an idea in his head and finds that the idea simply will not go away. Instead it gathers momentum. So, I would take a break from employment and do the canals from top to bottom in about 5 weeks.

I decided to enter the canals at Calais and avoid the busy River Seine and Paris and all the madness that comes with navigating in waters with a 4 knot current. Entering at Calais also made the channel crossing much shorter. Dover to Calais takes about 5 hours in a Flicka depending on the conditions. It’s also an entry point that is usually open. St Valery down the coast is a much more beautiful place but was damaged by floods in 2000 and had been shut ever since.

The first stage for me was to sail to Brighton from Chichester. This I did in late March, single-handed on a mild sunny day. I kept Caraway in Brighton marina until July when my friend Benjy came over to help me across the channel and into the canals.

I had a busy time ahead buying all the things I needed for the trip and for the sailing at the other end. A huge list had been drawn up covering such things as engine maintenance, fenders, ropes, and stakes for driving into mud banks for mooring, first aid, and food.

It was July by the time I was ready. Benjy arrived and the weather promptly turned foul for three days. Westerly gales with lashing rain soon brought on cabin fever. By the time things settled we were raring to go but a little apprehensive. We decided to go anyway. Caraway inspires confidence at sea. We left quietly at about 10am with a following wind and a heaving swell on the quarter. But soon the seas died down and we had a terrific sail all the way to Dover and I remembered why I love being at sea and how lucky I was to have Caraway. We poled out the Genoa with a boat hook and ran at 5 knots finding Caraway so well balanced that the tiller pilot was barely necessary. She wanted to sail herself.

After a night at Dover we woke to a lovely sunny day. Visibility is critical in crossing the English Channel in a small boat without radar so we were delighted and set off first thing. The wind was only enough to drive us at about 3 knots so we decided to motor and get across as quickly as possible. Crossing these shipping lanes is my idea of hell. It's like being a snail on a motorway. I can never understand why people sail across to France and back for fun. I guess they don't fully understand the danger they're in. Experience has shown me that very large boats can appear out of nowhere extremely quickly. There is no way of knowing if they have seen you and even if they have they are unlikely to change course for a small boat. I had two radar reflectors up on the spreaders. We had headed west to get out of the cross channel ferry lanes but we still had ship after ship passing bow and stern. Fortunately the lanes themselves don't take too long to cross and the TSS (Traffic Separation Scheme) ensures you know their direction of travel.

On the approach to Calais we had to change direction very quickly when we found ourselves on collision course with a freighter. I could see the eyes of the crew on the bridge as they passed. Why they don't have a channel speed limit I'll never know. Some of the bigger ships do 25 knots I'm told and take several miles to slow down. Collisions are very common but given the speeds and frequent fog in the channel it's amazing there isn't more.

After a Sea-Cat multi-hull ferry kindly romped passed us leaving a ten foot wash we finally entered Calais harbor. We moored up alongside holidaying French and Dutch sailors and finally began to relax. We ate a hearty meal and took down the sails and packed them away. Then I drank myself stupid on cheap red wine and we slept like the dead.

nb: At this time Caraway still had the original bowsprit and teak platform. Also the pushpit had not yet been simlified. It now has only one rail across the back and is a few inches lower as are the stanchions.

Getting under way in the canals

We had planned to use the Bingham method to lower the mast. However, when we found that the crane was available for only about £10 we abandoned the idea. After a morning waiting for the crane operator to get out of bed the mast was stowed on deck and the fender boards were out. We were off. By the way, I recommend fender boards since fenders tend to roll and ride up in locks as you go down. Boards can be tied to the bobstay fitting on the hull and the middle rudder gudgeon to keep them in place. It's just a long plank like those scaffolders use that's laid across the fenders.

After three hours waiting for the lock-keeper to eat his lunch and sleep it off we were finally in the canals A couple of impatient Belgians grumbled to us about the French being useless and sped off in their smelly power boat with their two smelly dogs. We were glad to see the back of them.

After puttering along for mile after mile in waterways covered with weed the engine finally began to overheat. I cleaned out the raw water strainer which was rammed full of the stuff and we carried on. A few miles later we caught a bin liner around the prop and had to pull over. There was only one thing for it. The water was dirty brown and there was rubbish everywhere. Someone (me) had to go over the side and deal with it. This is when I began to long for the clear blue waters of the Mediterranean. Leaping over the side into dirt brown water with slime and rubbish everywhere was not my idea of fun. But it's not all like this. Most of the canal water is clean and safe but it tends to get dirty near the cities. In general though, it’s just not too inviting to go for a dip.

