It is Saturday 9th December. On Friday 22nd December, Poohsticks is due to go into a marina over Christmas. I had carefully planned out a route leading up to this day touring and revisiting some of my favourite spots of the past few months. That being said, things changed two weeks ago as we were faced with the first frosts of winter. The temperature dipped below freezing several nights in a row and on one particular morning, the temperature of the boat was 2°C inside. I forgot that cruising is less fun when one has to boil a kettle in order to defrost the ropes before setting off on the day’s journey. Poohsticks is now capped in a crystal coating, ice cold to the touch. The petunias have finally died and the last two jalapeños on the roof that I am yet to have harvested have wilted. A good pair of gloves are now necessary for handling the tiller, but be mindful to put them on only having untied the ropes and set off. Else, your gloves will get wet and wet gloves are not good gloves.

Perhaps of greater concern than the state of my flowers, is the state of the canal (in this case I use “state” to state the state of matter). Liquid canal – excellent, very navigable. Gaseous canal – highly unnavigable, but an unlikely scenario. Solid canal – navigable with the right attitude, mid to high likelihood and a very real problem. The freezing point of pure water is 0°C. Salt water freezes at a lower temperature of about -2°C. Canal water is somewhere in-between, comprised of water, a small amount of engine oil and most probably sewage. Large bodies of water are good at retaining their heat (and similarly good at retaining their cold in the Spring) and often do not freeze immediately during a cold spell. Nevertheless, it is a fear of mine. When planning my December route, I really failed to take into account the fact that I might need to travel four miles through ice if the weather does not bode in my favour. With this in mind and a warm spell (at least for December) on the horizon, I decided last week to message three friends and ask them to do nine locks with me. I am now moored only a short distance from the marina and minimal ice cracking will be needed should the canal freeze over between now and then.

It is 10am. Adi arrives. Then Zac. Then David. Shockingly, despite all being given the same instruction to arrive at 10am and all coming from Euston, they each take separate trains. The reason that this is amazing is because it means that there were three trains running from Euston to Tring within a 30 minute interval. An oddly clustered train schedule. It has rained heavily since yesterday evening. As good fortune would have it, the sky settles right as we set off. We enjoy some biscuits, some coffee and the sight of no less than two dead birds (a duck and a pheasant) floating in the canal during the first section of the voyage.

Last time Zac and David visited, they triumphed an impressive time of one hour to complete six locks. This time, with Adi’s help too, I propositioned a new challenge: seven locks in under an hour (the same six as before plus one). We wait for another boat to leave the first lock of the flight. In this time, I prepare a decent amount of pitta to snack on and have a cheeky wee. I then soar (“soar”: Verb – to travel at speeds greater than 3mph) into the lock and start the timer. No time is wasted. Between them, one manages the lock I am in, one other sets up the next and the final crew member holds the snacks. As we descend the flight, the tree and building coverage dissipates and we are faced with the view of the reservoirs. Ah, my old nemesis. Not ideal during a storm. Cruising down the valley leading to the locks, we barely felt the 40mph winds forecast on this day. With Poohsticks cruising beneath the open plane of the reservoirs with no wind shield, the story is different now. It is necessary to go at full throttle in order to match the gale. I find myself storming into locks in order to not completely miss them, sharp reversing when I’m inside in order to halt in time. I am not aware if the three crew members can tell that I am scared shitless. Despite a tricky journey, we blast it through lock number seven. The timer stops. 58 minutes. Not bad.

We moor up by the facilities and the shipmates enjoy a hearty meal as I tip away 80 litres of excrement down the elsan. I fill a toilet cassette over the course of three to four days (I drink an unGodly amount of Robinsons). It has been nearly a year since I began peeing on the boat. Doing the math (I’m a mathematician), this means that at some point very soon (or recently), I will tip away my 100th container full of sewage. A special moment. It’s a real shame that I’ve not been keeping count.

With food in our bellies, a full water tank and a slight list on the port side generated by the absence of 80 litres of excrement previously stored on the starboard side, we resume our journey. The sky clears, the wind settles and we are faced with a beautiful sunset. We tiptoe along leisurely basking in the orange glow (and taking a lot of selfies). We also saw yet another dead beast floating in the canal.

It is sod’s law that whenever you need to pass an approaching boat, it is at a narrow bridge, but when it is two boats in parallel, one towing the other, then you know someone’s got it in for you. Oh, also this is on a bend. We move right over to the side and reverse backwards to leave plenty of room for them to turn. Naturally, we all get tumbled into tree branches and yet another of my garden ornaments takes a plunge into the canal. So long, friend. Undefeated, we move forward and crack on with the last two locks. We chat with some friendly women on the towpath who help us with the gates (genuinely necessary seeing as David and Zac are on the red wine at this point). With the final lock done, we moor up and make a start on the whisky before heading off to the pub. A job well done, team. Now remains just one more voyage before the year is out.

Afterward: I got an eye infection a few hours later. This could be due to many things. Possibly a splash of canal water or worse – a splash from the toilet cassette as I emptied it. That being said, given my confidence that canal water is largely sewage, in a way, I’d rather it was due to the cassette. At least then it’s my own sewage, which isn’t good, but it’s better. It’s definitely better.