Our interrupted night’s sleep at Carrick was soon forgotten as we made our way up the Shannon and onto the Shannon-Erne Waterway - the route that would take us into Northern Ireland and onto the huge waters of the Upper and Lower Erne. The first ‘uphill’ section, the newly restored Ballinamore and Ballyconnell Canal, was narrow and shallow and automated locks meant that we didn’t even get to have a chat with the lockies. The smaller locks also meant that our little fleet of Misfit Mariners had to take turns and we were soon stretched out. Having the smallest boat meant that Ted could share with smaller, faster, cruisers. This led to our having the oddest experience when, having left Ted in a lock with a tiny cruiser crewed by an elderly man and his father, we were making our way towards the next lock. It is not uncommon to feel that wave of water that a lock emptying ahead of you sends down the canal and, feeling a bump, we assumed that we would get to the lock and find someone working it. Then we felt the bump again. This was getting a little odd and, looking through the binoculars at the lock in the distance, I was unable to see anyone on it. On turning round to put the binoculars on the table, I was stunned to see that the tiny cruiser we had left with Ted was pushing hard against our stern. Pulling to one side the boat shot past with the two old boys shouting that we were bigger than an oil tanker! The wash that they created was running about a metre up the banks as they tore ahead of us.

The day that it took us to get to the summit was both interesting and different. Somehow we had mis-timed our run to coincide with the movement of hire boats and the locks were very busy. With little space to moor this meant that boats were drifting around as they waited their turn and tensions were high:  an English couple had a row that left the woman in tears and the man as black as thunder and not talking to anyone and we were all stunned by the Irishman who bawled at his wife and young child that they should climb down a wet steel ladder to the bottom of a 5 metre deep lock as it was easier than his putting the boat somewhere safe to get them on. It was grim, at times so grim that it reminded Jill and me of the English Canal System (although homesickness did not follow). Fortunately the mood was lightened by several boat loads of Norwegians who, declaring their lightheartedness by wearing their underpants over their clothes, spent the time singing opera. The good news was that after one long slow day, we made the summit and also cleared the narrow confines of the canal. To celebrate we dropped anchor in the first suitable spot (Lough Scur) and spent the night with the three boats strapped together. Taking the dogs for their late walk involved the dinghy and a shore-side field and, once stood in the darkening gloom, Eric and I were able to hear the Norwegians singing across the water from their village mooring in Keshcarrigan at the bottom of the lough. The dramatic landscape of woods and meadows rising steeply from the water, the distant mountain to the west  (the source of the Shannon)  combined with the drifting song to give our homely raft of boats a very magical air.  

With rain coming in overnight we did not cruise far the following day. Not that we were bothered as the landscape around us was magnificent. With the canal now behind us every bend on the narrow Woodford River brought another glorious view: wooded hills gave way to narrow valleys which in turn opened up into meadow bordered loughs. We had been told how lovely this part of the waterways is but were still surprised by it all. The small town of Ballinamore had good moorings so we put in for the night. The following day was another short run: we had been asked to do some work at a mooring called Swan Island on Lough Garadice which was only a few miles down the river. We had no idea what to expect but, having spent a week at Swan Island, we only wish that all our work could be done at such a spot.

 
Lough Garadice is a condensed version of the very best of Irish waters. Tree lined in places, meadow shores in others, it has two islands: one with a ruined church the other with a ruined castle. There are a number of crannogs - small man made islands built as secure dwellings in the dark ages - scattered around its shores and the  surrounding hills abound in hill forts. The cultural delights are looked after by Pat and his family who own and run the Swan Island site. A naturally jovial man, Pat offered us a warm welcome which  was returned when Eric took him and his mates sailing - a first for Pat and possibly the largest vessel to have ever sailed the lough. With a little work to do, some good walks, the lough and its islands to explore, the joy of a bar and restaurant within yards of the boat ( a bar with internet was a godsend given the total lack of any mobile provision) and a crowd of regulars who appear to have been enthused by Pat’s generosity,  we were very content. It may not be a coincidence that it was at Swan Island that we made the decision to let our mooring in England go. Having done our job and some work for Pat as payment for our mooring, and with Eric back from Dublin, our final night was a blinder. We had been told that a traditional band was coming in to play and were surprised to hear a single guitar and voice drifting down to the moorings as we made our way up for a pint. Of course, this being Ireland, the ‘real music did not start until much later. How much later? Well, Jill, Ted and myself retired about half two. Eric, an accomplished whistle and flute player and a night owl to boot, got involved in the session and subsequently made his bed at six. Pat, with a farm to run as well as Swan Island, had gone straight from the session to collect a bull from a nearby farm and returned to sort out the hire boats. He made his bed at midday! By then we had gone, gently motoring across the bay and round the wooded promontory. We could have stayed but, having spent many excited moments over the years pouring over maps of the Irish Waterways, we knew that some of the best boating waters in Europe lay just a few miles downstream. We also knew that the only way back to the south was through Lough Garadice and that, with more work booked at Swan Island, our return was all but guaranteed.