goodshipcalliope

Saying good bye to La Somme – Amiens to Peronne

Written in haste while we had the wee-fee (wi-fi) to upload it all)

I have mentioned that Amiens was a curate’s egg. The good parts were the architecture, the parks;

les Hortinollages and their passerales; (I’ve got another 30 photos of these if anyone is interested . . )

the Cathedral; (absolutely HUGE, twice the size of Notre-Dame in Paris)

old houses, shops and restaurants (linked together by a mini-canal system similar to Venice.)

The bad parts were that we had moored up against a quay that was popular with exuberant somewhat inebriated young at night, and melancholy somewhat inebriated drinkers during the day. It looks lovely – but had its downsides.

So Stewart never felt comfortable there and after two nights we decided to move on up river. The first part of the journey was past Les Hortillonages (hectare upon hectare of small market gardens divided by small channels of water).

The first lock we came to was at Lamotte-Brebiere where we waited for our jolly orange Somme van and accompanying l’eclusier to arrive next to a lovely wacky bar.

We continued to Daours lock, through to Corbie and our resting place for two nights.

Corbie is a pleasant village with some nice buildings – and our first meeting with another boat in 4 weeks (see below below)

It has a close association with Sainte Colette,

including a chapel build on the site of her birth

and her favourite view from a high spot above town. (A Saintly Colette indeed . . . )

(with a point of view . . . . . )

We met Bente and Kurt and their splendid B&B (barge and breakfast)/cruise barge Aslaug…look them up and go for a day out or holiday with them! They helped us celebrate our wedding anniversary the evening before we set off again, with Cappy as our target for the night – a target that was somewhat missed!

The first of our set of three ‘incidents of the day’ occurred before we even left – the printer stopped working, and there were none to be purchased in Corbie. Then as we set off proudly upriver, looking back we saw a happy black fender bobbing about mid-stream …. requiring full astern from the Captain, and a wildly wielded boathook by the crew.

Setting off again, we had a good view of St Colette’s view point from below as we began the journey – you can just make out the same information board (above) in the top left hand corner.

Calliope made good time and we arrived at the first lock, Bailly-Laurette, a few minutes early, so moored up to await the eclusier. An hour later he arrived, somewhat put out to find the third of our day’s setbacks. He discovered that there was no electricity to the lock mechanism. After a couple of phone calls he decided he would do what he could with the ‘emergency’ manual turning handle – which took ages and a lot of puff.

Consequently we were at Bailly-Laurette for almost three hours – long enough to photograph a selection of flowers around the lock;

and meet two sets of boaters waiting to go downstream. This meant that there would be no more locks that day and no reaching Cappy.

The superb result of this delay meant that the Captain recalculated our course and decided that we would heave to at Chipilly – an absolutely wonderfully quiet and peaceful mooring with nightingales singing all night (noisy incessant un-melodic little critters) .

Near WW1 memorials and sad, sad graveyards. (Over 1 million young men from both sides were wounded or killed in just 4 months at the battle of the Somme, after which the Allies front line had moved forwards 11 kilometers – to another position of stalemate . . . .)

It is also the place of choice for proud geese parents to take their young on evening promenades, but the very young are corralled for safety on the water.

And next day, on down the last stretch of the Somme towards Péronne and the scary scary Canal du Nord . . . .

We were accompanied by our eclusier from the day before, fortified and refreshed overnight by some beer we gave him! He stayed with us through two ‘point levis’ (lift bridges) and several locks.

At Froisssy we jumped ashore for half an hour to see Le Petit Train de Haute Somme – built to bring men and supplies to and from the front during WW1, then used by local farmers, and now a tourist attraction.

The neat Art Deco lock building at Cappy was an additional attraction.

Through the last lock, under the A1 …..

….. and then under the last rusty bridge of La Somme before bursting out onto the scary Canal du Nord, avoiding the first of many giant commercial barges and the shallows marked by a long row of red buoys to starboard.

Our second meeting with another boat in 4 weeks – actually, 2 x 40m fully loaded barges strapped together pushing about 6 knots; the ground rules have just changed . . . .

Just around the first bend we saw the entrance to the creek on our starboard bow that heralded our mooring at Peronne. Hooray – we had made it!

So far so good . . . . .

Saint-Valery sur Somme to Amiens

(Comments in italics from the silent one)

Up early (groan from one member of crew) bearing in mind we had moved forward to French time, to be at the sea lock by 0730 as instructed for the one 30 minute slot of the day to pass through. An éclusier appeared through the morning mists and half light, opened the lock gates, and we were in, up and through in. Despite several phone calls and messages left for the PCE (who manage the rest of La Somme) to say that we were moving up river there had been no reply. Captain Carr therefore looked for somewhere to moor so that we could make contact and arrange for an éclusier to open swing bridges and locks for us along the river.

We saw an old jetty with bollards and managed (just in time) to secure Calliope against the strong downstream current and outgoing tide. Stewart set off to find the éclusier or someone at the marina in order to get more information. He returned with welcome fresh bauguette and croissants – but no information. It was Saturday. Maybe they would not pick up our messages until Monday, so it was decided that we would ‘Carry On Up The Somme’ to Abbeville.

