A Stormy Sunday in June
A rainy day in Cheshire, thunder booms and lightning rapidly flicks its strobe on and off. For a while I attempt to pump the open cargo hold out, the main purpose of today's visit; but soon this turns into a fools errand, the sheeting rain running off the canopy straight back onto the deck. Whoever designed and built this middle cover needs a new tape measure; this one is an inch shy at each side, consequently all it does is catch the rain and let it fall in great cascades just inside the gunwale. As it's open sided at the moment, any mention of a side breeze also pushes more rain directly onto the deck, with the net effect that everything gets soaked. It really does seem to serve no purpose past the auditory rattle and buzz it choirs along with the engine as you move.
For a while I sit in the back cabin on a tall engineer's stool, drinking coffee and watching the show. I had hoped to get some miles under us today, but for a long time this seemed a forlorn hope. I don't mind a bit of rain, but electrical storms are to be avoided when travelling on the back of a big steel tub.
Still, it's easing a bit; I'll try and pump some more out of the hold…
After another downpour I finally empty the hold. It's good to be rid of the water of the last week, if this boat acts as a mobile weather station it is telling me that the Cheshire hay won't have been cut since my last visit. Dodging ominous splats of rain drumming the roof and my head alike, I cast the ropes off and push out. Every mile is a victory today, justifying the ongoing cost of perpetual motorway travel. First out I pass the old Lion Salt Works with its huddle of moored boats; the brick and boat patchwork backdrop to this trip so far. To the right the Witton Albion stadium sits low in an otherwise empty site, a heartening glimpse of football as it still exists outside of the so-called élite; firmly a community asset and all the better for it. I'm reminded of my desire to map all these grounds with my drone, providing each club with a digital model of the world today. Another open tab yet to be acted upon.
As we round a right-hand bend and pass under a low road bridge a driving rhythm filters through, first incidental then all embracing. What initially sounds like the beat of work at the Wincham Wharf boatyard resolves itself into something more recognisable; a live band at full volume on the canalside stage at the Lambs Wharf pub (‘Statease Quo’ I have subsequently learned, and tight they were too!). I'm treated to a host of raised glasses from the crowd and a big thumbs up from the bass player as I thud past on low revs, keen to make the most of the fleeting entertainment. Attention is soon diverted back to the work however, the cut here is stacked with floating projects and there is barely space to thread a boat through. Soon the TATA works are in full view; rising from behind the pipe bridge with its industry-inspired façade, a fitting backdrop to the sound from the marquee behind as the flattened 3rd is replaced by the hiss of compressed gas and the banging of steel doors.
Quickly though the edifice is replaced by green fields again - or brownfield sites to use the official term - areas that may once before have hosted factories and workshops but are currently ‘in between’, awaiting the next grand plan to hide it beneath stone and steel. Today however, they are left to see the sun and rain as much as I.
One suburban development later and that holy grail of boating, the steel piling, is seen rising from the water on the off side. We'll tie up here for today. There's another storm coming.
Willow is still putting her thoughts together on Padlet if you’d care to read more. I’ll be back in a few days, hopefully less drenched…
