Tina the Stanground Lockkeeper had said that from Whittlesey to her lock was an hour and half, so the Captain issued an edict that we would cast off at 11:00 at the latest to make our 13:00 lock passage, with half an hour’s slack for unscheduled problems. The crew thought that if they got up early, there might be time for another quick look round town before leaving, but with a cold overcast morning and too much to eat and drink the night before one of the crew didn’t manage to report for duty until 10:45…

We cast off at exactly 11:00.

The first thing you come across after the leisure centre moorings is very narrow channel with concrete walls, running for about half a mile through the old part of town. There’s also 90° plus bend, rumoured to be tightest/narrowest bend on the whole system. Apparently people have got a 70ft narrowboat through, but we wouldn’t fancy trying. 58ft with bow thrusters was quite enough of a challenge. The navigation notes suggest putting someone ashore to check for oncoming traffic, but as we’d noted coming the other way, (a) there isn’t anywhere safe to do so, and (b) there isn’t anywhere safe to take them back on board. Ho hum…

Just out of town and back on the wider drain, we came across a narrowboat pottering gently along in the opposite direction. “We’ve been going slowly because Tina said you’d be leaving about now, and we didn’t want to meet you on the narrow section… there are a couple more behind us”. Clearly the Middle Level grapevine is in a class of it’s own.

And as predicted, we made Stanground Lock/Sluice at exactly 12:30, with Tina waiting for us and the lock all set up. Once in the chamber, she asked for our top rope, shook it out of the fairlead and tied it up to a bollard well back on the lock. “Put the boat in tick-over forward; it will hold you on the chamber wall when I open the paddles”. And it did. Not a technique we’d ever come across before… we always put a top rope ashore going uphill on wide locks, but not to motor against. Clearly the Middle Level lockies have a different attitude to the Environment Agency ones on the Great Ouse and Thames: they insist not only on roping up front and back, but the engine off as well.

And so, as the lurid green duckweed of summer turns into the plasticene-brown sludge of autumn, we said goodbye to the mysterious Middle Levels with its drains, high banks, big skies and sluices, the old River Nene and the fens, and slid imperceptibly onto the new River Nene.

Mooring up on a reasonably goose-crap free bit of Peterborough Quay in time for a late-ish lunch in town, it was time to take stock…

Thursday (it said on the ship’s chronometer), and after washing off the mud spatters, we left Upwell for March, and maybe further. About an hour and a half out of Upwell lies Marmont Priory Lock. Usually womanned, when we’d headed the other way it was unattended, and we narrowly managed to stop some boaters draining Well Creek. This time, on making the requested courtesy call, the lady lockkeeper said “You must be the narrowboat that came through Salter’s Lode yesterday…” Didn’t know they actively kept tabs on boat movements through the Middle Levels: perhaps they’re an obscure branch of MI5.

Anyway, the lock was all set up for us, so in we sailed. There’s a road bridge crossing the middle of the lock. It’s quite low over the lock sides, although not a problem to boats on sitting lower on the water, and it’s liberally festooned with “Mind Your Head” and “Low Bridge” signs. With the lockkeeper selling home-grown fruit and veg there was a certain amount of running around finding money, shopping bags, retrieving Biggles from going walkabout etc. Here are the results…

Marmont Priory Lock Bridge: 2 Bob: 0

Nursing a sore head and setting off for March, we realised that we needed to book a passage through Stanground Lock as they require a minimum 24 hour’s notice. “Wondered when we’d hear from you…” Tina the lockkeeper said. Spy network still working then! Turned out that for “sound technical reasons” the latest passage available on Friday was at 13:00, so the plan to overnight in March was abandoned, and replaced by a plan to overnight in Whittlesey, keeping fingers firmly crossed that there would be space on the minimal visitor moorings at the leisure centre.

Arriving at the joys of Ashline Lock (definite contender for our least favourite lock – a real PITA), the visitor moorings just beyond appeared occupied, but on closer approach there was just enough room for us to squeeze on the end. We’d intended to explore the town, but by the time we got there it was getting a bit late, but we had a quick wander, and did find Vesuvio: a splendid Italian Restaurant that was cheap(ish) and cheerful, with excellent food, and – unsurprisingly, in the circumstances – pretty mobbed on a Thursday evening. Well fed and watered, but having failed to see any Straw Bears, we wandered back across the playing fields in pitch dark… the nights are drawing in with a vengeance.

Tuesday morning, and a fair one at that. The waterfront was quiet, there were no obvious boat movements, and the cook decided that she really did have to spend time on her favourite hobby, and make another trip to Waitrose for milk and bread. After all, they do do decent free coffee… and the walk would take us past a fancy chandlery, where we could stock up on boaty things.

All the while taking time to admire the deserted waterfront and a rather strange line in drainpipes.

The walk up the hill to the town centre passes some nice old cottages, and we really did wonder how much they wanted for the doggie.

And halfway up, this road sign seemed to sum up the adventures of the Song & Dance crew pretty well.

