I know, I know. It’s been getting on for a month since I posted here on my blog. The time has just flown by, but I hope a bit of quality will make up for the lack of quantity.
The main reason for my absence is that the last weeks have been taken up with planning, doing and coming down from our trip to move Vereeniging from her mooring in Oudenbosch to her new home in the Nostalgische Haven in Sas van Gent.
Originally, we had a plan to head west from Oudenbosch along the Dintel river and then wiggle our way through the landscape to the mouth of the Steenbergsevliet which gives onto the Volkerak, an estuary-type stretch of wide water enclosed by two big tidal locks. From there, we would have turned left into the Schelde Rijnkanaal and followed it all the way to Antwerp, at which point we’d have taken a lock onto the tidal Schelde (Scheldt) river and headed upstream to Ghent, and then on to Sas van Gent, just over the border.
As I said, that was the plan. But plans are made to be broken and ours were disrupted completely when a good friend warned us we had to have AIS to go through Antwerp (thank you SO much, Voirrey). For those of you not familiar with this boaty world, AIS is an automatic identification system which tracks a boat’s position and transmits it to other shipping in the vicinity. In the Netherlands, it is not a requirement for boats under 20 metres long, but last year, Antwerp harbour authorities decided all boats passing through the Antwerp dock areas had to have it installed, regardless of size.
Finding this out only days before our departure meant it was impossible for us to comply and we’d have to change our route completely. Without going into extensive explanations, the map below roughly shows the route we took (the blue line) compared with the route we’d originally planned (the red line). The blue route added 170 kilometres to our journey, no meagre amount given the extra time, fuel and costs, but we loved every minute of it.
We were also delayed in leaving by the stormy weather at the end of March, so it was on an icy cold, but beautifully sunny Monday morning, April the 3rd, that we left Oudenbosch and headed east along the lovely Mark river.
A commercial barge on the Mark
Our first excitement came far too early. We were approaching the railway bridge for the line from Rotterdam to Roosendaal.
“Do you think we’ll get through with the chimney up?” I asked.
“I think so. We had it up last time we came through, didn’t we?” Koos verntured.
“I can’t remember exactly. I have a feeling we took it down to get out of the Oude Haven.”
By this time, we were approaching said bridge.
“It looks fine from here,” Koos said, and I agreed. Famous last words!
The closer we got the less certain we felt, until we reached the point when my jaw dropped open.
“Oooerr,” I called anxiously, stomach clenched, and I ducked swiftly as we got beyond the point of no return. Koos ducked too and the chimney cleared the bridge by a mere whisker.
“Phew!”
“Phew indeed! I guess that proves we must have had the chimney down,” Koos said. “I think I’d have remembered a close call like that!”
He was right. Had the bridge been couple of centimetres lower, we’d have lost the chimney completely and had a very chilly evening. The little oil stove inside was very necessary for the first few days of the week.
From there on, it was relatively plain, if cold, sailing for the rest of the thirty kilometres to the end of the Mark Canal where we locked through onto the Wilhelmina Canal and immediately turned right into our next surprise of the day. I couldn’t help letting a little sigh escape. I’d loved the slightly mysterious appeal of the reed-lined Mark, and had mixed feelings about leaving it. After all, we’d done little of the exploration we’d hoped to do since arriving in Oudenbosch, but last year was not a good one for many reasons and our dreams of cruising in Brabant were scuppered before they’d had time to come to anything.
The lovely, reed-lined Mark
I felt sad we were leaving it all behind, but life has changed since 2021 and I have much less need for a work base close to Rotterdam. Added to that, the cost of keeping my barge in Oudenbosch exceeded the amount I was earning from my occasional trips to do examining or the odd workshop at the university. What with the increased expense of travel on top of mooring fees, it was no longer viable, but leaving wasn’t without regret. I liked our mooring and I liked the town; the only thing I knew I wouldn’t miss was the willow tree shedding its abundance all over my Vereeniging for ten months of the year!
Approaching the Mark Canal
Anyway, back to the journey where we joined the canal heading south-east. As we turned the corner, I received my second surprise of the day. The Netherlands is a flat country, right? Well, not as flat as you might think. The Wilhelmina Canal begins at Geertruidenberg on the Hollands Diep and runs south to Oosterhout and then veers to the east. Up to its first lock, just after the junction with the Mark Canal, it is affected by the controlled tide on the Hollands Diep. The lock then takes the farer up to the rest of the canal leading to Tilburg and Eindhoven. What was a shock was how deep the lock actually is. I don’t know its actual depth, but it is probably over five metres, maybe even seven. Having navigated that successfully, we continued on our way towards Tilburg.
