Somme like it hot

Saint Valerie to Sormont

See last blog ‘Weird’ for stats

We didn’t want to leave Saint Valerie. Our three day stay turned into four then five and before we knew it we had been there a week. The town was set on a large bay and when the sea went out the sand stretched up to the horizon.

The water was going to be out for a couple of days so this chap took advantage and was painting the bottom of his boat

We took the steam train that ran right around the bay and visited the seaside resort of Le Crotoy.

The waiting room at Le Crotoy

This town was more what we were used to from back home: bucket and spades, slot machines and a couple of rides for very small children you wouldn’t really class as a fun fair. It all looked a little frayed at the edges, especially as there were huge trucks in the centre of the beach scooping up the sand for whatever reason. Still craving fish and chips we had to make do with a burger and frites, although it was still nice to sit in the sunshine and dangle our legs over the quay whilst we ate the greasy lunch.

Unfortunately, the beach also came with a large ‘no dogs’ sign and it was a long march out of town before we found a section we could take the lads on.

Go on, throw it again

As much as we wanted to stay, we could put off the inevitable no longer.

The old part of Saint Valerie

We paid a visit to the harbour master to find out the times of the high tide for the following day.

This is the tides we were up against

Luck wasn’t on our side as the advice given meant our departure was going to be at 6.00am the next day.

As the lock keepers wouldn’t be out of bed to open the swing bridges for us, we were up before the seagulls in order to fold down the wheelhouse. This is the first time I’ve had to do this for probably five years (if you don’t include the trip on the wagon to get here) and so I had almost forgotten how easy it was.

I would like to say that we had a beautiful romantic cruise and watched the sun rise but unfortunately it decided to rain and without the protection of our wheelhouse we had to resort to a large golfing umbrella to make the journey back to Abbeyville. As luck would have it, we bumped into the lock keepers opening the Abbeville bridge for a group of cruisers and they cheerfully shouted to us to say they would meet us at the lock and open it for us.

We moored up back at Abbeville and later that day took a walk into the town centre.

Eat and ride at the same time (the bike is covered in mussels)

The rain had persisted all day and was now coming down like it was monsoon season.  We took refuge in a small café with a dozen or more locals and ordered a glass of beer each. One chap took a shine to Piglet but we had to warn him that he was a vicious little sod who didn’t like being stroked by strangers. The chap had the bar in fits of laughter by saying to Piglet “It’s OK, I’m not Francoise Hollande” and “If you do see Monsieur Hollande please do bite him”.

AS VNF had diverted water from the Canal du Nord into the Canal de la Somme to ensure problem-free cruising for the big commercials, it meant that the current that we had been worried about on the way down had turned into a raging torrent for our trip back up.

We eventually took courage, untied the boat and launched ourselves at the mercy of the river. Turning the first bend we were hit by very fast moving water. Thankfully, it was only a short stretch and we managed to very slowly maneuver up it. The journey carried on in this vein all the way to the lock at Pont Remy. 

We were both anxious to get through this lock as soon as possible as this was where we had been sucked on to the barrier coming down.

We arrived at the lock at lunchtime and as the sidewalls sloped dramatically and there was nothing provided to tie to, we had no choice but to tie to a bollard about a foot from the lock gates. At 1.50pm the lock keeper surprised us by returning from lunch early. He didn’t think to shout to warn us he was back and about to open the lock to empty it and it was only when we felt the boat bobbing about furiously that we realised what was happening. As we were still tied tight up to the lock gate, Tracy rushed to the bow and untied us. This turned out to be a big mistake as the force of the water, once untied, meant I had absolutely no control over the boat and we were sent slamming sideways wedging the bow and stern within the v-shaped sides of the lock approach. Luckily, I quickly positioned the rudder in such a way to prevent it buckling or snapping as we crashed against the slopping concrete sides. The lock keeper looked on without concern and made no attempt to stop or even slow the torrent as it hit us at tremendous speed side on.

We limped in and ascended the lock and asked the lock keeper if he had closed the barrage. “Yes it is closed” he said, “Please exit”. Neither of us was convinced so I stuck as far away from the barrage as possible on exit. As soon as our nose left the safety of the lock, I knew that the barrage had not been closed. Luckily, having a inkling this would be the case, I gave it full power whilst Tracy stood at the front shouting “Quick Martin, ramming speed”. We only just managed to get past and came out the other side unscathed.

