We moored in Skipton on the first night and had a lovely meal at the Wooly Sheep. I recommend it next time you’re in the area. The Braised Blade of Beef is particularly excellent or in the words of Ferris Bueller, “It is so choice.” With stomachs full, more drinks were in order so we naturally wound up at a place called the Cock and Bottle—Where else?—and this line may have been uttered, “Came for the cock and got both.” Or it might have been the other way around. It’s hard to be sure.
When we pushed off in the morning, we went slowly through the canal saying hi to the other boaters who were standing on the back of their boats drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes, “Morning,” we said.
“Morning. You guys are brave to be going out in this wind.”
We smiled, “Yeah, well…”
“Professional sailors you lot.” He waved his hand indicating all of us.
“We’re only one day in, “Michael said, “but, sure.” We laughed. They laughed. We had no idea about the wind about which they spoke. We hadn’t checked the weather other than rain and temperature, and we’d heard nothing a wind that would require bravery. Who knew what he was on about? We were on vacation. So we continued down the canal waving hello and goodbye to other boaters still moored in Skipton and after a little while we came to another swing bridge. I’d done most of them up to that point (with the excepting of the tremendously strong kid who’d opened the first one), but Linda spoke up as we approached to say she wanted to do this one. Allison said she did too. Kris chimed in as well so it was settled. All the ladies would open this bridge. The men would stay with the boat.
We pulled up and secured the boat and the ladies got off, crossed the bridge, unlocked and opened it without incident. They functioned well as a unit. The men moved the boat through and secured it on the other side and then stood watching while all three ladies pushed the bridge closed. At that moment a couple older English women walked up. They were sixtyish, dressed in long coats for a rainy, windy day at the shops, “So I see you’re letting the girls do all the work?” Perfect timing of course.
“Uh, yeah, I guess. They volunteered.” We tried to act like it wasn’t our fault. “Uh, they wanted to do it.”
“You should buy them a couple pints round the pub later on then,’ one of them said.
“Or maybe do the washing up,” the other said.
“Uh, we will. Thanks. Sorry.”
Allison, Kris, and Linda walked back after securing the bridge and said hi to the English ladies as they walked off toward the shops. There were smiles and laughs and we all moved on. Michael, David, and I knew Allison, Kris, and Linda could handle the bridge without problem, that any woman could. It wasn’t a “man’s” job. It was just the perfect timing of it.
“So I see you’re letting the girls do all the work?”
Yeah, in that moment we had. And they killed it.
A bit further down the canal, the wind picked up a little and then a little more, but it still didn’t seem too bad. What were those guys back there on about? We went through a few swing bridges and stared at the cows—with the inevitable, “Mooooo.”—and the sheep and the swans in the fields. We soon came upon a bridge a little east of Gargrave, and it was my turn to swing it open. The wind had picked up a little as we were now in a valley and had much less tree/building cover. I paid no mind though and unlocked the bridge and pushed. I had to put a little more effort into it than with most bridges so I paid no attention to what they were doing with the boat other than to watch it go through when I had the bridge open. I turned around then, closed the bridge, locked it, looked around. It was a lovely valley, green hills all around, not a car in sight. There was a field of sheep off in one direction, a little stone house behind. I felt the breeze on my face, closed my eyes. It was nice to be in the English countryside. There was a big gust of wind, and I remembered again the warning we’d received in Skipton, “You guys are brave to be going out in this wind.” I opened my eyes and started to walk slowly back across the bridge when I heard a shout.
“Dave!”
I looked over at the boat as another gust of wind blew, a stronger one, and I saw that the strength of the wind had prevented them from tying the boat to the bollards. Allison and Michael had the boat at the stern, but only by the rope, David at the bow in the same way, and they were struggling to keep hold of it. More wind blew pushing the boat further from the edge. I ran up as quickly as I could, dropped the bridge key, and grabbed hold of the rope with Michael. Allison stepped back as more wind blew and we struggled to prevent the boat from going farther from the edge. It was already too far to step on. Any further and we’d lose it.
More wind blew. And blew. David shouted, “Michael, get on the boat! One of us needs to be on the boat.”
It was an emergency. If we lost hold of the ropes the boat would float away and we’d be stranded outside of Gargrave next to a field of sheep and an abandoned stone house. So Michael let go of the rope and prepared to step or jump on the boat while Dave and I struggled to pull it back to the edge of the canal, and slowly and slowly we did even as the wind kept doing its thing. Michael hopped on, but another blast came through and the boat was suddenly a couple feet away again. I tried to wrap the end of the rope around the bollard to my left but the boat swerved further away and my fingers nearly got caught in the tangle.
“Dave!” It was Allison.
It continued. The boat shifted and we lost the ropes and were dragged into the water. The boat hit a rock on the other side and knocked Allison and Michael overboard. “Michael!” It was Linda. The rain kicked in then and the wind kept blowing and the boat filled with water from a hole made by the rock. I tried to step down but the bottom was muddy and my foot got stuck and the wind blew more and the back of the boat swung around and all turned to darkness…
Well…not really
In reality, if we’d lost control of the boat it would have drifted harmlessly to the other side of the canal where there were a few bushes and some long grass and one of us could easily have walked over and boarded and steered it to a place where everyone could get back on. We didn’t lose control though. After a few moments of panicked exertions, we got it. We boarded then and headed on our way. I was standing in the back by the tiller with Michael when something came to mind. I looked at him and asked, “Where’s the bridge key?”
We both looked back with a bit more of panic, “Shit.” We scanned the land where we’d just struggled to get control of the boat, but there was nothing. We looked at the water for the orange ball. Nothing. “Shit.” We’d have to stop and deal with the wind all over again as we searched for the key. “Fuck.” We kept looking. Allison came back then and stepped up out of the back room to stand with us next to the tiller. She had the bridge key.
It was easy “sailing” then. We pulled up near Gargrave and walked to the nearest pub glad to be on land, glad to be alive. It wasn’t a near death experience, not by a longshot, but still. It had been harrowing in the moment, and that was enough. We’d survived, so far. We were on vacation. And most importantly, we were at the pub eating food and drinking beer with friends.