Friday 26 July 2019

The Petite Saône to the Sâone to the River Doubs/Canal Rhone-au-Rhin: Auxonne – Saint-Jean-de-Losne – Choisey – Ranchot – PK 57 Weir – Besançon.


19 July to 25 July 2019.  100 kilometers, 28 locks, 1 tunnel.


Friday 19 July. Auxonne to St-Jean-de-Losne. 15 kilometers, 1 locks. 2 hours, 30 minutes.
Having heard from the harbourmaster at Port Royal that the locks between St-Jean-de-Losne (SJDL) and Gray open at seven in the morning and not at nine as indicated in our guide nor as advised by another boater friend, we set off early so as to be at the first lock by eight and back in SJDL after ten when mooring space should have opened up on the ‘steps’.
In the gentlest of conditions, we cruise down the two-kilometer long cutting which by-passes a shallow section of the river and in no time are back on the wide, pretty Petite Sâone River, being pushed along, at low revs, by the gentle current. There are boats tucked in the bushes everywhere indicating that the season is in full swing and we start doubting that we will find space in St Jean but our hopes are raised as, within a couple of kilometers of the port, three boats pass us going upstream.


That's another boat in the distance.

Just beautiful!

Passing the turnoff to the River Doubs/Canal Rhone-au-Rhin (when you are on the non-canalised sections it is the Doubs and when you are on the canalised sections you are on the Canal Rhone-au-Rhin), we round a bend and there are the Steps of SJDL – packed! We hover alongside the ‘no mooring’ sign in the space reserved for the huge hotel boats which visit on a scheduled basis while Lynn jumps off to check their visiting dates on the board. Totally out of date but the lady at the quayside restaurant confirms that a boat is due in today so we definitely cannot moor there today. There is a too-small space behind the big booze-cruise boat and we decide to give it a try especially as they seem to be moving out; but they are not, just turning around but we persevere anyway and with a teeny bit of co-operation from him, we manage to fit in with a margin of comfort – until he opens his huge lifting window which reaches beyond our davits and, if there is turbulence of any magnitude like that caused by small speedboats passing on half-plane, we are likely to smash the glass. So we squeeze right up to the boat in front, spread out a spiderweb of securing lines,


Tight fit.

Even banked up on the slipway.

Dressed for lunch.

have showers, and speed off to join Durbanites Rory and Jenny Pottage and New Zealand friends of theirs, Peter and Jane, and Glen and Trish, for lunch at l’Ecu.
Back aboard, the boat in front of us confirms that, as their starter issues have been repaired, they can up-lines and depart, and we can move forward ten meters, away from the threat of fighting it out with the big tourist boat, a fight we would surely lose.

Our view looking astern.

Looking forwards.

Some customer 'bait' outside a restaurant.
The big hotel boat never arrived after all, and as we did not see them on our last visit, I think their schedule might have changed to exclude SJDL.

Saturday is spent shopping followed by Pete and Jane dropping in to have G&T’s; Lynn tells them that the SA vs Ozzie match is starting at three o’clock and so, after a short stay, they cycle off, reporting back a little later that there is a pub which will be showing the rugby – are we game? Hmmmm, we have Jenny and Rory coming around for sundowners…after many telephone calls and confirmation that the game is at five, we decide to give it a miss but post-game drinky-poos with the Pottages was interrupted by the Kiwis reporting back to ask if we had received their score commentary (we hadn’t) but we had been following some other commentary so knew the result. Go Boks, go – 35 -17! Pete and Jane join the party and some while later all ‘meander’ off to their respective bateaux. Big Springbok flag goes up up-front immediately upon the morrow.


Father and daughter off our stern.

Sunday 21 July. Saint-Jean-de-Losne to Choisey. 19 kilometers, 7 locks. 5 hours, 0 minutes.




Playing the boating odds sometimes just does not work!
As we are readying to move downstream to the waterside diesel bowser we notice our front neighbour setting off upstream – very early for a French flagged boat, so presumably they must be heading for Auxonne as it is far too early to catch the nine o’clock opening of the first Rhone-au-Rhin lock. Cool, if we’re in luck we will be there by nine and possibly be able to lock-through on our lonesomes. Ninety-six litres and one hundred and forty-eight euros later we are on our way upstream to the lock, arriving just past nine only to see our neighbor tied to the waiting quay; we hover, lock doors open, we indicate that he should go in first, he says likewise, so do we, so does he, and, when we see he is determined not to untie until we take the front (not-so-nice) place, we move along giving him the hard look. He follows, ties up alone (wife still sleeping?), up we go, tie up, report to the Capitainerie to collect our telecommand, lockkeeper notices my mutters about our lock follower and explains that he is locking through on his own, I ask about his wife, lockie says “Maybe sleeping?” I reply. “Maybe she should get up and help him now?” Shrug. The lockkeeper obviously told him about our disaffection with the state of affairs so Monsieur le capitain from La Parenthese came over to say that his wife had gone home the previous evening and he was indeed traveling alone. So be it – we get to surf the waves.