There are hundreds of locks on the canals. Many of them are manned or womanned, some are small, some are huge, most are automated, all are covered in green slime and all are tricky in a keelboat. When the gates open to fill the lock the wash tend to push the keel sideways. It's easy enough to hold a Flicka but I have seen bigger yachts wedged sideways across a lock. Luckily I had Benjy with me and his experience was very useful. I would be on my own later but for now I had an easy introduction. You are supposed to wear lifejackets in the locks but nobody seems to care until the locks get bigger on the Rhone. There are no instructions on the locks and it's not always obvious that a pole hanging over the canal needs to be pulled before the lock will open. Often the sensors do not see a small boat (they are designed for huge steel barges) and one ends up waiting hours in the lock for someone to come along and help you through. The canals are not a place to be in a hurry. France is like England was 25 years ago. Supermarkets shut for lunch. In fact everything shuts for lunch. There is no Sunday shopping and every now and then the country grinds to a halt because angry farmers or fishermen have blockaded a port or road.

After negotiating several locks we moored up to a bank somewhere on the other side of Calais. Toasted cheese sandwiches followed then a nice walk along the canal to stretch the legs and we were in holiday mode. Benjy is a non drinker so I had no option but to drink myself stupid on cheap red wine alone again and fall asleep in the cockpit.

The plan was for Benjy to accompany me to Reims in the Champagne region from where he would take a train back down South, leaving me to finish the trip alone. I had tried to find a companion for the rest of the trip but everyone I knew was sadly tied to a job and not able to find the time. It’s a shame because the canals are an adventure of the senses and traveling them is a real experience.

A guide is available from Imray called the Inland Waterways of France - Edwards-may, David

ISBN: 0852884729.

This book is all you will need to help you navigate through the waterways of France. It comes with a map that shows all the routes and gives you an idea of their water level. All the locks are numbered and the book gives detailed information on places to stop near each lock and local amenities such as water and fuel. It's not the easiest guide to follow but it is accurate and reasonably up to date. It tells you all about the commercial traffic, how to behave on the canals and about safety and facilities. It also gives phone numbers to call when you get stuck in a lock, go aground or break down in tears of frustration. However, it does not help you understand French. Fortunately, Benjy speaks good French having lived in France for six years. I could get by and later I would have to but having a French speaker makes the experience so much more rewarding. It is very important to make an effort. People were very curious about the boat, where we had come from and where we were going. They couldn't believe anyone could come from England in so small a vessel.

Getting under way in the canals

We had planned to use the Bingham method to lower the mast. However, when we found that the crane was available for only about £10 we abandoned the idea. After a morning waiting for the crane operator to get out of bed the mast was stowed on deck and the fender boards were out. We were off. By the way, I recommend fender boards since fenders tend to roll and ride up in locks as you go down. Boards can be tied to the bobstay fitting on the hull and the middle rudder gudgeon to keep them in place. It's just a long plank like those scaffolders use that's laid across the fenders.

After three hours waiting for the lock-keeper to eat his lunch and sleep it off we were finally in the canals A couple of impatient Belgians grumbled to us about the French being useless and sped off in their smelly power boat with their two smelly dogs. We were glad to see the back of them.

After puttering along for mile after mile in waterways covered with weed the engine finally began to overheat. I cleaned out the raw water strainer which was rammed full of the stuff and we carried on. A few miles later we caught a bin liner around the prop and had to pull over. There was only one thing for it. The water was dirty brown and there was rubbish everywhere. Someone (me) had to go over the side and deal with it. This is when I began to long for the clear blue waters of the Mediterranean. Leaping over the side into dirt brown water with slime and rubbish everywhere was not my idea of fun. But it's not all like this. Most of the canal water is clean and safe but it tends to get dirty near the cities. In general though, it’s just not too inviting to go for a dip.