((i) The river was falling rapidly and we were on Neap tides (ii) Ray and Hilary needed to get to the railway station at Abbeville (iii) We have a dismountable wheelhouse (iv)It was 21Euros a night at St Valery and free on the Somme)

It was an interesting journey! Calliope has an air draft (height) of 2.8m and we had been ‘reliably’ informed by many Piper boat owners and experts that she was built at just the right height to go under all the bridges on the navigable waterways of France.

So no problem going under the 8 bridges between us and Abbeville then?

Bridge 1, no problem; Bridge 2 looks a bit tight – Ray on foredeck and Lesley on Back deck guaging and re-guaging whether we would fit under as we got closer and closer …….. aaah …. phew … just squeezed through. Checking the Guide Fluvial we noted that the bridge had an official clearance of 2.7m, and was a turning bridge that the éclusier would have turned for us had we managed to make contact.

Never mind; no damage done. What about bridge 3, growing closer by the second? Oh no! An official clearance of 2.4m!!! Too late to turn round or back – we are half way through already and the wheelhouse roof is … is not … maybe is …. Whoops, slight graze to the canvas cover, stern digging in as Captain pushes the boat through with full throttle, and double phew, we made it again!

(Bags of room . . . . )

So no worries at bridge 4, with a clearance of 2.5m – a full 10cms higher than the last one! And the last four are all well above us 2.9m, 7.93m plus, plus.

With all the excitement not a single photos was taken of those few kilometers.

And so we arrived at the outskirts of Abbeville, slowing down as we passed the canal to the lock entrance to check out our course once we linked up with the éclusiers – only to see it blocked by a working boat and barge. Hmm – could be here for a while!

We turned the bend onto the old town wharf wall – a very high wall left from the days
of big trading ships coming in to tie up. We had an interesting minute or two finding a suitable mooring for us, with unreachable huge ancient rings atop the wall, and sparsely spaced modern steel ones along the side of the wall.

And then we were tied up fast, safe and secure, and could relax and enjoy our surroundings.

After enjoying a farewell supper in a local restaurant (except for those who chose andouiette) it was time to get a good night sleep. Next day, Sunday, we were up and off to ‘la gare’ to say goodbye to our essential crew – Ray and Hil – who were off back to England.

We like Abbeville – it’s a typical little French town with quirky ancient corners, a couple of nice bars (with pinball machines!), a selection of shops and a few good restaurants.

We got to know it quite well, staying longer than expected because on Monday when we finally made contact with the éclusier team – (two of them called round in their bright orange van) we discovered that we had caught them on the hop.

Although all the info says that High Season starts on April 1^st, they were going to be working on the canal for another 10 days or so, and that was when it would ‘open’ with éclusiers to operate locks, swing bridges etc.

That gave us a small problem. Where we were moored there was no water or electricity supply; round the corner just after the lock there was a mooring with both these facilities. In halting French we explained all this, and our friendly men went off to find a solution.

The solution was that they could let us through Abbeville lock on Wednesday to the other mooring, where we would have to stay until April 15^th. Excellent.

In fact we were able to move on Wednesday. Those few hundred meters were an adventure in themselves.

Calliope is 20m long. The river at this point is about 22m wide, partly obstructed by branches.
There is a very strong downstream current.
The town wharf juts out a couple of meters just downstream from our mooring, narrowing the river.

So, a difficult turn!

Let’s just say it was exciting, and we made it without hitting anything more than a few branches ….

… and temporarily lowering the French courtesy flag.

After that, turning into the canal cut, going through the lock and onto the new mooring were all relatively simple manouevres.

We plugged in to electricity ………….. and discovered that there was no water!

Our very helpful Somme amis were onto it immediately. One van after another came to try and sort it out and by next day we had super water pressure.

The new mooring was great and it gave us a good opportunity to get to know Abbeville. We had many pleasant walks round the town.

There are lovely buildings (many very very old)

The Belfrie

Door to St Wulfran’s

Old bath house

Une porte

Old glass house

Old auberge

Interesting parks and open spaces

Friendly bars and restaurants

We also went travelling by train to Mers Les Bains and Le Treport on the coast- a grand day out.

Belle Epoque ….

… at Mers les Bains

Belle Epoque extraordinaire at Mers Les Bains

Is it a Banksy??

A view from the top

(The Banksy half way up a cliff walk was an especially astonishing discovery and very powerful, sprayed over an WW11 German gun emplacement.)

Le Treport from top of cliff

Le Treport harbour

The old fishing and commercial ports of Le Treport

We were in Abbeville for both of our birthdays, and each enjoyed being Queen or King for a Day, feeling decidedly rosy as night fell on 12th and 13th!

Finally, on April 14^th, the canal opened for 2016 business. So good bye Abbeville and the beautiful sunsets and reflections.

Pont-Remy lunch stop

Ruined chateau at Pont-Remy

We cruised upstream, meeting the éclusier, right on 11am as arranged, at Pont-Remy lock, and stopping just after for lunch. We moored opposite a ruined chateau – elegantly dilapidated some would say.

