APPOINTMENT WITH FEAR
Limehouse Basin is a modern Marina, a gateway to the canal system, the Thames and the sea and the boats moored here reflect this. After the Regents canal it’s clean. (‘Down the Hatch’ on the Regents does not mean having a pint. Plastic shopping bags float about a foot below the surface waiting to strangle the life out of your propulsion system.)
It’s noon and we moor up behind another narrowboat to await our appointment with fear. Plan A is to tackle the Thames the following morning but I get chatting with the guy next door who has booked a passage at 6.00pm that evening. It’s his first time too.
You have to book in with the lock-keeper so I ask his advice as to the more favourable time for open-water novices with a skipper and dog that can’t swim. His office was on the upper floor of a two-story building that looked a little like an air traffic control tower with 360-degree view overlooking the marina, the lock and the river beyond.
He told us that without doubt the quieter time would be early morning, but an evening passage would be more eventful. Wasn’t too keen on the word eventful. “We’ve never lost anyone yet”, he pointed out. “Oh jolly good.” I replied.
He was very helpful and genuinely understood our misgivings. I told him to book us in on the 6.00pm passage unless he heard from me. He gave me a pamphlet to read called Thames Tideway Guide that should have been entitled ‘Guide for idiots navigating a busy, choppy, tidal waterway in a boat far better suited to something that’s 3 1/2 feet deep and 15 feet wide where the biggest danger is an inebriated hire-boat driver’.
The guide contains more unfathomable information than the training manual for a space shuttle pilot. Such irrelevant information as tidal calculations, emergencies, engine failure, man overboard, VHF Radio procedure, isophase lights and emergency telephone numbers.
There is a schematic of each bridge advising which arch to navigate and a plan of eleven different horn signals that includes: five short blasts which means: ‘I do not understand your intentions; keep clear – I doubt whether you are taking sufficient action to avoid a collision’. Good grief!
There are two primary destinations when exiting Limehouse upstream: Teddington and Brentford. We are going to Brentford which is an approximate 21/2-hour trip. Anyone going to Teddington, an hour further up river, is let out of the lock one hour earlier. We would be let out of the lock 21/2 hours before high water to take advantage of the flood tide that runs at about 6 knots. There was a narrowboat going an hour before us so we could get a look at what we were to face.
We have five hours until lift-off, so I do a full engine check and secure the anchor in place. Then along comes a chap who asks if we are going up river. When I reply in the affirmative he says; “I hope you have better luck than me”. He went on to explain that about 45 minutes into the trip (probably somewhere around Westminster Bridge) his engine packed up!
Because the boat is thrown about, the sludge in the bottom of the fuel tank had got into the supply and blocked the line. He explained that because he only had about a quarter of a tank of diesel it sloshed around too much and stirred up the sludge. He had chucked the anchor out and had an emergency rescue boat with him in four or five minutes who towed him back to Limehouse.
Now this news was all I needed. I checked my diesel – less than half a tank. Astonishingly there is no diesel pump in the basin. Fortunately Bill, our co-traveller from Skipton, had a five gallon can which I promptly bought from him and that took the level to a little over half.
It was approaching 5.00pm and the single narrowboat was about to go into the lock. The skipper and I (with Bill and his wife, Jenny) went to see what we would be facing. We were able to walk 20 yards or so past the lock and stand on the wall right on the angle of the lock-entrance and the river. When the bottom lock gates were opened the swell from the river immediately made the boat bob about in the lock.
With a blast on his horn (one long blast – ‘I am about to enter the fairway’) he charged out into the river. Now I have never seen a narrowboat pitch and roll so much and there was a collective intake of breath. I was quiet and the skipper went white.
The boat was probably 60ft but looked tiny by comparison to the other boats that zipped to and fro on the big river. The lockie appeared at our shoulder and asked us what we thought. “It’s a bit rough,” I said.“Yes, but the other guy is doing OK isn’t he?”
“Well I can’t actually see him heaving up over the side of the boat if that’s what you mean, but he’s certainly bouncing about a bit. He looks like someone walking home after 15 pints”.
“You’ll be fine,” he assured us.
Fifty minutes later we were in the lock. Life-jackets on and rather nervous. Crews of a few other boats (going out over the next few days) had gathered to watch – hoping to find an excuse to bugger off back up the canal. It was a lovely sunny Friday evening and breezy. Rush hour in London from an unusual angle.
As soon as the gates opened the swell started – not much, but an unnatural movement nevertheless. With a blast of his horn Bill set off and we followed 30 seconds later. We expected some movement but not quite of the severity we experienced – being a non-swimmer the skipper was way out of her comfort zone. I was also out of mine but I had something constructive to do – steer.
The boat really bounced about and when pitching lengthways the spray sometimes came over the height of the cratch. This was usually
accompanied by a worrying shuddering along the length of the boat. When swell or waves hit you at an angle it set off a sort of corkscrewing motion until another swell bounced you in a different direction.The boat would change course by a few degrees in an instant when hit by a swell from the side then get knocked back again. Then there were the other boats coming from every angle, some at considerable speed. A bow wave from a boat you could see coming you could turn into, but when they merged with the wash from other boats and the reflection from the banks it became an unpredictable mess.
The skipper took control of the camera in a desperate attempt to take her mind off other matters and has taken some great shots – not necessarily of any recognisable landmarks but great shots nevertheless.
Before we left we had to phone VTS (vessel traffic service) to advise them that we were leaving Limehouse for Brentford at 6.00pm. When (if) you reach the other end you phone and advise them that you have arrived. VTS apparently tells the skippers of larger boats via VHF radio that there are ‘ducklings on the water’ and to keep a look out for them. Ducklings – that’s us – bloody cheek.
To be fair though at one point a large trip boat came up behind us and, although it could have overtaken us and made things rather unpleasant, it stayed behind for about ten minutes until it turned off onto one of its stopping points. We did feel that larger boats were aware of us but we still felt a bit vulnerable.
The isophase lights are another thing to watch. Our bridge map told us which arches to go through and you can clearly see these on approach. If however, the lights on an individual arch start flashing (in a variety of sequences meaning different things) they have been activated, either by a large vessel or VTS, warning that one or more such vessels is about to traverse that arch – so steer clear!
Our friends’ narrowboat in front looked tiny on the river. When we realised that we could cope we began to look around and were amazed at our privileged view. Under Tower Bridge (central arch) – just after we went through, it was raised for a large ship – The London Eye then on past the Palace of Westminster – an amazing experience.
Westminster Bridge is the terminus for many of the trip boats and after there things quietened down. We were about an hour into the trip and from here on in it was a fabulous, sunny evening cruise at about ten miles an hour. Limehouse lockie even gave us a call to see if we were OK. Bless him.
We cruised the course of the Boat Race (considerably slower than the rowers) and got into Brentford two hours and 45 minutes after leaving Limehouse. Half a packet of fags and some choice language later we had arrived alive, buzzing and knackered.
We moored that night at Brentford at a rather posh waterside development. The dog leapt off the boat and immediately created