There are hundreds of locks on the canals. Many of them are manned or womanned, some are small, some are huge, most are automated, all are covered in green slime and all are tricky in a keelboat. When the gates open to fill the lock the wash tend to push the keel sideways. It's easy enough to hold a Flicka but I have seen bigger yachts wedged sideways across a lock. Luckily I had Benjy with me and his experience was very useful. I would be on my own later but for now I had an easy introduction. You are supposed to wear lifejackets in the locks but nobody seems to care until the locks get bigger on the Rhone. There are no instructions on the locks and it's not always obvious that a pole hanging over the canal needs to be pulled before the lock will open. Often the sensors do not see a small boat (they are designed for huge steel barges) and one ends up waiting hours in the lock for someone to come along and help you through. The canals are not a place to be in a hurry. France is like England was 25 years ago. Supermarkets shut for lunch. In fact everything shuts for lunch. There is no Sunday shopping and every now and then the country grinds to a halt because angry farmers or fishermen have blockaded a port or road.

After negotiating several locks we moored up to a bank somewhere on the other side of Calais. Toasted cheese sandwiches followed then a nice walk along the canal to stretch the legs and we were in holiday mode. Benjy is a non drinker so I had no option but to drink myself stupid on cheap red wine alone again and fall asleep in the cockpit.

The plan was for Benjy to accompany me to Reims in the Champagne region from where he would take a train back down South, leaving me to finish the trip alone. I had tried to find a companion for the rest of the trip but everyone I knew was sadly tied to a job and not able to find the time. It’s a shame because the canals are an adventure of the senses and traveling them is a real experience.

A guide is available from Imray called the Inland Waterways of France - Edwards-may, David

ISBN: 0852884729.

This book is all you will need to help you navigate through the waterways of France. It comes with a map that shows all the routes and gives you an idea of their water level. All the locks are numbered and the book gives detailed information on places to stop near each lock and local amenities such as water and fuel. It's not the easiest guide to follow but it is accurate and reasonably up to date. It tells you all about the commercial traffic, how to behave on the canals and about safety and facilities. It also gives phone numbers to call when you get stuck in a lock, go aground or break down in tears of frustration. However, it does not help you understand French. Fortunately, Benjy speaks good French having lived in France for six years. I could get by and later I would have to but having a French speaker makes the experience so much more rewarding. It is very important to make an effort. People were very curious about the boat, where we had come from and where we were going. They couldn't believe anyone could come from England in so small a vessel.

Heading for Reims

We planned to take the Dunkerque waterway to Etrun followed by the Canal de St Quentin to St Simon. Then we'd get onto the Canal de L'Oise a L'Aisne to Braye-en-Laonnais and Reims where Benjy would get the train home to Port Grimaud in the South.  

As we began to leave the urban areas behind the canals and the countryside became more and more beautiful. Often the canals are very straight with trees lining the banks for mile after mile. On some stretches there are locks every kilometre or less but on the Rhone and Saone there are much fewer.

The trip to Reims took about ten days. We travelled for about 8 hours a day. The VNF operates a 35 hour week so most of the locks operate from 8am until 4pm which means you are limited in distance per day. But this is a good thing because it means that you should never disturbed by commercial traffic at night. Everything stops. Barge wash is unpleasant and dangerous if the barge is doing more than the max speed of 4 knots. On the big rivers the distance between locks is greater and there are many large pleasure barges that do night trips for tourists even when the locks are shut. I learnt an unpleasant lesson when a four foot wash struck Caraway at 4am one night. I will describe that later.

I will not describe the trip to Reims day by day because most days consisted of sitting in the cockpit for hour after hour with a hand on the tiller. Then entering a lock, taking the ropes up a ladder, waiting for the boat to rise, getting back in and motoring off again. Sometimes we stopped for lunch, other times we carried on and ate on the move. The weather was mixed. We had some wet and grey days and we had some lovely sunny days. I drank fine wines at 2€ a bottle and we ate fresh baguettes, wonderful cheeses, pates and fresh produce from small village shops along the way. The bilges were full of bottled water, canned food, potatoes, wine, rice etc etc so we always had something to cook if we found ourselves in the middle of nowhere.

The canals are fantastically peaceful. There is commercial traffic but it really isn't that much. We saw a handful of cruising boats heading South and many pleasure cruisers. But considering the resource that the canals represent it is remarkably little used. The locals use the canals mainly for walking their dogs and fishing. It is very common to see a whole family fishing or just a husband and wife. Yes. In France women fish almost as much as men! There is a lot of fish in some stretches of the canals and the bird life is tremendous. We saw hundreds and hundreds of herons and many kingfishers. You will also see water rats, voles and coypu in some areas.

Heading for Reims

We planned to take the Dunkerque waterway to Etrun followed by the Canal de St Quentin to St Simon. Then we'd get onto the Canal de L'Oise a L'Aisne to Braye-en-Laonnais and Reims where Benjy would get the train home to Port Grimaud in the South.  

