Saturday, 4 December 2010

Cleddau Crew Fly Home

Wednesday 1st - Friday 3rd December
 
    It was a 0520 start from San Marcos on Wednesday morning - and by jiggling with the plus 3 hours to Philadelphia and the plus 5 hours to Manchester I calculate that "door to door " time was 21 hours, aided by aircraft keeping to time and fast westbound jet streams.
 
    We sat at the bottom of the hill below the Cal State University railway station bridge for simply ages, a red arrow barring our way and absolutely no traffic moving.  We began to discuss shooting the light and became aware that another car had pulled in behind. Finally the lights changed, and the car behind appeared alongside - the distinctive black and white of a California Highway Patrol car. It was a wise decision then to stay within the law...
 
    Again we bowled out to the coast and down the Interstate 5 freeway. Traffic was moving fast, four and five lanes of it at at 75 plus, vehicles under and overtaking as they do, rarely with
any signal. About twenty minutes north of San Diego, sharp hills on all sides comes a totally arresting view, one that is so extraordinary that I remember cross-questioning Cal Son about it on our very first visit in 2003. Very, very close to the freeway, but slightly above it, stands a sugar-white twin-spired building, the two towers each embroidered by four, I think, pinnacles. Lights always flood out of the building and external floodlights wash over the whole structure.   I've not been in it, I seem to remember that it is not open to casual visitors - it is a Mormon Church, officially the San Diego California Temple. Now, (perhaps not there on our last visit?) the church is overlooked by a tall rather brutal slab of a building with a gentle arcing roof, a hotel, I suspect.  Again I am struck by the impression that the sort of planning regulations which require sympathetic development with the locality and the natural environment are not the case in California.
 
    By the time we reached the airport the sky was just lightening. Despite the huge controversy in recent weeks over enhanced security checks which started at this airport we were soon smoothly through to airside. Some travellers bury their heads in their laptops or sleep while they wait.  The Captain is inclined to gaze at aircraft movements while I stroll the terminal. Here white rocking chairs at various viewpoints encourage rest and relaxation. Visible from the ground floor and the departure level is the Spirit of St Louis, a life-size model of Charles Lindbergh's monoplane. The current art exhibition is provided by ceramicists from Spanish Village and of course there are as well the stunningly beautiful wax and yarn pictures created by Native American artists and relating to their mythology.    
 
    It was about a 5.5 hour flight to Philadelphia. The take-off over the city is fascinating, up over the watery lagoons of Mission Bay, out over the Ocean, a turn back towards first beaches, then houses, roads, ridges, canyons and very soon rocky heights. Fifteen minutes or so on and a city appears, Palm Springs (?). Then the long haul high above the desert, sand, unmarked by road or human activity, rocks, ridges, the distant vista of water, occasional watery trails, more rocks and ridges... Eventually green geometric shapes appear, rectangle, square and circle, irrigated cultivation grabbed from a hostile environment.
 
    We touched down to 46 degrees F at Philadelphia Airport, a huge international hub. Crowds thronged the terminals, many in the winter dress of East Coast temperatures. A jazz quartet entertained diners at the food court; curly-bearded Santa sought out younger travellers for a word or two of hope and expectation. Large photos and information line the corridors detailing the history of Philadelphia's Liberty Bell. Those laden with dollars or credit cards can enjoy wide-ranging shopping opportunities.  We plumped for a slice of quiche, salad and a cup of hot water with a teabag. Northern accents gathered around us, four "Corrie" women nearby, one still in light top and sandals. A Florida or Las Vegas Girls' trip? Seven hours then strapped into the Manchester-bound aircraft and despite news of Gatwick's snow-enforced closure we touched down one minute ahead of schedule. Wonderful sight: Techno Son-in-law's father was there to meet us, his arms full of extra coats and fleeces! 
 
    Later on Thursday Boatwif went to meet the Cheshire One from school: she trundled out, tights and extra socks under her warm trousers, bundled into thick coat, scarf wound round the neck, fleece hat pulled down over the eyes. What contrast: just two days earlier Cal Mom had urged Cal Guy to find his coat, so casually abandoned in school the previous day.  "You'll need it," she'd said, " it's really cold today, it's not going to get above 63 degrees Fahrenheit!" ( about 17C)
 
    So back at home, first view was of an icicle suspended from the outside tap. But all was well inside.  If only I wasn't awake, jet-lagged at 5am, considering writing just one last blog...    
 
