Well? Tell me? Yes, yes, they are probably more sensible and have NOT come to the Canal du Midi in peak season.
Peak season? I thought we were safe after August. How little do we know! But we have not seen ONE OTHER barge on the move (except a hotel barge).
We travelled through a system of 6 locks with these two boats. We let them over-take us on the canal – then they wouldn’t let us in the next lock!
There are mobs and mobs of hire boats, a whole gaggle of them. Great, lovely….. some of them are. Others are rude, obnoxious, block the locks and worse have NO IDEA where a boat’s pivot point is!
At the helm , they assume they are in a car, so astern propulsion (yes, astern propulsion, not reverse)…. is incredibly exciting to watch and completely terrifying if you are any-where near the ‘helms-person.’
The wash keeps boats apart.
I know, the old hands here (less of the old please!) will have heard and suffered this before. But for us it is an eye opener. Thirteen years ago I don’t remember having this trouble, I thought people had less money for holidays now, not more.
Oh, I know, it is the Midi. Someone wrote a book once about sailing the Red Sea, they called it, ‘Once Is Enough.’ I may do a 5th book, (yes there are more to come), about The Midi, as beautiful as it is, ‘Once is Enough!’
It had rained for two nights a bought flood waters. So, of course, we decided to tackle one of the lowest bridges: The Capestang.
Not helping by raising the water levels and decreasing our likelihood of getting under the bridge.
It’s not so much that it is low, but the curved arch reduces the height dramatically, the wider the boat.
Brilliant!
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.
Really?
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.
Flip-flop, flip-flop (my stomach!)
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.
My cool cucumber!
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.
Phew!
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!
But we did make it. Ecluse number 56 de Fonseranes (K206.5), has six locks, one after the other. Fortunately, we were first in line, but two other boats where squished in with us, testing everyone’s skills and patience.
At the first lock, the lock-keeper swaggered over and managed to stop chatting on his mobile for a second. I naturally assumed he had come to take my line (as per every other lock-keeper). He took the line, slipped it over a bollard and then rapidly shot fast-French at me, ignoring my pleas to slow down. His disgust at handling our lines was evident.
He chatted on his phone more, watched the other boats come in and then said, in near perfect English, ‘you do your own lines.’
‘Of course,’ I said, ‘No problem.’
To which he replied with the most magnificent Gaelic shrug, that I would assume is usually reserved for vermin.
This was before they REALLY let the water in.
The hire boat was ordered to leave the first lock, first. While the crew gathered the lines the lock-keeper tutted, rolled his eyes and stood with hands on hips. Who knows what was going on in his tiny mind – but the phone rang and it was all smiles and back to chatting with buddies.
As we puttered in I wondered how I was going to get the lines on the bollards with the boat-hook, the lock walls were too high.
‘About a third-of-the-way-in are steps,’ I said to Noel, ‘You’ll have to get me near them.’ Noel nodded in his usual relaxed manor.
I’d climbed up many locks before in our sailboat. I know it is ‘not the done thing’, but we had no choice back then or here. Back then I was on a low boat, with no lock-keeper I had to get the lines on a bollard, so up I went. Here, with muscles some thirteen years older, I had to think carefully about what I was doing.
The dry steps, of course, the lower ones were underwater and covered in green slime.
I took my time but it was a little scary.
You could walk the boat through (and others did, keeping hold of the lines) but they had plenty of crew, shorter boats, lighter lines. But, they still couldn’t ‘walk the boat through’ when we all got to the bridge. Besides Noel was doing inch-by-inch manoeuvring (handled brilliantly), and I wanted to help him too.
What followed was a scary launch of my body out to the slippery, slime-ridden steps, a steady climb with a fore and aft line on each shoulder and crowd-pleasing success. Noel manoeuvred the boat’s bow and stern right up close to the wall, however the curved lock-wall still meant I had large leap. I received ‘whoops’, claps and admiration. Meanwhile, the lock-keeper straightened his sunnies and chatted on the phone.
There was plenty of cheering as I made my way up.
