The good news about arriving in Dublin when we did was that the following monday was a Bank Holiday here. This meant that we had an extra day to recover from the ordeal of getting here and to take all the salt water modifications off.  Fortunately, there was a fresh water tap next to the boat and we could use this to get all the salt off Hawthorn and to fill the bow water tank right to the brim, and we also topped the sewage tank with fresh water as we now faced the shallow, rubbish filled stretch of the Grand Canal that is the only way out of Dublin. Filling the bow tanks meant that we were as shallow as possible at the stern of the boat - about 36" which is right on the limit for this canal.  We knew that the next two days boating were going to be hard work: we were also as concerned about what was to come as we had been about the salt water crossing and walking Hobbes up the towpath gave us plenty to think about: there was very little water and that was full of rubbish.

The first lock was only 400 yards from our mooring and, as we were to meet Waterways Ireland (WI) who were going to do the locks for us, we allowed an hour for the 'voyage'.  It took 50 minutes and we were reduced to poling the boat along at one point as the weed was so thick that it choked the propeller.  We had only seven locks on the first day of the two days that it takes to get out of the city, at this rate we feared that we might be here for a week!  Fortunately, the weed was less of a problem above the first lock  and we got along at the dizzy speed of 1 mph, stopping regularly so that the prop could be cleared of rubbish. And this was a good time to be making this run as the canal had been cleaned for the IWAI rally that had left the basin the weekend before.  It was with some relief that we cleared the seventh lock and moored for the night at Portobello Basin.  The grass beside the mooring was full of people well into the night, after all it was warmer in Dublin that day than London, and we must have spoken to at least a dozen different nationalities - Dublin is a truly cosmopolitan city these days - and the revelry went on late into the night. I did not sleep much as Hawthorn was being walked on - it seems that a boat in a public place in Ireland is treated as public property.  We knew that we were in a foreign country when, on getting up at six the following morning, there was no rubbish on the mooring - it had all been put in the bins!  This was to be a big day:  we faced the legendary dozen locks through bandit country that were all that stood between us and rural security.

These locks had been on our minds for months. The stories that we had read and heard about them made anything said about the Rochdale Canal, or even the run into Liverpool, seem tame.  And the weather was really hot which meant that the kids would be out in numbers. I had asked if we were in term time, only to be told with a laugh that the kids we were concerned about had not been near a school in years. It took an hour and half to grind the mile and a bit to the bottom lock where we met John O Brien, of WI who was to be our companion and guide for the day. John's opening  comment that we were lucky not to have been there a day earlier as the flight was closed due to two bodies being found on it hardly filled us with glee. The first lock is a double - that is the top gates of the bottom lock open directly into another lock - but WI count these as a single lock and we were to learn that there were two more like this; so our 12 locks had become 15 before we had even started. It was slow going but we were left alone by the early morning commuters who were making their way to the tram station beside the canal and we were soon up to the third lock, unfortunately two weed cutting boats had been chained under the approach bridge by contractors as this was the only place the kids could not get to them, and we had to wait an hour for them to be moved. We were also joined by the lock keeper who had seen us up the seven locks of the previous day, Stephen Brierly.  Reinforcements so early in the day only added to our nervousness for what lay ahead. Just how bad it can get was made clear by the lock keepers as we left the fifth lock.

 W| use their vans to get from lock to lock, and John told us to take our time getting to lock six as the vans might take longer to get there than the boat.  He advised us that we should not go beyond the road bridge that crossed the canal 300 yards before the lock. The reason for his concern? Next to the lock is a travelers camp and we would have no chance should they decide to kick off, so it was best to make a dash into the lock once the gates were open. John and Stephen practically left their engines running while the lock filled and we watched with nervous eyes for any signs of life amongst the burnt out cars that lay between us and the camp. With the lock nearly full and the gates about to open John told us of an incident a few years ago:  One of the converted Irish working boats had broken its drive shaft at the lock. The owner, realising just what this meant, had telephoned half a dozen security companies to try to get someone to look after his boat; not a problem until they heard where the boat was, at which point they were all suddenly busy!  I tried not to hear what John said had consequently happened to it.  So far so good but we were taking longer than hoped and were to lose another hour at lock seven when a Polish contractor blocked the WI vans in with his concrete lorry, he was prepared to move it but only if John or Stephen was to beat him up first.  This rather took the edge off our astonishment at John's generosity, when arriving at the lock, we were handed sausage and bacon sandwiches that John had bought as he drove round from lock six. Jill had bacon and eggs on board in order to make lunch for everybody but this was dismissed, as was any suggestion of our paying for lunch, not even ours. By lock eight are the filter beds that Guinness used until recently for brewing. They are still in use but only for washing water. John told us that the water quality in the canal was so high that it was only 1percent short of being drinkable - it must be well filtered by all the bodies and rubbish.

These lost hours were to catch up with us at lock Ten which we arrived at just as the kids were getting ready for an afternoon's swimming. They were climbing on Hawthorn as soon as it was in reach and several were determined to make the run up to the eleventh lock.  With no means of stopping them what choice did we have? We even let them steer for a bit and Jill gave them sweets that we had brought in readiness for such moments. Our thanks on their leaving - they threw stones at us! Not that we cared, we were nearly there: the surroundings were becoming less suburban and we knew that we were only two miles from the moment of release that leaving lock twelve would bring. Unfortunately, the two miles to the last lock were through the most densely weeded water that we have ever boated in - it was just a thrash to get the boat to move at all and I was constantly in and out of the weed-hatch. Not having slept the night before was catching up and it was two very tired boaters that arrived at the last lock after a grim hour and a half. To top it all, the paddles on the top gates of lock 12 managed to do something that the Irish Sea had failed to do - soak our bed! The day was sunny so, with the bedding spread on the roof to dry, we forged our way on, into the countryside for another hour and a half. Hobbes, given a clear run on a wide towpath and with a canal to dash in and out of was the happiest he had been for days. We finally came to a halt at the village of Hazelhatch. Here there was the very welcome sight of other boats and a friendly greeting from their owners. We had made it:  with the crossing and the city behind us, Ireland in all her watery glory lay ahead of us.