The chemical factory.

You have been warned!



He can't read very well. I wonder if he can write.


Unlike Jeanine, this 'proper' commercial stopped his peniche so that we could pass
without grounding. Passing Jeanine with her on the move was hull denting.

The Choisey pontoon is lovely and we had prime position with a large bush immediately on our stern giving first-shade from the afternoon sun.


Chateau Choisey.




Nothing in the village but an afternoon snooze and, on awakening, finding our lock-through neighbor right on our bow with two other boats in front of him. All snug as bugs.


An imposing Mairie for such a small town.


Pretty as a picture.






Lots of balloons.



Monday 22 July. Choisey to Ranchot. 11 kilometers, 9 locks. 4 hours, 50 minutes. 4 hours, 50 minutes.


A morning visitor.


The times for this waterway are indicated thus for the High Season (‘Haute Saison’): Green = Free Navigation, Red = “Special Lock service” whatever that means. Previously, we had asked a lockie if the locks closed at lunchtimes (as indicated – Red Zone) to which he replied in the negative, indicating that all was automated now but with the proviso that if one had a problem with the locks during the ‘Red Zone’ lunchtime period, one should not expect any assistance until after lunch. Naturally, this is France.



And so, in the dead of night by European standards, we set off at seven thirty for our first lock, two and a half kilometers away, arriving at at eight – hey presto, the lights change in our favour, we trundle through a sleeping Dole port, through the next lock and by ‘usual’ lock opening time we have done three locks all alone – bliss! We must try this again.


Meandering along the lily lane.

Dole approaching.

The gorgeous canal north of Dole.


This dinghy must have irritated a couple of other boaters in the locks and side-on pontoons.

A fisherman doing what fishermen do - fishing off a waiting pontoon.

A very uneventful but very warm cruise sees us mooring up at Ranchot with a port propeller full of weed so its goggles (apologies to serious divers for not using the correct nomenclature of ‘mask’) on, head under the swim platform, and most of the weed is removed with the aid of a boathook; but not enough, so it’s on with the proper mask and Croc flippers (Oops! Fins. But they are actually slip-on shoes) and over the side to clear the rest.



That's better!

Trying to hook weed off the prop before taking to the water.


Boats move in until the place is full and another arrives, heads under the bridge to tie up, gets told off by the ‘tax collector’, we offer rafting space which they accept all the while giving the ‘commission agent’ words and refusing to pay for rafting against another boat, especially as they are not going to be using any services (they did top up with water [wink]). A good bit of French parry and thrust. We helped out a desperate hirer with extra hose and use of our water supply for which our ‘rafter’ Maverick seemed to think we were nice people and deserving of a bottle of Cremant de Bourgogne bubbles. Nice but we have warned them that we will be departing at seven the next morning and they can then take our place for breakfast.



Water full, the hireboat moored downstream.

Monday 22 July. Ranchot to PK57 (near Boussieres). 18 kilometers, 5 locks. 4 hours, 50 minutes.
A bit of dew wiped from the decks and windows heralds a very warm day ahead. Maverick’s owner is up and about on time, enquires as to whether we are going downstream ‘Dole direction’ or upstream ‘Besancon direction’; knowing what is about to transpire I mumble “direction Besancon” to which he replies with the dreaded “I think we will follow you” – only five locks but one of them is nearly four meters lift with at least another meter and a half of wall (do you remember Tessa?) so somewhat problematic for two boats sharing. Doable but not enjoyable ESPECIALLY IF ONE IS IN FRONT (did he overhear me? Apparently not).
First lock comes into sight, mechanism activated, we enter and tie up, he enters with wife on the bow in her shorty jarmies, clearly unhappy to have to be up in the middle of any self-respecting European’s midnight, she has words with him, they tie up, activate mechanism, she complains about our diesel fumes (“Don’t yer just love the smell of diesel in the mornin’?”), I’m not prepared to fight the current with the motors off – maybe we are earning that bottle of Cremant. Maybe they want it back?


Maverick following.
I'm fine mate...

