So ... in
the dying days of August, setting out from Tara Marina, heading East Sou’East from Tara Marina ...
,,, on a delightful morning (above), via the Shannon-Erne Waterway.
Although this is a divided island, it is not
actually a 'partitioned' country; as evidenced (amongst other organisations) by
Waterways Ireland; which administers all the cross-border rivers and canals in
Ireland, and the Shannon-Erne system stretches North from Limerick, right up to
Belleek in Nor'n Ir'n ... that's 'Northern Ireland' to you; that piece referred
to in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and (parts of) Northern Ireland. To
be culturally sensitive (politically correct), where we now reside one refers
to ‘the north of Ireland’ or, more commonly: ‘The North’ … which is not
considered a political statement.
(Tangent warning! Tangent warning!)
Ireland
is one of those places which the whole world might do quite well to emulate. It
has a violent history of subjugation by a neighbouring, foreign power; with
that colonialist entity, forcibly populating one of its regions with poverty
stricken citizens, from a religious denomination, antipathetic to the
aboriginals. (Read about ‘the clearances’.)
I was
born in Belfast, so I stem from forbearers evicted from the Highlands and
Islands of Scotland, to facilitate the cultivation of sheep … to the great
profit of English landlords, who owned huge swathes of Scotland, but made
little profit from arable farming. My pauperized, forcibly transplanted
(protestant) ancestors were encouraged to feel superior and fortunate (“You
were lucky!!!”) in comparison to the oppressed people, amongst whom they were
settled as ‘tenant farmers’, for (Surprise, surprise! Drum roll please.) …
English landlords!
Since its
inception; firstly as a ‘Free State’ and latterly as a Republic; the government
in Dublin has always refused to accede to the legality of the border across the
island … although successive Irish governments have been realistic enough
recognise its ‘de facto’ existence. So – having been born in Belfast – I am a
British Subject; but my birth within the confines of the island of Ireland,
confers upon me automatic Irish Citizenship. Lucky me!
(“Bejabers, Tom; y’r ‘tangent’ has
wandered in the territory of ‘diatribe’, has it not?” “Y’r right Tom, so
y’are! Now … where was I going with this??? Ah, yes, I was going to The
North.”)
So ... in
the dying days of August, setting out from Tara Marina, heading East South-east
(downstream) on the River Boyle, it took only an hour or so to arrive at the
confluence of the Boyle and the Shannon. A smart left-turn had us butting into
the current coming down from Leitrim Village. It is so-called because the
'county town' of County Leitrim is actually Carrick-on-Shannon; at this point,
slowly disappearing in our wake. The only municipality bearing the county's
name is Leitrim Village. It is a picturesque, if small, community, with the
appearance of some vitality when a global pandemic isn’t impacting here, as it
is everywhere. None of the hostelries in the village could host us for a
dinner-reservation, as a local Gaelic football match was closed to spectators
but being broadcast on television, so all establishments were full! Not to
worry … Moonstone has a small, but well-stocked freezer, and similar wine
cellar!
(The term 'Lock' can become confusing. The arrangement by which a boat changes
altitude is a lock … spelling and pronunciation the same as the security device
on a door. Almost – but not quite - a homophone, is the local appellation for a
lake, which is: ‘lough’; in itself similar in pronunciation to the Scottish:
‘loch’ … as in Loch Lomond.)
The water in these regions is stained a deep amber colour, by dint of all the
'peat' suspended therein. The effect of this in agitated water may have been
the inspiration of Ireland's national drink ... stout'!
The locks on the Shannon-Erne
Waterway are electrically self-operated, although lock-keepers are plentiful,
and universally friendly, informative and obliging characters … chatty to the
point of garrulousness.
(“There’s a pots and kettles thing comes to mind here, Tom!”)
Anyway … at this stage we have
left the River Shannon and are proceeding along the Ballinamor and Ballyconnell
Canal. This piece of the waterway is the link between the Shannon and the Erne,
and not greatly recognizable as a 'canal'. It is more of a 50 kilometer (30
mile) series of linked-up loughs, large, small and intermediate. It rises and
falls through sixteen locks, and across the border between the two Irelands,
until it eventually joins the Woodford River and Upper Lough Erne. (Again; here
is an opportunity for confusion, but only because Northern hemisphere brains
tend to be north-centric.) Upper Lough Erne is, in fact, south of Lower Lough
Erne; because the River Erne flows from south to north. By the time we enter
Upper Lough Erne we have crossed an invisible (literally, invisible) border.
However; there’s nobody around, so you can’t discern the radically different
Ulster accent, and there are no nearby shops so you can spend neither Euros nor
Pounds Sterling.
