The Journey -
The Start of the Return on Rosy

We headed back towards Ostroda, and moored above the second lock to go shopping in the rather seedy outskirts of Ostroda.

On!  On!  Retracing our steps along the Elblagski Canal.  Much of it is a nature reserve, and the birds in particular continue to enthral - white tailed eagles, marsh harriers, black tern, a female golden oriole (we heard lots of them, but I saw just the one), reed buntings and reed warblers, storks and heron etc.  I also witnessed a kingfisher hovering like a humming bird, before diving in for a fish.  It is not unusual behaviour for them, but I had never seen it done before.  And a beautiful nest, like a large egg hanging from a twig, intricately woven, with a short tunnel entrance near the top, and the inside lined with downy feathers - all identified it as the home of a pair of penduline tits.

We worked through the lock of Mr Very Grumpy Lock Keeper, but it was his younger colleague who greeted us and worked us through with the usual Polish cheerfulness.  Then we found a quiet mooring, so stopped for the night.

The next morning we departed in sunshine and had a splendid cruise through some long narrow lakes.  Some considerable engineering works were involved in connecting the lakes to form the canal, as the lake surfaces were at different levels, and too many locks would have been inefficient.  One lake had to have its water level by lowered by five metres, and several others by one or two metres.  Most of this country (the guide book tells me) is typical glacier moraine country

We cruised passed one of the waterways work-boats with its Krab engine, and I managed to take a reasonable photo of it.

Then we arrived at the top of the five lifts.  We had to wait quite a time, as there were trip boats going up and down (they have priority).  I took Rosy down on my own and apart from problems with the first lift, all went well.  The problem was that I was a bit inattentive, and as the cradle came up to Rosy's bottom, the stern mooring ropes jammed on their dollies, and I couldn't release them.  I have a knife handy, but even so, by the time I had it in my hand and had cut the ropes, the weight of Rosy was being taken by the superstructure of the cradle, and severely bending it.

After three lifts, it was lift closing time, so we moored and I spent the first half an hour putting new eye-splices onto the cut ends of the stern lines.

Next morning was bright and sunny.  We descended the last two lifts and cruised back into Elblag.  But not before we were stopped by a frantic man who had a fishing net across the navigation, and was afraid we would chew it up on our propellers (fishing nets in a nature reserve??).  15 minutes later, I picked up someone else's net, and it took 20 minutes to hack it off.

We moored on the pretty town quay in Elblag.  Strollers in the warm sunlight stopped for a chat, and it was all very pleasant.  BUT we needed fuel.

We asked around, and eventually met a couple of Polish sailors from one of the rather elderly cruise ships.  One spoke a bit of German and was tiddly, the other spoke only Polish, was pretty much paralytic and kept emphasising that he had been a boxer of note.  The tiddly one went off to have a word with someone, and returned ten minutes later to consult with the paralytic one.  The paralytic one then staggered off and returned 20 minutes later having done the biz.  We had to move our boats to a small quay beside the Fala Canoe Base.  (And opposite industrial buildings originally built, I believe, for U-boat construction).  Our containers, plus their containers, were loaded into the back of an exceedingly dilapidated Transit-style van, whose driver (and, I guess owner) runs the canoe base.  We did two trips to the nearest garage (about 2 km away) each time returning with about 210 litres of diesel.  Rosy was full with 200 litres in containers and Temujin was also nearly full.  Unfortunately it was the expensive road diesel, and not the cheaper but just as effective (for us) red heating oil.

When the filling was finished, we went for a drink on an old barge done up as a pub.  To give an idea of costs in Poland, two half-litres of top quality beer in a classy bar, served at the table by an affably efficient waitress cost us about £1.50 (including a smile from the said waitress).

Next morning we had a grocery shopping trip into Elblag.  We had heard that there is a big LeClerc (a French super market chain) but it was several kilometres away so we made do with the local shops which have food, but very limited choice, and, for the fresh stuff, not very good quality.  However, there is a lot of severe poverty in Poland.  Many of the fishermen are not fishing for sport - they are fishing for protein!

We also found an internet café, so caught up on our e-mails.

All finished, and we un-moored shortly before mid-day to pootle down to the boat-club to fill up with water, then another amble to moor (rather earlier than usual) at a spot we had moored at ten days previously.  An Irishman came swimming by, and stopped, treading water, for a 30-minute chat.

