2nd and 3rd of March. Dylan to the rescue!

On Tuesday night it tipped it down, including hail bouncing off the roof. The next morning was wet and very windy. We waited till it dried up and set off bravely, with only the wind to contend with.


The clouds here are skidding along and you can see the surface of the canal chopped up by the wind.
 

We went past the three wise sheep. They stood stock still in this position with the wind blowing their
fleece around. Daft creatures!

We had gone about 2 miles when on a corner the boat suddenly lost all power. Fortunately the tow path bank was suitable for mooring. Robin immediately turned the boat towards the bank and Jo jumped off with a rope and we got secure very quickly. It could have been a lot worse in the strong wind!
Robin had a look and saw the gearbox was leaking oil. He phoned the River Canal Rescue (our version of the AA) and they put his in touch with one of their engineers. It was 3pm by now and when we looked on the map we realised that we were a mile and a half walk from the nearest road at Marston Doles. The engineer sensibly arranged to come out to us in the morning. He also said it was a common fault and should be easily fixed. Phew! We settled in for the night.

Our emergency mooring was right opposite this pillbox, built (believe it or not) in the second world war to defend against Germans using the canal during their invasion. There are quite a few on this stretch of canal.

 On Thursday morning, while we were waiting for our engineer, the hunt came through the adjoining field with lots of excited whining and boohalooing.


First we heard them and then we saw the dogs fanning out across the field. They weren't interested in the sheep in the field, although the sheep didn't look to happy.



Then the riders all came along, loads of them all squeezing through the gate.

 

And then they all turned around and came back again! 

At one point the dogs all swarmed along the towpath. Scooby was not impressed.



After this excitement had died down, we spotted our engineer  plodding along the towpath after his long walk to find us. Dylan (for that was his name) very efficiently changed a seal on the gearbox and got us going again. We gave him a lift to Marlton Doles and then we carried on towards Napton. Several miles and nine locks later stopped for water, loo and rubbish before nipping round the corner and mooring for the night at the back of The Folly pub. Crisis, what crisis?!