It was a beautiful sunny day with plenty of normal river birdlife – heron, ducks, coot, moorhens, Greylag and white geese etc. There were surprisingly strong swirling currents on the river (would have been ‘yellow boarded’ on the Thames), but Stu coped well. (It was nothing . . . )

Long lock

Mooring at Long, from bridge

After lunch we carried on upstream to Long, where we again met the éclusier, locked up, and moored in a lovely location by the Hotel de Ville and bridge.

Long has some interesting heritage – a chateau called Folie de Buissy, with an amazing run of pergolas and glass houses next to the river …….

… and a hydroelectric power plant built in 1900, providing electricity to the town until 1968. – but no bars . . . .

Next day we said goodbye to Long, and a local goat.

Looking back at Long as we went upstream

We continued towards Amiens, this time having lunch soon after La Breilloire lock, at a pleasant pontoon next to Pont de Bourdon.

The sun shone, the birds sang, and the water flowed, through a canalised river between huge lakes of Somme water, apparently created in part from digging for peat..

Our target mooring at Picquigny was reached early and we moored up below the lock waiting for the éclusier to arrive.

approaching Picquigny lock — Entering the lock at Picquigny

It was the first time this lock had been used since winter and the poor eclusier had to remove a huge load of debris, twigs, small logs and boughs (and a dead cat) [poor thing] from the lock gates before we could come through to our mooring.

Picquigny is another interesting town. Walking up the hill towards the church we suddenly discovered that it is effectively placed on an inland cliff, with old fortifications built round it. I must discover the history!

We walked along the bank to Samara Ancient Village Museum one afternoon, and although we did not go in we did enjoy more wildlife and riverama.

The mooring at Samara is longer and tidier than we expected; we did not stop there as our course was set for Amiens.

We left Picquigny on a green, blue and gold Spring day, passing a good view of the castle and church on the ‘cliff’.

The Captain was alert to every bend in the river, with navigation buoys to negotiate and wicked eddying currents to manoeuvre.

We went through locks at Ailly-sur Somme and Montière with the help of another great eclusier.

And after the Montière lock we came up a lovely straight stretch towards Amiens, with the Notre Dame silhouetted against the sky

(apparently twice the size of the one in Paris; it were ’uge).

Calliope reached Amiens lock a little early, but the èclusiers had opened the gates before their lunch so we cruised right in. From the depths of the lock it was almost impossible to see the little green bollards set back from the edge, but by standing on the roof, and very lucky rope throwing, we got a bow and stern line attached and waited, having lunch, for the èclusier to return.

Then we came through lock, round the canal, and into a ‘pleasant’ mooring at Port Amont, opposite the park on one side – and the ‘English Pub’ on the other!

[It became less pleasant at night, with happy local young making their way home from nightlife at 2am – no harm done, but a bit noisy!]

Amiens cathedral is truly magnificent, and the story of its protection during the world wars shows great dedication from a team of civilians and soldiers.

Amiens has many lovely ancient buildings, old streets, characterful bars and a whole network of small canals giving it the name ‘Venice of the ~North’.

It also has hectare after hectare (how big is a hectare? Very big I hope) of Hortillonages – small market gardens surrounded by a maze of tiny channels, about 4′ wide, navigated by special narrow punt like boats. Individual bridges, built to their owners spec, link paths and gardens.

We enjoyed Amiens, but after two days and nights we were ready to set forth for waterways new, and headed off towards Peronne and to complete our voyage of La Somme.

(Apologies for all errors – have to leave free wifi in library now as due on another boat for drinkies!)

The voyage from Portsmouth to St Valery sur Somme

(Comments from the minimal one in italics)

Having mastered six months winter berthing at Haslar marina bouncing up and down on 10 foot tides twice twice a day we felt ready to face the challenges of la Manche.

moving astern from our Haslar Marina mooring

Pilot Ray and super-lookout Hilary joined us at 8, stowed away their kit and after a cup of tea we slipped our moorings at 9 o’clock.

Spinnaker Tower and Old Portsmouth recede into distance

We bade farewell to Portsmouth for a few months – “a thousand times adieu” with friend Pam waving her Pompey flag from the Round Tower.

Setting off eastward along the coast we set our course following a sunlit pathway across the sea – plus of course Ray’s navigation lines on the chart.

We rounded Selsey Bill with less turbulence than expected and motored on towards Beachy Head. Calliope pushed forwards through the wind, waves and spray, eagerly seeking her port for the night at Eastbourne

Our main excitement during the day was being overtaken by a high-speed lifeboat whose wake set us tossing and pitching to such an extent that two partially filled mugs of tea leapt onto the seats and a tumbler in the kitchen flew to the floor.

As we got closer to our destination another of nature’s navigation aids appeared – a rainbow pointing to the harbour entrance and guiding us towards (today’s) journey’s end.

Phoning ahead, as instructed, we found a lock ready for us to enter, shared with a fishing boat, its crew and catch.

