Well the adventure boating starts here, well that is what it was supposed to be, according to all the horror stories I had read on travelling the tidal Trent. But then we did have the benefit of a local guide, which I was glad of for the reasons above.
What an incredible weather change from the day before, the sun was warm and bright, the sky was dappled with still light cloud and the river was like glass, all of which, confirmed, not a breath of wind to be had.
Steve our guide for the trip arrived at 8:30am and after a traditional tea ceremony during which he filled us in on what to expect and our current suroundings, we set sail.
The not unpleasant, office buildings next our pontoon, which I had identified as having an unusual bulk and mass, were he informed us, an early form of concrete warehouse construction and consequently listed. The building is now the local CRT office.
Even though the fenistration had been covered in several coats of modern masonry paint the small window openings and the original horizontal shuttering (timber moulds into which concrete is poured) marks still gave the impression that the buildings were giants
in pisae, commonly found not only in rural Dorset but also in many parts of outback Australia where mud was the only economic building material. The good mooring pontoons can also be seen.
Facing this apparent pile of mud was a very real pile of rusting scrap metal, another remnant from the rivers trading days.
Steve informed us that the scrap yard played a vital roll in the Falklands War. Apparently when the Vulcan bombing raids on Port Stanley Airport were being planned it turned out that the bomb racks had been sold to the yard for scrap. The planes having been converted into refueling aircraft.
After a sheepish RAF visitation they were bought back and pressed back into service.
We cast off from the lock cut and entered the river at 9:45 for Newark Nether Lock.
Approaching Newark Nether Lock the remains of one of the larger commercial docks can be seen.
Commercial carrying between Newark and Torksey has now ceased, the last cargos being aggregate from numerous sand pits up and down the river. “These Gravelers” as Steve called then disappeared about 12 months ago but several loading structures remain and at first sight appear larger than they actually are.
Cromwell Lock is both the last lock on the river and by far the largest having two sets of doors in its length. We are in the first chamber, the crane and barge being in the second section. This loading work delayed us by about an hour all told.
We are now through the lock and onto a falling neep, with Cromwell weir behind us.
Upstream the weir approach now has good protection.
Cromwell has a fearsome reputation and rightly so, as it has claimed many craft, the most unfortunate being the loss of 10 Territorial Royal Engineers on a night training exercise in 1975.
The remnants of one of the more traditional industries on the river,
As we were on a falling tide most of the river appeared much smaller than the maintaind river which Steve confirmed. The greatest hazard if it can be called that is the steerers inability to stay away from the sand spits which can strech way out into the river, we just scraped one. We arrived at Torksey at 2:30pm but had to await the rising tide before we could get over the lock cill into the chamber. So what could we do but have lunch.
After the wide tideway, at first sight, the entrance to Torksey Lock appears minuscule. At this point in the trip the Trent had decided that I had become just a little complacent.
The Fossdyke enters the river at 90 degrees and on the outside of a bend. Coming down stream some judgement is required to avoid having an excellantly executed right turn being marred by the back of the boat being kicked out by the outside bend flow. Steve had warned me about it but it still almost got me!
Right on queue the lock gates swung open and we made our way into the chamber after saying goodbye to Steve who was picked up by Chris ; they both having other duties to perform.
To a Londoner the only thing missing from Torksey Lock entrance is a portcullis. On approch the miniscule penetration in the flood bank (which turns out to be a chamber which houses both flood gates and normal lock gates) expands to become the jaws of a medieval gateway that any city state would be proud of.
Once in the bridge hole it doesn’t take much imagination to get an inkling of the forboding that those entering the Tower via Traitors Gate would have felt.
The outer doors shut with the gateway about half full
Once ensconced the outer doors slam shut and one rises more or less above sea level.
On the Fossdyke
Our return was just as interesting.
The run down to Saxilby is via a broad manicured channel with low grass coverered banks with just a few sweeping bends, after the river, it is a relaxing intro to big sky country.
The entry to Saxilby under the railway bridge.
The moorings in Saxilby are delightful and made an ideal overnight stop for us, the footbridge in the background spans what was the base of the old main road swing
bridge, now diverted round the village.
The old main street (right), runs along the navigation and contains a few shops and a pub.The street is now protected from flooding by a concrete wall with other shops now just past the railway bridge (not over the level crossing).
Interpretation boards contain photos of the village as a busy port with barges loading local produce for shipment to Lincoln or along the Trent directly from the roadway.