I suppose in the scheme of things, with the whole planet in the grip of a pandemic, the fact that we’ve decided to change OUR plans is of minor importance. But the human mind tends to concentrate on issues that directly affect them (hence the pillocks who believe that stockpiling loo rolls and baby formula will preserve them from what they perceive as the inevitable collapse of society…) so things happening elsewhere are of concern but those on our doorstep have a deeper significance.
We’re ok, as are all of our friends and families so far; living on a boat means that we self-isolate to a degree as a matter of course, and we’ve always plenty of provisions in. But our planned bottom blacking has been cancelled as a precaution. Not due to problems at the marina, but we were intending to stay with Val and John near Wrexham and he’s recently had a quadruple by-pass and is therefore high on the “at-risk” list. We’d never forgive ourselves if he was infected because of us visiting.
And then there’s our trip home up north. The reason was two-fold. Mags is supposed to have her recently installed bile-duct stent checked and possibly replaced in the summer, and she’s also yet to meet her recently arrived great-great-grand-daughter. With this virus looking to be a long time in resolution it’s unlikely that such none-urgent procedures will take place, and we’ll not be able to visit family up there anyway until it’s safe This being the case we’re postponing the slog up the broad locks to Skipton.
So we’ve decided to have the rest of the year pottering in the Midlands. From there we can get a hire car more easily if we need to, to get north to Mags’ family, west to Val and John (also considered family) and south-east to my lot. My elderly parents also have high risk conditions, although my brother and sister are local and they also have very supportive neighbours.
So there you have it. A minor inconvenience easily dealt with for us compared to the problems others are facing.
Back to the matter in hand, we left the moorings near Whitehouse tunnel on Saturday, travelling through the two tunnels and over the aqueduct we’ve negotiated several times this winter, finally fetching up outside The Poachers again. It’s closed of course, so it’s quieter moored directly alongside the outdoor seating area than it would normally be.
ABC hire-boat emerging from Chirk Tunnel.
There are quite a few hirers about, more so than private boats at the moment.
Nobody coming across the aqueduct.
Daffodils and Primula at Monks Bridge
Spring has arrived, the drakes are trying to gang-bang the ducks, making a hell of a racket!
Tomorrow we’ll turn around, head back to Ponty for water and moor in Trevor Basin again if we can. A walk up to Tesco in Cefn Mawr should set us up provisions-wise, and a last farewell to Val and John, although at a distance, will then see us heading downstream towards the Shroppie.
I think 2020 is a wash-out now. Roll on 2021. Stay safe everyone.
Locks 0, miles 3