After a celebratory drink and good supper we had a superbly calm night moored in Sovereign Harbour and awoke ready for action. The forecast force 3-4 winds, with possibility of force 5 later, was a little concerning, but with trust in ship and crew we joined day-fishing boats in the 8.30 lock …..

….. and by 8.45 were leaving the lock behind them ….

….. to find another sunlit pathway cutting through gentle seas to guide us towards France.

It may have been 1st April, but we were not a ship of fools, or April poissons. We were ready and able to undertake our Piper Boat odyssey to France.

Using both our ‘Raymarine’ systems (technical and Mr Pilot Ray Graham) we steered a steady (relatively steady) course south towards the sun.

I felt a Mock Turtle moment as England slipped from view, “The further off from England the nearer is to France”, and after a while we were became coastless. This was a strange sensation for the Captain, who was more used to land he could almost touch on each side when cruising down rivers and canals (Indeed).

Some hours later we met the first shipping lane.

The northerly shipping lane, for vessels moving East to West

It has to be said that we had been a little anxious about little Calliope weaving in and out of gigantic tankers and cargo ships hell bent on reaching their destinations, but in fact we saw few ships and it was simple to steer behind any that were ‘close’, ie quarter mile away!

The second shipping lane, West to East bound, was even emptier than the first, though we did get closer to this one. Captain Carr took us skilfully behind the huge dredger (Oh it was nothing).

Soon after this we realised we were now in French waters, a moment recorded by the raising of the tricolour (courtesy flag).

Time to change the clocks too.

Sea birds sat serenely on the surface – yellow headed gannets, horned grebes, greater black backed gulls etc.

Far from the winds increasing to their forecast strength they decreased to an absolute millpond calm as we gradually approached the Baie de Somme.

We shared the waters with few other boats, most of them fishing and trawling in various fashions.

But we did have a moment when a (petite) French warship (Border Patrol vessel) hove into view and we wondered if we were to be boarded and searched for whatever constitutes contraband these days.

We obviously looked innocent and law abiding enough to be left alone and we cruised on.

Keeping on course we looked out for hours for the famous ATSO buoy marking the start of the labyrinthine channel into St Valery.

After a couple of false sightings we spotted it and made a lengthy, stately approach. Phew!

Between the first pair of many marker buoys

There was still an air of apprehension in the wheelhouse. Ideally we would have reached ATSO two hours before high tide. In fact we were about 90 minutes late ….

…. so anxious to follow our winding course as quickly as possible, but without any errors of the running aground type.

The combined efforts of Captain Carr, Pilot Graham and a Look Out Girl (not me!) ensured safe passage between over twenty sets of buoys, posts and beacons (spelled ‘buyos’ on the Port St Valery web site reminding me of daughter Hollie’s days at Cardiff Uni).

(Navigation note for those interested: we arrived on a Neap tide and, despite only drawing 3’ we were very short on water on a couple of occasions – http://www.portsaintvalery.fr is essential reading).

We could even enjoy a quick glimpse of the basking seals on the fast emerging sand banks.

The final turn into the start of the Maritime canal du Somme was unexpected and sudden, but by adding Google Maps satellite images into our armoury of sextants, charts, GPS, sun, moon, stars and the human eye, we made it. We made it!

Before long we were moored up on a hammerhead at the marina, champagne was opened, and the crew rewarded for efforts. (Thanks to Den and Linda for the bubbles – they didn’t last long.)

Our welcome at the marina included a booklet about cruising on up the Somme and, in our limited French understanding, an explanation that if we wanted to go up through the sea lock into the canal the next day we would have to be at the lock for High Tide at 0756, so an early night was the last order of the day.

Across the channel from our mooring at Saint Valery – 0700 hours 2nd April

A good nights sleep was enjoyed by the crew, who awoke to a beautiful Saint Valery scene, and ready to tackle the next phase of the journey towards Abbeville and Amiens.

Calliope out of the water

We have had Calliope out of the water 3 times over the last year (simply for inspection and cleaning purposes) and thought that others might be interested in seeing where we did this.

ON THE THAMES

1. The Grid, Strand on the Green, Chiswick – booked through Port of London Authority; arrive at high tide, moor up, and wait to be ‘beached’.

It was all much easier than we expected, and gave us a good 8 hours to look at the bow thruster, rudder, propellor etc, play in the mud, and go for a pint!

You will need to have a ladder on board in order to climb down. We bought the cheapest loft extension ladder from Homebase and it has come in handy a number of times since (grandchildren and I climbing out of the river after swimming).

2. The wall at Isleworth, by The London Apprentice pub – booked and moored as above.

Again far easier than we expected. Make sure you avoid the most downstream mooring pole (think Vinny may have had something to do with its strange angle??)

We needed the ladder again, this time to climb across to the wall.

The anchor is only down because we were practising with it – no need to deploy an anchor for mooring purposes.

Once more, we had a good 8 hours, with plenty of wild bird life for those who enjoy such things, and a good pint in The London Apprentice, a few steps away.

IN PORTSMOUTH HARBOUR

3. The Sea Lift, Haslar Marina, Portsmouth Harbour – booked through them and good for getting a clean bottom!

We have been moored on the next hammerhead for the past 5 months, and watched many a yacht get washed off, so we headed towards them for our Jet Wash with confidence.

