Monday 10th April 2006
Oozells Street - Black Country Museum (10¼ miles, 3 locks)
Black Country Museum - Windmill End (5½ miles, 3 locks)
There was a hard frost in the night which froze the centre rope so that it maintained its shape when you picked it up. Jen and I had got up early, leaving the others to sleep for the first part of the journey to Smethwick Junction, where we turned off to go through the three locks to follow the old main line route. We moored for breakfast at the top of the locks near the Engine Arm Junction. It was surprisingly rural and the sun was shining.
We passed by the crumbling Sandwell Colliery Coal Chutes which have been in the news recently because there were promises to save them, but they are now to be demolished. Apparently the consulting engineers who carried out a risk assessment decided it was too risky to even enter the building. Personally, I wouldn't bother trying to save them. Concrete is an ugly material, whatever age it is.
Having said that, as the canal route started weave under the supports of the M5 motorway, I was in awe of the sheer scale of it and the work that must have gone into constructing the concrete columns that support it all. Where the canal is actually under the motorway, it is surprisingly sheltered from the noise of the traffic.
As we approached Dudley, the canal passed through a smart development of houses with plenty of space for private mooring, yet not a single boat in sight. I assume the residents are too posh to be interested in narrowboats.
At Dudley, we moored by the side of the Black Country Museum, collecting a string of rags around the propeller in the process. Another trip down the weed hatch....
The gate into the museum was locked, so we had to walk all the way round the road to get to the front entrance. We really enjoyed our time here and would recommend a visit. We also found time to go on the trip into the Dudley Tunnel on the electric trip boat, which takes you into the limestone caverns as well as part way through the tunnel. It is possible to book to travel through the tunnel on your own boat, but you have to be towed through by an electric tug, due to the lack of ventilation. There is a loading gauge that your boat has to be able to pass under, and Hawksmoor would certainly not have made it.
We left at around 3pm and made our way down Factory Locks to return along the new main line. The plan was to moor for the night at Windmill End so we turned at Dudley Port Junction to pass through Netherton Tunnel, which runs parallel to Dudley Tunnel and became the main route from Stourport to Birmingham.
There was some sort of incident on the towpath near the tunnel with a crowd of people. As we got nearer, a group of teenage lads started walking down the path in our direction. I always make a point of saying "Hi" or "All right" to people, especially in situations where I feel threatened. Maybe I believe it's harder for them to be aggressive towards someone who has actually acknowledged their existence. In this case it brought the response "Remember India!". I opened my mouth to respond with my usual acerbic wit, but all that came out was "Yeah". Perhaps it was because I couldn't work out if it was a question or an instruction....
When we reached the rest of the towpath gathering, there was a large woman with a large dog, who I suspected may broken up the incident. I'm not sure who was more intimidating, the dog or the woman. One of the youngsters found a knuckle-duster on the towpath which he showed to the woman. The matter of fact way she told him to hand it in to the police suggested that there was nothing unusual about such things.
Like many long tunnels, there was a transformation by the time we reached the other end, and we moored in the peaceful surroundings of the Bumblehole Nature Reserve. This was a popular place to stop and other boats joined us later in the evening.
I wanted to sample the Desperate Dan Cow Pie at the Dry Dock Inn, so we had not planned to eat on the boat. However, the glowing description of the pub in our Nicholsons guide was sadly out of date and the place seemed very run down with no food on offer except curry and chips on Thursday nights and Sunday roasts. The barman and a couple of locals gave us directions to walk up towards Netherton to a place called Pardoes which would be serving good food. Unfortunately, their directions were confusing and we walked up what I now know to be a road running parallel to the one we wanted, and the pub was called The Olde Swan, known to the locals as Ma Pardoes, after a landlady from years gone by.
We gave up looking after we reached a fish and chip shop, and had our feast of chicken kebabs and chips sitting on the wall outside. Jen pointed out that three weeks earlier we had been living it up in the five star luxury of the Hilton in Brussels on a Eurostar weekend break, but I didn't care about our change of circumstances - the food was delicious.