Keadby to Selby

On Sunday, having spent the night beside Keadby Lock, we intended to take just a short trip down to Crowle, about three miles further on. However, we would first need to pass through the Vazon sliding rail bridge, which you can almost see from the lock, as it is just a dead straight, half mile away. This isn't only a matter of casting off and heading down the cut when you feel like it. The bridge is operated by Network Rail, not the Canal & Rivers Trust, so the lock and bridge are not neatly co-ordinated, as if anything on the inland waterways ever is.

The Vazon sliding rail bridge is unique on the network although information about it is sparse. It carries the busy Doncaster to Scunthorpe railway line across the Stainforth & Keadby Canal at a sharp angle, so the bridge does not slide along the line of the track, but pulls a whole section of track back on the skew. Another feature of the design is a central walkway that ensures pedestrians and cyclists can continue to use the level crossing over the railway whether the bridge is open or closed. It was built in nineteen twenty-five and is electrically operated, although this is now mains power rather than the original set of sixty-four batteries. While control of the bridge is by a railway signalman from the adjacent signal cabin, an interlock with the railway signalling system ensures that the bridge cannot be opened unless rail traffic is prevented from crossing first. I haven't been able to find much explanation as to why they chose such an unusual design to replace the conventional swing bridge that was first built here in eighteen sixty-six other than it was to minimise disruption to rail services while replacing the original swing bridge.

The Vazon Sliding Drawbridge And Manned Signal Box Beside It

After nearly eighty years of solid service the whole bridge was replaced in two thousand and four with a very similar design. In two thousand and sixteen, however, there were concerns that extreme high temperatures were causing expansion that was interfering with the bridge operation and in twenty twenty-one Network Rail started essential work to address a structural fault that prevented the signaller from being able to close the bridge, causing disruption to services.

Under normal circumstances, boats approaching the bridge would be spotted by the bridge-keeper or use their horn to attract his attention and then wait for a suitable gap in the schedule to allow the bridge to be opened. Since the original issues were reported there have been different types of restriction in  place. At the time we were there, the bridge was only being opened at one o'clock each day. If you missed that slot, you had to wait until the next. It follows, then, that all the boats that came up the lock the previous afternoon had had to moor overnight, so we all set off at the same time, in a little flotilla, to catch the opening. It was touch and go but "Pollonaise" had managed to get his engine started in time so we didn't need to give him a tow. About quarter past twelve "Purple Emperor", another narrowboat, came up the lock with a big Dutch barge.

Swing Bridge Just Beyond The Drawbridge

A little group of three boats went through first and we followed in company with "Purple Emperor". Immediately beyond the drawbridge is an ordinary swing bridge, so the first boat through had to stop and operate it, which we did with good grace. They would, of course, have been obliged to return the favour at the next obstacle but as that was the only one before we reached Crowle, they didn't need to.

The map showed a forty-eight hour mooring at Crowle, which turned out to be about half a boat length, directly under the A161 flyover and already occupied by what looked like a well established shed / cruiser encampment. However, there was an old wharf a little distance before the bridge that offered somewhere to tie up to, away from the road and a little group of houses and opposite the station. We reversed up and got ourselves settled there, shortly before a huge motor home arrived in the car parking area beside us and set up their own home a hundred yards away.

Before dinner, we walked down to the road and across the flyover to Seven Lakes Country Park, just across the canal in Ealand, and the Lakeside Bar, recommended to us as a pub by a local resident we bumped into on the towpath. The country park consists of a large lake with all sorts of accommodation, mainly chalets and static caravans, crammed around it and among some smaller areas of water beyond it. The bar had a vast interior and a lot of outside seating in the sunshine overlooking the activity on the water. The service was good, even in the aftermath of the Sunday lunch trade, while the prices were very reasonable. The whole place had a strong Northern caravan park motif but it was all quite pleasant on a warm, sunny evening, watching what seemed to be mainly jet-skis out on the lake.