Calliope had grown quite a green beard through the 5 months in the salty sea water of Portsmouth Harbour, so time for a strim before we cross the channel.

The guys cleaned her off beautifully. So proud of our clean shaven hull!

For any who, like us, are relatively new to boating, all three were much easier than we anticipated!

More photos and info available from us if wanted – l_carr@btinternet.com

Connor Coot

CHAPTER ONE

“Oooh! What’s going on out there?” chirped Connor Coot, peeping out from under his mother. He was in the fluffy cosy nest his parents had made from soft dried grass, feathers and reeds.

“It all looks SO exciting!”

: “Behave yourself Connor” Mother Coot said.

“It’s best if you just sit still until your brothers and sisters have hatched,” his mother replied.

“Ohhhhh. But I want to go swimming in the river. I want an adventure,” said Connor …..

…. and while his mother was busy checking the eggs Connor left the nest.

He looked at the water. Would he know how to swim? He should be fine as all coots can swim.

In he jumped, and YES he could swim. “Lovely,” he thought, “wheee! Here I go”.

: Quickly he swam away before Mother Coot noticed he had gone.

hiding each time he heard his mother call.

What fun to be in the water swimming and splashing!

But it would be even more fun if he had someone to play with.

He so wished his brothers and sisters would hatch out of their eggs and come to play.

Wait a minute – what could he hear? Little squeaky voices calling “Connor, Connor”. Could this be his brothers and sisters? Quickly he swam home.

YES!! As he swam towards the nest he could see four red beaks and four yellow ruffs round each baby bird’s neck. His siblings were looking out for him and calling his name.

“It’s meal time Connor” they squeaked.

He was hungry after his first adventure and slipped back in amongst the others just in time for Mother Coot to start feeding her brood of baby birds.

CHAPTER TWO

As the days passed by Connor was always the most adventurous. While his brothers and sisters were happy to stay in the nest, Connor was keen to explore the river.

Sometimes Connor was allowed to swim along with him through the reeds. The little yellow topknot on his head and bright red beak made sure that Dad could always spot him and keep him away from danger.

Connor was proud of his bright colours. “Look at me,” he squeaked at the other birds on the river. Happily he swam around, in and out of the reed fronds.

But as Connor grew bigger and stronger he began to change. The bright yellow feathers on the top of his head were replaced by dull grey feathers. His nice red beak became a murky blackish colour.

And worst of all, his neat little feet began to grow and grow and grow!

“Mum what’s happening to me?” he asked, swimming after her.

“There, there,” she replied. “Don’t worry. You will become a beautiful grown up coot one day, with lovely coot feet just like mine.”

“What can I do to be beautiful as soon as possible?” he asked.

“Eat up all your food,” his Mother replied. She swam up to him with another tasty morsel while his father looked for more food under water.

Connor ate and ate and ate – but all that seemed to happen was that his feet got bigger still.

And all the other river birds seemed to be laughing at his feet!

“Quick kids,” said the geese. “Come and see Connor’s feet – they are amazing!”

“Where”? asked the cormorant. “I want to see Connor’s feet too!

“Hey Connor, show us your feet,” called the cheeky black cap gull.

Two swans even tried to see Connor’s feet underwater! But he had swum away quickly and they only saw the muddy bottom of the river.

All of this made Connor very sad and embarrassed. He tried to keep his feet out of sight.

Connor’s father noticed that his son was quite and sad. He was not the happy energetic chick he used to be. So father coot asked Connor what was the matter.

“It’s my FEET!” said Connor. “Everybird laughs at them!”

His father tried to comfort him. “Look Connor. My feet are just as big. That’s the kind of feet that Coots have.”

But Connor was so upset that he decided to go away on his own and hide from all the laughter.

He went to hide in the weed along the riverbank and stayed there for days.

CHAPTER THREE

Connor had been hiding for quite a long time, swimming quietly under the overhanging willow trees, between the rushes and low hanging bushes at the edge of the river. He was lonely without his brothers and sisters, but could not bear to hear the laughter and teasing of the other birds.

Then one day a wise and kind heron spotted him and asked why he was hiding away.

“I look too awful to be seen,” said Connor. “My feathers are all grey and my feet are so big. All the other birds laugh at me.”

“Wait a minute”’ said the heron. “I do believe that I have grey feathers and big feet, and everyone thinks I am a beautiful bird!”

Connor peeped out from the reeds and weeds to look at the heron – he WAS beautiful, with his long grey feathers blowing gently in the breeze.

“Come on out,” said the heron. “Let me take a look at you.”

Connor swam out slowly, under the sharp eye of the heron.

And what do you think happened next?

Well …. well, well, well!

The heron almost fell of his perch as he looked at a grown up handsome black and white Connor emerge onto the river!

“OK, ok,” said the heron. “Time for you to take another look at yourself. You are no longer a little grey bird. You are now a black and handsome coot. And I reckon you should get out from your hiding place and have some fun.”

