What is it: eighteen metres long and just over two metres wide? Usually only seen on submarines or trams. This extreme length and width ratio is unsettling. The numerous narrowboats form like massive Mikado sticks around an island in Barby Marina in the British Midlands near Birmingham. The cradle, so to speak, of these former workboats.
"Narrowboating is a contact sport"
The "Walkabout" is unlike anything I've ever seen, boarded or travelled on. It looks as if the boat has been fasting and overdone it a bit. But there are reasons for this - good reasons, if you think of anorexia when you see it. According to the design maxim "form follows function". The boats have to be so slim, they have adapted to their natural habitat. But they are anything but rickety or fragile. On the contrary. "You need to know that narrowboating is a contact sport," says owner Andi, who has invited me on a taster tour of his boat. I will realise exactly what he means soon enough and often enough. Especially in the narrow locks.
In the beginning, Andi only chartered. Now he is what you might call a narrowboat native. He owns two boats. One is a widebeam, his base camp in London, so to speak. Because of their wider hull, widebeams are considered to be the SUV of narrowboats. They have a limited travelling radius and are therefore somewhat "handicapped". This type of boat is simply too plump and bulky around the hips. They do not fit into the oldest and most locks in the UK and are favoured as houseboats for residential use.
Only in the marinas are there permanent berths
Andi's second boat is the "Walkabout", the slim, thoroughbred version for rum travelling, as the name suggests. This type of boat has been used on the canals of England and Wales since around 1750. In those days, these waterways were built by hand by canal builders using shovels and wheelbarrows. Just wide and deep enough for two ships to pass each other on the way. And you do that quite often. The colourfully decorated leisure boats have become so popular that there are now more narrowboats on the canals than in the heyday of freight transport. And the restoration of the canals and locks is proceeding at the same pace as their construction 200 years ago.
"Owners pay an annual tax to maintain the canals and locks. In return, you can moor almost anywhere for certain periods of time," says Andi. You go out into the wild, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, alongside the towpath.
"After two weeks, you have to move at least two miles further," says Andi. This is also checked. There are no permanent moorings. Only in the marinas. And there are obviously plenty of them. In mid-November, several chimneys in the marina are smoking. The heating here is still coal-fired - not exactly climate-neutral. In any case, the ship's name "Wanderlust", which I discover in the marina, seems a little exaggerated. A euphemism.
"Oh yes!" says Andi and shows me a map of all the canals on the island. With over 3,000 kilometres of canals, you can travel through some of the most picturesque unspoilt landscapes in the UK. More than enough for narrowboat nomads. The canals criss-cross the United Kingdom like a network of veins, with the Grand Union Canal being something like the aorta. And the colour of the water, reminiscent of old elephant skin, makes me think that a blood wash would be a good idea. Although the ships all have chemical toilets on board and the Canal & River Trust ensures that they can be disposed of anywhere. It is a very stagnant, enclosed body of water that is also busy and inhabited. Even in summer, nobody swims here - for good reason.
A week with the narrowboat through England
We leave the marina through the narrowest harbour entrance in the world and turn sharp left - with exactly two options. Right would take us to Oxford and on to the Thames. But we want to head in the opposite direction - towards Birmingham.
"Let's see how far we get in a week," says Andi. Meaning translated: The journey is the reward. That's why some charter companies advertise with the nice saying that narrowboating is "the fastest way to slow down". I can already confirm this on the first few miles. Inevitably. Andi's boat has 38 hp thrust for 18 tonnes. That's still 37 times more than in the past, when only one horse was pulling. Nevertheless, the boats are not exactly overpowered. You travel comfortably, at walking pace. Literally. The maximum permitted speed is 6.4 kilometres per hour. Even if you don't come across any speed cameras or water police along the way, the others watch out: the swell and suction that arise when travelling at high speed on the narrow canals quickly earn you nasty looks from the many canal neighbours along the way. Right up to the stinky finger.