   

Wednesday, 1 December 2010

Hilltop structures and far views

Monday 29th November
 
I suppose yesterday (Monday) was about photo opportunities, feasts for the eyes
and reminders of previous delights. Cal Boy and Cal Girl ("Call me Cowgirl,
Granny," but that's a sock story) were back in school; Cal Son was back at work;
Cal Mom was preparing for this weekend's craft fair so the Captain and Boatwif
took to the roads. Down the coastal freeway we bowled (as that's the easier one
to follow) searching for Mount Soledad. We'd been there once before - and have
tried to follow its fortunes, the Federal lawsuit (ongoing) and the landslip
(road rebuilt). On top of Mount Soledad stands an enormous white cross, part of
a memorial to US Forces veterans. From the top the view is - breathtaking. Our
previous trip up there had been during "June Gloom", quite early in the day, so
visibility was limited. The Memorial records the names and service honours of
about three thousand servicemen and women.  It is unique in that it is the only
memorial to include photo images. 70% of those recorded are still alive. Just a
few are not American, one being Winston Churchill, his plaque right next to a
RAF Flight Lieutenant who had flown missions over the River Kwai. As for the
lawsuit: well, it's about a religious symbol being on federal land. Yesterday at
about 11am skies were blue, the view extended far and wide - even to the
offshore Mexican islands.   
We drove on, further south to another hilltop view, Point Loma, a spit of rocky
land that overlooks San Diego's vast natural harbour, the naval area, the US
Navy Air Arm runway, Hotel Coronado and the city skyline. In 1542 Cabrillo,
(it's uncertain whether he was Spanish or Portuguese), entered the San Diego
harbour with a flotilla of ships from Mexico. An exhibition, a film and a great
white monument commemorate the conquest. Elsewhere information boards detail the
mountain ranges, the commercial and military shipping and aircraft that might be
seen. On the highest point stands the old lighthouse, fitted out as in the
nineteenth century and open to visitors. Overlooking the Ocean side are
viewpoints for the annual whale-watching season when Gray Whales are on their
migratory route from the Arctic to Baja California. Far below are the
"tidepools", a magnet for those keen to explore coastal marine life. There is
always much to see, whether it is naval aircraft on exercise, or coastguard
cutters, or pleasure boats, or submarines, or cruise liners - or even birds
(condors?) and squirrels, one sniffing yesterday around our picnic. And always
there is that deep evocative steady noise of the foghorn, warning craft of the
treacherous shores.

In the outhouse behind the lighthouse was a small group of school pupils
earnestly seeking answers for their worksheets. Fourth grade they were, (Year
5), on a field trip. In fourth grade, apparently, the history and geography of
California are studied. Two separate people told us that this is the best time,
winter, not summer. One spoke passionately about the light and shadows in the
desert, only about a two hour plus drive eastwards. 

A time check - too long to drive a diagonal route across town to Balboa Park but
time to do that promised mission back to the bookstore. The "Dutch Lady" of the
Captain's Satnav directed us thrillingly across the city to feed onto a
magnificently complex freeway interchange. Traffic at 2pm was already heavy
("Shift change", says Cal Son) but we made our way up the inland freeway to
Escondido, the Captain there able to recover via a Starbucks latte. Still no
luck with the plan to photograph the book written by the friend's cousin: it was
indeed in stock, its single copy reserved in the backroom for a customer. Sorry,
Belfast, I did try ...! 

Time for bed; suitcases are packed; tomorrow we leave. An 0845 flight out of San
Diego, check in time one hour before, car return before that, early morning
traffic... the alarm, I am told, is set for 0430. We should be back on UK soil
at 0845 on Thursday morning at Manchester. 

If the journey is particularly eventful I'll file a report. Meanwhile, from
starry California - goodnight.

Monday, 29 November 2010

It's the way things are...

Gnashing of teeth again on my part that the last entry on the blog took on an unintended appearance; it was dispatched late on Thursday evening, failed to appear so after 15 hours we re-sent it, it arriving instantly in miniature format and shortened lines. Perhaps it was the last minute italicizing of film titles that did it...? However, grateful thanks now to Techno Son-in-Law, just back from his bird-watching trip to Norfolk, for reformatting the text - and for updating the location map.

Friday 26th - Sunday 27th November  

So - at the end of the last entry I was puzzling about "Black Friday". Apparently it is so called because retailers trade at a loss throughout the year until "Black Friday", the day after Thanksgiving, when huge discount sales bring in the shoppers in huge numbers - at which point their businesses "go into the black" as opposed to "being in the red"! 

As for the other common feature of post-Thanksgiving traditions - yes, it's Christmas lights time.  From Thanksgiving Night until early January an enormous Holiday Lights extravaganza occurs on Del Mar racecourse (on the coast, just north of San Diego; think Ascot racecourse). It's a drive around the track occasion to view hundreds of lit shapes and scenes. Here the family spent a mere five hours busily assembling and erecting lights: attached to the eaves, strung in the bushes, hung from the branches and planted on the lawn. (See photo...) It was a combined effort: the men slaved and problem-solved, the children swept leaves, the Cal Mom arranged the pretty bits - and I held the baby. Other householders in the neighbourhood have been similarly busy and this evening Cal Guy and Cal Girl did a local walking tour of the light shows installed so far. 

