Wrapped in Freezing Fog

JOURNAL ENTRY

9^th January, Thursday

“The shatter of January light
On fractured ice.
The smouldering
Of fallen leaves
Frozen into the ringing silence
Of stilled waters.”

[MUSIC]

WELCOME

Freezing fog wraps us in an achingly cold damp blanket of night. All day, the sky has hung low in the trees, casting silver light of varying tarnishes. Now, the moon shines a pale smudge of light, high in the southeast. Chimneys breathe meandering pathways of smoke into the dancing air as the cold enfolds us closer.   

This is the narrowboat Erica narrowcasting into the dark of a foggy January night, to you wherever you are.

I am so pleased you managed to get here. Come in, out of the cold, warm your hands and feet by the stove. There is plenty of room and there is always a welcome for you here. The kettle is singing, the biscuit barrel is close by. Let’s snuggle into the warmth on this night of ice and silvery light. Welcome aboard.

[MUSIC]

NEWS FROM THE MOORINGS  

Last night, freezing fog rolled down onto the icy world. Sparkling like floating dust motes in the beams of my head torch. Walking among ice-clouds. The ground is now iron-hard, apart from the few places where the torrential rains at the beginning of the week has created marshy pools. But, overall, the frost has now gained the upper hand, not even the wintery sun can drive it back to the field edges and places of shadows. The landscape remains white. Brittle. Frost-rimed grass blades sparkle rainbow-lights underfoot. The air has a fragile, crystalline, quality to it. Ears, nose, fingers and toes, quickly burn with the heat of cold. Why does the cold, which can be so vice-harsh and unrelentingly steely, still also make things feel as frangible as old glass?

Last weekend, we were under a snow warning. However, in the end, very little came. A wet smattering that lay across the towpath and fields like a poorly brushed layer of undercoat. This was followed by a drenching night of rain that lifted the height of the water by a good couple of inches. So much so that we had to keep an eye on our mooring ropes. Even Maggie recognised something was different when we go up in the morning and took a lot of care jumping off the boat for her first walk of the day. I’ve never actually seen the canal so high. It was certainly nothing like that experienced elsewhere, but in some places, it was level with the bank.

Later in the week, the temperatures dropped again and the frost began to build. Slowly at first, but with each night, the frost grew thicker and whiter. Fence, branch, stem, and leaf-blade, stippled with tiny white crystal-forests like sugary stickle-bricks. The canal perfectly followed Dru Marland’s ‘Canal Ice Scale’. First that sludgy, slushy stage as small islands of ice coalesce – more the hint of freezing than its event. Dru calls this IC1 “Localised rafts of ice showing as crinkles on the surface” She then adds, “might support an insect if there was one around.” By the second day, things had moved to IC2 which, as Dru observes, describes ice being “more widespread across open water. Enough for a mouse to scamper on.” This was the state of play for a couple of days – and is often the limit of ice that we get. It is not necessarily picturesque, but then neither does it cause much problem to boat or wildlife. There is plenty of open water for drinking, swimming and fishing. A couple of very cold nights of between -6° and -8° C (roughly 19° to 21° Fahrenheit) shifted us into IC3 (“swans push their way through – ducks stand around looking pleased with themselves”) and then IC4 (“Waterfowl confined to swim holes. You can poke a hole in the ice with a brolly if you wanted to.”). For a while now, the ducks and swans have been keeping a swim hole open. It’s strange how communal they all get at these times. During the day, they congregate around it. The ducks happier to wander about on the ice, and taking turns to dip into the water for a swim. At night, they cluster together, some on the ice, but many in the water. Ducks and swans in far closer proximity than you would normally see them. Last night, the hole froze over. However, by about midday, it was back. A busy little social hub.

Today, was the first day of IC5, the ice, even by yesterday, was about an inch thick. For me, IC5 is when things get serious. Dru’s chart records that “Boats move with difficulty pushed ice rafts up densely. Need a barge pole to break – much swearing.” Actually, by this morning, it might have even been IC6 (“Get your skates out”). However, although thick enough to form a hard shell, the water’s edge is where it is always thinnest, and I wasn’t brave enough to see if it would bear my weight. Nevertheless, the number of large stones lying on the surface under a nearby bridge, suggests that, in the centre at least, it is more than capable of bearing my weight.

Only really hard freezes will actually lock an inhabited boat into the ice. Because the interior warmth is conducted through the metal hull, normally a centimetre or so of water around the boat will remain ice free. When that eventually freezes, you know it. Everything feels strangely static and rigid. That almost subconscious awareness of the boat’s movement as you move about aboard her is missing. You are now held tight – as solid and as unmoveable as a house with foundations. That is when the ice booms and sings. So far, this year, that has not happened yet.

It's these conditions and those of the last couple of days, that I find more concerning. Not so much for us, but for water fowl dependent upon fishing, particularly, like the kingfishers. Mindful that a couple of years ago, our local family of kingfishers got wiped out by four or five days of freeze. They’re small, and their diet is solely catching small fish. Because of their size and lightness, they are unable to break through even fairly thin ice coverings – in the way, say a heron can. Herons, can also eat other things. I am not sure about cormorants, and have not seen them for a couple of days. However, they are also slightly larger and can fly greater distances. It’s the kingfishers that have been on my mind recently. Each morning and throughout the day, we’ve been endeavouring to keep patches of water open for them, where we have seen them fishing. They sometimes, fish from bow fenders and tiller arms. There are also a few patches where trees overhang the canal and that I can reach with a rake to break up the ice. Maggie loves this work and has become obsessed with ice. After I have broken up a patch, she would happily spend all day fishing chunks of ice out and placing them on the bank. So far, she has shown real reluctance to actually step onto or put any weight on the ice, which I am quite happy about, and would deter her from trying to do.

