Well, well, well, it has been a long time and not a small set of changes either; due to some affectionately titled ‘life choices’ I seem to have found myself the captain of a beautiful, challenging and oddly all consuming 60ft narrowboat. An adventure! Whilst there seems to have been a few of life’s minor scars gained along the way and a website that wouldn’t play ball, other more important lessons have been gained, and an amazing life – embedded deep in the changing landscape of the UK.
Giving into the temptation to eulogise the life of a solo, live-aboard narrowboater, here’s a brief explanation of what the last 18 months has taught me..
Lesson 1. Patience.
The three days following Dec 8th, 2023 had been kindly donated by a good friend of mine, to help me take the boat, under my new ownership (!) from Polesworth to Shardlow, a 45 minute journey by car. After a slightly stressful meeting at the local bank and signatures gained by our broker, we took a bunch of day one pics then set sail. Within 200 yards of the engine failed, we drifted into a bridge with an almighty clunk, got her going again then the same happened only for us to gently thud into a fellow static boat, just avoiding a heavy collision by Ash (previous owner/electrician/bestower of plain-speaking wisdom) sprinting down the side and pushing the bow out. So that first weekend my friend and I, while waiting for a local engineer to come and help, supported local businesses and enjoyed the acoustics of the emptyish living quarters, and chilly metal hull.
As the engine had broken down due to fuel issues, the diesel radiators would not work, also the Morso Squirrel lil’ stove had two substantial cracks in the back, rendering it super inefficient (I could only get the cabin to heat up by burning fuel fast with the door open, I fondly remember the carbon monoxide monitor activating! In the coldest of mornings it was -8 degrees centigrade in the saloon/galley kitchen area. The washing up bowl was thick with ice. The patterns of frost on the insides of the windows – beautiful. Eventually it all thawed and the floods came, blocking off large areas of the Trent until I was rescued and somewhat repaired.
Leaning into the adversity and embracing the unknowns with a sense of abandonment became useful – I’d been paying rent on a mooring spot in Shardlow since the Nov to secure the electrical hook up point but due to engine failures, foods, stoppages and being frozen in, I stopped paying the rent in early April having not yet reached Shardlow, but survived in the wilds thus far.
Lesson 2. Needs
Aside from having a comfortable toilet situation, what else do we need, I’ll tell ya – electricity and fekkin wifi. Honestly, most people don’t last 4 hrs without a glance and stab at whatever device is currently playing them like a marionette, I’m no different. Ash left me with a good electrical foundation (I know, not so good in other areas) being a sparky himself; tons of 230v plug sockets and usb sockets everywhere, and 3 large 380v solar panels. I soon discovered in the winter months that to be able to run exotic devices such as toasters, microwaves and more importantly computers, the engine had to be running, unless there was latent charge in the leisure batteries. Understanding this charge was an electronic amp meter, a mystical, fickle and ultimately terrifying lord motivating me to keep the engine running to balance the reading around 12, or summat like that. PTSD has rendered this memory a foggy apparition.
In and of itself, running an engine/generator can work depending on your needs, however I had committed to running an animation bootcamp in mid Jan, working from home 6-9pm, online. I NEEDED secure electrics and solid internet access. After a bit of research I found Ed, the most kind, experienced, professional installer of lithium batteries. Fortunately he either had a window between other work, or saw my fragile desperation, and jumped in to install a bank of 12V 608Ah lithium batteries and other funky stuff (a new alternator, inverter and cool read out screen) in time for my course to start.
The wifi I again researched and bought numerous antennas, and the best router I could find. Initially I had tried various different providers and sim cards, all giving me crappy downloads. Of course what worked was turning it off and on again, seeing the test needle soar over 100mb download continues to give me pathetic smugness. All in all, figure out what you absolutely need, then pay professionals lots of money to do it. I also enjoy a spot of building, here a pic with my studio and pantry, previously a dinette, and my Chilli stove, other needs fulfilled!