He is an English teacher in Elblag, running his own school and has married a Polish girl - "none of this feminism rubbish here," he said.  He was most interesting.  In many of the country villages we were passing through, the older folk speak no Polish.

It was the joint Russian/German invasion of Poland that caused Britain to enter WW2.  When Russia changed sides, Germany attacked Russia, and their eastward advance was only stopped at Stalingrad.  At that point they were broken and fought a tough retreat all the way back to Berlin.  This eastern campaign included the Battle of Kursk - THE largest tank battle the world has ever known.

In the Allied negotiations prior to the subsequent armistice, and at the Yalta conference, spheres of influence were agreed.  Many Poles still object to the British for agreeing, at the Yalta conference, to Russian control over Poland.  Further more, Poland's borders were moved 200 km westward.  This led to the Germans in the west of Poland (some of whose families had been there for centuries) being evicted, often at ten minutes' notice.  Their abandoned properties were taken over by incomers from the eastern provinces who had been evicted from their properties.  Many of these new incomers to the western provinces spoke no Polish, and these are the people in the nearby villages.  Still extremely poor - subsistence farming, fishing etc - cut off from the rest of society by language (though most of the children now speak Polish) - alcoholism (moonshine) a problem - petty theft a problem.

Our friend was OK, as the Poles feel an affinity with the Scots, Irish and Welsh who (they feel) have also come under the English heel.

At this point we finally decided that we would do a side trip to go down to Gdansk (was Danzig).  So next morning we went out onto the River Nogat, and turned downstream.  We had a wonderful cruise along a broad, slow moving river, with marsh land predomination, but some solid ground with habitation.  We came to an unexpected obstacle - a new bridge was being built.  A pontoon bridge was across the river, paralleled by barges which appeared to be lowering fabricated caissons into the river bed, excavating the spoil from inside the caissons, and then filling the caissons with water.  As we arrived we were giving verbal instructions in Polish, and when we looked blank, a Superior Being came and shouted the same instructions at us, and became furious at our inability to understand.  All rather pointless, as all they wanted to tell us is that they were opening a passage for us!  This they did, so leaving the Superior Being to continue his rant we went on our way.  We are wondering what will happen in a couple of days time when we come back!!

On, during a hot afternoon to a lock out onto the Wisla (Vistula).  We moored at the lay-by near the entrance, and went, on foot, for a recce.

The lock was surrounded by a chain-link fence.  Where we were was a pedestrian gate with a notice on it which we guessed (correctly, as it happens) said 'No Entry'.  A couple of yards away was an open road gate, which we went through, and walked to the lock office where we think we got agreement to our staying where we were moored for the rest of the day (it was a Saturday) and the next (locks are normally closed on Sundays) and booked a passage for 0800 on Monday.

We settled in.  A couple of hours a party of school kids arrived.  Teacher speaks to us in Polish, and calls up reinforcements when we say we are English.  Ms Reinforcement is the English teacher.  They want to see a boat go through the lock - are we going through?  No, not till Monday, but she should speak to the lock keeper as other boats might be coming along.  Ms Reinforcement points out that the gate says 'No Entry'.  I point out that there is a larger gate without a 'No Entry' sign.

Unfortunately, no other boat was booked to come through, and the lock-keeper wasn't about to give us a free demonstration passage through and back. 

So.  That was the excitement of the day over.

The next day was a Sunday, and a day of rest for us, spoiled, initially, by a drop in the water level, meaning that when I got out of bed in the morning, the world was tilted to one side.  Judicious use of a pole got Rosy's bottom off the mud, and we settled down to a 'make do and mend' day, tweaking this and twiddling with that.

On Monday morning we were off through the lock, and whizzing down the Wisla again for a mere 4 km, until we reached a lock on the western side which we ascended, heading for Gdansk. 

Gdansk suddenly came into being at the end of WW2.  Prior to that, it had, for a long time, been called Danzig.  At the end of WW1, the town had been such a problem that it became neither German nor Polish, but was designated a 'Free City'.  After WW2, it became Polish, and its name was changed. 

It is getting known in the narrow boating world, as some narrowboats are being built and fitted out in Gdansk, and then shipped over to England for sale.

As we approached Gdansk we came to a pontoon bridge, with traffic rattling over it, and despite our toots it wouldn't open.  So we anchored.  Some while later a very low boat - best described as a modern motorised camping skiff - came under the highest bit of the bridge and, on sighting us came over.  It was a Polish man who had been to Holland with his boat.  He said that the bridge would open at 1300hrs.

