A short hop east and back onto the comparative comfort of the Beeston Canal. We share Cranfleet Lock with two grandparents and their three grand-children. They are local and so are at home on the Trent. We still treat it like we were crossing the South Atlantic.
We sail out onto the river behind them, but they soon shake us off.
It's a strange sensation because we are motoring along but on a tickover and there's no was at all. I check the steering and we can move around. The only real sense of movement is when you look at the bank.
To the left, the Attenborough Nature Reserve appears. I still want to visit and hope I'll get time tomorrow. To the right, now are the big open fields of Barton and then the long line of fanciful summer homes on the bank. I do like these little mansions by the river - each one is clearly someone's pride and joy.
All too soon we are approaching Beeston Lock, and I hate how there is such a big gap between the wall and the first of the orange buoys! As we come in, there is a GRP boat ahead. I really really am beginning to dislike being around them. I have to take such enormous care not to bump into them yet they scoot around carelessly and without thinking: this one has just passed us a minute ago and is now waiting right in the very middle of the lock moorings.I am having to slow to get to the bank just out from the wall and I can really feel the pull of the weir to starboard. Just as yesterday at Trentlock, I am not in a happy mood as I come off the river.
The lock is busy now - it is Good Friday after all - and there are plenty of spectators as we lock through. We manage to stay to the side with our GRP lockmate ahead of us. We need to use the facilities which lie just beyond the lock, and this makes for an awkward exit as the moorings are occupied on both sides. We have to pull North Star back into the arm which is tricky with all that white plastic bobbing around.
This is going to be out first experience with emptying the cassette toilet and neither of us has a clue. The smell is awful and the kids hide somewhere. Helen does as well. Can't say I really blame them though.
With the job done, we move just a hundred yards towards Nottingham to moor up.
4.6 miles, 2 locks
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