At one point on the journey we
thought we might have crossed the border, as - sparse though they were - the
navigational signs changed from red OR green, to red AND white. It was a while
before it dawned upon us that the change in signage merely denoted that we were
now, officially, on the Erne, rather than the Shannon. Regardless of being
either in the Republic or in the Province, the River Erne (and its loughs)
navigate using, solely, the red and white beacons.
Of the two Lough Ernes, Upper
Lough Erne (the southerly one) is the least open, with a plethora of islands
both large and small. This provides plenty of shelter and few 'long reaches'
for swells to develop; so it’s much more suited to the particular
characteristics of a narrowboat, designed for the placidity of the U.K. canals
and the occasional river. Being on a narrowboat in such (comparatively) large
stretches of open water, can be daunting; and ‘keeping a weather-eye peeled’ is
a basic requirement. We take Moonstone on these loughs/lakes only after duly
consulting several forecasts.
However, weather awareness is
only one difference from U.K. canalling. In our four years of cruising in
England and Wales, we never felt any requirement to carry binoculars. For
watery peregrinations in Ireland; we have come to realise that these
vision-enhancers are indispensable. I make no claims to be any sort of
navigator, and the ubiquitous and essential Nicholson’s Waterways Guides make
navigation of Britain’s canals almost laughably easy … certainly in comparison
to our current life. This is not to disparage Waterways Ireland’s estimable
publications such as the ‘Navigational Guide to the Shannon and Erne
Waterways’. For a start it’s MUCH bigger than any of the Nicholson’s
publications … in fact unwieldy. A full 16 inches by 12; and considerably
smaller in scale, therefore – of necessity – rather less detailed.
Whatever … within just a few
hours we found ourselves gliding, serenely, into Enniskillen; not that much
later than we had calculated.
Heaven forefend … this place is
practically English … almost resolutely so! There’s even an Asda! Now,
Carrick-on-Shannon does have, a Tesco’s it’s true; but the merchandise there is
charmingly peppered with local delicacies, not the least of which are the
bready comestibles. The variety of bread, scones, rolls, etc., available in
Ireland - both sides of the border - is a glorious treat for the taste-buds.
Whilst,
in the Irish language, 'Carrick' denotes a castle; in Carrick-on-Shannon,
castle is there none! Enniskillen, however, has a small but perfect castle, and
it was beneath its walls that we found a mooring suitable for us to call 'home'
for two or three days.
Having spent some of our U.K.
currency (Pounds Sterling) we unexpectedly found ourselves with a problem. The
banknotes we were spending in the shops were British (English) twenty-pound
notes; which we had brought over with us. These are issued by the Bank of
England, and a commonly accepted in all four nations of the United Kingdom.
However ... Scotland and Nor'n
Ir'n (not Wales, for some reason!) issue their own banknotes, from institutions
such as the Clydesdale Bank and the Royal Bank of Scotland, and the Bank of
Ireland and the Ulster Bank.
Now ... none of these are legal tender in the Republic
of Ireland, but - in theory - all are legally negotiable anywhere in the United
Kingdom. In theory!!! In practice ... English retailers are extremely loath to
accept payment with any banknotes other than from the Bank of England.
The
great majority of retail staff will argue vociferously that they are not
allowed to accept such Northern Irish and Scottish currency; indeed that these
things are not legally valid in England! Both of these arguments are completely
incorrect, but then again ... these are people who doubtless voted for
Brexit!!!
("Ye'r wanderin' off topic
again, Tom." "Oh. Sorry about that.")
Whatever;
we are now stuck with a fair amount of folding money (we've still got a few
Scottish banknotes from the last time I was gigging North of the Border!) we'll
have difficulty shifting. Perhaps I can keep my eye out for a visually
challenged beggar?
(Are ye' allowed to say 'beggar' dese days, Tom?" "Alright:
'street person', then!")
We departed Enniskillen on a fine
sunny morning, but there was a bit of a breeze blowing. By the time we got down
to Upper Lough Erne, the weather had become duller and considerably more gusty.
Once we got into more open water, Lyn and I became aware that we were in a
canal-boat and not any sort of 'ship'. We never felt in any actual danger; but we realised that change can come quickly on these more open waters, and we tended to adjust our course so that we could head into the wind or take a track in the lee of islands.
Whilst we
have never been unaware of Moonstone's shortcomings in the sea-going stakes;
our long-held ambition to cruise the whole of Ireland's waterways, without fear
or favour, is crystallizing into a search for (yet) another boat! We have
focused our gaze on a Dutch barge style of vessel. It will need to be small
enough to fit into the locks, and under all the bridges, on both the Royal and
Grand canals; whilst being sea-worthy enough to carry us on the loughs without
trepidation. Of course: as the years progress, a little more elbow room would
not go amiss; although we're actually seeking a craft a few feet shorter than
Moonstone.
Something along these lines, perhaps???
If
anything significant transpires doubtless the news will be noised abroad on
Watery Peregrinations.
More next time. Stay well, Tom.