With that the heron flapped away up the river on his big wings.

“Good bye, good bye – and thank you”, called Connor as the heron flew away.

CHAPTER FOUR

Connor was not sure if he believed the heron’s words.

The still water of the river was like a mirror; Connor looked at himself in the water. True, he was now quite a sleek glossy black bird, with a smart white mark above his pale pink beak.

But he still had BIG BIG feet.

He stood there thinking, and remembered how brave he had been as a young coot chick; how he loved adventure. Maybe now was the time to be brave again. He could try to find some new friends. Maybe they would not laugh at him.

Was he brave enough to try?

Yes. Yes he was. Connor coot would go back out on the river!

He set forth up stream, and suddenly his large feet came in useful! It was hard going against the flow of the river, but Connor found he could swim with big strong strokes. His webbed feet opened out into super large paddles and he was off!

He swam and swam until finally tiring he saw some ducks resting on a nice wooden platform. Connor climbed out to join them.

“Hello” said Connor. “I’m Connor Coot. Have you seen any other coots nearby?” Most of the ducks stayed asleep, but one friendly duck told him of a lonely lady coot just round the bend in the river.

“Thank you,” said Connor. “I am off to try and make new friends.”

“Well let me be the first one,” said the duck. “My name is Delia.”

“Oh yes, of course Delia. I would love to have you as my first new friend.” said Connor as he splashed back into the water.

As he swam round the bend Connor thought he caught sight of a coot under a willow tree. He turned round and swam past again.

Yes, he was right. There was a young coot standing shyly on a log, hiding her face from him. He called out to her.

“Hello. I’m Connor Coot and I am trying to make new friends. Delia Duck is my first friend. Will you be the second?”

Slowly she looked round and stared at him. “Yes, I would like to be your second friend,” she said. “My name is Chrissy.”

What a happy afternoon they had, making friends, swimming together, and finding out about each other.

They got on so well that Connor decided to tell Chrissy about his feet and how worried he was about them.

“Oh Connor,” Chrissy said, “all coots have big feet. Look at mine!” And Chrissy happily ducked her head in the water ;getting her feet spread out behind her.

Well, that was the happiest moment in Connor’s life! Chrissy’s feet were big and magnificent. Little thrills of excitement ran through his body.

Suddenly Connor could be proud of his own large webbed feet!

“Thank you Chrissy,” he said, as she came up for air spluttering and laughing.

“Let’s celebrate. Let’s build a nest together!”

And they did. They found a nice spot by a bridge.

They collected twigs and reeds and wove them into a snug nest, and lined it with soft grass and feathers.

I think they will have some eggs to hatch one day, and some baby coots will set out for adventure!

Living aboard in Portsmouth Harbour – October

I can hardly believe that we have already been here for 4 weeks! In some ways it is strange to be here – the choppy sea instead of the calm river; the gulls and fish instead of the coots and herons; the warships, ferries and yachts instead of the narrow boats, barges and sculls.

But in other ways it is familiar – our home waters, especially mine, having been brought up here, watching the ships in the harbour from an early age.

So what to report? I think four topics; wildlife, ships and boats, skies and family.

Wildlife

Amazingly we still see a kingfisher, skimming the waters of the marina and occasionally perching on a pontoon or rail. And there are heron and cormorants in Haslar Creek, further up where it dries out at low tide.

There are gulls a-plenty, sparrows, crows and starlings in the shore, egrets stalking the pools amongst the rocks, and the war of the show, Whistler, a harris hawk.

Of course she is not flying wild here. She has been visiting with her handler to scare the starlings away from roosting on the rigging!

Shoals of tiny fish (no idea what they are!) constantly swim through the marina waters and much bigger grey mullet have been seen.

Then there are the jelly fish! I did not expect this at all. Of the six types of jellyfish known to inhabit the UK waters we have had two in the marina in the past fortnight!

The compass jellyfish, seen swimming between our boat and the pontoon, quite toxic apparently, and about 10 cms across …..

….. and a barrel jelly fish, about 50cm across, but so diaphanous and wobbly that the camera just could not pick it up distinctly.

Ships and boats

Countless categories of ships and boats, moving and changing by the minute, have become our entertainment and education.

Naval warships glide into harbour, with their radar domes appearing first above the roofs of HMS Dolphin…

… to reveal their full glory as air defence destroyers (HMS Daring, Diamond, or Dauntless) ….

.… or a patrol ship to protect our fishing interests (HMS Tyne) …

…. an Antarctic research and survey vessel (Sir Ernest Shackleton) …

… or even one of our remaining frigates (HMS St Albans).

Huge freight ships and cross channel ferries move as gigantic chess pieces around the harbour board, sending their washes to rock us night and day.

Tall ships and small ships, arriving and departing, rushing and dallying, 24/7.

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Ocean going racers, training ships and living legends, our everyday vista.

Skies and family

The sun comes up and goes down amongst the masts of hundreds of yachts.

The family flow in and out like the tide, sometimes all together!

We do our duty, sometimes go to sea, and delight in the lights of nearby Portsmouth.

