Ballinasloe High Street

With the party over we rose on monday morning to the thrill of change: we had been static for several days and were keen to leave the limited depth and width of the Grand Canal for the mighty Shannon; for years we had been pouring over maps and guides, examining the possibilties and seeking out its many hidden backwaters, so we were more than a little excited.  After a final walk round the basin to say goodbye to our newly made friends, two locks and a couple of hundred yards we were finally on peat rich water with its source far to the north. We were on the Shannon.   

After two weeks of low revs, weed and locks, the size of the Shannon here was quite a shock. Shannon Harbour is up a channel and you actually lock down onto the River Brosna, so we had to motor a little distance and clear an island before we were on the Shannon proper. Jeez it is one proper river. Even here, 85 kilometres upstream from Limerick, the river is well over a hundred yards wide, and as we cruised upstream there were times when the banks fell back much further and not it was not just the width that varied: the depth changed constantly as shallow as 2 metres to as deep as 7.  With the engine revs set at a sedate 750 rpm, and the weather bright and blue, we gently made our way to the next goal: Shannonbridge and the junction with the River Suck a few kingfisher and coot filled miles away.  It was a brief introduction and we soon passed the peat fueled power station just below the confluence of the Suck and Shannon.

Turning into the River Suck, we were surprised to see the width and depth of the river - it was as deep as the Shannon and not much narrower. This was not to last as, after a few miles of scrub bordered water meadows, we negotiated Coreen Ford, a narrow tight bend where you would not want to meet a large barge charging down. We got through without incident - that would wait for our return the following day - and while the river briefly returned to its previous width, the depth was gettng shallower. The width finally reduced a couple of miles below the navigable head of the river, Ballinasloe, and the channel markers - red on the left and black on the right -  crowded Hawthorn into an ever more twisting course. We would have been utterly lost without them as there were times when the river seemed to have stopped altogether only to open up again the other side of tight bends, or slightly wider reed filled sections that looked like dead end lakes from a distance. The final obstacle was the only lock on the river at Pollboy. Another one of those idyllic locations which must have been a joy for a reading lock keeper and is a favoured quiet mooring for boaters.  Not for long though:  its rural peace is about to be shattered by the imminent opening of the new bypass that will pass over the lock cut just 50 yards from the lock itself. We were glad to only see the new road and not hear it. We did hear the old road though as it runs just next to Ballinasloe Harbour, our mooring for the night, and went for a walk -  we can see the need for a bypass as the town was busy with traffic and the noise considerable. I suppose there will be more winners than losers once the new road opens but it did seem a shame at the lock. Talking of shame, Ballinasloe was to provide my most embarrassing moment of our Irish foray (to date).

Pollboy weir and the new bridge

Having moored, we locked the boat and wandered round the town for an hour or so. Modernity had passed much of Ballinasloe long before the bypass and, aside from a convenient Lidl store, most of the town's shops were local shops for local people - among which was a secondhand bookshop: one of the few retail outlets for which I feel any enthusiasm. Not this one though: with Jill and the dog outside I glanced around at books piled high in, apparently, random stacks which did not seem to be priced. Disappointed, I soon left and we returned to the boat for coffee and cake. That evening while reading on the bows, we became aware of a gathering on the far side of the harbour: it looked like the Mayor, his assistants, police and other dignitaries had dressed in their finest to stand around aimlessly on the grass, and we idly watched to see what developed. Then, behind us, from the river, came a loud fanfare of boat horn and fog siren and, apparently suspended over the water meadows, a number of flags and bunting could be seen rapidly coming towards us. That they were attached to a boat was soon confirmed as a large steel cruiser came into the harbour, still sounding off, and very neatly pulled into the quay next to the dignataries. The 'suits'  lined up in front of it and a picture was taken and, less than 5 minutes after arriving, the boat left the quay and the assembly dissapeared over the road to the car park.  There was only one person on the boat and he slowed down as he came level with us in order to have a chat.

The boater was a late middle aged man with wild hair and a matching moustache of generous proportions. He told us that the event was a photo shoot for the local paper to use as publicity for the River and Arts Show that was being held in early July, and he tried to pass us a leaflet across the gap between the boats. Unable to reach, I then used our Keb (a 14' long ash poled rake that has a number of uses) to reach out so that he could spike the leaflet on one of the prongs. I then swung the Keb round and Jill took the leaflet off and,  having looked at it, she said:  " I saw one of these this afternoon, it was in the window of the secondhand bookshop". To which the wild haired boater exclaimed loudly: " You don't want to give that thieving bastard any money!" I then stated " I am unlikely too. Its a crap bookshop". Oh, how the world turns on tiny things: if only I had said 'crazy'. I might have got away with it: his comment about the owner was made in self deprecation.  Made clear with his next line: " I like it that way. When I opened it twenty years ago people tried to get me to keep it in order but I just couldn't be bothered". If I had been snatched from Hawthorn's gunwhale by a vast Irish pike it would have been a relief, instead I simply asked him: "Have you got a spade?".  In order to abate my embarrassment I said that, as a book lover, there was nothing more frustrating than a shop like his and that I had tried to find something but was in a bit of a rush. After a little more conversation it was decided that I should return in the morning, he said that he opened "about 9.30" and departed down river. Angry with myself for being so clumsy I determined that I would do the honourable thing the next day.

