Old Fashioned Power



Train rolling backwards down the slope

I gave Lottie a walk to the basin then we set off, unsure of what the weather would do. Paul had to reverse to the winding hole but it although it was within sight the bow swung towards the bank. I pushed off from the bank, nearly sliding into the canal and Paul swung the boat round. 

Consall Forge Station

As we headed out of Froghall a steam train came down the valley pulling a goods van and coaches. As Froghall is the end of its short line we expected to soon be overtaken. It was an age before we heard the whistle but it didn’t appear. Paul worked the first lock which stood beside the track camera slung round his neck. Twice we heard the whistle but the train didn’t appear.

Passing under the platform

After opening the lock we lingered...steam appeared round the corner. Paul leaned forward keen to get a close look at the tank engine’s big brother in steam. It rounded the bend and started up the incline towards us, then disappeared backwards round the corner. 

Steam train finally appears

Had it lost grip on the incline or had the driver reversed on purpose? We couldn’t tell. We carried on cruising waiting for the big steam train to overtake us but it didn’t reappear. As our boat chugged below Consall Forge where the boater can look through the supports of the cantilevered platform I thought it would be a wonderful place to be overtaken but the train didn’t come.

We moored for water at the lime kilns expecting it to rumble past but the only sound was the river running alongside.



Strangely shaped hill

Two locks later we were approaching Cheddleton station at the top end of the line when it crept quietly out of the tree line as if ashamed. Husband delighted at the close encounter we stopped for lunch opposite the station where a diesel was moving some rolling stock on the sidings. However I was struck by the strangely shaped hill behind the sidings which looked like a partly peeled orange. Surely this was man made?

Steam train departing

Just before we set off the large steam train puffed out a large cloud and bid us farewell with a jaunty toot-toot. It disappeared down the incline and we headed the opposite way towards Cheddleton, meeting the boaters that had helped us up the staircase lock back at Etruria.

From their wide smiles they were enjoying the Caldon canal.



 

Inside the mill

Cheddleton locks were swiftly climbed and we arrived at Cheddleton Flint mill which sits nestling the canal. This time the mill was open and the majestic water wheels were turning. This mill has a pair of water wheels working opposite each other. The mill also had other steam machines on display and the workers cottage was open. The rooms were tiny yet families were large. there was not flushing toilet no running water and light came from candles. It was a portal to an earlier way of life when many people relied on mills to provide work and various goods. I find the steady sound and sight of the water wheel calming.

inside the cottage

Continuing our journey in damp and cold conditions soon the Leek arm appeared clinging to the opposite hill. Naturally we could not see the canal but boats moored at intervals gave its course away.

steam engine

This part of the Caldon canal is unusual as the Leek arm crossed over us on a sturdy stone aqueduct. In order to join the Leek arm we had to climb three more locks to reach its junction. The weather was threatening rain and dark clouds were gathering but as so often happens on the canals we had to press on up the locks to reach mooring.

One of the locks had a leaky wall that squirted water through our open bathroom window. Thankfully it doesn’t take much to mop up the bathroom floor.

on the Leek arm

We completed the top lock and turned sharply onto the Leek arm. It’s hard to hurry a narrow boat but the race was on to moor before we got soaked. As the Leek arm runs above the locks we had just climbed I was impressed by how much height we had gained through them. Normally I am unaware of how far our boat has climbed but looking down at where we had been less than an hour before was amazing. We moored before the aqueduct and made it inside before the rain lashed down.

After the storm passed we were cocooned in silence in the rural beauty seven miles from the urban sprawl of Stoke on Trent. It felt days from civilization.