Calliope goes to sea

Our voyage from the Thames to Portsmouth Harbour

[There are far too many good blogs about barges and their voyages for me to compete, so this is just a snippety illustrated version of our (very exciting for us) journey.]

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September 22 : last night on the non-tidal Thames

Our last night, for now, moored up at Hampton Court enjoying river life. Excitement was building about the next few days, with every day holding something new for us to experience ……

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September 23 : Hampton Court to Isleworth

Leaving Hampton Court, we glided down to Teddington Lock saying goodbye to Kingston as we passed.

Our objective was to reach the Isleworth draw dock close enough to high tide to tie up. We needed to become stranded on the pebbles in order for a different propeller to be fitted – one more suited to the off shore trip we were about to make.

We made it, and found a way to turn, and moor. Within half an hour we were bumping on the bottom and after about an hour we were high and dry.

Graham and Grant from Piper arrived and before long all the work was done, all the tea drunk and biscuits eaten … only kidding!

The London Apprentice helped us towards a good nights sleep while Calliope rose and fell with the overnight tides.

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September 24 : Isleworth to Gravesend

Today’s target – Gravesend – further down the tidal Thames than we had ever ventured before. Impatiently we watched the tide creep inch by inch over the mud and stones towards us, eventually lifting us and the swans to a ‘float free’ position.

We were off, against the last half hour of rising tide. Just below Kew the tide turned to be with us, speeding up progress downstream to a sturdy 7 knots.

London’s bridges were markers of our progress, and the famous landmarks began to appear.

One wonderful addition to the littoral zone at Nine Elms on the South Bank was ‘The Rising Tide’ horse and riders sculptures was designed by the renowned underwater sculptor Jason deCaires Taylor. So lucky to see these temporary beauties as they were only on show for another week.

Houses of Parliament, London Eye (yes, I was drying the washing as we travelled through London!) ……..

………. O2, Greenwich and the Cutty Sark – all ticked off as we passed, and the Thames is changing into a wide commercial dockland vista.

Calliope passed on through the Thames Barrier …

…… and under Queen Elizabeth II bridge.

All the way, mainly running with the tide, the waters were relatively smooth and the only ‘choppiness’ was in the Port of London.

Before long, and sooner than expected, Gravesend was upon us.

A bit of a shock to find a tug tied up to the Town Pier mooring that we had booked, but we hitched ourselves alongside, negotiated with the crew, and soon it departed.

Right on time we were joined by friends Hilary and, (our pilot), Ray, both experienced coastal sailors. There was time to study tidal streams, charts and weather forecasts before a good fish and chip supper, some wine, and a stunning sunset to round off the day.

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September 25 : Gravesend to Ramsgate – c60 miles

Embarking on the outgoing tide we motored down the final stretch of the Thames ……

…. passing the paddle steamer Waverley on the way.

Our aim – to reach Ramsgate; our concern – North Foreland, where the North Sea meets the English Channel. The forecast was good with light winds and plenty of sunshine, and everything went swimmingly!

Passing the infamous North Foreland with relative ease …

we were able to enjoy the sight of Broadstairs ….

…. and soon we were in Ramsgate Harbour.

All was amazingly easier than we had anticipated. Well done Calliope! She seemed to almost relish the challenge of the sea.

A turn around the town for the crew, passing by the Ramsgate Home for Smack Boys, followed by home made shepherds pie and the inevitable glass or two of wine, ensured another good night’s slumber.

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September 26 : Ramsgate to Brighton – c80 miles

We left Ramsgate with a good weather forecast and tidal streams that were in our favour most of the way (I’m getting the hang of this nautical parlance!) We watched the sun rising behind some spectacular clouds and headed West.

Our apprehension levels were set high as we neared Dover and began to see giant ferries moving steadily in and out of the port, but pilot Ray was calm and confident, explaining the shipping lanes, exclusion zones etc. We let the Dover Harbour Master know of our intent, and everything was amazingly simple!

And we could see France. It’s much closer than Portsmouth!

Dover behind her, Calliope headed for Dungeness, leaving Folkestone to starboard and crossing the bay miles out to sea – or so seemed to Stewart and I! It took hours for Dungeness Power Station to grow from a block on the horizon to a full size power plant building.

We rounded Dungeness Point with an intention of heading for Eastbourne Harbour, but a realisation that our weather window was closing made us decide to push on to Brighton – an 11 hour, 80 mile cruising day.

This meant rounding Beachy Head and its lighthouse, dwarfed by enormous cliffs.

With Beachy Head behind us we could enjoy the beautiful Seven Sisters cliffs lit by the sinking sun.

Brighton Marina had out a Message to Mariners, explaining that we could not enter the marina an hour either side of high tide, so we gently wallowed off shore until 6.24 when we were welcomed in to a pleasant mooring.

After a visit to a local pub we enjoyed lamb stew on board before bed.

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September 27 : Brighton to Portsmouth – c40 miles

With the winds forecast to pick up, especially around Selsey Bill, skipper and crew planned an earlier departure from Brighton, even though it meant punching against the tide for a few hours.

