Mostly clear and sunny. I walked into town to the baker and got warm croissants for breakfast, so the holiday continues. A huge charter barge passed this morning – I have no idea how he fits into a lock, or gets through (or under) the narrow bridges that I have difficulty with.
Once again there was nothing for it but to get on the water again. The sides of the canal are lined with huge plane trees a few meters apart, and with trunks a meter across. Unfortunately, many of them have been affected by canker stain, a disease that kills them and spreads easily. There are long stretches where they have all been removed, and only the stumps remain. There are other long stretches where the replanting has begun, and 10 foot saplings are growing, heavily protected. The spread of the virus is aided by mooring ropes, so although mooring alongside the canal anywhere is allowed (even encouraged) tying to the trees is illegal. To that end we are provided with two huge iron spikes and a sledge hammer to make our own mooring pins on the canal banks. We also have a long 2×10 plank to act as a boarding ramp on these occasions. None of this we have used.
We hit the first lock at 3 km, and Vic took a fall pulling on the rope in one of our better crosswise – in – the – lock maneuvers. By the time we got to Homps, the contact spot on her butt was hurting enough that we had to re-evaluate continuing the trip.
We are not really enjoying this anyway. Vic is terrified of something going wrong with the ropes when we are docking. That 7 flight lock at Beziers looms. I can’t do much to help her, as I am trying to keep the boat sane. Now that she is hurt and can’t jump on and off with alacrity, mooring is even harder, maybe impossible. I can’t see much of the scenery as we drive, as I can’t leave the wheel alone long enough to take a picture. It is far too much trouble to stop and moor to have a look around at every oppotunity. It might be fun with more dockhands and a boat that steered less like a cow.
Since Homps is one of the boat agencies offices, I wandered over to see what we could do, while Vic rested. The office was closed with a phone number. I found a worker who found a cleaning lady who spoke english. She showed me where the real office was – a camper van around back, also vacant. She said the ‘chef’ would contact us. Eventually a lad showed up and moved the boat nearer to the office for us. He backed this tub into a narrow parking spot. Can be done, apparently.
There is a monster crane here lifting some of the larger boats out for servicing, revealing their underpinnings. The thrusters appear to be small 8 inch fans mounted in a small keel. Not a lot of thrusting, but at least they have a keel, of sorts. The boat is having a substantial fibreglass repair done, just below the waterline. Apparently somebody missed a corner.
The ‘chef’ showed up at about one, a large ebullient Belgian man who spoke the world’s collection of languages perfectly, English included. He also carried the world’s most expensive looking motorcycle helmet.
He understood the problem, agreed we could leave the boat in Homps, spend the night here, and he could arrange a taxi for us to Carcassonne. Tomorrow we have to sign out and pay what we owe so we will see how that goes.
I walked into town and visited the town church (closed). It was apparently built in the 1800s by a widow, all on her own funds. The husband’s remains were moved there in 2003 (!). There has to be a story there.
We drank our souvenier bottle of Blanquette de Limoux to mark the end of our trip.
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