Motor Boat & Yachting - July 2018

C

ontinuing on the Canal du Midi, one

piece of advice we’d previously been

given paid off: start cruising early

each day and finish around 1pm.

As the hire boat fleets awake from

hibernation, the canal gets busier,

with increased competition for space in the marinas.

With their vessels rented for a limited time,

hire boaters want to make the most of every

day, cruising long and hard. But it means that

around 4pm daily, a flotilla of hire boats arrive

at the marinas, all jostling for a berth. Rush hour.

We, however, arrived early afternoon, did our

shopping and topping-up of water, and – forgive

the schadenfreude – sat on deck with a glass of

wine watching the 4 o’clock fray. (That said, we did

help new arrivals tie up; we’re not complete killjoys.)

We noticed the hire boats rarely seemed to have

a skipper, usually driven by a committee with three,

four or even five people (usually men) around the

helm, all providing advice, or trying to steer. We

invented a collective noun for these: a ‘bungle’.

On one occasion, approaching a blind bend on

the Midi, we sounded our horn and kept well right.

Good job too, since a bungle came round the corner

towards us at speed. Seeing us, all four of the crew

grabbed the wheel to steer themselves out of

trouble, succeeding only in guiding their large boat

across the canal and right up the opposite bank.

Luckily there was no damage, and the boat slid

slowly back off again into the water.

But any smirks on our faces were wiped off when

we entered the lock at Bram. With two hire boats

ahead of us, we let them enter first to tie up. By

now, we’d learned to do everything slowly and

gently, to be easy on the throttle and not cause any

fuss or commotion. As I nudged the boat gently to

the side of the lock, Liz leaped off ready to wrangle

ropes. All good so far, and the lock keeper – seeing

that we were pretty much in position – began

closing the gates behind us with his remote control.

Which is when it all went horribly wrong. I decided

to move Liberty further forward and gently pushed

the throttle, but the boat seemed to go backwards.

Liz looked confused. I pushed forward a bit harder

and the boat went faster in reverse, towards the

closing gates. ‘What are you doing?’ shouted Liz.

‘Trying to go forwards!’ I shouted. But the more

I pushed forward, the faster the boat went back, until

with a massive bang, it hit the almost-closed gates.

The hire boaters looked aghast, Liz was ashen,

and the lock keeper ran to the gates to check for

damage. I was in panic mode. The éclusier told me

to stop the engine, and he and Liz pulled Liberty by

the ropes to the lockside. I went to the stern. One of

our davits was bent upwards and the swim platform

was dented. I felt sick. But miraculously, the gates

seemed okay, and we weren’t sinking. The keeper

tested the gates and continued to close them, then

wrote up what was presumably an accident report

on his clipboard. (‘Complete bungle on boat called

Liberty. Hit gates. Imbéciles!’)

When the upstream gates opened, the hire

boaters wasted no time escaping the crazy private

boaters, leaving Liz and the lock keeper to tow

Liberty to the side of the canal. Liz rejoined me on

board, asking why I’d reversed at speed into the lock

gates. I couldn’t explain. The problem turned out

to be the joint throttle/gearbox mechanism having

come adrift down below. The gearbox had stuck

in reverse, along with the throttle, regardless of

which way I pushed it. A single cable clamp had

disintegrated, but I could see all we needed was

to find a small U-clamp with nut and bolt and we

could make a running repair.

We easily robbed a clamp from a fuel line, but

then spent two hours combing every nook and

cranny on the boat for the right length bolt, even

unscrewing the knobs from pots and pans in the

galley. Nothing fitted, and we sat disconsolately on

the aft deck, not wanting to call out a mechanic.

Then Liz, looking up at the ship’s horn, said, ‘What

about that?’ She pointed to the small bolt holding it

on. Within minutes we’d disassembled it, I’d nipped

down into the engine bay and voila! It fitted! A glass

of celebratory wine later and we were on our way.

Cost of repair: zero. Embarrassment factor in

front of hire boaters: ten.

Liz rejoined me on board, asking

why I’d reversed at speed into

the lock gates. I couldn’t explain

MIKE BODNAR: As the season changes and hire boats fl ood the canal, Liz and I feel smug in

the knowledge that comparatively, we’re old hands at navigating locks now. Or so we thought

THE L-PLATE

LIVEABOARDS

COLUMNS

Rush hour on the

Canal du Midi