...you just squeeze through. After passing this boat another barge came the other way.
I wonder what was said.
Anyway, after the five locks we have our destination almost in sight but see Maverick tie up in the cutting behind us, obviously to let us get ahead and lock through on our, and their, own. No sooner have we snugged down against the rustic wall adjacent to the soothing waterfall-song of the nearby weir than our erstwhile ‘lock-throughers’ came roaring past, she in her little paddling pool and he with a smile, relieved to see us stationary.




The VNF workboat.

Picture perfect.

The cutting leading
to the weir.

Youngsters at play


With a fiercening sun, Lynn painted the starboard rails (she’s crazy!) while I tried to catch up on this blog.


The couple on the hirer behind us are enjoying a few dips in the lovely cool river and, at about five, another hireboat slides professionally into place, we give him a bit of a clap and shouts of “Encore, encore!” and, in record time, skipper switches off, gulps down a small Kronenbourg, and plunges over the side into the river – a real class act! A youngster on this boat is suffering from heatstroke and part of their team have cycled off to try and find a town selling water (hardly anyone drinks the tap water here) so Matron Lynn grabs a liter-and-a-half of bottled water and promptly dispenses advice to the dad along with two packets of Rehydrate.
And talking of class(less) acts, we hear that Bojo the Clown is now prime minister (Note: Lower case) of the uk (again). What a joke!
Thursday 25 July. PK57 (near Boussieres) to Besançon. 18 kilometers, 7 locks. 7 hours, 5 minutes (50-minute delay at the double lock).
Still testing our theory but this time on a cruise which includes two tunnels, we are on our way shortly after seven – absolutely glorious conditions but it is warming up quickly. At the Thoraise lock we are informed by the owner of La Parenthese that his ignition will not start the boat “And could we tow him…” to somewhere, the somewhere being lost in the translation from the French original. We ‘dosolé-ly’ say that unfortunately, we are not comfortable with having to tow him through locks and tunnels and maybe he should just ‘phone for a mechanic? Or ‘phone a battery supplier?
The Thoraise tunnel lights are off but we stop a VNF van and ask if we can pass through anyway, he gives the thumbs up and by eight forty-five we are at the double lock at PK63; no red light but we do the necessary with the telecommand to set the system into operation, a light starts flashing (good sign), the green light comes on (a very good sign but the lock doors are not open), the lock doors open (a great sign), we motor into the lock and activate the correct mechanism and wait. Activate it again and – nothing (a very bad sign). So we reverse out to the waiting pontoon, notice that the lights are now on double red (lock dead – the worst sign), call the VNF to be told, someone would be arriving. After twenty minutes of waiting in the rapidly rising temperature, I walk to the lock intercom, explain again that the lock is ‘en panne’ (‘out of order’) and am informed that the technician is dealing with another problem and we will be attended to thereafter.
Nine thirty arrives as does the VNF man in a cloud of dust, the double reds go off, singe red comes on, goes off, comes on, changes to green and in we go. Lockie wants to know what happened, Lynn explains with exactitude, he shrugs and shakes his head, operates the system and we are on our way again.

Longstayers just after the double lock.
This is some of the prettiest cruising imaginable especially in such benign weather;




Besaancon's formidable battlements.
at the penultimate lock, due to a bit of ‘faffing’ we do not get to close the doors before a hireboat hoves into sight and we are obliged to wait for them – and we are at the front of the lock again! One more lock and we are at the tunnel leading to our mooring but it is just after twelve and the tunnel is on its lunchbreak; in any event, I had wanted to circumnavigate Besançon

We cruised clockwise to the yellow cross. The tunnel is the line in turquoise.




Old and new.

Chamber of Commerce?



rather than taking the short-cut through the tunnel so this is what we did on the hottest day in Besançon since 1984. At the end of the loop is a lock, one which has to be manually operated so Lynn jumps off and does the sweaty necessary while I sauna away under the dodger.

The 'other' port.

The 'self-service' lock.

The selfless lockkeeper.
Eventually, possibly quite dehydrated, we are through and tie up at long pontoon, set up the sprinkler system and drink copious amounts of water and orange juice before moving on to beer and wine in the late afternoon.



Hardly a shimmer.


And we would have to choose the twenty meters of the two hundred and fifty-meter pontoon, where the sun never sets.

The crack in the building where the sun gets in (apologies to Leonard Cohen)

We are the red splodge, the turquoise arrow points to the gap in the roof partially in shadow,
The yellow line is the direction of the sun when all the other boats are in shade.

Quite a day!