The Petite Saône: About Turn! Gray – Mantoche – Port St Pierre – Auxonne.

11 July to 18 July 2019.  46 kilometers, 3 locks.

Thursday 11 July. Gray to Mantoche. 7 kilometers, 0 locks. 1 hour, 0 minutes.

After a quick walk to the Intermarche for some last-minute provisioning, we then had to find the owner of the boat with whom we were ‘splitting’ off (he of the Burgundy red) as we needed to get going but were not comfortable with cutting off his supply without letting him know first, especially as he had indicated that he would like to take our place when we left. I thought it was the yellow boat, four down from us but Lynn was advised by a lady on this boat’s stern that that boat’s owner had gone cycling. Odd. Eventually, and as a last resort, I decided to sacrifice a two-pin to three-pin connector so as to leave him with power, and then set off on our way.

Then, lady on the ‘advice-boat’ came hurrying down the quay and, in rapid-fire French, informed us that we had the wrong boat; our companion-in-courant was on the boat in front of the yellow boat. Lynn went across and informed him that we were leaving, he said that’s fine as he was also probably leaving and did not need electricity, we retrieved our adaptor, started engines, untied, turned to port to execute an about turn only to find a Dutch-flagged Fisher-type yacht/cruiser hurtling towards us at top speed, seemingly out of nowhere.

There is a six kilometer per hour speed limit from the downstream bridge, past the port, and up to the lock but, in their wisdom, the VNF (bless their souls) have seen fit to place the sign high above the river up near the road, and it is now mostly obscured by bushes so those who like to travel at the fifteen kilometer per hour maximum speed allowed on most of the river, simply do not slow down – forget the courtesy of reducing speed when passing moored boats. Nonetheless, we took evasive action and ducked back to starboard as they roared past us, then they jammed on anchors as we finally executed our turn downstream, did an about-turn, changed their minds, did another about-turn, and proceeded upstream to activate the lock mechanism. Funny people some.

It's lovely trundling downstream on a large, languid river and by ten-thirty we were tied up at the exact same spot in Mantoche as we had left a week previously. One of the last things we did before leaving Gray was to buy some cheapo carpeting (think Putt-Putt but rougher), mainly to cover the bottom forepeak bunks which are dirt-stained, exposed plywood. On a spur, we decided to buy some more to cover the forepeak floor and our bedroom floor – all looks good and we think the colour is good but when we find a proper carpet shop we will buy a deeper and better quality pile, redo our cabin and the forepeak floor again and then take on the biggie – re-carpeting the saloon. A busy day with Lynn doing the back-bending stuff and moi, anything just to be useful.

The 'Not Very Nice' carpeting.

Bottom bunks before...

...Madame gets to work...

...and after.

Friday was a chill day (almost): Sometimes, there is nothing like sitting on a boat and watching the water, waterfowl, other boats, dogs interacting, people circling and new moorers incoming. Sometimes it gets a bit frantic, especially if a really tatty, built-like-a-tank, strakes on every pointy-bit boat, heads towards one with two elderly (most of us are) crew brandishing boathooks and with the captain somewhat oblivious to the wind conditions but determined to moor astern of one, heads one’s way. Boathooks are useless as fender-offers, and the brandishers thereof could probably have felt, intuitively, Lynn’s hiss from the saloon as they pointed the metal poles at our paintwork, shabby as it is now looking. We know that they are going to hit us so I’m on the hard in seconds, tell the skipper to put engines into idle, indicate to stern boat-hooker to fend off on the swim platform and not our hull, and slowly guide them to the open space behind us. Until the skipper, just to show that he is still in charge, decides to give a bit of ‘welly’ and ‘BANG’, their prop-walk drives their stern into (fortunately) our swim platform.

We also had a lovely Swiss couple in a small eight-meter ‘classic’ boat, Ria, tie up on our bow, very thoughtfully leaving as much space in front of themselves as possible for any new arrival. The best laid plans…

The new arrival turned out to be a beautifully presented, SSR registered, DBA decal displaying, flagless, twenty-meter barge (let’s call it H), determined to push its way into the fifteen-meter space between Ria and the boat in front of them. Without going into further logistics, the upstream boat lifted lines and moved to within a meter of the boat upstream of itself, Ria’s owner was perched on their bow desperately, and with little success, trying to push the barge’s stern away from hitting his boat. I gave him a hand whilst his partner undid their lines so that they could move a bit astern, then undid our lines so that we were thirty centimeters from the banger behind us – our davits ended up overhanging their stern deck – and we ended up with our bow-flag (‘jack’ to the seevoels) virtually hovering over Ria’s stern; to my mind, far too close for safety on a river mooring. Luvvie came to say thank you to Ria and the boat in front, Duvvie went for a swim, and skipper ignored everyone – I’m okay, Jack.