At 1250 we started our engines, pulled up the anchors just as three men ambled into the middle of the bridge to operate the opening mechanism, and barriers came down to halt the traffic over the bridge.

Then what?  Over a 20-second period, the wind went round 180 degrees (increasing considerably as it did so) and the temperature dropped from 24 to 12 degrees C.  About 30 seconds later, the dark clouds that had been shadowing us most of the morning were split apart by peals of thunder and flashing lightning and the bridge openers abandoned their work and fled, leaving us with the wind behind us, being blown towards their bloody bridge.

Nothing for it but a 180 degree turn across the wind.  In a sailing boat, it is great fun to play with the wind, and to try to get the gunnels under water, but, for me, narrowboats work best when they are upright, and any heeling feels very, very wrong.  Things felt VERY wrong during that turn.

A few minutes later the bridge opening crew re-appeared in foul-weather gear and opened part of the bridge for us, hence we had turn 180 degrees again to head back to, and through the bridge.

The heavy rain continued on and on until, half an hour later I thought "Sod this for a game of soldiers" - a feeling echoed by Mike who was just passing a yacht club.  So we moored.

The Neptune Yacht Club was extremely helpful and friendly.  There were several English speakers there, who offered us much very welcome advice regarding our return voyage up the Vistula river.  A boat was moved slightly to make way for us, and its owner got extremely upset about it.  The feisty girl friend of the club official who saw us in heard the raised voices, came rushing over, and had to be restrained from pitching the complaining one into the marine water.  "Huh!" she said "The cess pit would not be good enough for him" (or Polish words to that effect!!)

Next morning we set off to see Gdansk.  Like most water side towns in Poland, finding somewhere to moor is pretty impossible, so our view of Gdansk was from the water.

First, a dead boat yard.  I always feel mournful around old boats.  There were seven rotting, wooden hulks.  Built with skill and care, worked with energy and expertise by who knows how many sailors, making money for the owners and then left to moulder away, guarded by ghosts from a by-gone age.  So sad.

Then through quite a narrow bridge, which had defensive piling on both up- and down-stream sides.  The piling had been substantial, steel supports with massive timber baulks.  Now it is dilapidated.  The steel rusting, the wood split, splintered and missing, with bolts protruding, and ready to rip into a badly handled craft.

Modern shipbuilding.  Sections of craft being built on small water side sites - the bows here, the stern there, midsections here, there and everywhere.  Then a site where all the bits are sections are fitted together to produce a bulk cargo vessel.

Cruising by massive bulk carriers, with their tiny crew waving down to us.

A little police patrol boat that circled us, gazed at us through binos, then gave a cheery wave and left.

A massive floating dry dock with a Stena Lines cross-channel type ferry on it.  Boats registered in Douglas (IoM), Kingstown, Breskens etc.

An enormous dredger, unused for some time.

A side wheeler trip boat plashing merrily along, and a modern, square-rigged vessel used as a Polish scientific research vessel.

And so down to the little brick-built fort, where we turned back - not wishing to get involved with the customs post a few yards further on.

Then heading back, past last night's mooring, and through the troublesome pontoon bridge without any palaver (the Neptune club had given us a copy of its opening hours).  Then onto the lock down to the Vistula which we went through, and moored onto some accommodation barges which were tied onto to the lock pilings in the lock cut.

The next morning we were away in good time, and sailed out to do battle with the Vistula.  This has been our BIG BOGEY as we have to travel upstream .  This first bit was a mere 4 km up the next lock on the other side of the river and, thankfully, the stream was not as fierce as we had feared, and we managed to make a reasonable 4 kph..  After 3 km, some massive, menacing black clouds closed onto us from behind, chasing us into the lock.  We were going to seek shelter, but the clouds rolled harmlessly on, to deliver their deluge elsewhere.  We then had a pleasant, sunny cruise along the lower reaches of the river Nogat, through flat, marshy country, and with some classic East Anglian skies to beautify the vistas.

We had to pass one of the ghastly species of ferries that inhabit this part of the world.  They work by hauling themselves along three taut wire ropes - two UNDER the water, the third one or two metres ABOVE the water.  No special warning notices - just the standard 'Ferry' one, so one aims to pass behind it, and there is the sodding rope!!  The ferryman has to lower the rope, and this he can only do when his ferry is parked at the side with the rope-lowering device on it.

Then on to 'our' mooring just inside the Jablonski canal - it is the third time we have used it.