What resulted was me feeling alive, working the ropes, being independent, and being strong. I was thinking on my feet. On this trip, we’ve been hauling anchors, furling heavy ropes several times a day, climbing on deck, jumping ashore and shopping via bicycles. My muscles are becoming defined, my jeans are looser, I feel alive and yes, I am loving the whole thing!
The other amusing result I’ve noticed is that our precious paint is no longer precious. After six locks in what can only be described as ‘water-fall’ conditions, just inches (sometimes much less) between boats and walls, and all of a sudden you don’t give a flying fig about your paintwork – just surviving unscathed!
The climb.
In my opinion, as lock-keepers, there’s too much responsibility for surly youths, which results in an attitude. That said, apparently since their hazard pay has been taken away, the lock-keepers on the Midi will not take your lines. I am not sure what the hazard is of taking lines. Actually it created a hazard as we took a moment or two than usual to secure the boat, and the lock-keeper let the water in before we were ready! Not fun!
I noticed, also, that not one of the boats’ crew looked at, waved, said Merci or even acknowledged the lock-keepers.
Fanfare if you please, we’ve made it to the Canal du Midi.
Entering the Canal du Midi
Lake Etang de Thau was welcoming in its expanse. It was nice to see a long watery horizon. We had perfect conditions, the sun bounced off the silken water and reflected the cloudless blue sky.
About to enter the lake, prior to reaching the Midi
Lake Etang de Thau. It is illegal to traverse this lake in winds in above Beaufort scale 3, (7 to 10 knots).
The Midi has presented its own challenges, round locks, shallow depths, narrow stretches and low bridges. It’s had our adrenaline up at times, it’s tested our boat handling skills and we’ve loved every minute.
Squeezing under bridges, there are lower ones to come!
Rouge Corsair’s fine bow, slicing through the water.
Many plane trees are still left, but more are sadly marked for cutting down. But there’s hope that the beauty will be restored with new trees lining parts of the canal.
The beautiful trees are still in abundance… our first mooring in the Midi – just heavenly.
Frontignan – our last stop before crossing the Lake.
The startling array of sunken boats as we entered the Midi was quite astonishing. These few, in the pictures, were in a stretch of half a kilometre, and I didn’t photograph them all… so sad to see…
We’re in south France. Rouge Corsair is galloping along and we can’t quite believe we are down near the Med already.
Gallician – moored on the bank, just a short stroll from the pretty village.
It smells different here. The salt air is refreshing, the Medittranean breeze is cooling. The dry grass is a contrast to the lush paddocks that we saw in the middle of France, but the harshness of the land reminds us of Australia – where things sting and stick-in you!
Gallician location – on the Canal du Rhone a Sete
We’ve made good time, enjoying the scenery pass us by is a heavenly way of viewing France. The friendly waves, the great (free) tie up places and the fun boat people from all over the world keep us smiling all day.
We love not having a car to worry about and pay for. Freedom is a moving boat and two bicycles.
Work doesn’t stop for boats, we all had to squeeze between the floating bollards and the crane!
The midi is approaching and that’ll be breaking new ground for us.
I didn’t talk to my husband for two days when his peculiar answers to my naïve nautical questions reached my bewildered ears. Back then, as a mere fledgling to sailing, my raw researching met brutal honesty. Seeking a sailboat and home, to travel the planet, I tried to grasp the financials and what, exactly, was I letting myself in for.
“How much does it cost to buy and then maintain a boat?” Coming from the corporate world I was gearing up to write in-depth project and budget plans, but abruptly shook those thoughts from my organised head when Noel replied.
“It’ll take every penny we have.”
“Oh right, well, what’s so great about sailing?” Expecting to be assailed with vivid pictures of slicing, splendidly through clear, flat water, with handsome palm trees and white sandy beaches supplying a dreamlike backdrop, the image shattered as Noel’s ruthless reply tore through my reverie,
“Getting to port,” he said, “and the local bar”.
Seven years later and over 40,000 miles clocked, I can see the wisdom in his answers.
Getting into port is one of the best bits! Daniel’s Bay, Marquesas.
Enduring the Escapade
Long term cruising is an incredible adventure and hard work. Arriving in a new country or town, our thoughts steer to, how do we check in? Where do we get fuel and potable water? How much is it?