As we began to leave the urban areas behind the canals and the countryside became more and more beautiful. Often the canals are very straight with trees lining the banks for mile after mile. On some stretches there are locks every kilometre or less but on the Rhone and Saone there are much fewer.

The trip to Reims took about ten days. We travelled for about 8 hours a day. The VNF operates a 35 hour week so most of the locks operate from 8am until 4pm which means you are limited in distance per day. But this is a good thing because it means that you should never disturbed by commercial traffic at night. Everything stops. Barge wash is unpleasant and dangerous if the barge is doing more than the max speed of 4 knots. On the big rivers the distance between locks is greater and there are many large pleasure barges that do night trips for tourists even when the locks are shut. I learnt an unpleasant lesson when a four foot wash struck Caraway at 4am one night. I will describe that later.

I will not describe the trip to Reims day by day because most days consisted of sitting in the cockpit for hour after hour with a hand on the tiller. Then entering a lock, taking the ropes up a ladder, waiting for the boat to rise, getting back in and motoring off again. Sometimes we stopped for lunch, other times we carried on and ate on the move. The weather was mixed. We had some wet and grey days and we had some lovely sunny days. I drank fine wines at 2€ a bottle and we ate fresh baguettes, wonderful cheeses, pates and fresh produce from small village shops along the way. The bilges were full of bottled water, canned food, potatoes, wine, rice etc etc so we always had something to cook if we found ourselves in the middle of nowhere.

The canals are fantastically peaceful. There is commercial traffic but it really isn't that much. We saw a handful of cruising boats heading South and many pleasure cruisers. But considering the resource that the canals represent it is remarkably little used. The locals use the canals mainly for walking their dogs and fishing. It is very common to see a whole family fishing or just a husband and wife. Yes. In France women fish almost as much as men! There is a lot of fish in some stretches of the canals and the bird life is tremendous. We saw hundreds and hundreds of herons and many kingfishers. You will also see water rats, voles and coypu in some areas.

Barges and Locks

There is one experience that stands out from the journey to Reims that's particularly worthy of mention. I'd like to point out that all of the other commercial barges I encountered along the way acted in a very professional and friendly way and that the particular skipper we encountered on board the peniche (barge) called Roger was a nasty piece of work.

On entering a very long lock we tied up about 3/4 of the way down and waited for the gates to close. We were about to descend and therefore stayed on the boat holding the mooring lines which were thrown over the bollards on the top. A huge peniche entered the loch and continued towards us apparently unaware of our presence. Either he did not see us, he didn't care or he misjudged the length of his vessel. We'll never know, but my guess is he didn't care and expected us to move forward. Nobody in a small plastic boat would argue with 200 tonnes of steel filled with gravel. I expected him to stop but he carried on coming at an alarming speed. Peniches have two huge four bladed props and can stop very quickly when they want to. Most skippers are incredibly good at moving these beasts in tight spaces so I expected him to gun the engine in reverse and come to a stop. Suddenly we realised he wasn't stopping! "Start the engine!” Benjy demanded. I quickly leapt to it and fired her up. We let go the ropes and I gunned the engine forward. In the nick of time we got forward before the huge looming steel bows arrived where we had been. I can't imagine what damage we'd have suffered had we not got out of the way. We had about 30 yards ahead in the lock and went right to the end. I was worried that he'd continue and crush us against the gates. We shouted to the lock keeper but thankfully Roger had come to a halt behind us. Phew.

nb: I was taking this photo just before we realised he wasn't going to stop!

But this was not the end of our experience with Roger. When the gates opened we sped out and moved aside to let him pass. He steamed out in a real hurry and didn't even acknowledge our presence. Usually peniches appreciate pleasure boats giving them space and wave and thank you. We carried on at our usual 4 knots and looked at the book for the next lock. Another kilometre meant he'd probably beat us to the lock and we'd miss it. When we got within sight of the lock the doors were just beginning to close. We thought we'd missed it. Roger was in there and we expected to have to wait. However, the lock keeper in a small room at the top of a two story building had seen us and decided to let us in. So, we entered behind Roger. The skipper of Roger, a fat sweaty man in a desperate hurry was very unhappy. We were obviously slowing him down. Hurry, hurry he shouted as we entered, ranting and raving about how slow we were and cursing us for wasting his time. He was livid. Throwing all his toys out of his pram and pacing up and down the quay. Benjy referred him to the lock keeper and told him to take up his grievances with the VNF.