We moored up at Pont Remy and the next day cycled down to the next lock at Long to see if there was anything likely to cause us problems. As it all looked fine, we continued on our journey the following day.

On our last blog this boat was floating

All was fine up to Long but leaving the lock there the river took a turn for the ferocious and for long stretches it seemed like we were not moving at all.

So it was with huge relief when we found ourselves back in beautiful tranquil Hangest.

Some of the wildlife in Hangest

It appeared we were the only souls for miles and explored the waterpark all by ourselves. The next day was Sunday and we took the day off from cruising. After a long hike around the swamps we continued walking eventually reaching Hangest village centre and the only restaurant in town.

The joy of eating in France is that nearly every restaurant provides a ‘formula’ and for around €15 they provide three or four set courses (sometimes with wine) and tea and coffee.

This restaurant was no different and as we plumped for the formula it was Hobson’s choice with the menu.

The starter was like a warm cheese pasty without the top pastry layer and being from northern England something we both enjoyed. The main was ‘lapin’ and having limited French I didn’t know what this was. Tracy was reluctant to tell me as the last time we had it she insisted on calling it bunny rabbit so by the time it was served up we both lost our appetite. She hasn’t cooked it since.

When the bunny appeared it looked and tasted just like duck and was absolutely delicious, we had to double check with the waiter that it was actually rabbit we were eating, Although once confirmed, the tune from ‘Watership Down’ did begin to play in my head.

Leaving the next day we were both anxious in the knowledge that we had to face the vicious ‘courant traversier’ again (last time we played bar billiards with a group of school kids and only luck and some fancy maneuvering prevented me from killing any of them).

We had already phoned the lock keeper to warn him that we were on our way. Reaching the ferocious side current it still took us completely by surprise. I pushed the boat to full revs and tuned the tiller to point the boat right into the current. This had absolutely no effect at all as we were sent crashing into the rocks at the side of the river.

This first clip shows us heading towards the cross current

This shows us hitting it (please don't click if you are offended by a woman using expletives).

She was meant to hold the phone up, but as her jaw dropped so did the phone

Once I managed to scrape us off the rocks and safely across to the other side, it was thankfully only a short distance into the lock and we couldn’t get in there quick enough.

With only three more locks, we were determined to reach the safety of Amiens before lockdown. There were no more nasty surprises and it was a relief to finally see the huge lock in Amiens ahead of us. Once in, the lady lock keeper informed us that we had to wait thirty minutes for another boat to join us before she would fill the lock. A small boat with two French chaps joined us and moored alongside. Tracy was holding the bow by a rope and couldn’t believe it when the lock keeper opened the ‘wrong side’ forcing 17 tonne of narrowboat into the small plastic cruiser. Tracy held on to the rope for all that she was worth and the chaps on the cruiser, realising what was happening, stood between our boat and their cruiser and began pushing with all their might. I shouted at the incompetent lock keeper (who was incidentally, watching events unfold without a care in the world) to close the paddle and open the one on our side.

Once she had realised her mistake and opened the correct paddle we then managed to ascend the lock without crushing, crippling or maiming anyone.

We encountered a dragon boat race as we headed back into Amiens

A club met up on the moorings, they did give us some bunting so we could join in

Last time we were in Amiens, we had missed out on the light and sound show at the cathedral and made a bee-line for it that evening. The whole thing turned out to be a damp squib with basically the same light show that we had enjoyed ten years ago only now you were encouraged to keep a distance and listen to a commentary in French (yawn).

This looks just like plain stone before the lighting colours it in

This was one of the many protesters who stood like this each night. The were protesting about the pay rates for actors

The only places it seemed left to sample in Amiens were the English and Irish pubs. First stop the English pub as it was only across the way. We were the only customers and entered giving a cheery “hello” in English to the barman. We were met with a blank look “Parlez vous Anglais” I asked to which the response was “Non!”

We decided to see if we would fare any better with the Irish pub. Sure enough, we were met with a genuine friendly Irish welcome. When we lived in Manchester I had friends from both south and north of Ireland and loved all of them in equal measures. They are a lovely bunch of people with a fantastic sense of humor in my opinion and confirming this, the bar man even gave me a pint of Guinness on the house.