It’s a job that has become increasingly harder as the ice thickens. Initially the old rake (that I remember using when I was a lad) – and presented a good substitute for Dru’s umbrella – was all that was needed. Over the last couple of days, something much sturdier, like a barge pole is needed. However, this, along with the boat hook and several other things, has become welded with ice onto the cabin roof, and no matter how much I have tried to budge it, it has remained immovable. Hence, I guess, the reference to much swearing in Dru’s IC5! Moreover, it is now becoming well-nigh impossible to keep these patches free of ice, and within about an hour they have refrozen. Down by the lock, there are some places where the water is still running freely. The leaks in the lock gates can serve surprising causes! Fortunately, because the water level has been so high, the canal bywash (that manages the overflow) is running fast and has kept a largish section ice free. However, this is quite away down from us and the next lock (in the other direction) is a good three or four miles away. There are a couple of rivers nearby that will be running in spate and so, hopefully, the kingfishers will find enough open water to be able to feed.  Nevertheless, in this respect, the milder weather can’t come soon enough for me.

The frost doesn’t alter things much, from our point of view, unless we have to move the boat – which, at the moment, we don’t. It’s no fun trying to cruise when the water is frozen. It’s hard work, noisy, anxiety-inducing. It can play havoc with the blacking that protects your hull, and it doesn’t endear you to any boaters you may happen to have to pass. The ice you have to push aside, slides and crashes into them. Most wise boaters avoid cruising in ice.

Of course, that was not always the case. The older working boaters (and some Continuous cruisers today), do not have that luxury. I know I have mentioned in the past Sue Wilkes’ marvellous book on canal-life in history, Tracing Your Canal Ancestors: A guide for historians published in 2011 by Pen and Sword. If you are interested at all in the history of the canals, I cannot recommend it enough, and I would reiterate, don’t let the title put you off. This is a book of interest to not only genealogists or those who have ancestors who worked on the canals. It is a beautifully researched and informative little book. Sue has a short section on life on the canals during a deep freeze:

[READING]

However, we the lucky ones, are spared all that. We have nowhere to go, and so are content to stay put here. The water has been cut off for 5 days now, but we still have a healthy tank. We knew the cold snap was coming and so filled up in preparation. We now automatically go into ‘cold weather’ special measures. Conserving as much water as possible. The first year, it felt strange and restrictive, it is almost second nature now. Emptying toilet waste is a little more difficult, but again we are coping fine. The temperatures are set to rise from tomorrow night onwards and so we have no real concerns.

And so, as far as boaters are concerned, apart from the minor inconveniences of restricted water and movement, life goes on pretty much as normal. However, there are other things that you might find us doing which are a little more out of the ordinary. For example, the other day, we noticed that the male swan was in the swim hole and we thought he was unable to get out. A few years ago, we came across a swan that had actually got trapped in the ice. No one could get over to it as it was right in the centre. At one point, she looked as if she was getting distressed. Fortunately, after three or four hours she did manage to scramble out. Concerned that something similar was happening with the cob, one of the boaters with great care, tried to break the ice up and coax him out with food. Eventually, he pushed through the broken ice and then scrambled out where the ice was a little firmer, waddling over for some more food. Once he realised that there was no more food to be had, he haughtily turned tail, stomped back to the swim hole and huffily settled himself back inside it!          

There do seem to be developments in relation to the swans here. I know I mentioned a few episodes back that we are having to accept that the female swan had died. She has not been seen now for two, possibly three months. However, just before Christmas, a new female arrived in tow of the dad, the cob. Both he and the cygnet seemed to accept her, and both the new pen and the cob were seen performing that very swan-ish bonding dance. They are not always together and we are not quite sure if a bond has formed. I haven’t seen her for a week or so, but apart from taking Maggie out, I have not really been well enough to be about much. Moreover, the weather may have made things difficult. We will have to wait until the thaw sets in. However, Jan, one of our neighbours was saying that she watched her take off and fly overhead. And she noted that the male, kept watching the skies for a good twenty minutes afterwards. It would be nice if they became a pair.   

This morning dawned wreathed in fog, but it has meant that the temperatures have been slightly elevated. They’ve been bobbing around -2° to -1° (roughly 28 to 30° F ) all day. Today, was the first time for a while that the metal frames of the portholes were not white with frost, or frost ferns etched across the inside of the window panes. It reminds me of when I was young. Running my finger over the tessellating waves and curls of frost on in the inside of my bedroom window. They felt as rough and sticky as a cat’s tongue or when you run your finger down the stem of goosegrass. Mum once told me not to lick the windows as my tongue would stick to it. Of course, I did give it a go. It tasted hot and metallic. My tongue didn’t quite stick, but it stuck enough to warn me off from doing it again! Icy windows and window frames, however, don’t mean that the boat is cold. Often, we’ve been waking up to between 13 and 15°, which is roughly 55° to 60° F – which is fine for sleeping. The stoves are banked up and dampened down, so that they burn slowly through the night. A quick riddle of ash and new coals in the morning, soon get the temperatures back up to cosy again.  

[MUSIC]

CABIN CHAT

[MUSIC]

READING FROM ‘FROST’ FROM TOM ROLT’S CLASSIC NARROW BOAT

[READING] 

SIGNING OFF

This is the narrowboat Erica signing off for the night and wishing you a very warm and restful and peaceful night. Good night.

WEATHER LOG