A minor panic

Saturday 18^th July; Stourport to Pitchcroft

We were up quite early - the weather was fine and there was time for some jobs before we got moving.  The edge is good here, so out came the masking tape and the red coachlines on the port side, which were extremely faded, were painted.

A steady hand

There were a lot of boats passing this morning, some completely ignoring the fact that Dave had a paintbrush in his hand ….  We left at about 11 and pottered into Stourport, past the Black Star pub’s carved bird of prey which still perches atop its tree stump.

A boat was waiting to go down the lock but we had to float about mid-stream as the rest of the lock mooring – and all the visitor mooring too – was crammed with boats, one even breasted up.  The boat descending the lock was going back into the marina where they live, and told us that the moored boats, even the one on the lock landing, have all been there for weeks and there is no indication that they might have broken down, or been ill.  It has been reported to CRT but nothing appears to have happened.

I took the photo as I was filling the lock.  Chuffed is only 55’ and we just fitted in the space Mr Selfish had left.  He was inside, smoking a cigarette and studiously ignoring us as we hovered.  The lock takes ages to fill, so I had plenty of time to observe the little café at the lock; it appeared busy, with customers outside leaving and arriving, and being served by staff wearing masks.  We moored on the services for the full works.  The chandlery shop here is now closed, though the fuel wharf opposite is selling its stock – apparently sales will be moving online.  I had made some sandwiches for our trip down the Severn, so even though it was lunchtime and we could have stayed on the visitor mooring next to the water point we went on to lock down to the river.  The funfair is open again, though the seats on the whirly tower were not all filled of course.

The whizzy car thing which I thought was dodgems, but isn’t, was whizzing round to screams of delight, so fast that the photo is a bit blurred.

 

To reach the Severn you must descend two two-lock staircases, through a well-manicured area of walkways, grass and footbridges.  The lower area was heaving with gongoozlers as Dave made the difficult transition between the two staircases.  The best plan is to wait in the bottom of the first staircase until the top of the second is completely ready.  Even then it’s not easy.  They are not very far apart, don’t line up and it is always windy here – you can’t change direction, of course, until your stern is out of the lock, by which time the bow is being blown to your right – away from the waiting lock.  With his silky skills Dave made it in without touching any brickwork, drawing praise from a pair of new boaters keenly watching our progress.

Lifejackets on by now, down the bottom lock we went.  I went from side to side working the paddles and gates, with ‘Excuse me’, ‘Sorry can I get by please’ all the time to try and keep my distance from the onlookers.  There was nobody waiting to come up so I had to close the bottom gates, but luckily the conditions were such that it was easy to get back on the boat from the steps and we were away.

Lunchtime now, so we tucked in to our sandwiches as the trip boat, which had been catching up quickly, overtook us.  Meg was monumentally unimpressed.

Am I bovvered?

We waited for the trip boat to turn before the approach to Lincombe Lock, then as I went forward to look after the bow rope in the lock I realised to my horror that we hadn’t got the anchor out.  The lockie said we could stop on the landing below to get it sorted as no-one was waiting – phew.  I am nervous about the Severn so I was amazed it had slipped my mind.

We don’t find the Severn particularly interesting.  It is certainly beautiful, but very samey.  The banks are so high there are no views across the countryside.  We did see a kingfisher once, Dave even spotted it catching a fish, and there were two Little Egrets which flew away.

There is a pretty cottage or two – we always wonder how often they flood.

We passed the entrance to the Droitwich canals and had the usual dilemma on the approach to Bevere lock – which side of that distant pole to go?  There looks to be loads of space to the left, but the channel is on the right.

Then at last we were in Worcester.  We moored in our favourite spot at Pitchcroft, below the racecourse. The best mooring, closest to the rowing club, was occupied but we could still moor without being directly under the footbridge, which is noisy when bikes and skateboards go over it!  Further along is too close to the railway and road bridges for our liking.  Although you can’t see the racecourse from the river, Meg knew where we were and was so excited that she ran up and down inside the boat as we tied up, not stopping till the lead was picked up and she could get up there with her ball.

5 narrow locks (including 2 staircases), 3 river locks, 12½ miles, a kingfisher, 2 egrets and loads of sand martins along the river.