In the supermarkets all traces of Thanksgiving had been banished, to be replaced overnight by mock holly, tree-type displays and "Holiday" foods and accessories. I am found guilty of wandering around a supermarket looking at the signage rather than the produce - and certainly it can be entertaining. It was while in a local one on Saturday afternoon that my attention was taken by the magazine titles beside the tills: OK's chief story is "Wedding Special", US has "The Making of a New Princess", whereas The People's main story is "A Perfect Princess". Is the same level of interest in the Royal Family shown in other English-speaking countries? While at IHOP for breakfast the other morning another diner cross-questioned us on when Prince Charles was going to have his go at being King. And he also added " Say, haven't you got a new Prime Minister? It seems all your guys are young and handsome right now." How others see us...

To today's adventure: a trip to the New Children's Museum in downtown San Diego. Right down amidst the skyscrapers, near the International Convention Center, not far from a trolley-bus line is this superb and very recent (May 2008) attraction. Its purpose is to provide inspirational art experiences for children from toddler age to teenage. A massive Trojan Horse dominates the museum, originally constructed to sit on the US-Mexican border. During the course of our four hour visit the children used chariots, blew bubbles, dressed up, made rubbings, made bird houses, painted an outdoor structure, added paper links to a chandelier, climbed ropes and rock walls... the list sounds trite but it is a delightful airy building which encroaches onto outdoor space on two levels and all activities are well-managed by the staff. The location, right downtown, a block away from the seafront in one direction, from the Gaslamp Quarter in another, is stunning. But it is the Museum's rationale that is the more thought-provoking: due to the continuing cutbacks and shrinking of opportunity in the public education curriculum the Museum seeks to provide visual and tactile experiences to school groups and workshop sessions.  It seemed to have been funded " by the great and the good". There is much talk of how parents fund music and sport in schools, and how science is a fee-paying extra-curricular activity. If there isn't enough in the public purse provision is pretty limited.    
    
Our route home was initially through the city via the harbour, past the enormous cruise liner that was disabled during a cruise a few weeks ago, past US Midway (World War 2 carrier, now a floating museum) and up the coastal freeway past The Californian Son's (relatively new) workplace and then inland over a few very steep hills before reaching San Marcos. We climbed up past San Elijo Middle School, yet still there were houses some height above it - and it occurred to me that in the UK we reserve hilltops as places to be walked to. Here the hilltop is sliced off, flattened and built on, the slopes below are carved and terraced - and then more houses built.

Thanksgiving Holiday is over: Cal Boy and Cal Girl were in bed thirty minutes earlier tonight as tomorrow school starts again. Roads and airports are busy as people return to work and to colleges. That's the way things are out here...   ​

Friday, 26 November 2010

Boatwif - Thoughts at Thanksgiving...

 

Tuesday 23rd - Thursday 25th November


No apologies - but the photos are mostly about food! Whatever else it is about the Thanksgiving Holiday Season brings the Americans' love of food to the fore. So it was not inappropriate to start Tuesday with a treat trip to IHOP - for breakfast. Pancakes are a speciality: Cal Guy went for the banana smile Happy Face, Cal Girl for the chocolate bomb Funny Face, Boatwif went for a relatively modest spinach and tomato omelette while the Captain and the Cal Mom indulged in meat-laden pancakes. Later that day there was another typical American experience: a trip to Edwards Movie Theater, just 18 screens for a city population of 60,000. The film (sorry, movie) was Megamind, with an audience of the four of us and about another six people. The children were allowed a SMALL popcorn box (so that was small! )It was a 3D movie, highly entertaining, preceded by tempting trailers of The Nutcrackerand Chronicles of Narniafor the next holiday releases.

The day before Thanksgiving has similiarities to our behaviour on Christmas Eve: shorter working day, long journeys to be with relatives, frenzied stocking up of festive food from the supermarkets. Neighbours were expecting family from Northern California: what at best might be a six hour drive yesterday became ten! It's probably the busiest time for internal flights, news reports abound of travellers' attitudes to the increased security checks (incidentally, I, though not the Captain, was X-rayed at Manchester). Our family, keen to avoid the turkey scramble around the freezer cabinets, ordered an organic bird online; news was relayed of her slaughter and dispatch, a call was received to check that she had arrived - and she (somehow it had become known as "Mildred") was delicious. Several other tasty essentials were delivered but a time arrived when a supermarket trip had to be made. The shopping list was long, but Cal Girl volunteered to help us out. It was three times as busy as normal, five times as busy by the time we emerged. Shoppers had a particular sense of purpose, the frozen birds, mashed potatoes (in cans) and tin foil trays being most in demand. As ever staff courteously and efficiently directed confused customers to the exact aisle location for every requirement.

