There is little need for me to comment further on the canal and Waterways Ireland staff as we made our way towards Shannon Harbour as the high standards set in the first few days remained constant. We did stop for a couple of nights at Tullamore, the market town of County Offaly. Judging by the jammed state of the town's roads, it was quite possible that every car, truck and tractor in the county was trying to get in or out of the centre - Bury St Edmunds must have been like this prior to the by-pass opening in the mid seventies. Tullamore is soon to be similarly relieved: we past under the new ring road as we made our way into the town.
As always we were the recipients of yet more Irish generosity when another boat owner asked what maps we had of the Shannon, and then gave us three huge guides worth 20 Euros each, while refusing all offers of payment. We did get a glimpse into just how bleak the economy is for some when a dog walker stopped and talked to Jill. It seemed he was losing his Guest House business which, but for the week when the National Fleidh is held at Tullamore in mid August, his bookings were insufficient. Not being fans of town centre moorings generally, we were happy to return to the countryside as soon as possible. Just a few miles outside Tullamore we experienced the strangest interruption to our cruising: we had to 'give way' to a herd of cattle that were being driven across the canal!
Anything is possible! 
We moored for the day in a remote stretch and took Hobbes for his afternoon walk along the towpath.
Just past the point where Hawthorn lay at rest on the bank, was a tiny hamlet of traditional cottages. These were not the chocolate box cottages that appear on postcards but low, two roomed whitewashed dwellings with tiny windows and corrugated iron roofs. There were five of them in a group beside the canal and, set back, a sixties bungalow. The only livestock was one timid collie and a lot of geese. As we passed them we were hailed by a voice through the hedge and we were greeted by the same guest house owner that Jill had spoken to in Tullamore. It turned out that he knew the owner of the hamlet and had been given permission to hack the overgrown garden back out of the weeds and woods. He was planting vegetables in the hope that it would be possible to feed the family for free through the coming winter. We were invited to take a look and stood chewing toffees and discussing the possibility of there being not enough light for anything other than mushrooms to really prosper. Walking back we cut through the hamlet and met the one remaining dweller - a small man well into his eighties whose twisted frame and simple dark coat reduced his physical presence still further. He had lived his whole life in this one place, as had his sister and brothers until their deaths over the past couple of decades. The last remaining family member, he continued to live in the old, peat fire heated cottage in preference to the modern comfort of the centrally heated sixties bungalow. Jill and I left with the feeling that we had just wandered into another time frame or a David Lean film set. So strange was the whole afternoon that I forgot to take a picture. Instead, Jill walked back to the derelict castle that we had passed just before mooring and spent the evening sketching.
At the next lock the following day, we were met by yet another lock-keeper. We knew that our passage through the Grand was being broadcast but Alan was really keen to talk to us about business: somehow he had found out that we are boat cover makers and he had a list of contacts for us as well as some work of his own that he might want doing later in the year. While talking about work we were informed of the going rates for boat covers and breathed a sigh of relief - they are far in excess of the figures that we would have charged in England (they would have to be as this is such an expensive country in comparison). We had not really thought about work but his news and interest did make us feel more confident about surviving here financially. Stopping overnight on the lock jetty also meant that we had the unique experience of catching up with another boat the following day - the converted barge 4B had past us the night before. In England we were used to pulling over to let narrowboats by as they caught us up on the canals and, to her credit, 4B pulled over and beckoned us past. Knowing that we were going to soon stop we waved them on which meant that we were able to watch in amazement when, having fouled her prop, the steerer had to undress to his shorts, climb down the rudder and lower himself into the water to clear the length of plastic pipe that was wrapped round it. I have never been a fan of weed hatches as they give me the heebie jeebies but if this was the only other option then I will never moan about having a cold arm again!
We were now nearing the canal's terminus at Shannon Harbour: just 5 locks, two lock keepers and a few more miles to go. One of the stretches between locks was the prettiest yet as the canal meandered between low hills. The lock keeper had told us that there were hundreds of pike in this pound and we were able to watch them take advantage of the water being pulled into our propeller: the pike, anywhere between the length of a finger to the length of an arm, lay at the bottom of the canal facing in the same direction as Hawthorn while all the other fish swam in the opposite direction as our propeller dragged them past. It really was feeding time at the aquarium as the pike would dash up and grab a suitable morsel - all done with a couple of flicks of the tail and a quick flurry of panic. On getting to the next lock we commented that this was the best bit of the canal to date, which surprised the lock-keeper as it seemed most people moaned like hell about the weedy, shallow and narrow channel with the trees so close to the water. And then, we were at Shannon Harbour, where we moored and walked down to the Shannon itself. The river is huge and quite daunting, but we will not be going anywhere for a few days as we have to wait for post to catch up with us (the lockie has said that he will collect it from the Post Office and bring it to the boat!) and there is a huge rally here at the weekend that we have been encouraged to attend. And we are in no hurry to leave the Grand Canal as it has more than lived up to its name and given us a gentle, and thoroughly enjoyable, introduction to boating in Ireland.
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Hawthorn Blog 