There was an Indian restaurant slap bang in the middle of town. We were really fancying a curry but previous meals had been a lackluster affair as the French just don’t do spicy hot. We had a plan. Tracy would knock together the curry and I would cycle down to the restaurant for the extras to go with it.

Halfway through her curry preparation, disaster, the gas ran out. Without a spare, I had to dig out our little camping stove and she managed to finish off the meal.

Disaster averted, it turned out to be one of the nicest meals we had eaten in a long time. Along with our favorite fragrant curry (or rezala to give it its proper name) we had a mixed tandoori starter and gulub jamun pudding (a sticky Indian sponge cake soaked in syrup) along with perfect rice (Tracy can make a mean curry, but her rice is like eating silt) and a fluffy clay oven nan bread. This was all washed down with a bottle of red plonk.

Before leaving Amiens the next day, I cycled to the Texaco garage and exchanged the gas bottle. We waved goodbye to our neighbour and were off. By the time we arrived at the outreaches of the Hortillonnages we were both ready for a cuppa.

“The gas isn’t working” Tracy shouted up to me from the kitchen. The only thing I could do was turn the boat around and go back to Amiens to replace the faulty bottle.

Cursing, I began to turn the boat using the river’s current to push the front of the boat around. Just as I was side on in the river and about to edge forward down a small side arm to give me enough room to reverse and turn, a small boat with two-men fishing out of it decided to exit. (Sod’s law as we hadn’t seen a boat moving in days).

With the current starting to sweep us away, I had to turn the boat back to our original position and wait until the boat moved out of the way. By this time a large crowd had gathered watching and enjoying my agony. Second time lucky and we were now speeding down river back to Amiens.

We decided by then to stay overnight to get the gas sorted and I again cycled back and replaced what I thought was a faulty bottle. I fitted the new bottle and shouted to Tracy to try. It didn’t work. I was at a complete loss as to what I was going to do or who to turn to for help. I decided to dismantle the British and French gas regulators the pipe passed through and check each piece in turn. In the end it turned out to be a simple button on the underside of the French regulator that I had not noticed previously and once this was pressed it reset itself.

We retraced our steps the next day and made it as far as Sailly Laurette and after an overnight stop continued onwards and up the side arm just before Froissy to the town of Bray.

A better class of graffiti artist here

It looked like very few boats took this diversion and the banks of the river were lined with fisherman. After a few kilometers there was a wooden staging next to a camp site. As we were enjoying the scenery so much we decided to continue down the river to see where it ended. This was sooner than we expected as on the bend a fisherman warned us that a bridge was approaching that would be far too low for us to get under. I managed to reverse back and moored us up on the staging.

Our mooring in Bray

How low can you go? Not this low

"Come back with that baguette" the duck muggers (duggers) are shouting

It was a lovely quiet spot and a short walk into Bray town centre.

Bray town centre

We even managed to tune the satellite in with the aid of a long length of one by two.

The lengths people will go to

With the end of the Somme now in our sights, we set off the next morning with only one stop we wanted to make, the petite train. Unfortunately, the lock keeper at Froissy was of the awkward variety and even though he had waited ages for a French cruiser to arrive and descend he refused to let us enter the lock and ascend. There was nothing we could do but to wait for him to return from his lunch at 1.30pm.

When we eventually got into the lock, the lock keeper announced that the train left the station at 2pm.

We moored outside the train station and quickly tied up anxious not to miss it. Despite waiting at the petite gare for fifteen minutes the petite train refused to appear. Tracy went over to a sign board “It only runs on Sundays and public holidays” she shouted.

Disappointed, we returned to the boat and continued through the last three locks and three lift bridges.

Despite all the mishaps and the occasional awkward or incompetent lock keeper, we were really sorry to be leaving the Somme. During all our travels, we had never met anyone who had spoken of this journey so it was a bit like unwrapping a wonderful present.

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For mooring information, please see our previous blog ‘Weird’. We have included information for two additional moorings below:

Moorings in Pont Remy

Cost: Free

Facilities: Water and electricity available for €2 for four hours

Location: Small village with limited facilities

Moorings in Bray

Cost: Free

Facilities: None

Location: Small town with good facilities