Seven Lakes Holiday Park

There wasn't much else in the little village of Ealand except the station for Crowle, which was a rather bigger settlement a little way to the north. We had chosen to stop here because we had an appointment at the next significant town of Thorne, about seven miles further on, that wasn't until Wednesday. We thought we would spend Sunday and Monday night at Crowle before moving on to Thorne, itself, on Tuesday ready for the start of the next day.

The weather had changed a little and we had a short shower on Monday morning, before we headed out on a circular walk along the canal to cross at the next bridge and loop back through Crowle and back to the canal via Ealand. On the way down the towpath Archie got so excited that he managed to slip on the bank and drop into the canal. Once again he chose a moment when we were both looking the other way for a second, so we looked back to see he had disappeared and then spotted his head bobbing up and down as he tried to get out of the water. By the time I reached him he was out and we were lucky that the water here wasn't that cold, was much cleaner than we are used to and the weather was still quite warm to dry him off.

We reached the next bridge, Godnow Swing Bridge, and crossed to the opposite bank and over the railway at the level crossing. Having crossed via the Vazon sliding bridge the railway runs immediately parallel to the north bank of the canal most of the way to Thorne. What took us by surprise, here, was that the level crossing for this minor road across the railway was manually operated when an approaching train whistled. We came to realise that this was true of most of the level crossings that we passed, as we followed the route west.

Goodnow Level Crossing - Fully Manned

There are large numbers of crossings, around the country, that do not have someone standing by to supervise the passage of each train. To the untrained eye, it was very difficult to see how the manpower required to operate this way, presumably at least three full time staff per crossing, seven days a week, could be justified here. Perhaps this is one example of the sort of practices rail companies are seeking to amend as part of any settlement on overall pay claims.

It took a couple of hours to complete our walk and we didn't stop to explore Crowle, itself, very thoroughly. We spent the afternoon doing a few maintenance chores back at the boat. We had been joined by another narrowboat called "Porth Ceri" and we were surprised to see that the motorhome was still in the car park and then stayed for another night. It didn't seem like the sort of spot that would be an attractive place to stay longer than overnight. For us, our options are limited but with one of these beasts, we had assumed that you would have greater flexibility to find a place to set up camp away from the flyover and railway lines.

On Tuesday, after a wet and humid night, we got ready in a grey, damp and very still morning to head for Thorne. Just as we cast off, so did "Porth Ceri". With five lift or swing bridges on the way and two more through Thorne, itself,  this was a godsend. We leapfrogged down with them, opening alternate bridges for one another. We even managed to dodge one as another boat coming from the other direction got to that one first. As a result, we were moored up in Thorne, just short of the yard we were taking the boat into tomorrow, before noon. We were on the outskirts of the town, opposite an extensive area of private mooring, two or three abreast and beside a single row of private houses, with a large area of green space running between the canal and the buildings. Just ahead, between us and the Canal Tavern, was a small park where we could let Archie off and next to the pub was the boatyard, itself. After lunch, I went and checked in to get our instructions for the morning and then walked up along the canal to a marina at the far end of town. It seemed quite a nice, tidy place to me but Sue had gone into town for some shopping and returned with a tale of closed down shops and a deserted high street that had seemed quite depressing. For dinner, we visited the Canal Tavern, newly refurbished and very welcoming, in a northern style, where we found the crew of "Laze Daze". While we were at Crowle we saw "Laze Daze" go past with a couple at the tiller, who seemed to be having a particularly good time and shortly after that they came back again. In all they had passed us four or five times, which is unusual. It turned out they had just bought the boat, which was moored in Staniland Marina in Thorne and this was their first time out to try and get used to it. They had had a great couple of days but were now heading back to work. We could only commiserate.