By now, it was afternoon, and a glorious one at that, albeit still pretty cold and with a wind that ripped at the skin on our faces. We fared along the peaceful, pastoral Brabant countryside, through two more substantial locks (the first of which was a quite old but beautifully maintained bayonet shaped lock with its doors offset at each end) and numerous bridges until, late in the afternoon, we reached Tilburg. We’d seen one commercial barge, but absolutely nothing else: not a cruiser, not a canoe and no other commercial vessels at all. Ultimate tranquillity.
Beautiful, but icy cold!
One of the many bridges on the way to Tilburg
A swing bridge
We’d agreed this would be a good place to spend the night, and Koos wanted to try for a spot in Tilburg’s own historic harbour. Well, what a lovely greeting we had when we nosed our way into the side cutting reserved for old boats like ours. We were warmly welcomed by John on his gorgeous steilsteven, and he offered to let us tie up alongside, a very kind gesture I was hesitant to accept because he had two beautiful small craft next to his barge, and I was worried that we might crush them.
The cut was also pretty narrow, so turning round was an exercise in quiet, persistent confidence for Koos while I held my breath, praying we wouldn’t hit anything, especially the pontoon where young people were enjoying the later afternoon sun. All was well, though, and Vereeniging drifted into place next to John’s ship after 54kms of steady faring. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get off and talk to John or his wife as my wrist is still too feeble for such acrobatics, but they were delighted to have us there and provide us with electricity overnight. Such kindness is heartwarming and we were hugely grateful.
John’s lovely classic barge
Tilburg’s historic barges line the Piushaven
A lovely photo Koos took of the two barges in Tilburg
The following day, Tuesday, we left at 10:00 to give the decks time for the ice to clear and also for Koos to nip to the Aldi for a couple of urgent purchases. It was to be another cold, sunny day, but with far less wind – much better, in other words. It took us most of the day to reach Helmond for a second night’s stop. At the end of the day, we’d done another 53kms, been through two locks (the second being another huge one) and so many bridges, I lost count in the end. We’d also by-passed Eindhoven and were glad to moor up before the lock at the end of the old canal that goes through Helmond itself. This was familiar water now, as Koos and I stayed at the same place back in 2005 when we were on our way to a festival in Belgium.
Yet another bridge
Mooring above the lock in Helmond
We both slept like babies that night. Fresh air, constant activity for me going down, through the boat, and up onto the foredeck to do the ropes, make coffee and prepare food ensured I was good and tired when we hit the hay. For Koos, it was the concentration of steering and manoeuvring, sometimes in difficult circumstances with lack of space and the wind against us.
It was a satisfying feeling, though, so when we set off in much warmer sunshine the next day, we thoroughly enjoyed our progress along the Zuid-Willemsvaart, the canal we’d followed so many years before. It was warm, the sky was cobalt blue and the locks (all seven of them) were a dream. A road runs alongside this canal all the way to the Belgian border past Weert, but far from bothering us, we enjoyed the occasional waves and toots from passing lorries. In fact, it was much lovelier than I remember it being from our previous trip, but maybe the relief of having a warmer day has coloured my impressions.
Sunny and warm: look, no coat!
You can just see the road alongside the canal
Industry at Nederweert, just outside Weert
The outskirts of Weert
Folly? Clock? Who knows. The time was wrong
in Weert whatever the case
My favourite mooring of the whole trip; hence, it’s become my banner photo everywhere 🙂
As the sun sets, the lock lights remain…just.
We finished the day at Bocholt, just over the border, 40kms from our mooring in Helmond. The time spent on the water was the same as the previous two days, but we’d passed through many more locks (eight in total) and they always take time. At the first lock in Belgium, the lock keeper was there to take our details, ask for our permit number and check where we were heading. A thoroughly nice chap, he praised us for having all our paperwork in order, a surprise for us, given that we’d never dream of trying to go through Belgium without a permit and the right documents. But, apparently, people often do and it gives him a lot of administration hassles. One lock later, we were already in Val heaven. Belgium is so different from the Netherlands: less orderly, more natural, and to my mind, more appealing. We stopped above the lock at Bocholt, tied up and went for a walk. What a lovely spot it was: blissfully peaceful, and yet with commercial barges passing until quite late in the evening. I could happily have spent more time there.
So, folks, that’s the first three days of our trip. From Bocholt on, things were different; there was also a moment of wonderful serendipity that made my month, so I’ll leave the rest of the story till next time.
Enjoy the rest of your weekend, allemaal, and have a good week! It’s good to be back and I’ll catch up with you all in the coming days.