As we left the lock Benjy came up with a plan to really punish this man again. We'd motor at full speed behind him. We'd never keep up but we might be able to make the next lock in time to make him wait again! That would wind him up and teach him a lesson. So, as he left at full throttle we sped on after him at 5 knots trying all we could to make Caraway go faster. The next lock was another kilometre away, we might just make it. Again, we got within sight of the lock, Roger was already in and the gates were closing. We stood on the cabin top and waved to get the lockkeepers attention. Suddenly the doors slowed to a stop and began opening again! We'd made it. "Throttle back!” shouted Benjy. We slowed down to 2 knots and as slowly as we could entered the lock. By this time Roger's skipper was beside himself with rage. He couldn't even speak. He just paced the lock side passing us angry glances and muttering under his breath. Poetic justice had been delivered.

It's interesting to me how two people will describe an experience very differently. After reading my side, Benjy decided he wanted to write it from his perspective. I think he does the story more justice than me, so I've added it here:

Instant Karma. Just add water!

by Benjy

"When my good mate Angus asked if I would help him deliver his boat to France, how could I refuse? After all, it was entirely my fault he bought his boat in the first place, so I was duty bound and in any case it would be a laugh and a damn sight better than working! The canals seem intimidating at first, well, most new adventures hold some trepidation, but like most things, once you’ve got over the initial fear you realise that there’s nothing to it. Anyone with even a small level of common sense and half a brain could cope with anything the canals could throw at you. It's true that potentially there are plenty of dangers but most of them can be avoided with the aforementioned common sense.

Perhaps the most scary of all the hazards are the Peniches, these 100 feet long steel barges transport goods all over Europe. They may only move at a fast walking pace but they weigh tons and are hard to steer and stop. The best advice I could give to anyone contemplating the canals is to remember the adage, Might has Right. What this means in real terms is that no matter what the rules say, the barges are bigger than you, so just get out of their way. In the hundreds of miles of cruising that I did in the canals I only had a couple of close shaves with Peniches. There are some who resent the presence of cruising boats. They are doing a job and we are on holiday. However the majority of them are decent, hardworking people.

We had entered the canals at Calais and were making good steady progress southwards. We were approaching Reims (pronounced RAHNSE) in Champagne country, when we had our first pulse racing moment. We had just entered a big lock and tied up near the front. It is my experience that if possible, it pays to be stationed as far from the lock gates as possible because when the water comes in to fill the lock, there is a lot of turbulence and this makes it harder to hold the boat. Angus was down below making tea and I was on the cabin holding the ropes when a peniche entered the lock behind us. It was unladen and very high out of the water. He seemed to be coming in at quite a pace but I wasn't worried as an empty peniche can stop very quickly. However, my inbuilt sense of self preservation meant that I kept my eye on him. It soon became apparent that he wasn’t slowing down. Angus appeared in the cockpit and gave me the ‘what the “$%^’ is happening look. It was still possible that the Peniche would stop but we were fast approaching the point of no return. A decision had to be made. Quick as a flash, I yelled ‘Start the engine! Move! NOW! Angus needed no further persuading as the bows of ‘Roger’ the peniche towered over us. I threw the lines off as Angus slammed the engine into gear at full speed. Caraway moved forwards just in time. We didn’t have far to go to the end of the lock but it was enough to avoid a nasty incident. Had we not moved we would have been run into. The Flicka is a tough little boat and I doubt we would have sunk but it would have been most unpleasant indeed.

The peniche driver, a balding, unshaven, sad looking man with his hairy gut hanging out of his stained string vest, walked forwards to see if he had scared us sufficiently. He obviously didn’t like cruising boats and took great pleasure in terrorising them. He stared down at us from his perch 15 feet above us and gave us a sneer. We ignored him. Gus was fuming, he couldn’t believe that someone could be such an arse. Having lived in France for a number of years, sadly I could.

Once the lock doors opened we wasted no time is getting out before ‘Roger’ ran us down. It was quite clear from his attitude that he would not wait for us to leave, and if we were still messing about with our ropes he would run us down, no doubt claiming that he didn’t see us.

As soon as we could, we pulled over to the side to let him past, no way we wanted him behind us. He roared past, never even glancing at us and we pulled back into the centre of the canal in his wake. He must have been doing almost 8 knots already. Good bye and good riddance we thought.