Now that's tight!

Looking astern.

Cruisers in ports usually make an effort to adjust lines to accommodate other boats but we have never, ever seen a barge do the same for a cruiser. And, (deliberately?) hitting another boat in order to push your way into a space-too-small is downright rude and the people involved should be ashamed of themselves. Especially the captain.

Saturday 13 July. Mantoche to Port Saint Pierre. 14 kilometers, 1 lock. 2 hours, 0 minutes.

Waving goodbye to crew of Ria, we depart southwards to be at the lock at nine, pass through without incident and screech to a halt two hours later, almost overshooting the ‘port’, Port St Pierre, a thirty-meter concrete wall in the middle of nowhere (luvverly), which we had marked on our guide on our upstream voyage – unfortunately in the wrong place. There is supposed to be a village three kilometers away but, when it was working, Google Earth showed nothing – Heuilley is about three kilometers away but to find a bridge over the river to get there extends the distance to some fifteen kilometers.

Boating life is full of surprises, some great and some not so.

Over the past couple of days, we had been smelling a bit of a ‘smelly drain’ smell from our shower sump where the water fills a basin before being pumped overboard. Quite odd, as Lynn had cleaned it quite recently.

Looking for something in the wine cellar bilge compartment Lynn mentions “There is quite a bit of water in the bilge”. “How much?” says I. “About six inches” says She. Further inspection reveals that the float switch which triggers the shower outflow pump had become stuck under an outlet hose thus not signaling the pump that it needed to do its work. Result? Lots of smelly, dirty water in the bilges. Lots. Two hours later all had been pumped out, washed, sprayed, anaesthetized, wine bottles cleaned etc, etc and now Elle smells normal again.

Varnishing part of the 'cellar' flooring.

The couple on the boat in front of us had their family around for the Bastille Day weekend (they have three dogs on board so probably chose this mooring as it is not close to anything which might involve fireworks) and they set up tents, one for the adult children and one for the granddaughter. They were joined by a group of German rowers on three sculls who enjoyed a laughter-filled lunch before setting off downstream again, and later, by a campervan. Very convivial.

Elle  in semi-sun mode.

Definitely a wild mooring.

The only sign of habitation or commerce.

Until at about ten-thirty the next night when a couple of youngsters arrived with a bunch of fireworks of the most noisy kind and proceeded to enjoy themselves for the next half hour setting them off. Sigh! After they had left, our quayside neighbours emerged to take their dogs for a de-stress walk but the Bloodhound was so terrified that it was foaming and shivering and had to be carried off the boat. I was very, very angry at the youngsters but more so at the producers and distributors of these infernal things and especially the governments which allow their resale – what’s wrong with laser-light celebrations?

And earlier on Sunday, the Black Caps lost to England in an epic WC Cricket Final which annoyed me intensely, and worse, Roger lost to Djokovic in an epic Wimbledon Final, putting First Mate into a complete funk.

Monday 15 July. Port Saint Pierre to Auxonne. 25 kilometers, 2 locks. 3 hours, 30 minutes.

Plan A: Sanding, chipping while on the move, then filling at a small out-of-the-way halte, and then chilling.

Lock graffitti.

Plan B: Sanding, chipping, grinding, not finding any remote haltes (the river is buzzing with boats), being overtaken just after the lock before Auxonne and thus losing out on the last mooring at the municipal pontoon, no filling, just chilling.

Being overtaken but they did explain that after 50hours on the
Canal Entre Champagne et Bourgogne they needed to open up their
turbo. And when we saw them again the next day they asked why we didn't raft up.
Nice people.

Plan B ‘won’ but Lynn was exhausted by the time we had moored up, very ably assisted by the very obtuse but entertaining Ozzie port captain M. John, who intimated strongly that he would make space for us in his port if our other (cheaper) enquiries falter. Big thumbs up!

It's a long time since we have been in one of these.

The next morning we moved back onto the municipal mooring – much more convenient for lifting bikes on and off – and pretty much did not much for the next few days.

They must have the occasional 'problem' with locks.

The VNF (Waterways Authority) doing a great job.

This 30-meter barge and his friend (20m) rafted up on one of the municipal
pontoons to take on a fuel delivery. Surprised that the pontoon could take the strain.
This is them returning to the port.

And Auxonne can really turn on some great sunsets!