We awoke to a cold but bright Thanksgiving; it was quiet, no traffic, no work to go to. Late morning an expedition was mounted to Double Peak Park, a mountain viewpoint 1644 feet above sea-level, about 1000 feet above San Marcos. Other families too were enjoying the excellent wide-ranging views: the university campus far below but only about half a mile distant, north towards high snow-capped mountains, due west to the Pacific Coast, Oceanside Pier and even the faint outline of offshore islands, east inland towards ridge after ridge of hills and steep-sided valleys, south towards freeways, hills, developments. Cal Guy and Cal Girl scrambled over rocks, clambered up the ampitheatre steps, explored part of a trail, climbed into a tree - a perfect work up for Thanksgiving Lunch. "Explain what you are thankful for," directed Cal Mom, and then we all tucked into turkey and stuffing, green bean casserole, glazed carrots, mashed potato and (home prepared) cranberry sauce.  Some hours later we tackled the apple pie and fruit crumble desserts. Then from a cupboard (closet) we took down a large wooden puzzle of the United States: it seemed a most apt way to consolidate our day.

It is one of only two four day weekends a year: tomorrow will be "Black Friday". (Why? Who knows?) There seem to be two essentials: huge discount sales, starting from 4am and the tradition of decorating the house exteriors with "holiday" lights. A doleful discussion was had about some problem at the end of last season with the nodding reindeer: could Grampy fix it...? This could well be a different sort of challenge from clearing debris from a boat prop or rainwater from an engine compartment...

Afterthought: it's no longer there but earlier the Google Search page was headed by turkey and other images of seasonal food: was that so on UK based computers? Do similar festive images appear on UK screens at Christmas-time?

Wednesday, 24 November 2010

Barking at print...

Saturday 19th - Monday 21st November
 
The Cheshire Son-in-Law has chortled, indeed crowed, over a spelling mistake in the last post.  Little did he know that "Pajama" was taken directly from the Pacific Coast Gymnasium newsletter​ given out to parents after Saturday's gym classes, but it does highlight the surprises that assault the eye when reading American English. On a previous trip I struggled with the word "docent": it turned out to be a volunteer ranger, as at a state park or a historic centre. "Faucet" seems to be a tap and on Monday we engaged with "Transit Centers" (railway stations}. Those are the sort of word for word puzzles that you might meet, but then there are newspaper reports. "Octomom doctor under scrutiny" referred to the doctor in charge of the woman who gave birth to octuplets: that could be guessed at. "Farmers' market to begin at adobe" relies on you knowing where the adobe site is (traditional building?) but my favourite reading matter is the type which can be read, but no easy meaning can be gathered, an example a couple of days ago being " California randomly selects redistricting panel". A walk out on the Oceanside Pier provided a fair sprinkling of notices about beach and fishing regulations, although the one photographed apparently is comprehensible to regular anglers.
 
Saturday and Sunday were marked by rain so indoor attractions were sought. After the 9am gym classes and lunch in a diner an expedition to Escondido's Barnes and Noble was made. Think Waterstone's but with a far larger floor area, plus a Starbuck's corner, a new toy department, a huge audio section, stationery, paper gifts, maps and so on.  Cal Guy had a birthday book token to exchange, Cal Girl was not to be left out.  A local author was signing copies of her children's book, royalties going to the local educational foundation. Families were dug in, reading for the afternoon. Rarely parted from a camera I had secreted mine into the store ready to gain evidence of a friend's cousin's book on sale in the US. But oh, the book is in print, though not on the shelf, one single copy is on order for that store but it was impossible to establish whether stocks were universally low or in high demand elsewhere... I feel my bookstore experience was incomplete - and have put it to the Captain that we do an evening visit later in the week: after all, they are open until 11pm. 

Sunday saw us head south, initially through heavy rain, to San Diego, specifically to Balboa Park. Twelve museums, a world-renowned zoo, botanical gardens, a thousand plus acres of trails and paths, the park established to mark the 1915 -16 Panama - California International Exposition. The buildings are breathtakingly beautiful in an ornate Spanish -Moorish style ... but we were heading for two particular destinations. Parking was difficult, crowds were gathered along the roadways, many clapping pairs of pink balloons together as they urged on the three day 60 mile charity walkers to their final meeting point at the new baseball park Downtown. First stop for us: the San Diego Railroad Museum. An entire room for toy train layouts, N gauge, HO gauge, O gauge, accurate representations of western states' rail routes, one layout taking nearly two hours for its trains to complete the route! A lunch (Cal Babe too) then a dive into the Reuben Fleet Science Center, a totally interactive hands-on science experience. The Big Ones went to the IMAX theatre for a space movie, while Cal Babe and I strolled the galleries and exhibits, before sniffing the air outside and half way along the Prado Colonnade coming upon a jazz saxophonist. Balboa Park draws in all sorts of people - hikers, joggers, art-lovers, musicians, performers and Hispanic wedding parties for their formal photographs. Although we haven't before seen the Park in rain or so green it never disappoints, the glorious buildings are the stars, while the visiting crowds also provide much to gaze at.   
​ 
"We're going to the beach," was the announcement on Monday morning, a widely popular plan. Four adults, three children, a stroller, one bucket and one spade headed to Oceanside. Again we did the  stroller-pushing walk along the diagonal boards of the pier. A pelican and a small school of dolphins were clearly sighted. Conditions were perfect: we were comfortable in shirts and light fleeces, surfers were in and out of the sea, young children played on the beach-side climbing frames and on the sand. With the one bucket and one spade retrieved from the garage a fine 5 towered castle was built, with battlements and garden. (To any listener curious enough I could have launched into a lecturette on the development of stone keep fortifications into concentric castles...!)    