Cup of tea in hand we tried to get into the relaxed mood we had enjoyed ever since we first entered the canals, but ‘Roger’s’ attempt at killing us rankled. While I was studying the map to see where the next lock was, an idea began to take shape. The next lock was just 3 kms away, or about 20 minutes at full speed, if we ‘went for it’ there was just a chance that the lock keeper would wait for us. Every time a lock is operated, water is lost from the canal systems and because water is scarce, I knew that the ‘Eclusier’ would not operate the lock if there was another boat in site. The French are notoriously lazy and this also worked in our favour.

I explained my idea to Gus who thought it was worth a try and we opened up Caraway’s little engine until the valves were almost jumping out of the cylinder head. We kept our heads down to reduce drag and cut every corner in order to save a few feet. After 15 minutes of hard motoring we came around a bend and there less than one km away was the lock. We could see Roger inside and the lights that give permission to enter were still green. Would they see us in time? Unfortunately, there was a bridge spanning the canal before the lock and it blocked the lock keeper’s view of the canal where we were.

We kept going flat out anyway but felt deflated when the doors started to close and the lights went red. We slowed down, our efforts in vain. Oh well. Then as the doors had almost closed, they stopped and miraculously started to open again. Could it be that the lock keeper had seen us? Yes, the doors were definitely opening and the green light confirmed our deepest hopes. ‘You can slow right down now mate’, I said to Angus, who, with a cheeky grin backed off the revs until we were crawling along.

It took us a good ten minutes to get to the lock and the fat bloke on ‘Roger’ was red in the face and clearly upset. He was standing there by the wheel house on his barge, arms crossed and staring at us. As soon as we were close enough he started having a go. I didn’t catch all of it, his accent thick with argo, but I did understand that he was miffed with us, that he didn’t have all day to wait for an escargot! We tried to hold back our smiles and smugness. In response to his rantings, I merely suggested he talk to the eclusier about it, not us.

We felt very content. We had wound ‘fat bloke’ up badly and as soon as the lock had filled and the gates opened, he roared off and left us in cloud of black diesel smoke, no doubt his way of getting back at us. We couldn’t care less, we had ‘had’im’ and he knew it. As we chugged out in his wake, I wondered how far the next lock was. I couldn’t believe it, it was just 3 kms away. That meant we might be able to get him again. That would be too good to be true.

Laughing with mischief we opened up caraway’s willing engine again and followed the ever fading Roger. As the next lock approached you could almost sense ‘fat bloke’s’ urgency to get the lock gates closed before we arrived but it was to no avail. The lock keeper was not going to be hurried and once he saw another boat arriving, he simply waited for us. As soon as it was clear to us that we had been seen, we slowed right down again. This time when we entered the lock, ‘fat bloke’ didn’t even look at us. We had him beat and he knew it. Whether he knew how hard we had tried to wind him up is debatable. We didn’t care. It was perhaps the finest example of poetic justice ever seen. It was truly beautiful and a wonderful end to an unforgettable few days in the canals of France".

By the time we arrived in Reims we had become very efficient at negotiating the locks. I was getting very good at handling my boat and the weather was getting warmer. Little did I know that the following summer was to be the hottest in France for 500 years and I would boil in my boat for weeks on end.

To be continued

Barges and Locks

There is one experience that stands out from the journey to Reims that's particularly worthy of mention. I'd like to point out that all of the other commercial barges I encountered along the way acted in a very professional and friendly way and that the particular skipper we encountered on board the peniche (barge) called Roger was a nasty piece of work.

On entering a very long lock we tied up about 3/4 of the way down and waited for the gates to close. We were about to descend and therefore stayed on the boat holding the mooring lines which were thrown over the bollards on the top. A huge peniche entered the loch and continued towards us apparently unaware of our presence. Either he did not see us, he didn't care or he misjudged the length of his vessel. We'll never know, but my guess is he didn't care and expected us to move forward. Nobody in a small plastic boat would argue with 200 tonnes of steel filled with gravel. I expected him to stop but he carried on coming at an alarming speed. Peniches have two huge four bladed props and can stop very quickly when they want to. Most skippers are incredibly good at moving these beasts in tight spaces so I expected him to gun the engine in reverse and come to a stop. Suddenly we realised he wasn't stopping! "Start the engine!” Benjy demanded. I quickly leapt to it and fired her up. We let go the ropes and I gunned the engine forward. In the nick of time we got forward before the huge looming steel bows arrived where we had been. I can't imagine what damage we'd have suffered had we not got out of the way. We had about 30 yards ahead in the lock and went right to the end. I was worried that he'd continue and crush us against the gates. We shouted to the lock keeper but thankfully Roger had come to a halt behind us. Phew.

nb: I was taking this photo just before we realised he wasn't going to stop!

