Fuchsia, Serenity, Inheritance, Joy, Life O’Reilly, Stress-Free, Elegance, Serendipity. If the names of the narrowboats moored at various points along Shropshire’s Grand Union Canal were anything to go by, we were in for a treat. 
Our own charge was named Sir Ladinas after the courageous knight who held a favoured seat at King Arthur’s Round Table, but perhaps it would have been more suitable to re-christen our vessel Fingers Crossed or Blind Faith judging by the collective lack of sea-worthiness on board.
First mate Tracey Rous had never set foot on a narrowboat before our trip, while able seamen Noah Rous and his cousin Nathan Hughes — at six and nine respectively — would have sunk Sir Ladinas the minute our backs were turned.
I had been on one briefly seven or eight years ago, but to avoid doing a lock I just navigated the same three-mile stretch about six times.
Before I go any further it’s important to point out that these pictures bear no resemblance to our own four-day adventure.
To me this is like the cruel twist on Bullseye when the couple lost out on the big prize but were shown it regardless. The ‘look at what you could have won’ moment so to speak.
For we took our break during the cold snap in the middle of March.
And by cold I mean jaw-achingly freezing … the kind of weather that makes you dream of log fires, hot water bottles and steaming bowls of broth.
Thankfully the gas central heating kept everything and everyone toasty down below, but it was a different kettle of fish up on board.
From the space where my hat met my scarf I could just about see where to point the vessel.
The temperatures had dropped so much you could have called it ‘extreme barging’.
Seven layers helped warm the torso and a pair of long-johns under the jeans prevented unthinkable iciness in my lower reaches.
As the crew scoffed Jammie Dodgers below stairs, a line from a song came to mind on more than one occasion — “I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes”.
Thankfully Captain Frostbite was well watered with hot tea and the spells at the tiller were limited to short bursts.
While the team at Countrywide Cruisers had shown us how to drive the boat, stopping had not been on the list.
Luckily the canal stopped us after eight minutes of sailing solo — when we ran aground. Hmmm, I hadn’t thought it was possible either, but we bottomed out in style.
With a force 10 gale blowing us towards the bank on a particularly open section of canal which crosses the A5, it seemed almost impossible to push back into open water. But after 10 minutes of huffing, puffing, poling and shoving, we managed to get back on track.
Stopping under our own steam seemed just as difficult.
Tracey leapt off the front and tied the nose while I slowed the boat to a crawl and did the same with the rear (apologies for not using official sailing terminology).
Well, that was the general idea anyway.
The reality on the first few occasions, however, was Tracey jumping off and being dragged along the riverbank as I failed to slow down. Either that or my angle of entry was such that the front would be securely tied to the mooring rings only for the back to be sticking out across the middle of the canal.
But hey, getting it wrong was half the fun.
Starting from Brewood in Staffordshire we made it to Wheaton Aston and then Gnosall Heath before mooring for the night.
Going at four miles an hour is an experience that takes some getting used to, especially when you can see people walking past you, but once you acclimatise it’s amazing how cathartic the experience can be.
The pace of life is slow, the scenery can be studied instead of inhaled and the stresses and strains of everyday life are drowned out by the gentle chug of the diesel engine.
Sailing a narrowboat is like sailing Ireland, only without the Guinness. Yet the black stuff can be supplied at any of the myriad of pubs dotted along the route.
As the vacation coincided with not only the cold weather but my severe fitness regime as well, the pubs were off limits — even though my First Mate is Irish.
With kids on board it’s not really an option anyway, and there was plenty to keep them occupied down below.
Kitted out with shower, bunk beds, double bed, kitchen and living area, there’s enough space for everyone to get along without the panic-punching which is often brought on by claustrophobia.
Noah and Nathan are board game kings (well, in the absence of a PlayStation anyway) and enjoyed trouncing the adults at Monopoly, Super-Five, Top Trumps and The Simpsons Game.
Maybe next time we should stop at the pub? At least we could beat them at drinking!
Both boys had a go at steering, despite the rather precarious position at the back of the boat.
With no lifejackets, you will have to keep a keen eye on little ones if you want to have a worry-free trip. One slip and they’re carp bait.
However, despite all our best efforts at negotiating our 60ft-plus monster, I got the feeling someone was trying to make life difficult.
Now I know Thomas Telford has been hailed as one of the world’s greatest engineers, but I have a little bone to pick with him.
If narrowboats are six-and-a-half-feet wide then why make the gap under the bridges just a hair’s breadth bigger?
It led to more than a fair share of hairy moments.
From Gnosall Heath we made good progress towards Market Drayton, passing through Norbury Junction and pushing on towards Shebdon.
We stopped for an uneventful lunch at The Wharf before turning round. The less said about that manoeuvre the better.
However, I apologise to everyone concerned and want to take this opportunity to publicly thank “the man with the rope”.
Although it was sub-zero, the weather didn’t ruin the holiday by any stretch of the imagination.
While it would have been nice to sail the calm waters with the sun on our backs, my crew had a whale of a time.
Fellow boaters were kind and helpful — even though those who rent don’t always get the benefit of the doubt — and we met one couple who were heading up to Lancaster.
“How long will it take?” I asked.
“Three months,” he said.
While I’d rather drive, the joys of narrowboating were not lost on us land-lubbers.
I’d happily own one — and then I’d call it Narrow-Minded.
By Nathan Rous
Share this article:
What are these?