Narrowboat drivers are like-minded people
Otherwise, you tend to meet relaxed and friendly people on the road. All members of a parallel society. After the ships were robbed of their original purpose - the transport of goods - by the railway, their function has changed completely over the centuries. They are used almost exclusively as residential and leisure boats. The colourfully decorated boats are now so popular that there are more narrowboats on the canals today than in the heyday of freight transport. And the restoration of the canals and locks is proceeding at the same pace as their construction 200 years ago!
Speaking of speed. Perhaps the most natural enemy of all speed when narrowboating is not even the maximum permitted speed - it's the numinous and manually operated locks en route.
Locks are considered a challenge
Locks galore, so to speak. Until your biceps burn. For us, the most intense was at the Hatton Locks near Warwickshire, also known as the Hatton Flight. A whopping 21 locks, stretching over 3.2 kilometres, at the end of which you have cranked the boat up or down just 45 metres. Whew! But it still feels good, as if you've just built a pyramid. Every volunteer from the Canal & River Trust is welcome. Cranky angels and helpers, some helping out for fitness reasons, some for folklore. You can recognise them by their coloured life jackets. Chatting amiably, you soon realise why Andi became a narrowboat native. And what he means by the contact sport: it obviously doesn't just refer to the rustic manoeuvring and parking in and out of the locks. It's also the solidarity of the locks. The togetherness on the road. Without expecting a tip, by the way. And at the end of all this manoeuvring, coffee and carrot cake often await you in the lock café.
Yes, it has something. Very, very quaint. Living cultural heritage. The former function has become more of a FUNction (from Fun). Narrowboat enthusiasts have revived many an old tradition, and regular festivals bring the waterways closer to the general public.
Another special feature: if all the cranking with the lock keys is not enough exercise for you and you want to do something good for your legs in between, you can do so at any time. Either you simply jump off during the trip, preferably under one of the numerous arched bridges under which the towpath also squeezes itself. Or you can go from lock to lock, which is never really far away. This is also a completely new experience: being able to walk alongside the boat at any time. Hence the name of the boat: "Walkabout". And "Talkabout" also works without any problems. With the engine running at low revs.
Stopover in Warwick
In Warwick, we make a stopover at the marina, which is located in a dead-end canal. We have to duck our heads under the bridge, and shortly afterwards it feels like we're in a marshalling yard for goods trains, the ships are so close together. Partly in a packet. There is water, shore power, hot showers and plenty of pubs within walking distance. The next day, I experience our personal Halloween in the Shrewley Tunnel. Opened in 1799. Before entering, Andi switches on the spotlight at the front of the ship. Shortly afterwards, the ship and crew disappear into a kind of stalactite cave - 400 metres long. The horses used to be kept here. For the passage, there is a smaller, second tunnel that runs above. Towing has been replaced by so-called legging. Either by the crew themselves or by "leggers". These men either lay on the cargo and walked along the tunnel ceiling with their legs. Or they lay down on the side on transverse planks and walked along the walls.
That was a real job. And not without danger. Some people are said to have gone overboard and been crushed by the heavy ships, says Andi. I believe that immediately. The passage feels correspondingly spooky. A hint of a ghost train. It's good that you can already see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Little money, lots of freedom
First under, then over the earth. The next day, the passage over an aqueduct is similarly exciting. High above the River Avon. You really can't say you get bored. If you want to slow down and get out, then maybe this is the way to do it, I think after just a few days. My pulse matches the chugging of the low-speed engine. The landscape passes by in slow motion. The soul sighs and stretches. And if you want to stretch your legs, you get off at the next lock and prepare for the one after that. Along the way, you get to know the country and its people. If you feel like it. If not, you simply move on. At least two miles. In that sense, 3,000 kilometres is more than enough. For just under £1,000 per year in canal fees. You can hardly get more freedom for less money. As the saying goes: "It takes little to be happy" - and with your own narrowboat, even a servant becomes king.