Homeward journey was by the local light railway system which runs from the coast inland to Escondido, its primary purpose being to serve the university campus of San Marcos, right at the bottom of the hill from the family's house. The campus station sits on a bridge over the road, an excellent vantage point for a photo of the Californians' neighbourhood. Cal Guy reads well and he skilfully interpreted the Sprinter timetable for us, ensuring that we got off at the right "Transit Center". 

Back to "barking at print": after a time in the Science Center in Balboa Park you realise that all information is presented in English and Spanish; so too is a picture board book belonging to Cal Babe that he gazes at when strapped into his car-seat!

Sunday, 21 November 2010

Observations from out west


(Apologies for the disrupted appearance of the previous posting: it grieved me to see 
words and punctuation so oddly placed. The email is dispatched: compatible 
layout is not guaranteed...)

Friday, 19th - Saturday 20th November​ 
It is always great to be back in California, this now being the 9th visit since 
Son and Daughter-in-law left UK shores, and the 8th to their family house in San Marcos.
On each visit certain things always surprise me, even though I should know by now to 
expect them. The huge height of many of the palm trees is one, the higher from the floor and shorter cubicle doors in public restrooms another. Then there is the breathtaking 
sight of the landscape hereabouts: the Captain reminded me that the reason the hillsides are such steep conical shapes is that they were never glaciated. In shops and supermarkets staff freely offer assistance " Shall I just steam this for you?" said the young girl in the Gap shop at Philadelphia, as we were buying a shirt to replace the one the Captain had so effectively splattered with blood from a sudden sneeze at 50,000 feet. Then in a local supermarket yesterday an assistant carefully unscrewed bottle after bottle of shower gel 
so that I could select a preferred fragrance!
 
But some differences have been noted too. It is late Autumn, though not so apparent as in Britain. There seem to be flowers growing in public places and the hillsides and backyards have none of the parched looks that you see in high summer. In my stroller-pushing patrols around the neighbourhood I have come across a couple of patches of leaf litter - but not much. Generally the trees and shrubs are holding on to their greenery, and some of the bushes are additionally adorned by rich cerise berries or purple plum-sized fruit. A number of properties still show traces of Halloween decorations: pumpkins, of course, but also tall corn dollies, Autumn banners and door wreaths. 

Today, as forecast, it rained frequently, sometimes pretty heavily; never before here have I seen folk in warm jackets and waterproof coats, open umbrellas in use and roads swilling with rainwater. At 9am the hills that surround San Marcos were totally obscured by low grey cloud. But, as we are reminded, it is the rainy season.

Another season prominent in people's minds is Thanksgiving. Schools are closed, " A nine day weekend, Granny," pronounced Cal Guy Senior (aged 7), while Cal Girl ("I am four and three quarters now") has informed me that Thanksgiving is from the Indians and the Pilgrims. Supermarkets are geared up for the Holidays (festive foods and what we would regard as Christmas merchandise), the Los Angeles Times yesterday was adorned by a huge cover promoting the new Disney movie "Tangled" to be released next Wednesday 24th - and 
at the children's gym classes next week (though closed Thursday and Friday) Pajamas will 
be the appropriate form of dress!  ​

Just about seven years ago I had a first experience of being a stroller-pushing Granny: 
I shall never forget it, along the diagonal planking of the pier at Oceanside that pushes out into the Pacific, a double decker Ruby's Diner at the end, a pelican swooping 
overhead. A few years on Cal Babe has been treated to a newer, lighter stroller model. It may have fewer features for the discerning parent, but it is a dream to push, absolutely unlike a wayward supermarket trolley, more a responsive well-tuned coupe, its trim wheels turning and swivelling obediently - until that is the stroller pusher encounters the pedestrian gates at the neighbourhood's entrance. Oh woe, several times have I battled to open said gates towards me, to hold the weight open so as to swing the stroller through; the tussles have made me reflect that it is easier to to take a twenty ton sixty foot long boat into a lock than it is to propel a pushchair through a hostile heavy gate! 