The next morning was grey and damp again but a little fresher. We were up early to move down into the boatyard for nine o'clock, as instructed. For the last thirty months and fifteen hundred running hours, I had been changing the oil and filters, according to the service schedule, checking what I could of the condition of various parts of the engine. No-one who knew what they were doing had laid a spanner on it in all that time so now, with the third major seven hundred and fifty hour service due, I had decided it was time to get a full professional service and inspection done. We had asked for the works, including changing the anti-freeze and checking things like valve clearances and propeller shaft alignment, so we expected it to be quite a long job as well as costly. Hopefully, it would be worth it for the peace of mind. It was a long job, indeed. Archie was left alone for a lot of the time, as Sue went back and forth to the laundrette to feed more coins into the dryer. Another boat came alongside for fuel, as we were moored right in front of the pump. Lunch came and went, then tea break. Finally the school run brought proceedings to a halt for the day, with just a couple of things outstanding, the prop alignment and replacing the Perspex screen in front of the electrical bus bar, which our engineer had broken in the process of checking the batteries. We were left to spend the night on board in the locked yard, although we did have pedestrian access to the outside via the secure CRT facilities adjacent. We also had the added bonus of a shoreline to enjoy unlimited electricity for the night.

The sun had come through for quite a hot afternoon but after heavy rain for an hour or two in the evening, Thursday started off dull, grey and very mild and muggy. Oliver turned up to finish the job at nine o'clock and we were all done by ten-thirty. Having added seventy litres of diesel and a replacement cable, one vital spare part that we should have had on board long before this, to our tally, we left Thorne with a considerably lighter wallet, at least. We moved on three or four miles, past Stainforth, where we noted a nice looking pub with mooring outside and we moored up on the towpath at Lower Bramwith, just in time to get the pins in and the covers up before a long spell of heavy rain that lasted until four o'clock. That gave me a chance to get the saw out and make some adjustments to the wooden battery cover which, following a combination of installing replacement batteries and a minor adjustment to the cabling undertaken at Thorne, no longer seated properly. It appears to be standard, in the boating world, that if you spend money having work done for you, then you will come away with some extra work for you to do, yourself, as a consequence. I suppose, that just means that I really should try harder to gain the confidence to do more of these things myself.

Friday was a bright, sunny day from the start. We stayed where we were and worked on the boat during the morning but decided to move up through the swing bridge, just ahead, before lunch. There is a CRT service facility right beside the bridge with quite a long wharf. There were three CRT workmen in the small office there so I asked them if it would be OK for us to moor at the far end of the wharf where a secure gate opened out onto the main towpath. They said that would be no problem, as there was plenty of room for boats to use the water point, so we finished getting water and moved down there for the Friday night.

Between Stainforth and South Bramwith the canal runs roughly parallel to the River Don, which splits again into the old course and the current, straightened Don. There are footpaths on the map that follow the river and also one that runs along the old route. We set out to try and follow the paths back to Stainforth via the loop of the old Don and return along the new course. This was shown on the map as a defined route for the Thorne Circular walk. Following the embankment above the new cut, at first, was fine. Several attempts to find the old footpath failed, however. The whole area was just too overgrown and despite some waymarks indicating the route, it was impossible to make any progress for more than a few yards. Beating our retreat up onto the embankment we settled for following that down to the road at Stainforth High Bridge. We did cross over the canal and had a look around for what was shown as a traffic free cycle route to follow the canal back to Bramwith on that side. There was no trace of that either, however. The area was particularly unattractive and there was a lot of fast, noisy traffic, which we assumed was because it was four o'clock, so everyone was rushing home for the Bank Holiday weekend. We crossed back again and found our way down onto the towpath to take us back to the boat, feeling slightly disappointed.

Saturday was warm and sunny with enough breeze to stop it feeling too hot. We moved up into Bramwith Lock, which seemed enormous. It was obvious that these canals were generations on from the original eighteenth century pioneers, with a width and depth to fully exploit the commercial potential of this form of transport.

Bramwith Lock Looking Enormous

By the time we had got the lock emptied and open "Roke" had arrived, with a large and lively crew on board and they joined us inside. Chatting, as the water rose, we learned that they were in the vanguard of a boat club outing, with two other narrowboats and a wide beam, all crammed with Bank Holiday boaters. They were heading for a long, popular mooring at Pollington, on the Aire & Calder, so could be expected to be following us as far as Sykehouse Junction