Lesson 3. Friends
As herd animals aren’t we vibrating with the frequency of friendships, at our most pleasurable times? Personally I find it difficult to maintain a large group of friends, indeed it is not easy to maintain a tiny group 🙂 but do this ya must as problems shared are an antidote to the daily terror of boat life. Not only do my friends seem to have plenty of schadenfreud at their disposal, but they positively enjoy a regualr peek into the watery life. Some of the nurtured positives of regular visitors include –
It keeps shit tidy.
It reminds you how to properly cook a meal.
You can professionally use words such as bow, stern and bilge, without hesitation.
It gets you prepared for explaining your toilet setup.
Of all the friends in my life, this inspirational gentleman has been my proverbial anchor. Fred kindly booked himself in for the maiden voyage of DJ, giving me the security and confidence to tackle a life on water. He is the kindest, most thoughtful, intellectually engaging, adventurous and loyal of friends. If you ever have had the luck to have met him, you would not forget the experience – the ease to which he blesses all encounters with the joy and wonderment of being alive is ever enriching.
Meet Pete, a bestest buddy from Uni days. Pete is frankly gorgeous, is unstoppably generous, has a great balance of seeking new experiences and holding his shit together. Here we are in the Trent, we’d spotted a pub from afar, the binoculars indicated a mooring so we pulled in. Weirdly, the river was slightly in flood and as we gracefully smoothed our way in we realised there were submerged concrete levels. It took us about 40 mins to prize DJ off as it was spinning from the middle. I thought the hull was fucked as the sound was a bit scratchy. Thankfully we slid away and found an alternative watering hole, deepening our well of shared fuckups.
Alongside friends seen singularly, one of the most fruitful decisions I have made regarding friends is Read Em & Weep; just before the first lockdown I set up a book group with four friends, being mindful of the ways in which guys can easily drift away from friendships, rendering them a stoic, biological island. Since its inception two more fine chaps have joined, we get together every six weeks or thereabouts to discuss the current offering, and other elements life has chucked our way. I love it, from choosing the new list (no criteria, two books each, randomly chosen out of a hat for sequence) to our differing opinions being aired, but most of all to the deepening booky bond. Tomorrow we shall get together at my old allotment site where Fred and I shared many fine times, we are discussing Dodgers by Bill Beverley – an elegant, poetic, coming of age crime novel. Happy days.
Lesson 4. Solitude
Being away from civilisation can be lonely; if you are a solo, live aboard boater you can spend alot of time being with yourself, and your thoughts, moving from one unknown place to another. The transient, groundless and nomadic life style whilst being full of surprises, can sometimes feel barren of human connections. Some of the ways in which I have found to be useful in combatting this are –
Meeting new people in the community, sharing stories and experiences with fellow boaters
Meeting the public, I tend to read on the top of my boat, people enjoy seeing a day well spent and will happily interact.
Regular catchups with family and friends online.
Absorbing current affairs – a double edged sword as news can be bleak, but, being informed about the wider world can help feeling connected to the broad web of life
Leaning in to nature – I use a number of different apps to help identification of flora and fauna. Being animals ourselves I feel it to be rewarding to deepen the connection to our planet and life systems – standing in a forest and watching the birds in conversation on my Merlin app is a wonderful experience. I never tire of irritating my kids by repeating the names of plants or trees. Living in the landscape is enormously satisfying, looking out the windows upon a hedgerow teeming with life and light, a vast wheat field as a canvas for cloud shadows, the hills and valleys, cliffs and dark, deep waters. It all deeply hums with the nowness of moment, connecting to the endlessly vibrating thread of life.