Friday, 19 November 2010

Boatwif changes time zones...

​ The odd, occasional, new entry from a boatless crew... Boatwif and the Captain have flown into San Diego for some grandparent time with the Californian Three.

 

Tuesday 16th - Wednesday 17th November 

  Drawn always to water we have in the past two days flown far above one ocean - and gazed upon another. To the travel events first. When asked how long it takes to do a door to door trip my usual reply Macclesfield - San Marcos is 21 hours minimum. Such a trip involves flying from Manchester Airport, into an East Coast airport, Philadelphia this time, and then transferring onto an internal flight to San Diego. So Tuesday morning saw us up at 0500 ... and finally falling into bed at 0845 on Wednesday morning GMT, a record 24.75 hour trip! This time the Manchester leg was on time, we benefitted from three seats for two of us and a smooth transition between passport control, through baggage collection, to customs,to deliver suitcases to baggage transfer, to queue through security and to relocate to correct 

terminal and  gate.  


    How well it was all going - until the combined effects of East Coast bad weather, West Coast fog, misplaced aeroplanes and  crews left us with a long delay. Some three hours later than expected we were finally on the runway ready to roll - but with 

22 other aircraft ahead in the take-off queue! No aircraft could have been more packed than that flight, East Coasters in their 

heavy winter gear, burly flight deck crew being repositioned and an inclination on travellers' parts to take maximum carry-on 

allowances.


  Arrival at San Diego: we sliced down through the white cloud, the city spread below, the curve of the Coronado Bridge apparent, 

the coastline just visible,the skyscrapers streaming with light. Baggage reclaimed, a courtesy bus to the car hire company, 

and we headed north. Up the I5 freeway, keeping the coast on the left, following signs for Los Angeles, heading inland at Carlsbad. Drive due east

to San Marcos. At 1140pm local time we arrived at the neighbourhood: "Access barred" pronounced the lady in the metalpress pad box by the 

security gates. The numbers had been changed! The mobile phone wouldn't connect! Boatwif flung open the car door, gained access via the pedestrian 

gate, tore up the steep hill past all the sleeping houses - and gently tapped at number 408. The Son, the only still awake 

person, pulled on some shoes, drove down the hill and his electronic windscreen gadget opened the gates. A kettle, a teapot, a bed: 

we had indeed arrived!

   

  The Son gave swift briefing instructions: The children are excited; they invite you to breakfast with them; it must be at 0755.

The throb of aircraft engines had only just died away when Cals One and Two arrived, full of swift chatter. Ears needed to re-tune

to Californian accents and expressions: "Flag Salute" (whole school assembly), math (Maths /numeracy)were the obvious school related 

confusions. The students left for school, the grandparents were free to unpack squashed luggage and to acquaint themselves with Cal 

Three, a jolly, giggly eight month old creature. Time flew: Mother of Californian Three left to support kindergarten field trip

to the Number 1 Fire House. We, the boat crew, seized the moment: ignore jet lag, head for the coast, find our favourite lunch-time watering 

hole on the Pacific Coast Highway. There it still was, the Pannikin, a one-time railroad halt, now a cool Californian cafe> From the wooden beams 

hang a cart wheel and a once brass tuba. Real people hang out in it, the notice-board is headed simply with the title "Stuff", small birds fly into 

and out of the cafe area, students engage in earnest discussion, there is no plastic in sight - and the cook provides fine Greek Eggs up until 2pm, an 

excellent foil to airline food and tumbled jet-lagged stomachs! 

    A Los Angeles Times proclaimed the news of a Royal Engagement, we bought a copy for 75 cents and drove a couple of miles north. There we gazed upon the 

Pacific Ocean; not that Carlsbad State Beach is the prettiest beach or has the highest cliffs or the greatest surf. But here you see an authentic Californian lifestyle, a 

November afternoon, one man flying a kite, a couple of sunbathers and three hopeful surfers. 

    Time was running out: some essential groceries to buy, a liaison at the dentists' office to entertain children various during routine check up proceedings, a dash home and then a 

second liaison at the Olive Garden, an Italian eatery over the hill in Escondido, the Son arriving direct from the workplace.

    In all it was an excellent first full day: the sun shone on hill and ocean, the children laughed and talked - and we held off going to bed until 1015pm!

Oh, the business of -5 hours (East Coast), - another 3 (West Coast); at 4am the Captain was wide awake and offering to make a pot of tea... Readers, I turned the offer down!


 

 


 



Sunday, 26 September 2010

70 or 63 or 43...? and a last boating jaunt

Friday 24th - Saturday 25th September, 2010
Return cruise from Marineville Moorings, Higher Poynton to Bugsworth Basin, High Peak Canal, Derbyshire: 10.62 miles, 4 bridges (2 wind up, 2 swing) each way
 
    "Don't come in yet," said the Techno Son-in-Law to the birthday Captain just after 7 am on Friday. "She's just finishing your card." When entry to the kitchen (to boil the kettle for Boatwif's essential early morning pot of tea) was permitted a visual surprise assaulted the eyes. Bunting, balloons and a flashing badge all proclaimed a 70th birthday!
 