Shortly after Bramwith Lock we came to Bramwith Junction where there is a sharp right turn, through around three hundred and forty degrees, onto the New Junction Canal. On the map it looks intimidating but the waterways are so wide here that it poses no real issues at all. We generally think of the canals gradually being overtaken by the railways and bought out by them, as the waterway trade declined into obsolescence. Here, in South Yorkshire, the navigations had already been in the hands of the Manchester, Sheffield and Lincolnshire Railway and its predecessors, for decades when long-running dissatisfaction among their users led to proposals for improvements in eighteen eighty-eight. It was the newly formed Sheffield and South Yorkshire Canal Company Limited that obtained an act of parliament allowing them to eventually acquire the navigations from the railway by compulsory purchase, with the aim of upgrading the locks to take small coasters. Five years later they finally had control but not the capital to carry out their original ambitious plans, so traffic was limited to vessels of one hundred and ten tons. However, they were able to make some improvements. This included the building of the New Junction Canal connecting them to the Aire & Calder Navigation which, in turn, gave direct access to the large port and extensive handling facilities at Goole.

The route of the New Junction Canal is through relatively flat, open countryside, so it could be cut dead straight for five and a half miles. There is an aqueduct at each end, one over the Don to the south and another over the Went to the north.

It is very much built for commercial use by large boats. Nevertheless, it still had to cross various existing road routes so there are six lift or swing bridges along its route, thankfully electrically operated these days, as well as one lock. The lock is often manned, as it was on this occasion, particularly as it has one of the swing bridges sitting right on top of it. This makes it more complicated to operate, as there is an interlock preventing the automated operation of the lock until the swing bridge has been opened manually. The lock can accept vessels up to two hundred and fifteen feet long and twenty-two feet six inches wide. When we arrived it was full of cruisers, so we had to wait for them to pass through. Then, naturally, the lockkeeper wanted to wait for the excursion flotilla, which he could see in the distance, in order to best manage the water resources. We didn't have to wait too long, however, before they were all crammed in and we dropped down the four feet six inches to the lower level. Here, we pulled over and stopped for lunch, allowing the little group of boats, laden with party people, to proceed at their own pace.

We had wondered about staying where we were overnight but there was no phone signal there so we set out again, intending to moor at the junction an hour away. As we emerged from the aqueduct who should we find on the mooring there but our erstwhile travelling companions, who had decided to stop here for the weekend, rather than go on to Pollington. There was just space left for us to get in between their fleet and a couple of other large cruisers that had already been moored up there the night before and had been enjoying a peaceful, sunny Saturday. We pulled in and tied up for the day as the boat club got themselves all set up with the barbecue going, the children screaming and loud music blasting from an impressive sound system on one of the narrowboats. A little later another large cruiser arrived which we came to realise was meeting the boat club trip and they had probably been hoping would have settled into the space we now occupied, so they came alongside one of their friends' boats and breasted up with them. They brought with them more loud children and a dog that wouldn't stop barking, to add to the existing noise. We briefly considered moving on again but chose to stay, a decision we later rather regretted. To be fair, the main focus of the party was round a fire at the far end of the mooring. While the music continued into the evening, it actually stopped and they all seemed to be in bed as early as ten o'clock. A long day of heavy drinking and hot sun had obviously taken its' toll.

It was too hot for Archie but I did take a walk in the afternoon, around the junction with the Aire & Calder and down to the next bridge. There is a shooting school just to the west, although it seemed all quiet this afternoon. Southfield reservoir, opposite and to the east, was full of small sailing vessels as well as the usual complement of fisherman. At Beever's bridge I turned south, crossed the River Went and came back along a bridleway parallel to the river, which turned out to be a comparatively cool, breezy, shaded avenue for much of its length, before meeting the New Junction Canal again.

Nice Shady Avenue On A Hot Afternoon

Sunday was still bright and sunny but there was a light mist to start the day as the party people, much more muted this morning, gradually surfaced.

Misty Morning After At Sykehouse Junction

Unlike the previous afternoon, excited children were being told to pipe down and there were complaints about the dogs barking, so we assume they were nursing a few hangovers.  We set off during the morning for the five mile run down to Goole, a pleasant cruise in the sunshine but a very straight channel through a dull, flat landscape with not much to catch the eye except this ambitious looking log cabin being erected on the north bank.

