11/08/2026
ESCAPE FROM THE BOG OF ETERNAL STENCH
Or: another perfectly normal day of narrowboat travel…
After a genuinely lovely weekend trading at Bentley Bridge, Wednesfield, this morning it was time to point Tamarisk towards Brownhills and begin the next leg of our adventure.
There was, however, one tiny problem.
The boat had become one with the canal.
We’d been tucked into the old, now closed-off Bentley Canal Arm for the weekend, where the water was low, the bottom was sludgy and Tamarisk had apparently decided to put down roots.
Not metaphorical roots, either. Proper “I live in this mud now” levels of entrenched.
Thankfully, the intrepid crew of Winty Crafts came to our rescue and, with ropes, determination, teamwork and probably a few carefully selected swear words, we managed to tow ourselves free.
🎉 WE HAD ESCAPED THE BOG OF ETERNAL STENCH!
Brownhills, here we come!
Except the canal had other ideas.
The water remained ridiculously shallow, so progress has been less majestic narrowboat gliding serenely through the countryside and more:
Move.
Scrape.
Stop.
Reverse.
Wiggle.
Swear.
Repeat.
Several times Tamarisk simply sat herself firmly on the bottom and refused to participate any further.
Then came The Log.
Not a twig.
Not a branch.
An ENORMOUS bloody log, which somehow managed to wedge itself around the prop.
So poor Mike disappeared down the w**d hatch to do battle with it, only to discover we'd apparently also been collecting plastic bags along the way.
Because why merely cruise the BCN when you can accidentally undertake a canal-cleaning operation at the same time?
Eventually, man defeated log, Tamarisk was liberated once again, and we continued our slow, slightly crunchy progress towards Brownhills.
We made it roughly halfway before deciding we'd had quite enough character building for one day and headed for the water point we'd planned to use.
Where we discovered a CRT workboat — complete with plastic tenders — moored across it.
Of course it was.
So the much-needed water top-up isn't happening tonight either.
We are therefore moored up for the evening, somewhat muddier, slightly thirstier and considerably more acquainted with the bottom of the canal than we were this morning.
But Tamarisk is floating.
The prop is log-free.
We're halfway there.
And tomorrow we charge onwards towards Brownhills.
Well...
“Charge” may be optimistic.
Tomorrow we shall tentatively scrape onwards towards Brownhills.
Because apparently it's always Over the Yarnarm somewhere — even when the Yarnarm is sitting firmly on the bottom of the canal.
