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You'd think, after boasting nearly five years on the French Waterways, with more than 6000 kilometres and probably some 1500 locks under our belts, as it were, that we would have learnt to expect the unexpected. Anyone who has steamed down the fearsome river Rhone and survived the Etang de Thau - well I mean, we are not exactly crossing an ocean here in the cosy inland waterways of France so what more could there be to throw at us?
Through one portico to another at Vianne
Nérac, simply uniaue.
"The greater the pride, the nastier the fall" - that ancient maxim. We should by now, after a number of near misses and lucky escapes, have the humility to know that there is always a surprise around the corner and that one never ceases to learn something new on each trip.
The Baise is running particularly fast during this trip. Judging from the time it takes us to do the little distance from Buzet to Vianne. I would guess that it is flowing much faster "over the ground" than the speed we would normally travel in the still waters of the canals. This means that going up it is a slow process and expensive on fuel. Navigation priority is also against us and we must give way to those coming in the downstream direction because, as we come to realise, they have fewer options in an emergency. They have no means of stopping and - on a hired boat, they have all of a ten minute training session behind them, if they are lucky.
Local produce from the Marché at Nérac
The river Rhone, although just as fast flowing, affords vastly more space to manoeuvre and we had no problems that are worth a story when we came down it, two years ago. It is a wide and generous river with lots of water. Relatively speaking, the Baise, though beautiful, is just a fast flowing stream. There is no room for error. In places it has barely enough room for two boats to pass one another and it sports many tight bends in both directions with plenty of overhanging branches to scrape the livery paint from one's sides or remove one's bicycles from their slots or precious aerials from one's mast.
The significance of this danger does not fully occur to us at first and until we reach the end of the navigable part of the river. (Valence-sur-Baise is some sixty three kilometres from Buzet) We are one of only six boats on the river, all of us travelling in the upstream direction. There is no downstream traffic. So far no-one has been allowed up it in order to come down it; if you get my drift?
We are the first to test the waters. But this situation is about to change dramatically with the coming of yet another French bank holiday. Frankly, I am quite pleased to be alive and to tell the tale. "Un mauvais quart d'heure" as they say over here although, in this case seemingly, lasting a lot longer. Anyway this is how it happened...
So we stay many nights in Valence-sur-Baise, which is indeed a delightful town set up on a hill to the left of our mooring. We discover that it is free and that the Capitainerie is as yet unoccupied. We meet some new and surely good friends. We spend our pension in the town and eat just one meal in the restaurant which has just opened for the season, close by. We are invited out and we provide our own welcome in return. It rains quite a lot more and there is quite a bit of mud on the quay which is a nuisance. The waters keep rising albeit slowly so we decide to take our leave, just in case of worsening conditions.
One relatively easy lock on the way up.
Body and Soul is correctly moored facing up-stream and because of the current, and risking the propeller on unseen rocks, we choose to hold the stern fast so that the bow is swept round by the current. I cast off from the stern with her bow now pointing in the right direction. It must have looked very competent from the shore but when I snatch a glance backwards, if there was anyone watching they are already well out of sight. We must be doing seven Kilometres per hour and I have hardly put her into gear. I feel that I am out of control and realise with horror that I have to speed up in order to gain any way (steerage) at all. We must now be doing about nine Klm/hour - probably faster than we have ever been even on a straight bit of a canal, or when trying to be in time for the pub before closing. But the engine is still just ticking over. There is no turning back, the river is too narrow. We are trapped in a headlong rush for the sharp left bend before the first lock.
I have to say, under most circumstances, I try my best to be British. I stay cool. I crack the jokes.. This is different. I panic. My wasted life flashes before my eyes. I try to think of some good times but can only think about life jackets. Even if we get round the first corner, what happens when I have to accelerate into what seems to be a tiny passageway, a mere crack in the mud bank, not four metres wide, leading to the lock? If I miss this I'll be over the barrage in a flash and two metres down on to the rocks beneath in a heap of mangled steel from Liverpool.
Vianne suspension bridge over the Baise. You can see what the river is like - narrow, fast, muddy and full of overhanging trees either side.
I try to slow down by jamming her into reverse. No good - we begin to swivel like a dead leaf down a drain. I shut my eyes and force myself to do the opposite and under almost full revs. with tiller hard left we shoot into the lock channel and crash our bow mercifully into a soft mud bank. Just a bit of mud but we're out of the current and are able to ease ourselves into the lock which is open. Phew!
Lucie jumps, like an apprehensive gazelle, to zap the zapper on the lock-side with her key - that special "thingy" which starts the lock cycle. The gates shut behind us and she climbs back on board with the end of a rope which she has deftly lassoed around a bollard with her free arm. She isthe lady with the ropes and quite a star in her role now. Yeeehah! I am proud of her.
Approaching with caution All goes well, if a little too quickly. We could do with a rest really. However we subside smoothly and the gates open on to the next torrent as we rejoin the river, the water is gushing over the barrage to our left and mercifully behind us and we are swept away once more into more unknown waters.
Now it's probably another axiom that most people know; it's true of any river. Water flows more slowly around the inside of a bend. It stands to reason that one should keep to the inside of every bend in order to avoid being swept into the bank by uncontrollable forces on the other side. The practicalities of this however are less obvious when going downstream and approaching a blind left-hand bend. Basically you are on the wrong side of the "road", with scant control but hoping - well, praying actually - that the guy in a plastic hire boat coming the other way knows that he has to, perversely, give way to downstream traffic. The reasons are clearly printed in his manual ( but he won't have read it yet !) and to which I have already alluded. At this point he will not know that his holiday is about to be ruined by some maniac in a twenty seven ton steel barge which will cut through him like the proverbial knife through melted butter, coming at him on the wrong side.
Our key-side restaurant at Valence-sur-Baise
And so it goes on for several more locks, bends and near misses until, on approaching Condom I find my confidence is slowly returning. But pride comes before a fall once again. I want to enter this smart town looking good and as if we knew what we were doing. I ask Lucie to take over the tiller whilst I go to the bow to wash off the mud that we acquired when I collided with that mud bank earlier. I haven't been "gone" for more than three minutes when I hear a dreadful cry from the stern. I look up at once to see the proximity of the right hand bank, complete with huge overhanging branches of oak, willow and spiky brambles.
An idea of what we were up against
We are too near for me to get back to the tiller - not that I would have had time to do anything effective. There is another scream as Lucie sees what is already happening to Body and Soul as we grind to a halt amongst some fearsome fronds. Our chimney stack is down, dented and lying on the roof severely wounded. There is dust and dirt flying everywhere and we have lost some flowerpots, including my pet lemon tree, overboard. Some brambles stick their spikes through the "houdini" hatch and through open windows like some unwelcome "triffid". The oak tree has embraced us in its solid branches and we are stuck fast. Damage to the paintwork is yet to be seen and mercifully the "bimini" (our expensive but essential rain and sunshade over the stern deck) is still untouched.
Well, which side shall we go?
Wounded chimney stack and hole
We eventually extract ourselves with great difficulty and a bit more collateral damage as the powerful flow of the Baise, as if punishing me for my arrogance and to "twist the knife", is still pushing us forward and dragging us through the branches.
Something good always seems to come out of these calamities. I'm grateful for this thought, as we limp through Condom as fast as we dare and without stopping as planned. Lucie and I have learnt not to shout at each other when things go wrong. We're a good team and "we all make mistakes" - another worthy maxim!
But life certainly isn't all plain sailing y'know.