Slow Boat

Twenty-eight days ago, I was a woman with a plan.

Well... actually, I was a woman with a plan and the feeling that I could absolutely take solo command of a 57-foot canal boat. Marc, if he wanted, could go off on his own adventure and really need not step foot on the boat.

I even used those exact words.

That was before we started.

I had watched television programs about canal boats. I had researched canal boats. I had decided that watching other people slowly putter through the English countryside was something I needed to experience for myself.

So I rented a canal boat on the Oxford Canal.

And I figured, if I’m going to do this, then go big. 

Not a short week-long “kiddie cruise” for this Captain of the "slow sea". 

Give me an entire month to float on the canals of the English countryside.

I picked a very fine-sounding boat named The Viscount.

That was 28 days ago, and now we’ve got 24 hours left.

There have been locks.

Lots of locks.

There have been bridges. Lifting bridges, swing bridges, bridges that require windlasses, bridges that require getting off the boat, bridges that require getting back on the boat, and bridges that seem to exist primarily to make me wonder why I thought this was a good idea.

Yesterday we did six locks and three... or possibly eight... lifting bridges.

I lost count.

I crank those things up with the windlass until they're high enough to clear not only The Viscount but Marc's head.

Day 27 - We puttered for about five and a half hours and eventually arrived in Thrupp, where we found a lovely mooring between three pubs.

Obviously, we had to investigate.

A cold beer... don't tell the Brits I like a cold beer... and a wood-fired pizza finished the day.

Then it rained.

And lying in bed, listening to the gentle drops on the roof of our cozy floating home, I realized that our month-long canal life is almost over.

The canal boat life part has been exactly as imaged, and I've come to believe that everyone in England has a dog and the ungodly desire to run alongside a canal with said dog. Bless them. 

But there's the living bit and then there's...The steering part...

That's been trouble for me. 

Apparently, despite the fact that my brain believes I should be an excellent helmswoman, the canal has other opinions.

Push the tiller left to go right.

Steer something almost 60 feet long from the back.

Who invents such a diabolical engineering idea?

And not even a steering wheel.

A single brass “stick” connected directly to a propeller.

And did I mention the propeller is on the back?

Argh!!

On a nice wide stretch, I'm a fine driver.

I have confidence.

I have technique.

I am Captain Pam of the British Canal System!

Then out of nowhere the canal narrows.

A tree gets a little too close.

The bank gets a little too close.

And suddenly I'm yelling...

“Marc!”

And Marc takes the tiller.

It's humbling.

If you know me, I'm not normally a person who gives up and calls for help.

But apparently steering a narrowboat requires a different part of my brain.

And I give up (Perhaps to quickly but safe is safe, and heart attacks can end a day).

The locks, on the other hand...

I love the locks.

Give me a mechanical problem with a clear sequence of actions and I'm happy.

Get off.

Wind the gear.

Raise the sluice gate.

Open the lock.

Move the boat.

Close the lock gate.

The lock fills.

Repeat everything in reverse.

And somehow the rhythm and the strength—sometimes at my absolute maximum effort—suits me.

And part way through the month, I realized I don't have to be Master of all parts of the vessel, I can be master of SOME part of the vessel.

And I learned (contrary to my initial bravado) I certainly don't want to do it alone.

I'm happy to accept that I'm not the helmsman.

That's Marc's strength.

I can be the backup when the canal is wide and straight and the trees promise not to bend into the path.

Until...

“FOR GOD'S SAKE, MARC, TAKE THE BLOODY TILLER.”

We've learned a lot about each other on this boat.

If you're curious what it's like, imagine spending a month where two people try to back up a fifth-wheel trailer.

Every day.

All day, and it's very important to not get too angry as there is absolutely no where to go to take a break from each other.

And add in ropes and food and water (and poo) and locks and bridges and the constant question of where you're going to put the bloody thing tonight.

It's probably enough to drive some couples to divorce.

And we worked it out.

Together.

Our month on a canal boat has been slow and has taken 28 days to travel a distance I could probably walk in 16 hours or drive in a few hours.

But that's not the point.

The point was intentionally to go slowly.

To moo at the cows.

To chug past the trees...

Hopefully not into them.

And except for a few branches, we've never actually hit a tree.

There was a bush near Godstow Abbey that will likely need a Master gardeners care.

Oopsie.

And big note... no cows were harmed.

Which is important because I have never hit a cow with a canal boat, and I would very much like to keep that on my boating résumé.

I've waved at many people.

Watched the countryside go by at a speed that makes you notice things you would otherwise miss.

That's what the adventure has been.

And now we're almost done.

Marc tells me all the time that I am the one with the ideas and the plans.

Six or eight impossible things before breakfast most morning and apparently I am the engine.

But Marc is the rudder.

And that seems to be how we work.

On The Viscount, Marc is better at the helm.

In the car, Marc drives and I navigate.

When we travel, I'm usually the one saying...

“Oh! We could go there!”

And Marc says...

“Absolutely. I'm excited to go.”

Pause.

“But can we finish this adventure first?”

Fair point.

I point.

He steers.

Occasionally I point our bow directly at a tree.

He takes over.

We avoid the tree.

It's not pretty.

But it's a working system.

So here we are.

At Aristotle Bridge in Oxford he was a philosopher and this is a University town. 

Which seems rather appropriate for people who have spent the last 28 days contemplating their life choices and how not to drive a boat into trees.

Tomorrow we'll have one more day on The Viscount.

And Sunday...

Poland.

Because apparently that's how this works.

And apparently...

I can even steer a 57-foot canal boat.

Just don't make the canal too narrow.

And don't let the trees move.