The sea was moving more than previously, and Calliope bravely rolled, plunged, pitched and heaved. According to our sailor friends the seas were relatively calm, but compared to the upper reaches of the Thames we found it somewhat exhilarating, though never frightening.

My supply of ginger goods (biscuits, tea, beer) kept mal de mer at bay, even round the choppiest waters off Selsey Bill, while skip took a break on the back deck.

And then, wonderfully, the relative calm of the waters of The Solent. Calm enough for me to go below and cook a fried breakfast for all …. which went somewhat off course when I overloaded the power circuits and lost all electricity! Never mind – the bacon and tomatoes were cooked, bread replaced toast, the mushrooms had fried and the scrambled egg carried on thickening in the warm pan. Yum yum.

Finally we could see Portsmouth’s Spinnaker Tower way in the distance – a waypoint to aim for in the last stages. Ray advised Stewart as he steered through the old submarine defences and into the small vessels channel …..

…. we entered Portsmouth Harbour, caught on camera by a friend, with Lesley deploying the fenders!

We were soon comfortably moored up at Haslar Marina and celebrated our arrival in style……..

……… where the sunsets are as magnificent as before.

Coot Scoop

Unique photos of newly hatched coot chicks at Shiplake Lock

A serenely serendipitous situation; we had just tied up at the lay-by for Shiplake lock, and were obviously in for a bit of a wait, so catching sight of yet another pair of coots building a nest just a few yards from the lay-by I picked up the camera.

I have rather a lot of similar photos, but this time the nest was in the reeds, and all green. No empty crisp packets or bits of rubber hosing in this nest construction!

Then as I waited for Mr Coot to return with the inevitable building material offering ……… I noticed a tiny red and yellow punky head peek out from below Mrs Coot!

She had a baby in the nest! Hooray. I have spent all summer trying to get a clear photo of a baby baby coot – and everything so far has been distant, blurry and frankly useless.

As I watched I became aware of the shrill squeek of a hungry young coot demanding food. It was coming from further along the reed bed.

Wow! ….. the first hatched of the brood had already ventured into the water and was making his hungry presence known to his father. This was one determined young creature, out to grab any morsel of food before it reached the nest and his (or could be her) siblings.

Back in the nest, Mrs Coot was apparently feeding egg shell to the other babies. I don’t know this as a biological fact, but it is my take on what she has in her mouth.

Her fascinating feet are so big, and protective, next to her young brood all bald as a coot!

The errant eldest chick returns …….

…. and takes on a perky sentry attitude …….

…… always on the watch for dad with some food!

He’s the adventurous one, off exploring again, then return to mum to nestle in for a rest.

Sad to leave them, and I have every finger crossed that at least some of the chicks survive the predatory pike, mink, buzzards, foxes and others higher up the food chain.

There once were some ugly ducklings ….

…. with feathers all stubby and brown

But, and sorry to use such a trite word, they are so cute! They are amazingly fluffy with their baby down, not yet able to shed water as they will do from their future feathers.

We have been lucky enough to see them at many stages of growth, usually brought to the boat for a photo shoot by proud parents!

There has been so much on line and in the media generally about NOT feeding them bread, so I have tried them on sunflower seeds and sweetcorn ……

…. which the cygnets sometimes manage to pick out of the water before they (the seeds and corn!) sink too low to be reached by short young necks and beaks. I have loved how the parent swans hold back from feeding themselves while the young are eating, and seeing off any predatory ducks or geese who think they will join in on feeding time. They seem to start quite pale in colour

…… becoming a delicate grey, with stubby little wings ……

….. until those famous brown ‘ugly duckling’ feathers arrive, but with the start of an elegant white neck and more noble head.

The wings begin to show as the cygnets move towards the beauty of …..

…. the proud adult swan.

The Great Coot Exploration

My strategy for enjoying the Thames this summer did not include coots, but I have become ridiculously absorbed and fascinated by these cute feisty birds.

It began a few months ago as I noticed them building their nests, working in pairs to make a safe haven for their eggs and their young.

Capturing photos of the nests was easy …..

But capturing photos of the newly hatched young is near impossible for a fidget like me! Every time I got within coot-sight of a nest, one parent would quickly and quietly lead the young chicks away, whilst the other parent acted as decoy and swam in the other direction!

When I did catch sight of them, I was amazed to find little black chicks with red/orange topknots on their heads – nothing cootlike in that.

I set myself the task of getting one of these chicks on film (or the digital equivalent), frantically calling to the Captain to slow the boat as we cruised by likely nests, or scrambling through undergrowth to sit with my feet in the river, as still as a fidget can be.

All I have achieved is a few blurred images.

As they grow, they move into the grey stage, losing their striking red/black look, and start to develop those enormous feet!

It seems that the parents then have no choice but to bring them out on the river in full view of all predators to feed them and teach them the rudiments of finding their own food.

Gradually the feathers darken towards black and the little monsters get ever hungrier, demanding constant feeding from both parents!

I am not sure what the next stage will be – I’ll keep watching as they develop into the bossy boots of the river, chasing much larger birds away from their breeding and feeding grounds, and stomping their big feet on their territory.