It had rained for two nights a bought flood waters.  So, of course, we decided to tackle one of the lowest bridges: The Capestang.

It’s not so much that it is low, but the curved arch reduces the height dramatically, the wider the boat.

We inspected the bridge, and there is not one inch of it that hasn’t already been gouged-out by previous boats. More rain was forecast, we had to have a go.

With sweaty palms and flip-flopping stomachs we puttered up to the bridge. The game plan? I was on the bow indicating centre – then watching the stern and pointing in the direction the stern needed to shift to keep us in the centre.

If we scratched the paint we didn’t care. We went that slow, we could stop, reverse out and go back to our mooring with nothing more than our ego damaged.

Noel, as usual, was great on the helm and cool as a cucumber. I matched his coolness on the exterior but inside my stomach was making its way up to my throat.

With an inch gap each side of our wheelhouse roof we glided under and it was then  that I remembered to breath – we made it!

Farewell to the lovely village of Capestang, and Jane (fellow WOB – Women on Barge member (FB)), (and John and Sophie), hope to see you again when we’re heading north!