Lesson 5. Tenacity
One of the often quoted acronyms on the waterways is ‘bring out another thousand’. Boats can be fickle, evil assholes, the list of possible malfunctions is probably endless and would bore me to death trying to describe all possible eventualities to avoid. Looking after the hull and engine would be my rookie advice. If those two are cared for anything else is psychologically manageable. Having had two engine mounts fail and savings wiped out, some resilience is an attribute this life requires; being stranded on the side of a river for a month with a broken engine, no more water in the tank and no services nearby can be testing. Personally, I find a Robinson Crusoe period can be useful to thicken the skin – breakdown cover I have since found can also be a comfort. Alongside mechanical marine life, personal resilience is also important – living outside of immediate safety nets can be daunting. Recently, two incidents spring to mind; pulling a jumper over my head at 1am getting ready to go to bed it ripped one of my ear piercings completely through. After spending 30 mins failing to reinsert it, a safety pin was all I could use to stop the hole closing up. Two days later I was still wearing it – natty!
The second was physically painless but a touch traumatic – thundering down the river Trent in flood I got caught with the engine in reverse whilst trying to battle the strong flow. The ropes were ripping the bollard from its footings, while in panic mode, shimmying fast in the rain along the gunwhale I slipped and fell, only to be stopped from going in the water between the boat and the pier by grabbing the top rail. Had I gone in, it would have been very difficult to get out. Don’t boat in floods and rain, it ain’t worth it.
Lesson 5. Love
Being the glorious mixture of water, stardust, blood and bones, it’s not easy surviving without special people to share our great mystery. Everyone undoubtedly has their own take on the wild and thorny issue of love but for those living a nomadic and somewhat unusual lifestyle, it can be a complicated spell to master. Personally, telling people you live on a boat has varying reactions. For a considerable time I refused to have even friends visit as I didn’t want reactions other than joy or admiration, and was avoiding potential pity, that presumed look in the eyes of people who less than secretly think ‘wtf are you doing’. After repairing and taming the boat into a space I was happy to host, meeting new people and sharing adventures has very much added to this new life in the wilderness. Approaches that have stood me in good stead include being honest in all ways, being kind, keeping an open mind and maintaining some separation. It can be wonderful and painful, navigating your way through the maze of human behaviour – having your own life, some distance and mystery all helps to keep life rich and meaningful – fresh ingredients for feeling alive. Find someone that is excited by you, and you them, be brave and let yourself fall, it is the ultimate adventure.
Lesson 6. Community
Since taking on this new life, one of the most enriching and amusing parts is the community, and by that I am referring to both those involved in boating and the public at large. Amusing in the sense of inviting random strangers onto the boat for a ride, I love to offer people the opportunity of a short trip, either along the route they are already taking or one that I am embarked upon. More often than not people love to jump aboard, telling me it is the first time they have been aboard a boat with a wide-eyed alertness in anticipation. Of course for myself it is no inconvenience but for them it can be a very memorable, unique journey.
Enriching has been the multitude of people, places, stories and shared moments. I could not begin to list the dozens of adventurers and free-spirits, dreamers and artists that have been a part of this adventure so far. Some of these folk have imparted wisdom and advice, some have bared their deepest feelings, all have been kind, generous and warm-hearted. It is a gift to have found this life at such a junction, a gift that others carry in their eyes and smiles.
Parting thoughts
And so it has been it a constant, fully immersive, raw and awe inspiring series of 24 hrs; just today I went through the massive incline of 10 at Foxton Locks, then narrowly avoided crashing head on with a guy entering a tunnel I’d spent 10 minutes chugging through. An hour of idly watching the hills of south Leicestershire glide by, and trying to learn our varied tree species, then saw me pull over and heave four large hunks of felled tree onto the roof for processing. Feeling smug as I tried to pull away, the engine swiftly failed, it would not turn the propellor and shut down immediately, bastard! And so I arranged for breakdown rescue whilst ai told me something was probably wrapped around the prop. And it was just that – a long piece of rope tightly wrapped that could only be undone by sliding into my swimming shorts and tentatively entering the water. Luckily it all worked out, the propellor was functioning once more, tomorrow I can resume my summer’s trip to see a special friend in Oxford, but tonight I make battle with my website finally – another averagely, unpredictable day.