The men talk amps and engines the girls talk laundry and supermarkets. Noel, Mariah and I are on our last leg in the superb south Pacific Ocean. Aside from reflecting on our magnificent voyage so far, a few ludicrous “learning’s” deserve a mention.
Cleaning cupboards reality – it is not your ‘average’ kitchen.
First, let’s be positive. Our escapade divorces and insulates us from the world’s day-to-day problems. We are not ashamed to bury our heads in the sand and enjoy the “ignorance is bliss” scenario, while we can. News never changes; it is sad and depressing today and tomorrow.
Frequently we meet like-minded people, of all nationalities, where age is no friendship barrier. Hooking up with similar sized boats and sharing the ocean brings the comfort of companionship and the joy in sharing the dolphins that play on our bow during those perfect sailing days.
Mostly, for us, it is the freedom of living simply. We have no letterbox where small bits of paper with large numbers intrude into our sanctuary, sucking dry the bank account to allow landlubber luxuries. And yes, there is the odd G & T (Vodka for me please) while watching spectacular sunsets, doing an anchor pirouette, savouring the sedate, shifting views as we would fine wine.
Secrets of the initiated
Over the year’s advice, hints and tips have deluged our salt saturated minds until our armpits are all but overflowing. We thought we’d heard it all, but here are some unmentionables that we learned along the way:
(1) Constipation – the most fluid of us struggle on long trips. On watch, the comfy cockpit seat will become well acquainted with your behind, causing, what we refer to as – the cork effect.
(2) Seasickness – the toughest of us will become seasick. After corkscrewing for 48 hours solid, your tummy will give up all hope of hanging onto to anything. Most of us unwillingly feed the fish at some point. It is like puberty, you just have to get through it. Despite suicidal thoughts during the worst bouts of seasickness, once you have reached your haven and spent a few days in flat water, going back out into lumpy seas suddenly becomes a good idea again. On the plus side it is a great diet!
(3) Toilet tantrums – at some point most marine toilets will block. If you have not been allocated the repair task, leave the boat while it is being fixed. Build up of pressure while trying to pump it clear will create the most spectacular explosion. Becoming AWOL at this time will help avoid a good dose of (5).
(4) Landlubbers – your farewell from home will be tearful, exciting and filled with unfulfilled promises from friends and family, who assure you that they will keep you up to date on home happenings. After two years you will be grateful for an email once every six months from your bestest buddies, all of which think you spend your entire life sitting on the aft deck sipping G & T.
G&T on the aft deck – after this I’d need one.
(5) Arguments – the closest relationship will suffer at times. Falling out with your spouse is inevitable especially when you are woken three and a half minutes before you are due on watch at 3 am. Learn to talk about it and laugh, it can get damn lonely otherwise and create a yearning for (4).
(6) Moon-fright – the moon is crafty bugger. You know it is due to rise, but as you scan the horizon there is a luminous light that assumes the shape of an approaching aircraft carrier. This will be the moon, strategically cloaked with black cloud to form heart-stopping shapes. However, the moon will become your buddy, especially if dealing with number (5).
(7) Cravings – two days out of a long haul sail you will desperately desire all those things you haven’t got. Roast chicken, ice cream…
(8) Spiders – having abhorrence to the skittering critters my husband assured me that life on board meant no spiders. This seems reasonable, after all we are away from land a lot of the time. Reality is that I am sure we have had a hand inter breeding crawly critters from different countries, probably creating a whole new weird and wonderful breed.
(9) Time – boat maintenance is a full time job in addition to washing, cleaning and sourcing supplies. If you are fortunate enough to momentarily catch up, items (1) or (2) – or both if you are unlucky, will fill the gaps. At the end of each day you’ll just have time to read a page or two of that book you’ve always wanted to read, before sparking out.
(10) Fishing – you will fish once per trip. After you have heaved the huge dolphin fish on board and it has thrashed itself to death, splattering blood over the clean, white cockpit and your battle weary body, the fishing gear will gather salt in the Lazorette for the rest of the journey. By the next trip, you will have forgotten the sticky mess and break out the lines.
