Holes in time

There is no goal for our journey. We go for the pleasure of going, of seeing the world amble by, of subtly rebalancing ourselves as the boat moves on the water. We go to feel the dank air and the heavy water-drops in Telford's Harecastle Tunnel and to wonder about the people who, 190 years ago, lay on their boat roofs and 'walked' the 1.75 miles along the tunnel ceiling to reach the light at the other end.

We use diesel to get through; our electric headlamp shows us the stalactites and we can sing into the echoes. The purpose of this journey vanished long ago with the coming of the railways.

Last time I went down the 25 locks after the tunnel was by night two years ago when, as we were about to moor for the evening we saw a notice saying that the flight would close next morning for 24 hours. It was warm, it was an adventure and we reached the bottom at 3am. Today I got to see the landscape as I ran ahead at each lock to prepare the next one. Somewhere in the middle of the fields and the maize and the cows I stopped, dislocated from time, to stare at a huge concrete bridge in front of me. Lorries hurtled from right to left and stood stationary left to right. These are the vehicles that took the canal trade from the railways.

Our only purpose is to wonder.