To York ... and beyond!

The River Trent is - by British standards, at least - a pretty major waterway. I realise that by North American (and world) standards, it is not outstanding: at a mere 186 miles (300 Kms.) However; we can now report that we've been on the FOUR longest rivers in the U.K. Viz:

Severn - 220 miles / 354 kms.
Thames - 215 miles / 346 kms.
Trent - 185 miles / 298 kms.
Great Ouse - 143 miles / 320 kms.

Now; we cannot - of course - claim to have cruised the complete length of any of these; so we don't expect you to be awed by our achievements. We mention rivers – rather than canals – solely because the majority of the past couple of weeks have been spent on rivers.
The Trent can be quite intimidating; on its tidal stretches; after the comfortable familiarity of (relatively) small canals. Times of entering and leaving these tidal stretches are strictly regulated – by lock-keepers – and the right-angle turn; against the flow; into a lock is always fraught, to a greater or lesser degree; (making us aware of why we always wear life-jackets whilst cruising on rivers). Leaving locks, to enter rivers, is considerable less fraught; nevertheless, at such times we’re always too busy to take photographs, but here are a few pictures of the River Trent, which – in its heyday was a very busy commercial highway.

Heading down the Trent with both flow and tide in our favour, we were making almost 9 mph (over 14 Kms/hr.!!!) The manoeuvre to enter the lock at Keadby involved allowing ourselves to be swept downstream of the lock and using the engine to bring us slowly back to the mouth of the lock ... almost past it. By putting the tiller over and then, at the opportune moment, increasing power; we managed to slide into the lock – this time without the necessity of a second attempt and the associated bumping and banging, which had accompanied our previous exit from the Trent, into the Chesterfield Canal at the West Stockwith lock!

Once into the Sheffield and West Yorkshire Navigation, we found pleasant moorings, and a nearby convenience store. (Such is always on my radar, as I invariably purchase a daily paper; the better to service my addiction for political news.) With no schedule in mind, we started our Northwards journey; though that has involved much Eastward and Westward meandering. We moored-up in Thorne (South Yorkshire) for a weekend; where our friend Hazel Richings collected us and drove us to The Folk Gathering, in the very pretty village of Alstonfield, in the Peak District National Park, in Staffordshire, near to the border of Derbyshire. Many songs were sung; old acquaintances remembered, several new ones made, and much ale quaffed. After being delivered back to our floating, peregrinating home; we continued on our gentle way towards York, and thence to Ripon. (With a solitary ‘p’, not two ... mea culpa!) The zig-zag route took us onto the New Junction Canal – as straight as a die for nearly six miles, to the junction of The Nottingly and Goole Canal (Aire and Calder Navigation) and thence onto a non-tidal stretch of the River Aire. We entered the beautifully quiet Selby Canal; which, six miles further on, terminates in ... Selby!!! We shall see these again in a few weeks; on our return, towards the Leeds and Liverpool Canal; a jurisdiction which is to become our home, in a scant four or five weeks.


At Selby the lock-keeper waved farewell as we proceeded up river, on the incoming tide, which supplemented our velocity, by a couple of mph, for the majority of our travel upstream on the River Ouse, up to York; about 20 miles. York is, of course, York! (It should be the capital of the U.K. (and the House of York ought to be the rulers of England, not the usurping: House of Lancaster; and it WAS the capital of ‘Viking England’. (At this point I start singing the Kipling/Bellamy piece: ‘The Land’!) A wonderful place to just wander ... or it would be, were it not overrun by tourists. (At this point I’m striving manfully to avoid ‘grumpy old codger’ mode.) Anyway; we had visitors to our York mooring, for a couple of nights – Janie Meneely and Rob van Sante – and we’ll be back in just over a week to host my daughter and son-in-law – Jane and Max; as Jane has never visited this historic, medieval  metropolis.

As we arrive in York, note the shield, on the left, with the Cross of St. George and the White Rose of York.

The journey up to Ripon proceeded pleasantly and uneventfully; though the locks on this section are barely long enough to accommodate Moonstone. However; they are nearly 15 ft. wide; so we fit quite handily on the diagonal! For some unfathomable reason; within about 10 miles of Ripon, the River Ouse (pronounced: 'ooze') changes its name to the River Ure (pronounced: 'your'). I doubt there is any connection between the name change and the plethora (sort of plethora) of Great Blue Herons on that stretch ... but who knows?

Ripon is lovely! Quite a small city, with a spectacular cathedral, very interesting museums, excellent restaurants, and a good selection of charming and interesting pubs. What’s not to like? Our mooring; only a 10 minute walk from the Market Square; was quiet and unsullied by other visitors ... so we have stayed five days!

The Cathedral Church of St Peter and St Wilfrid overlooking all.

Remains of St Anne's Hospital chapel.

In terms of the Middle ages; a 'hospital' was a place to
charitably welcome itinerants and those in need of assistance.

The name was enough to rouse our interest. When we found that there is no juke-box nor piped-music; no one-armed-bandits, but a gentleman who occasionally dropped by to play the pub piano; we were hooked. A great range of very palatable ales - including some local brews I've never before tried - I tried a few. Lyn tried the single-malt whiskies!








Now it is time to take on fresh-water, beverages and comestibles; and head for York and a rendezvous with Max and Jane Bennett. À Bientôt, mes amis!