From the Duddlestone (Tuesday nights place of repose) to Ellesmere you pass through Whixall Moss, then the Shropshire Lake District. The former is a somewhat odd, if flat, landscape, thinly populated, with a few lift bridges, and largely designated as a Nature Reserve. The canal itself has long straight sections, and isn’t – of itself – very interesting. We’d originally intended to stop and follow one of the Nature Reserve guided walks, but suitable mooring spots are thin on the ground, and we ended up saving it for the return trip.

Further on, the canal skirts a series of lakes. The first one – Cole Mere – is supposedly a good spot for spotting the birds, but is set well below the canal, with a wooded hillside keeping guard. Mooring up for lunch, we wandered across the canal and down on to the mere’s perimeter path, but that was still well back from the water, and the trees prevented us seeing much of anything. Ah well.

Mind you, we did see one thing neither of us had seen before: someone taking their ferret for a walk on a lead. The ferret didn’t seem that keen: it was more a case of taking it for a drag. (Cue remarks about the old “pet rock” joke). Apparently it’s not that uncommon: we’re reliably informed that there was one at Sidmouth during Folk Week, and for many years one in Farnham. You can even get you ferret some fancy haut couture kit…

With provisions running short, we decided to abandon the proposed bird bothering walk, and try and make Ellesmere instead. After a pleasant hour’s cruise in improving sunshine, we turned into the Ellesmere Arm and – against all expectations – found the perfect spot half way down. The Captain likes the Ellesmere Arm: cricket club on one side, wide, busy but well behaved and sociable towpath so that dog walkers can be seen from afar, and a nice open wood/hedgerow bordering it, to explore and hide in.

The staff like the Ellesmere Arm because as well as being an amenable spot to pass the night, it’s within trolley pushing/borrowing distance from a large supermarket, and five minutes walk to a pleasant market town High Street, with a decent selection of shops, restaurants and pubs to choose from.

That said, a restaurant we’d previously favoured, down in the cellars below a building in the main square, was now an oddball church. God works in mysterious ways.

Setting off fairly early – for us – on Wednesday morning, we continued on up the canal in rather uninspiring weather. The early start made all the difference, and without any obvious effort, we managed 6 miles and 7 locks – long haul for us!

The first time we came down this part of the Staffordshire and Worcester Canal some years go, we saw loads of Kingfishers; in one sunny afternoon near Kinver we gave up counting after some 20+ sightings. This time they were obviously keeping their heads down, and we had seen nary a one from Stourport up.

After the exertions of the last two days, we tied up at Not That Swindon, a small canalside village with a couple of pubs, small convenience store, Thai restaurant and hairdresser. We decided that all things considered we deserved to eat out, and indeed the Thai food was extremely nice (and surprisingly cheap).

Bowing to pressure from the Captain,  the navigator also availed himself of the hairdresser, so he’s probably not going to regain his strength for a while…

The chief cook needed to leave the boat and Biggles for a few days next week, and head for Essex (don’t ask…). The plan was to head up to Worcester via Tewkesbury and Upton-on-Severn over the next few days, moor up in a boatyard near Worcester station, and despatch her off. The bo’sun and skipper could then spend some quality time together catching up on the – by now – large backlog of laundry.

A phone call to the Upper Lode lockkeeper at Tewkesbury first thing on Thursday morning elicited the response that there were no problems as far as he could see, and he’d be expecting us. He said he didn’t know what the Gloucester lockkeeper was on about. So we waved farewell to Gloucester Docks, locked down onto the Severn rather more quickly  than  we’d locked up, and pointed Song & Dance uphill.

With miserable-ish weather, the only possible mooring for a pub lunch-stop full of other boats, not much to see, and a fairish flow on the river, it took what seemed an awfully long time to grind all the way up to Upper Lode. There were very few other boats about, and a lot of debris coming downstream: leaves, twigs, logs, branches, even most of a tree, so the helmsman/woman/cat had to concentrate all the way.

Another call to the Upper Lode lockie shortly before arrival had it all set up waiting for us, and once again it seemed a huge lock, just for a foot or so difference in level.

Then, as we crossed past the upper weir entrance towards the junction between the Severn and the Avon, a huge salmon leapt totally clear of the water. Twice. Quite a spectacle.

We locked up onto the Avon so the Skipper could meander round his favourite mooring spot, and Nic the Avon Lock lockkeeper said she once had a narrowboat arrive with a salmon stranded and expired on top of the cratch. The boaters were squeamish, but it was still nice and fresh, so Nic had it for her tea.

Leaving the hulks behind on the Friday morning we were soon back at Slimbridge, and had a lovely day wandering around the various hides. We still felt there were parts to which we’d not done justice, so we had another wander on the Saturday. This time the FO took a camera, but even when fairly tame, getting decent photos of the critters isn’t always easy.

A pretty comprehensive guide as to what’s at Slimbridge can be found at this site, but here’s a few of our photos, in an attempt to make bird identification and nomenclature a little easier.

This chap (or chapess) has orange-red legs. It’s called a Redshank.

The female of this pair (the second photo) looks vaguely like a Redshank, but when the male gets excited he sprouts a large ruff of feathers around his neck…

The birds are called Ruffs.

This pretty little chap has a white face and whistles cheerily and continuously as he goes about his business. It’s called a White Faced Whistling Duck.

These ducks come from India, and run around upright in small gangs like they’re in the Olympics. They’re called Indian Running Ducks.

In a completely different vein, this goose has black bars on its head: it’s a Bar Headed Goose, while the tall chap with stilt like legs and black wings is called a Black Winged Stilt.

In a staggering demonstration of lack of imagination, this bird is a Black Necked Swan.

And finally, a hard one. This sizeable bird has a notable crest, and is known for screaming so loudly it can be heard 2 miles away. Apparently it’s a Crested Screamer.

So that’s all clear, then.

When we woke up on the (nice and sunny) Monday morning, the Eckington Quay/Bridge car park next to Song & Dance was empty, but not for long. A car pulled up – early morning dog-walker, we assumed. But no, a young-ish man got out, accompanied by two young boys smartly dressed in school uniform. Out came a folding table and chairs which were duly unfolded, followed by provisions for a picnic breakfast. They ate and happily chattered away in what sounded like a Eastern European language for half an hour, before fairly rapdily packing everything up and heading off. A whole new slant on the school run!

Earlier in the trip we’d noticed just how much wildlife there was in the hedgerows, presumably due to the mild and wet winter. Another benefactor seemed to be dandelions, which seemed to be rampant – we’d never seen so many covering the fields by the canals and river. And with the warmer weather and a significant breeze, the seeds were coming off the dandelion clocks in such numbers that several times it was like boating in a snow storm. Again.

Setting off for Strensham Lock, and yet another attempt at actually getting around Bredon and Bredon Hill, we soon came across a reminder that the Avon is not always so docile.

Another plant we’d noticed was a yellow flowered jobbie that we originally thought might have been escaped rape, but after a day or two decided it wasn’t the right colour. The banks of the Avon were covered with it: any suggestions as to what it is will receive the customary award.

And as for Strensham Lock… the top gate and paddles leaked so much that we actually had significant waves in the lock. Song & Dance isn’t exactly seaworthy, and by the time we exited the lock we were feeling decidedly seasick.