Unusual Building Style For The Area

We had no intention of negotiating with Associated British Ports to get access to the Ouse here and so had no real reason to come down this stretch other than to say that we had done it. Nevertheless we had time in hand and it seemed worth the short detour. There is a visitor mooring and service facility before the main commercial docks and we found just one space available outside the marina club, the rest of the mooring being privately owned.

We walked into Goole from here, which involved a fairly long, straight trek down a wide commercial road alongside the Dutch River. In sixteen twenty-six Charles I, fed up with persistent flooding of a favourite hunting ground at Hatfield Chase, commissioned the Dutch civil engineer Cornelius Vermuyden to divert the River Don ten miles northward into the River Ouse. That made the area more habitable and the channel navigable for barges to bring coal from South Yorkshire for transfer to sea going vessels. A village formed to the south of the drain and Goole came into existence. In the eighteen twenties the Aire & Calder navigation extended the existing broad canal from Knottingley and constructed eight transhipment docks and laid out the associated new town to the north of Goole, a port complex that came to rival Hull.

Part Of Goole's Massive Port Complex

We had to walk through much of the port complex before reaching the town. When we got there we felt it wasn't dead but it wasn't attractive either. Some attempt had been made to brighten things up with a few hanging baskets in a short pedestrianised area but otherwise, there was a lot of traffic, a lot of empty and derelict buildings and a busy railway line right through the centre, which was either a considerable nuisance or very convenient, depending on whether you were a pedestrian or lucky enough to be catching a train out.

Goole Town Centre

It was very functional and industrial in feel and we didn't stay too long. We could only walk back the way we had come but we stopped at the new market beneath the Salt & Pepper Pots, two water towers that are, perhaps, the town's most prominent landmarks.

Salt & Pepper Pots

The smaller, slightly obscene, one is now disused but it is dwarfed in girth by the new white one beside it. The market had obviously been having a family day that was quietening down now. It consisted of a few different stalls of craft materials and retro clothing and a classic, greasy spoon café, which seemed to be a gathering place for superannuated, would-be Hell's Angels, of a type often seen packing out our own Long Itchington Diner on a Sunday morning. Even at four o'clock in the afternoon the smell of frying bacon and onions hung heavy in the air and we left the fug to cross the Dutch River and visit Old Goole in search of Percy Park, in the hope of giving Archie a run.

Original Old Goole Lying Across The Dutch River

A small grid of strictly laid out terrace houses, with a disappointing amount of litter scattered around the streets led us to what turned out to be just a fenced off children's play area, the size of a suburban garden, with no dogs allowed.

Returning to the boat we settled down for the rest of the afternoon in hazy sunshine. The club bar was busy but it was peaceful by the water and much quieter than the previous evening. Suddenly, about half-past five, a powerful public address system started up and a live crooner started his performance with what were clearly old favourites for the assembled company. A Bank Holiday social was just getting under way. A couple of sets from the star vocalist segued into a period of tuneless karaoke, followed by a disco that continued well after dark.

To round off the night, when I took Archie out at about half past ten , I was accosted by a man from Associated British Ports clad in an extensive volume of yellow Hi-Vis and carrying a two-way radio. Apparently, completely unannounced, a narrowboat had arrived at the port from the Ouse and demanded to be brought up to the canal. Rather surprisingly, they seemed to have let him through and were now trying to find him somewhere to moor for the night. Apparently the owner had no map, had been out on the water for many hours, had made no plans for where to stop and seemed completely ignorant of the fact that this part of the river was controlled by the Port Authority, not the Canal & Rivers Trust and needed extensive pre-booking, not least for their own safety amongst the far bigger boats using the port commercially. I suggested to the guy from ABP that he enquire in the bar, ten yards away, where all the music was coming from, as there would be people there who knew exactly how things worked and what mooring might be available. He looked at the bar and seemed surprisingly nervous about approaching it but headed off that way in the end and ten minutes later I saw him walking up the bank with someone who clearly knew the lie of the land, so we assumed he managed to find a spot, ready for when their unexpected visitor emerged from the docks.