Our joy on greeting the Misfit Mariners as we entered the lock that lifts the Grand Canal from the River Shannon was only brief. Their news that Shannon Harbour was stuffed with all manner of craft put in doubt our chances of a few days on the harbour wall and the possibility of another run on the river. The short stretch between the river lock and the lock up to the harbour proper was solid. Even the winding hole had boats both in it and opposite it and our, already limited, chances of turning were diminishing. The rising waters in the second lock were balanced by our sinking hearts as, with more of the harbour visible, our chances of spending anytime there disappeared (unless a boat has pavement width gunwales, there is no way that Hobbes will go round it). And there was nowhere that we could get within just one boat from the bank. Fortunately, the Misfits had seen a spot outside three working boats in various degrees of conversion which would be easy to get a rope onto for the time being. Their own boats looked tiny when compared to the barge they were outside - at 105 tonnes the ‘Argo Sneek’ is one of the largest liveaboards in Ireland - so we were all scrambling to get aboard. Hawthorn’s mooring directly opposite the entrance to the dry docks meant that our time in the harbour was limited but at least Hobbes was happy to meander over, through and round the nearly forty feet of steel boats  inside us so getting ashore was possible.

Shannon Harbour filling up for the winter!

Very few boats were out on the water or on the jetties as we made the run down the Shannon from Lough Ree. There was even space on Athlone’s usually busy quayside when we briefly put in for a supermarket run and lunch. Clonmacnoise was virtually empty and even at Shannonbridge, which is usually solid, there was space. It would seem that many owners were following the usual winter practice of getting off the Shannon, where a mooring in a marina is expensive, for the relatively cheap option of canal bank at the princely sum of 126 Euros for a year’s mooring and cruising. Many of the boats moored outside the usual long term projects, liveaboard and abandoned craft, were either too high or too deep to get any further up the canal than the next bridge. And the newly refurbished moorings and service block was buried three deep in expensive fibreglass. It was quite some sight but it spelled the end of our plans for using the harbour as an occasional base through the winter and, with a very large barge on its way in for dry docking, we were soon on our way again.

Ted and Eric call the Grand Canal ‘home’ and, with the lure of  friends and family collected at the Eastern end, they were keen to push on. Conscious that their boats were shallower and considerably faster than ours it made sense that we did not leave first but let them go and caught up later in the day. Now came the real shock: after months of deep wide water, the canal seemed torturously slow. The three locks and four miles that we thought would be a gentle beginning took four hours and, with the light fading, we gave up any idea of joining the Misfits a couple of miles further on. The following morning we left early but our expectation of finding the others still in bed did not happen - a mid morning text informed us that they were waiting for us at Pollagh, several miles ahead. We ground on, finally catching up at lunchtime. Then we were off again with Ted and Eric pulling away from us along the long Pollagh straight. The plan was to stop above the next lock but, keen to get on, Eric had already left. An hour later we joined Eric on the towpath in the back arse of beyond: a good mooring but fourteen miles in a day was too much and there was little pleasure in the afternoon’s cruise. It was time to say goodbye to the Misfits again.

Autumnal Hawthorn

The others were away the next morning, we stayed to make Sloe chutney and relax:  from here on we would not set targets but would just do as we pleased, stopping when we wanted and having days off if it suited. This way the canal became a pleasure again and we muddled along at just a few miles a day arriving at Sallins nearly a week behind Ted - Eric had already cut and run to his winter mooring at Hazelhatch. The good news was that Ted had taken his motorbike off his stern deck so we could get on with the cover that we had been discussing for months. Even better were the enquiries that followed its successful completion and, with enough work coming in for us to relax about the winter’s income, we left Sallins for Hazelhatch, Eric and the puppies. This would be Eastern limit of our travel’s on the canal for only Dublin lies beyond ‘The Hatch’ and we were soon going to be returning through Sallins and up the Naas line for the season’s final rally.

The puppies are now firmly into solid food. Just eating it is not enough as walking it over each other and the floor is much more fun! 

Should you not have read the earlier blogs there are a number on our Westbound journey earlier in the year in the links at the foot of this page. See 'Out of Dublin ' through to 'Winners All'.