(11) Sinking – on your watch, typically in the graveyard hours, you’ll check the bilge for the last time before the welcome warmth of bed and the bilge will be full of water. Instantaneously you are wide-awake and have no problem in screeching at your partner who is obviously having their best ever sleep. Turning the mains off is not an option and two hours later you will find the solution to the problem is something as simple as greasing the stern gland. Finally, you’ll crawl into bed and the stampeding adrenaline will keep you awake until twenty minutes before you are due back on watch.
(12) Plip-plop – you will loose something overboard, deal with it, it is gone.
(13) Fitness – you will not become fit sailing. Although you do become trim, see (2).
(14) Turning back – face facts that the storm you can no longer punch into has beaten you. It is not failure to turn back, it is common sense and above all the boat’s and your safety – also helps relieve item (2).
Fixing a sheared pin in an exotic place (Tahiti).
(15) On a long passage – when the fresh food has all gone (and if you are like us, without fridge) after a week tinned food will taste all the same. It will have that unmistakable metallic flavour (tinny flavouring assists number (2)).
(16) Dust – dust will collect with intensity, especially in those tiny, boat shape, awkward places. Adds to (9).
(17) Company – your partner is only ten feet away sleeping below, at that time you are single-handing. It can be lonely, maybe a good thing if dealing with (1), (2) or (5)!
(18) Plunging – on moonless nights you plunge into thick darkness, with peripheral vision coming to a shocking end at the bow. It’s best not to dwell on this too much.
(19) Meteorites – the dark nights are abundant with “shooting stars”, but watch for the big ones. Out of nowhere, a spot light will beam down on you while you sit quietly in the cockpit minding your own business. A huge, bright meteorite will give you occasion to create a few more grey hairs.
(20) Advice – some will be good and some, well, let’s just say, some will be totally fictitious. You will meet some gold medal winning “know it alls”, for example this article, is it fact or fiction? – best way is to get out there and find out for yourself.
Coming into glorious destinations, like the Bahamas, you can never sit back and relax.
For lots more great tips, tricks, ideas and advice on living on board, see our book Cruisers’ AA.
Thirteen years ago we were robbed here. Here’s where we tied up, near the town of Roquemaure.
New buildings just over the bank.
We were on our ocean going sailboat, all 10 metres of her and having a grand old time taking time away from rolling oceans to carve a path through the middle of France.
With our mast prone.
With our mast lying prone, our make-shift tarpaulin and determination, we made our way up to the UK, where Noel fulfilled a dream he’d been harbouring for many years.
With our mast where it should be!
To find out what happened when we were robbed and what Noel’s achievement was, it’ll cost you the price of a cup of coffee.*
Of Foreign Build, my book detailing these and nine years of sailing escapades, will be out this coming November, details here. (Follow my blog to be the first to learn about up-and-coming freebies!)
Here’s some pictures to whet your appetite….
The Big Chute in Canada (yes, that’s our boat up there – and us!)
More canals – this time Chicago
We were thrilled to sail into New York
On ‘reef’ watch
More canals – where? you’ll have to buy the book – note how we are dwarfed by four enormous barges – 2 tied up on each side and two coming down the middle together… we just slipped into this space in time!
We’re having a grand ride south, assisted by the current, a twenty knot breeze and a rather splendid DAF motor. We are now near Avignon and enjoying swinging at anchor again.
Here’s a summary of our eight-day trip so far:
The ugly
A pretty child painted on the side of a nuclear reactor chimney – the child’s legs glowing with what can be assumed as contamination: The de-nuded hill-side to fulfil the desire for pretty stone houses.
Nuclear power station and denuded hillside
The good
Fine views, striking ruins, tranquility, safety, enjoyment, togetherness, travel and movement watching France pootle-past; while autumn gathers momentum.
A pretty place
The interesting
The vast stone towers remind us of wombats. What do furry Australian creatures have to do with French ruins? Well, wombats have this odd behaviour where they pooh on stones – not grass, or pavement; on stones and only stones. The French have this odd behaviour of finding the tallest, skinniest, highest peak and building a stone fortress upon it.