Next morning was a gentle amble up to Malbork, where we spent the afternoon and the next morning restocking with provisions and internetting etc.  Most important was the post.

The Polish Post Office is pretty dreadful.  Staffed on the counters by (mainly) attractive youngish women, who are most attentive to their hair and jewellery - not so much to their customers.  They each work in a glass cubicle, each cubicle with its own queue.  The staff know nothing - everything has to be looked up, and most of the information they need is on a centralised notice board behind the cubicles, so they are forever walking to and from it.  Stamps are carefully torn off one at a time - the care being in not damaging the long and magnificent finger nails.

The queue I joined was very short, but the chap in front of me wanted four identical letters to go recorded air mail.  This took 20 minutes to organise!  I asked for mail for me, and showed the passports.  It was glanced at, a cursory glance was given to the rack beside her (but out of my sight) where Post Restante items are kept.  "No," she said.  I'm afraid I lost it!!  "YES THERE EFFING IS - FOUR!!  THREE FOR ME AND ONE FOR MR BROCKWAY." She blanched somewhat, looked again and behold!!!  There were four packages just as I had fore-told!!

At just before mid-day we quit Malbork with its magnificent castle and dreadful post office, and ambled up to the lock at Biala Gora.  We locked through, moored and made preparations for the morrow …

… which was the start of the biggie - the 124 km slog up the Vistula.

Luckily the weather was OK, but even so … Slogging along with the engine working hard and, hence, drinking diesel, whilst the boat merely ambles along is a touch frustrating.  It is, of course, no use getting frustrated - there is nothing you can do to alleviate the situation.  In the Army the expression was to stick your thumb in your bum and your mind in neutral, and that sort of works.  Dream, sing songs, compose poetry, think erotic thoughts etc.  Part of the mind must pay attention, as getting the nose of the boat a touch off-course brings about the ferry glide, and one whizzes off either across the river or into the bank.

Our moment of excitement came late in the day as we were passing the old Teutonic town of Kwidzyn.  Just above it there was a bridge, that was bombed in WW2.  Now all that is left are three big chunks of masonry and two little ones.  We had been happily nipping from side to side of the river, following the channel, as indicated by the bank markers - when Temujin went aground just below the has-been bridge.  We managed to pull her off, and thought that that was enough excitement for one day.

The passage through the has-been bridge is through what was the eastern span..  In hindsight, we guess that most of the other spans are still clogged with rubble, because not only does the river narrow at this point (which, presumably is why the bridge was built there), but the whole flow seems to whoosh through this span.  I was still thinking glorious thoughts about how we had just pulled Temujin off the sand banks as we headed for the passage, and I was continuing to think them until it dawned on me that not only was Rosy not making any forward progress through the navigation span, but we were going backwards!!  Increase in engine revs until just before the absolute max, when black smoke starts wisping out of the funnel, and Rosy inched forward against the flood.  It took us two or three minutes to get through it.

Then on until knocking-off time (eight hours continuously at the tiller is enough for me) and we tied to a convenient tree - put out anchors in case the tree broke, and put poles out to keep us away from the bank.  Then supper and a lovely sleep.

Next day the same, except it rained, a motor cruiser came downstream, a private plane passed by us going upstream and wiggled his wings at us, we were entertained by a parachute type of aerofoil wing with a pilot suspended underneath it and then there was lots of rain.  Still, we reached Grudziadz - another Teutonic town with some lovely buttressed brick granaries adjacent to the river.  We found a rather grotty mooring that had recently been under flood water, and hence everything was covered in a thick layer of particularly slippery mud.  Walk for Fanny, supper for me and bed.

The next day (Monday 6th June) we had another long, eight-hour plonk up the Vistula, enlivened only by a mild grounding by Temujin, and the sight of a waterways crew updating the bank markers - to the extent that the one we were heading FOR transmuted into the one we should be heading AWAY FROM before our very eyes!!

Despite this we survived, and managed to get up to Chelmno for a quiet night's mooring on an old quay - which is where this is being finished off.

I've just feasted on meatballs, cooked in accordance (roughly) with the recipe outlined in the film 'The Godfather'.  Fanny the Woof is upset, as she went out and carefully (in her words) "perfumed herself" - in my words she rolled in some stinking shit.  Hence she had an enforced shower - namely one bucket of canal water, a hearty rub with some shampoo, followed by two more buckets of canal water - hence we are not on speaking terms.

Toodle pip!!

Bill