 So, a little after ten (allowing for Irish time) I opened the bookshop door, stuck out my hand and declared: " I have come to do my penance".  That this was greeted with howls of laughter eased my conscience and the following very happy hour was full of Michael's, and my, stories of regrettable moments. He won out with a tale of a night spent in a pub when while talking to a married couple he had been introduced to for the first time, Michael learnt that the wife's name was Mary, and that he came from the same town.  "I used to go out with a Mary. She lived on such and such a street", he'd said. To which Mary replied: "Who the hell do you think you've been talking to for an hour you bleeding idiot!"  I roared with laughter when Michael finished the tale by saying: "Last night you wanted a spade. That evening I was looking for a fekking digger!" It is a nice guy who belittles himself in order to make someone else more at ease and I was very happy to leave with a few books and twenty Euros lighter. And, should you wander into The Oat Gallery on Bridge Street, Ballinasloe, (and you should) make sure that Michael's daughter, Sheena, is about. Sheena actually knows where to find things.

So with a little more ballast, we motored back down the River Suck to the lock, where the keeper warned us a large work boat towing an equally large 'flat' with a long reach digger on it was coming the other way. The IWAI Lough Derg Rally is due as part of the July festival and some spot dredging was required to ensure that the Heritage Boat Association's collection of ex-working boats got through without incident. With the thought of such a large boat ahead of us we motored round the tight bends cautiously and were relieved when a WI speed boat came up river and pulled along side us. The digger was busy dredging the full width of Coreen Ford and we were advised to wait on the wider stretch above the ford until the work boats had passed us. Not a problem: adjacent to where we were was a cattle drinking hole and we ran Hawthorn into it, turned the engine of and waited. We did not wait long as the WI maintenance boats were soon coming up river. What did confuse us was that the men on it were waving frantically with their arms in the traditional sign language of 'slow down you fool'. Our confusion at this was soon cleared up when a hire cruiser shot past us at full chat downstream. Concerned that the wash from the German crewed boat (it was flying its own 'courtesy flag'! ) may have pushed us to far up the bank to get off easily, and aware that the work boat would  help if needed, we revved up and reversed. To our relief Hawthorn slipped the bank and we were free to carry on round the newly dredged ford. Keeping to our side of the river as it really is so blind that to meet another boat if you're off line would be a problem, we were nearly clear of the narrow channel when we ran aground. With the boat tipping we could here the scrape of a boulder under the hull until there was one hell of a bang and we rocked level again. Whatever we had gone over had been struck by the propeller and the drive's pressure relief valve had kicked in - we had been warned that it would make us jump and jump we did!

Boys and their Toys.

We could feel nothing wrong with the boat - a badly bent propeller would have manifested as a nasty vibration - so we carried onto Shannonbridge for a damage inspection and lunch. The relief valve had done its job and all was well with our Crowther Marine prop but we had water dripping through the stern tube  (if only that had also been the Crowther unit that we had been promised and charged for by our boat-builder!). Not much water but enough for me to be concerned and I rigged up a drain with an empty milk container so that it ran into the bilge bucket under the packing gland.  More concerning was the thought that if a solidly built new hull could suffer damage, what might such an incident have done to one of the much older, much plated and much deeper ex working boats that were off to the rally? I rang Waterways Ireland (WI) who were as consistent and helpful as ever: were we in trouble? No. Did we want to use a dry dock at their expense to check? No. Could I tell them where the rock was? Yes. I think so. WI are going to drag it when the dredger comes downstream shortly and, in the meantime, they issued a Navigation Notice warning other mariners of the danger. I also posted up the incident on the IWAI forum and was guided towards more help if we needed it. This all happened a few days ago and the dripping has all but stopped and we are free to continue up the Shannon without to many concerns - which is a relief as we have just motored over one section of the river where the depth gauge was reading over 10 metres!  A nasty shock but the good news is that we know who to ask if we need help  and that help will be forthcoming.

So a strange voyage: I offended one man and was forgiven.  And having had a fright, comfort was offered by many.  I think we are going to be alright - particularly if I can learn to say crazy instead of crap!

 

There's a boulder in there somewhere