With a family Christening to attend at the weekend, the logistics of getting both of us down to Surrey for a weekend while looking after the Captain’s needs had proved too difficult. So we’d booked the boat into Festival Park Marina at Stoke-on-Trent for a few days, so that the chief cook could travel down by train, and the Captain and First Officer could spend the weekend in a male bonding session (a.k.a. as catching up with the laundry backlog). We’d also arranged for Piper Boats to come and look at some things, so it looked as though we could kill several birds with one stone, as they say. But we had to get there first.

Setting off on the Thursday morning, a pleasant cruise down the last bit of the Macclesfield Canal saw us re-joining the Trent and Mersey just north of the Harecastle Tunnel. The water turned a very odd colour…

Just after launching Song & Dance we’d spend our first night aboard just south of the tunnel, but hadn’t ventured through. Actually, although interesting from an engineering point of view, the 40 minute transit is both somewhat tedious and  hard work, requiring considerable concentration. (And we’re not the only ones that think that).

Anyway, we ended up mooring for the night at Westport Lakes, a pleasant reminder that first night afloat on Song & Dance. A first time for the Captain though, who amused himself taunting the Canada Geese.

On Friday morning a short cruise down through Longport (where Song & Dance was first launched) and we were soon tucking ourselves into Festival Park Marina, a busy Black Prince Hire Fleet base, even at the end of the season. This was where the Captain first joined us, after our initial week’s proving cruise.

Anyway, SWMBO was despatched South, Pipers’ people came and went, loads of washing got done, and after a very very wet Saturday, on Sunday the morning dawned bright clear and still.

In fact, it was so nice, Sir decided to come out and pose…

With baby Rufus’ head suitably wetted, the chief cook safely returned on the train, the nights drawing on and the end of the season rapidly approaching, we prepared to revisit our first proper cruise with the Captain aboard, and make the trek south back down the Trent & Mersey Canal, Coventry Canal and Oxford Canals to Song & Dance’s winter quarters at Cropredy Marina. We were going to be busy.

Wednesday morning, and with decidedly better weather Sir decided that we would explore the River Dane Aqueduct before setting off for Congleton and parts south. The aqueduct  – a listed building, it would appear – is pretty high, but not all that long. With CaRT’s outstanding policy on clearing towpath vegetation, you could cruise over it without even noticing it, as we had on the way up. Anyway, now moored just a few yards away, we decided to rectify our omission.

Biggles was quite keen to explore.

It really is quite high above the surrounding countryside, and we couldn’t spot any way down to view it from below without indulging in a significant cross-country expedition. Meanwhile, Biggles was as usual checking out bolt holes should he be beset upon by marauding dogs. Not sure he’d thought this one through, though: there was at least a 60ft drop just there.

After all that excitement, on return to the boat, Sir decided he would organise the rest of the day’s navigation as we set sail for Congleton.

It’s hard to believe that this old wharf/arm on the outskirts of Congleton used to be a major transport depot/interchange. And barely three minutes later one is sailing high above the kind of pad that you only ever see in the Country Life property porn pages.

One minor oddity that caught our eye was this run-off/spill way. You often see places on the cut where lowered concrete banks allow excess water to safely spill over into a culvert or drain, or around a lock. They’re usually on the other side from the towpath, failing which there’s a bridge or metal grid or summat so that if there is any overflow, the towpath users are unaffected. Not here. Cheshire towpath users must be well hard.

Just under Maesbury Bridge was a service point, and we needed water, so we popped over. Having been out since just after Easter, Song & Dance is looking a bit travel-stained, especially the roof, and we were hoping to at least give the top a wash down with a decent water supply. But just as we’d finished topping up the water tank, another boat arrived wanting some, so we did the honourable thing, and moved on without the wash and brush up.

Pottering on from Maesbury Marsh services all of a half a mile, we felt obliged to have Sunday morning coffee at “Canal Central”, and the cook insisted on finding some carrots for Cracker the horse (who incidentally has his own column in Towpath Talk). Then there was a long-haul trek – all of another half a mile for the round trip – to  wind the boat at the current limit of navigation, Gronwyn Wharf, and moor back near the Canal Centre for the night. We did say we were going to chill out for a few days!

There’s a rather odd boating bits and pieces establishment at Gronwyn Wharf, but Sir was unwilling to spend any money, preferring instead to audit the winding exercise.

This journey means passing twice in quick succession through a heavy lift bridge with a rather stiff hydraulic mechanism. Having nearly done himself an injury on the way down, the FO decided that it was the perfect opportunity for the head gardener to tone up those core muscles.