    " If I am to wear a badge," negotiated the Captain, " then I do insist on accuracy."  Techno Son-in-Law scurried away, deep into the cellar bowels, appearing soon after with a (still flashing) 63 badge, which the Captain agreed to wear.
 
    Thursday night had seen the final September childcare duty: the parents had returned from school full of information - PE on Mondays ("Don't send your girls in tights on Mondays"), French on Tuesdays, Show and Tell and Assembly on Wednesdays, Music on Fridays, handwriting styles, Jolly Phonics, numbers in everyday situations and there had even been school dinner tastings.
 
    Now we could reclaim our calendar - so why not opt for a last Cleddau cruise? Why not spend the second September birthday going up to Bugsworth?
 
    You don't really go "up" to Bugsworth - it just feels as if you do. From Cleddau's current mooring the route is roughly four miles north to Marple Junction, then about six in a south-easterly direction to Bugsworth and Whaley Bridge. There are no locks, so you arrive on the same level as you left. Northbound the canal weaves past several areas of moored boats and then reaches High Lane, a strip village along the A6.  Here there seem to have been many garden improvements since last we passed in April, new areas of decking, a good bungalow extension, several end of garden moorings renewed. On the canal weaves, between hedges, then breaking out to views past an old house now converted into apartments down to deer grazing below. On the outskirts of Marple the huge Goyt Mill overpowers the nearby streets and terraces.  Then you reach the end of the "Macc". A grey stop house fronts a narrowed channel, a turnover bridge is beyond. We were following one boat, another appeared at right angles at the Junction to approach us. The one ahead of us turned left, began to recede from view, then sharply bounced back - as bounced it had into the lock gates at the top of the Marple Flight. The approaching boater muttered about horns (not being used) and Americans (not understanding the rules).
 
    Soon we were able to make our right turn, onto the spectacular Peak Forest Canal.  It clings to the contour on the western side of the Goyt Valley. Down below are houses (some), roads (a few), a railway line, the tops of trees, fields and occasional dotted buildings. Sweeping away behind are serious hills, the hills of the Dark Peak. The towpath is frequented by walkers and cyclists, all eager to soak up the views and to enjoy the bracing air. And on Friday, the September 24th birthday, biting northerly blasts seemed a foretaste of autumn and winter. Any layers as long as they gave wind protection: on went the mountain cap, on went the gaiters... A boat was behind us; we played leapfrog at each of the wind up and swing bridges so first one operated the bridge while the other cruised past. At New Mills, still high above the valley, the air becomes dense with an almost sickeningly sweet smell and the canal passes the mill where Meltis sweets are made.  A bit further on eyes (and ears) are drawn downwards.  A huge railway viaduct crosses the valley, and trains rattle along it from Buxton to Stockport. There are heavily wooded sections, glimpses of steep paths and even ravines.  Then the eye focuses south, again broad sweeps of high ground, source of the Derbyshire limestone.
 
    The canal moves past pretty Furness Vale Marina, then about a half hour later comes upon the outskirts of Whaley Bridge.  Just under the modern road bridge the water widens and a signpost points left to Bugsworth Basin.
 
    Bugsworth Basin is a glory of the canal system: although in comparison, say, to Llangollen's Pontcysyllte Aqueduct, it's relatively little known. A huge inland port, built to tranship limestone, lime and gritstone from the high Derbyshire Peaks down to Manchester and into Lancashire, it was too heavily industrialised, dangerous and polluted a site for many records or photographs. By the 1790s 19 limekilns operated around the basin.  About four hundred boats would be used to receive and transport goods onwards. Now it is a scheduled ancient monument, a quiet place, a haven for ducks and geese.  Walls and part-walls, stone sleepers and bridges, mooring docks and archways intrigue any visitor.  The site was totally derelict for forty years but now, after wonderful restoration work the whole area is interpreted by numerous information panels and a large three dimensional model. Space for four hundred boats: on Friday night there were only seven. From here walkers can easily follow the tramway route up into the hills to the limestone quarries.
 
    No long walks for us this time, just an adjournment to the Navigation Inn for an evening meal.  Once owned by Pat Phoenix (Elsie Tanner of Coronation Street fame) now it is a friendly canal art bedecked place, popular it would seem with locals and boaters accompanied by large but docile dogs. There the Captain dutifully adorned himself with flashing badge to provide photographic evidence for the Cheshire One.
 