But this was not the end of our experience with Roger. When the gates opened we sped out and moved aside to let him pass. He steamed out in a real hurry and didn't even acknowledge our presence. Usually peniches appreciate pleasure boats giving them space and wave and thank you. We carried on at our usual 4 knots and looked at the book for the next lock. Another kilometre meant he'd probably beat us to the lock and we'd miss it. When we got within sight of the lock the doors were just beginning to close. We thought we'd missed it. Roger was in there and we expected to have to wait. However, the lock keeper in a small room at the top of a two story building had seen us and decided to let us in. So, we entered behind Roger. The skipper of Roger, a fat sweaty man in a desperate hurry was very unhappy. We were obviously slowing him down. Hurry, hurry he shouted as we entered, ranting and raving about how slow we were and cursing us for wasting his time. He was livid. Throwing all his toys out of his pram and pacing up and down the quay. Benjy referred him to the lock keeper and told him to take up his grievances with the VNF.

As we left the lock Benjy came up with a plan to really punish this man again. We'd motor at full speed behind him. We'd never keep up but we might be able to make the next lock in time to make him wait again! That would wind him up and teach him a lesson. So, as he left at full throttle we sped on after him at 5 knots trying all we could to make Caraway go faster. The next lock was another kilometre away, we might just make it. Again, we got within sight of the lock, Roger was already in and the gates were closing. We stood on the cabin top and waved to get the lockkeepers attention. Suddenly the doors slowed to a stop and began opening again! We'd made it. "Throttle back!” shouted Benjy. We slowed down to 2 knots and as slowly as we could entered the lock. By this time Roger's skipper was beside himself with rage. He couldn't even speak. He just paced the lock side passing us angry glances and muttering under his breath. Poetic justice had been delivered.

It's interesting to me how two people will describe an experience very differently. After reading my side, Benjy decided he wanted to write it from his perspective. I think he does the story more justice than me, so I've added it here:

Instant Karma. Just add water!

by Benjy

"When my good mate Angus asked if I would help him deliver his boat to France, how could I refuse? After all, it was entirely my fault he bought his boat in the first place, so I was duty bound and in any case it would be a laugh and a damn sight better than working! The canals seem intimidating at first, well, most new adventures hold some trepidation, but like most things, once you’ve got over the initial fear you realise that there’s nothing to it. Anyone with even a small level of common sense and half a brain could cope with anything the canals could throw at you. It's true that potentially there are plenty of dangers but most of them can be avoided with the aforementioned common sense.

Perhaps the most scary of all the hazards are the Peniches, these 100 feet long steel barges transport goods all over Europe. They may only move at a fast walking pace but they weigh tons and are hard to steer and stop. The best advice I could give to anyone contemplating the canals is to remember the adage, Might has Right. What this means in real terms is that no matter what the rules say, the barges are bigger than you, so just get out of their way. In the hundreds of miles of cruising that I did in the canals I only had a couple of close shaves with Peniches. There are some who resent the presence of cruising boats. They are doing a job and we are on holiday. However the majority of them are decent, hardworking people.

We had entered the canals at Calais and were making good steady progress southwards. We were approaching Reims (pronounced RAHNSE) in Champagne country, when we had our first pulse racing moment. We had just entered a big lock and tied up near the front. It is my experience that if possible, it pays to be stationed as far from the lock gates as possible because when the water comes in to fill the lock, there is a lot of turbulence and this makes it harder to hold the boat. Angus was down below making tea and I was on the cabin holding the ropes when a peniche entered the lock behind us. It was unladen and very high out of the water. He seemed to be coming in at quite a pace but I wasn't worried as an empty peniche can stop very quickly. However, my inbuilt sense of self preservation meant that I kept my eye on him. It soon became apparent that he wasn’t slowing down. Angus appeared in the cockpit and gave me the ‘what the “$%^’ is happening look. It was still possible that the Peniche would stop but we were fast approaching the point of no return. A decision had to be made. Quick as a flash, I yelled ‘Start the engine! Move! NOW! Angus needed no further persuading as the bows of ‘Roger’ the peniche towered over us. I threw the lines off as Angus slammed the engine into gear at full speed. Caraway moved forwards just in time. We didn’t have far to go to the end of the lock but it was enough to avoid a nasty incident. Had we not moved we would have been run into. The Flicka is a tough little boat and I doubt we would have sunk but it would have been most unpleasant indeed.