Now urgently needing to do some washing, and hence needing a shore line, on Saturday afternoon we’d approached Cathedral Marina on the Ely waterfront with a view to temporary moorings plus a hook-up for a couple of nights, starting on the Sunday. Most marinas, and even home counties Thames locks charge about £10 a night for the privilege, even if Pyrford Marina, the nearest marina to the Captain’s home rips you off for nearly twice that. The Cathedral Marina boss said “Sure, no problem”, but fortunately we asked the price before agreeing to anything. When he said “£30 a night” we said “HOW MUCH???”, to which he replied “Well, this is  Ely”. With nowhere else around nearer than several days cruising, we decided we could do all we needed to do in 24 hours, and with a wet weekend forecast reckoned we’d probably find somewhere back out on the waterfront on the Bank Holiday Monday.

As expected for August Bank Holiday, Sunday dawned wet and miserable, and we pootled back down the river for a couple of hundred yards and were shown into a slot in the marina. A 40ft pontoon for a 58ft boat is hardly ideal, and listening to our grumbling about the cost, the boss’ sidekick took our credit card, put his finger to his lips, said “Shhhh…” and seemingly charged the card “only” £20. Hope he doesn’t get into trouble. Strangely, the marina’s annual mooring charges aren’t nearly so outrageous, given its position pretty much in the middle of a lovely city.

It poured with rain all Sunday. but while the washing machine was whirring away we managed a trip to the cook’s favourite emporium for supplies, and – bringing back memories of the first mate’s choral singing childhood – went to sung Evensong in the cathedral. The huge building is just astonishing, the acoustics just wonderful. The choir weren’t quite up to the professional bunch we saw at Peterborough, but more than up to the task. And suitably uplifted, we went back out into the pouring rain, and a boat load of wet washing.

Bank Holiday Monday dawned just as dull and wet, and we were kind of glad we weren’t camping at  Towersey or Shrewsbury Folk Festivals for the weekend. Finishing off the chores and stuff, just before lunch we left the marina, and unsurprisingly did indeed find a perfect mooring just outside the marina entrance. Where had all the fair-weather boaters gone – the whole Ely waterfront was pretty well deserted.

The afternoon was spent wandering around what appeared from the outside to be an smallish antique shop in an old building just 100 yards from the boat. However, it proved to be the Antique Road Show equivalent of Dr Who’s Tardis, with over 70 dealers stalls spread over three floors. Total sensory overload, dozens of visitors, it was all too much to take in.

Even in the evening, when the weather had improved a bit, there was no-one around, and the waterfront restaurants were pretty empty, so we had no trouble finding somewhere to eat. Think everyone had given up on the Bank Holiday somewhat earlier.

8 o’clock the lockkeeper said, for our transit up a tidal bit of the River Great Ouse and through Denver Sluice onto the non-tidal section. So although we appeared to be number three in the queue, we were up at OMG o’clock and ready for duty at 07:45. No sign of the lockkeeper, though.

At 8 o’clock an old hand at this tidal transit lark peered over the wall, and said that the tidal river was still very high, too high to get under the sluice guillotine and bridges, and reckoned it would be nearer 08:45 before anyone could venture through.

Sure enough, about 20 minutes later Paul the lockkeeper appeared, and started marshalling everyone together: there were four of us going up, and some coming down from Denver. As a newbie, Paul suggested that yours truly help him lock number one through as a training exercise, with running commentary and plenty of hints on handling the boat on the river while the tide was flowing out pretty fast. Helpful and most welcome.

The lock has to cope with the river being higher and lower than the Middle Levels, so it has two sets of gates at the end of the chamber, one set pointing up and one set pointing downstream. Locking up, the chamber is barely 58ft long: a tight squeeze for us. At certain times, when the Great Ouse and Well Creek are the same level, they can open everything and just let everyone sail straight through (for a short time)!

In the end, it all happened very quickly. Exiting Salter’s Lode lock we managed – without too much drama – the nearly 180° turn into the river doing its best to take us sideways to King’s Lynn, poured on the power, and barely 5 minutes / a few hundred yards later we branched off the fast flowing tide into the cavernous safe haven of the Denver Sluice lock, which was already open waiting for us. No time for cameras!

With all the excitement over, the journey down to Ely was utterly undramatic. Nice weather, big wide river, high banks, long straight stretches and little to see, although we were encouraged to spot a number of suitably pleasant mooring spaces for possible use on the way back. The village next to the 10 mile bank appeared to be called 10 Mile Bank. Can’t think why.

Ely is seemingly a waterways honey-pot, so turning up on a sunny bank holiday Saturday lunchtime was probably ill advised, but our grasp of days of the week and the calendar has become rather vague…

Ely waterside gardens and town quay were mobbed, with boats and people, but our luck held, and we eventually located somewhere just under the railway bridge in the picture, with rather more suitable facilities for the Captain. Cheesy chips and decent Guinness at the quayside pub for a slightly late lunch – all was well with the world.