The Australian wombat. (Picture not taken in France!). Image courtesy of Michelle Meiklejohn at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
The amusing
While coming out of a rather large lock (drop of 17 metres or 19 metres, depending which book you read) we were met by three ships all vying for the right position to make an entrance or to tie up. The vast volume of water that had just been disgorged from the massive lock left swirls and eddies to test the most skilled skipper. I was at the helm, Noel looked at the wall of ships, spinning with the currents and said, ‘Yikes, just tell me when we’re through safely, I have my eyes closed.’
Yesterday as we puttered alongside the paprika sprinkled hills showing their Autumn change, we decided it was time to start anchoring each evening.
Paprika coloured leaves showing the on-set on Autumn.
While sailing we spent ninety-five percent of our time anchoring at each port. While traversing the Great Loop in America we had vast, stunning bays all to ourselves, as everyone went into marinas. Thirteen years ago, in France on our sailboat, we anchored most of the time.
I love the rituals that go with anchoring, where we both concentre on the sounder, our position and the best place; the finite control to stop the boat just where we want her, before applying astern propulsion so the chain is laid out nicely in a line.
Noel ‘coaxing’ the windlass back into action.
The boat easing to a gentle stop with the anchor dug in and the chain straight then slack, restful. The anchor light set up for when nature’s light slinks off behind the horizon, and raising the black ball. The noting of position using bearings to know whether we’ve dragged.
A novel idea for an anchor light pole.
On anchor it is softer, there are no lines to pull in one direction then another as the boat shifts. Rouge Corsair is held steady by the catenary in the chain, acting as a soft spring. She moves with the water, everything is so much gentler, while we watch the slowly shifting view.
Not a bad view from our ‘island’
The new solar panels earn their keep and make it all worthwhile, as now we have our own private island with no neighbours – bliss!
We are where the circle is, off the main channel. The green line is our route line.
It’s hard to have positive thoughts when you’re painting the hull of an 18.5 metre boat; time is running out to complete your tax return and the internet connection is as useful as a chocolate anchor.
However, while painting Rouge Corsair, it gave me time to reflect. Just lately I’ve been thinking about friends. You know, those really close friends that you can ‘be yourself’ with. These particular friends (below) are being an incredible support to me right now, as I take the plunge with publishing my next book.
So for my positive, I wanted to give a shout out for my small, close, group of mates who support me in my many, and varied escapades.
Rachel Amphlett – best-selling author. I met Rachel while travelling, we gelled slowly, but deeply. My questions and pleas for help, on writing (and some technical) questions are always answered with great detail, grace, and patience! She has a full-time job and continually publishes excellent books too. If you like fast-paced thrillers, she’s your gal!
Rachel
Carole Eardman Grant – I got to know Carole through a sailing Facebook Group and we’ve actually met. We ‘clicked’ and now we administer a group on FB together – so we chat regularly. Carole has a great sense of humour and like my other friends, she keeps my feet firmly on the ground. She helps straighten me out if I go on a whinge-binge!
Carole
Anne Norris – retired traveller and woman extraordinaire. Anne came to our rescue when we did our horse-trekking, and so very quickly (and wonderfully) became part of our lives. Anne has had an incredible life travelling and surviving, she should write a book. She keeps me grounded, she doesn’t suffer fools and just knows where I am coming from. She always knows the right thing to say to me.
Anne (‘I look demented in this pic – but what the heck!’)
Julia Smallbone – spends her time helping people to create home-based businesses for themselves in the health and wellbeing marketplace. I met Julia through work – a long time ago. She always intrigues and surprises me when she reveals more of herself and how smart she is. Julia is always ready to read my emails and laugh at me when I vent, bringing me back down to earth. She’s just there for me. She makes me laugh and seeing an email from Julia in my in-box always induces a smile.
Julia
These woman are incredibly smart (and often make me wonder why they like me), and strong. They are successful, funny and self-deprecating, but most importantly (for me) not one of these woman JUDGE ME. It doesn’t matter what I’ve done with my life, what I am doing now and what I may do in the future – they’ll smile, support, laugh, cry and pick me up when necessary – and just be there.
Jackie Parry - author 