Albert Einstein had his own views on tidiness, (sometimes misquoted as “A tidy desk is a sign of a diseased mind”) so we wonder what he’d make of Song & Dance’s clear roof policy. Cracker and his staff take the opposite view. A boat with stacks of wood, coal and washing machine parts on the roof, coupled with a wind turbine mast and a TV aerial suitable for getting a signal from Outer Mongolia is nothing but but a serious pain in the fetlocks. We hope they approved of Song & Dance’s clear if rather unclean top!

Monday morning was, er, leisurely, and after a late and protracted coffee and cake at the Canal Centre, we bid farewell to Cracker, and finding the service point unoccupied, embarked on a wash and blow dry. Halfway though, a boat heading down to Gronwyn enquired as to our intentions, as they were about to turn round there and wanted water; they arrived back just as we were casting off. Result!

Mooring a little further up, in the middle of nowhere somewhere below Aston Locks, having covered a total of 1.3 miles, there was little inclination do much more.

On Tuesday morning we were relieved to find that all the paintwork at Aston Locks had dried, and decided it would be rude not to at least have a snack lunch at The Queen’s Head at Queen’s Head before heading back to Perry Aqueduct and finding our favourite mooring suitably vacant. Mind you, the chill-out factor was seriously damaged by the complete impossibility of contacting CaRT to book a passage back up Frankton Locks…

And so on Wednesday, our lazy diversion down the Montgomery came to an end as we turned up at Frankton Locks ready to rejoin the hurly burly on the Llangollen again. There was a house for sale right by the locks that looked rather fine, but we’re not sure even Biggles needs seven bedrooms (plus, it turned out, a sizeable brick cowshed/office suite, a private nature reserve, observatory, hide, and 9 or so acres of grazing along the canal). And remarkably cheap: we were sorely tempted…

The lockkeeper unlocked the lock’s padlocked paddles three-quarters of an hour early, and – second in the queue – we were back on the Llangollen at 12:00, despite going aground in one of the pounds which was a bit low. A hour and a bit’s cruise over very familiar territory, and we were once again tied up in Ellesmere Arm, ready for another assault on Tesco. The Captain was most happy.

Having originally decided to get to Ellesmere and assess the situation, it subsequently seemed that it was worth making a determined assault on the Llangollen summit. Song & Dance needs an oil change and service fairly shortly, and the marina in Ellesmere can fit us in next Tuesday, so we had just under a week to potter somewhere. A combination of hire boat base turn-round days, and the rumour that many of these hire-boaters were only interested in going as far as The Unpronounceable Viaduct before heading back meant that Friday and Saturday could be reasonable days to tackle the final stretch. And so, bidding Ellesmere farewell for a few days, we set off, having decided to try and get somewhere near Chirk base camp to put us in a good position.

The canal winds around the contours a bit, and the countryside is progressively less flat than the mosses and  meres East of Ellesmere, as one approaches Lower Frankton, Frankton Junction, Welsh Frankton, Welsh Wales and so on. Meandering along the border, Song & Dance seemed to be one of very few boats heading uphill, while there seemed to be a never ending stream of boats coming the other way. The Llangollen Canal was living up to its reputation as the busiest spot on the network.

After some delay getting through the two St. Martins locks (mainly caused by a long queue of boats coming the other way, and a fund raising exercise at one of them, causing some degree of chaos), a late lunch ensued, out in the sticks, with an open view on the towpath side (unusual), and far off vistas of the Welsh Hills mountains.

And then fairly quickly you start getting closer and closer to the scenery; at Chirk Bank you suddenly realise you’re on the side of quite a deep valley, before launching across Chirk Aqueduct, which takes you into Wales properly: one minute soaring high above countryside, the next diving underground through Chirk Tunnel. The aqueduct is accompanied by a rather fine railway viaduct.

Although not overly long, Chirk Tunnel is always a bit of a challenge – a subject for another post – and one eventually emerges into a long deep cutting by Chirk Station and Chirk Castle. With loads of downstream traffic still milling around the upstream tunnel entrance, we decided not to try and stay at the visitor moorings there, although we knew Chirk well – we had some friends who lived in the nearby village until they passed a few years ago. There’s normally an overpowering smell of hot chocolate along this part of the canal: it passes by a large Cadbury’s chocolate factory, but today, not a whiff!

We knew there were reasonable moorings just before The Great Unpronounceable, but as we approached the nearly unpronounceable Froncysyllte, the Captain announced that he rather liked the view over the steep valley down to the River Dee, and jumped off to explore while further we were still cruising. Fortunately there was a suitable proper job visitor mooring about 100 yards further down, so we called it a day – we called it Wednesday – and retrieving Sir from the woods we settled down for a well earned bottle of the red stuff.