The peniche driver, a balding, unshaven, sad looking man with his hairy gut hanging out of his stained string vest, walked forwards to see if he had scared us sufficiently. He obviously didn’t like cruising boats and took great pleasure in terrorising them. He stared down at us from his perch 15 feet above us and gave us a sneer. We ignored him. Gus was fuming, he couldn’t believe that someone could be such an arse. Having lived in France for a number of years, sadly I could.

Once the lock doors opened we wasted no time is getting out before ‘Roger’ ran us down. It was quite clear from his attitude that he would not wait for us to leave, and if we were still messing about with our ropes he would run us down, no doubt claiming that he didn’t see us.

As soon as we could, we pulled over to the side to let him past, no way we wanted him behind us. He roared past, never even glancing at us and we pulled back into the centre of the canal in his wake. He must have been doing almost 8 knots already. Good bye and good riddance we thought.

Cup of tea in hand we tried to get into the relaxed mood we had enjoyed ever since we first entered the canals, but ‘Roger’s’ attempt at killing us rankled. While I was studying the map to see where the next lock was, an idea began to take shape. The next lock was just 3 kms away, or about 20 minutes at full speed, if we ‘went for it’ there was just a chance that the lock keeper would wait for us. Every time a lock is operated, water is lost from the canal systems and because water is scarce, I knew that the ‘Eclusier’ would not operate the lock if there was another boat in site. The French are notoriously lazy and this also worked in our favour.

I explained my idea to Gus who thought it was worth a try and we opened up Caraway’s little engine until the valves were almost jumping out of the cylinder head. We kept our heads down to reduce drag and cut every corner in order to save a few feet. After 15 minutes of hard motoring we came around a bend and there less than one km away was the lock. We could see Roger inside and the lights that give permission to enter were still green. Would they see us in time? Unfortunately, there was a bridge spanning the canal before the lock and it blocked the lock keeper’s view of the canal where we were.

We kept going flat out anyway but felt deflated when the doors started to close and the lights went red. We slowed down, our efforts in vain. Oh well. Then as the doors had almost closed, they stopped and miraculously started to open again. Could it be that the lock keeper had seen us? Yes, the doors were definitely opening and the green light confirmed our deepest hopes. ‘You can slow right down now mate’, I said to Angus, who, with a cheeky grin backed off the revs until we were crawling along.

It took us a good ten minutes to get to the lock and the fat bloke on ‘Roger’ was red in the face and clearly upset. He was standing there by the wheel house on his barge, arms crossed and staring at us. As soon as we were close enough he started having a go. I didn’t catch all of it, his accent thick with argo, but I did understand that he was miffed with us, that he didn’t have all day to wait for an escargot! We tried to hold back our smiles and smugness. In response to his rantings, I merely suggested he talk to the eclusier about it, not us.

We felt very content. We had wound ‘fat bloke’ up badly and as soon as the lock had filled and the gates opened, he roared off and left us in cloud of black diesel smoke, no doubt his way of getting back at us. We couldn’t care less, we had ‘had’im’ and he knew it. As we chugged out in his wake, I wondered how far the next lock was. I couldn’t believe it, it was just 3 kms away. That meant we might be able to get him again. That would be too good to be true.

Laughing with mischief we opened up caraway’s willing engine again and followed the ever fading Roger. As the next lock approached you could almost sense ‘fat bloke’s’ urgency to get the lock gates closed before we arrived but it was to no avail. The lock keeper was not going to be hurried and once he saw another boat arriving, he simply waited for us. As soon as it was clear to us that we had been seen, we slowed right down again. This time when we entered the lock, ‘fat bloke’ didn’t even look at us. We had him beat and he knew it. Whether he knew how hard we had tried to wind him up is debatable. We didn’t care. It was perhaps the finest example of poetic justice ever seen. It was truly beautiful and a wonderful end to an unforgettable few days in the canals of France".

By the time we arrived in Reims we had become very efficient at negotiating the locks. I was getting very good at handling my boat and the weather was getting warmer. Little did I know that the following summer was to be the hottest in France for 500 years and I would boil in my boat for weeks on end.

To be continued