    Saturday dawned blue and dew-heavy. For the first few hours there was no or little wind. Views were even sharper and clearer than on Friday.  Our slow progress was led by the occupants of Brambling, whose very name suggests a rambling ambling sort of pace! It was a good day for day boats, although the first turned back early, thwarted by Brambling's lack of speed. The second provided two seven year old girls who flew out of their boat, elbowed the Captain out of the way and between them wound up the bridge, and then wound it down again. "We've done two other boats already," one said.  The third day boat was an altogether larger vessel, an adults only drinking party heading down the Macc from Marple.
 
    The bright but cold day came to an end: the boat was refueled and moored up.  The Captain, 63 and a day now, tied her up, the last jaunt over for this year. 63? But last night from Florida there was an email from the oil tycoon school friend, his birthday just a day later. "Isn't 63 the new 43?" it had optimistically said...!
 
   
 
   
 
   

Monday, 13 September 2010

Processions and parades

Monday 13th September: Kerridge to Marineville, Higher Poynton: 4.8 miles, 0 locks
 
    So, at about midday today Cleddau returned to Adlington and slowly cruised past her home mooring of the past two and a half years. When we had left, on June 15th, conditions were bright but blustery, today they were damp, developing to downpour!
   
    There was time for a little wander in Bollington this morning - at last I seem to be getting the layout of this twisty, deep small town, known locally as Happy Valley. When you drive through the roads are narrow, not straight for long, not flat for long. But from the canal the impression is very different. The streets and houses, schools and playing fields are mostly far below but the two great mills, Adelphi and Clarence, are right beside the canal and towpath. Long flights of stone steps lead up (or down) from the towpath at various points of the town. I came down from the aqueduct, a massive structure under which the large Remembrance Day procession parades each November to the War Memorial. I passed the sign indicating the walking bus crossing point and came upon the Civic Centre, above the Library, venue for the Cheshire One's Naming Ceremony four years ago, an occasion of great happiness, and drama too, when the Fire Service was called to attend and the Sea Cadets paraded by.
 
    Clarence Mill is on the northern end of the aqueduct, Adelphi just under a mile further south. Both now house offices, cafes, small businesses, apartments. If you know where to look and if conditions are clear right on the top of a steep hillside overlooking the town is White Nancy, a conical tower with what looks like a knob on the top, built as a summerhouse for the local Gaskell family. Walkers strive to reach it, gasp for breath on attaining it and celebrate with any form of picnic they can muster. Bollington folk are sturdy folk: each year on Christmas morning the town's brass band climbs to this point, there to play  a range of Christmas Carols.
 
    Back at canal level straight after Clarence Mill the scenery becomes entirely rural - and very green. Towards us this morning was coming a procession, a crocodile of walkers.
"A ladies' health walk," called the Captain. "Do you miss it?" Thirteen ladies (and one man) strode along.  "Ladies do it for the conversation," I replied. A little later a single file of sheep paraded along the offside bank, the grass coarse and tussocky. A final "procession": hire boat, second hire boat, then ourselves, making such slow progress that it was becoming difficult to steer. then a breakthrough: the hire boat in front of us slowed further, waved us on, moved a bit faster, let us pass, its helmsman muttering something about the other crew being fast asleep.
 
    Since June contractors have thinned and in some cases felled the overhanging trees: fungi is apparent now on the piles of newly chipped wood. Then, just before our final destination the water widens, notices warn that the depth is shallow, the result probably of mining subsidence in the late 1880s from Poynton's many coal mines.
 
    Then, in not untypical weather, heavy rain, we came to the Trading Post, a small canal side chandlery that sells maps and ice-cream, bottled gas and kindling. We filled the water tank. I asked for gas. Customers ahead were booking the Day Boat for a trip out. "There's no sharks or pirates on this canal...?" enquired the would-be captain. It made me laugh; it made me think: in all our watery wanderings this long summer Sharks no, but Pirates aplenty, many at Bedford River Festival and some again on the Shropshire Union just last week.
 
    Gas supplied, tank filled, it was time to manoevre into a new mooring. We'd have stayed aboard one last night but a rescue vehicle arrived, Ketchup the Campervan. "Come on Granny, you're sleeping at our house tonight..."
 
 
APPENDIX 1 - TRIP STATISTICS
Return Trip: time taken: 37 days
Mileage: 334.14 miles
Locks: 265
Engine Running Hours: 196.3
Fuel consumption: 403 ltrs
 
Round Trip: total days afloat: 60
Total mileage: 641
Total locks: 405
 
APPENDIX 2 - SUMMARY OF DUTIES
(Information collated following crew discussion at Peterborough, 15th August, 2010)
 
Boat'usband:
Captain
Chief Engineer
Comms Officer
i/c Navigation and Planning
Logistics
Catering Officer
Sanitary Slave
 
Boatwif
First Mate
Relief Helmsperson
i/c Daytime Catering
i/c Laundry
Lock Slave
Photographer
Ship's Writer