French Canals north of Lyon  on the Soane river to Macon                                         

Mailasail red Box working a treat to load these blogs and call home on 4G and wifi via the Bat aerial

No rising cleats and no sign of Joderal Bank!

Crazy golf in the park beyond the river, no those blue poles are the marina pontoon pylons.

Some rain wow! a first break in the sunshine but only a short one. We awoke on the 17^th August in Lyon, a day set to return to the canal passage and make north of Lyon. Morgause had a plane home via Barcelona for Manchester. The crazy parents at the helm, one last shop in the Carrefour, fresh baguettes and custard flan, mint ice cream and coleslaw, what else is there in life for times on the river. They Morgause hugs goodbye, cast the ropes and came about for a right turn out of the centre basin of Lyon. Six thousand revs for six knots to move without wake under the City bridges, buildings in every gap, old and new, one pedestrian chain bridge after another as we said goodbye to the city belonging to Saint Bartholomew, a delightful City boating like Westminster times ten in length. Rich green trees adorned the river bank’s, waving at the sky as the city lights thinned. The Swans seem to belong to St Bartholomew as we left the city of Lyon and an hour later, we arrive at Curzon lock. A long barge arrived with priority, green lights and the barge was in but this time the lock was full. This was the first lock we had found without a hydro power station. The weir ran over the lock wall to the side and the whole place looked more Thames like than ever. Sat, still in the river watching the lock raise, along came another commercial barge, this one a little smaller so fingers crossed we could all fit in. Having sat an hour, we eased in and this time with plenty of room. Shock horror, no rising cleats, blimey all these firsts in a day! You take a lower stationary cleat and re-rope as you go up. The barge in the lock was called Graciosa, and like us lunged back as the water rushed in. Three stages of what was fortunately only four meters. After the mighty Rhone Commercial locks that had rising cleats and smooth water this was a return to the old school style of the Thames!

Exiting the lock at 12.30, golly where did the morning go! Trevoux Suspension bridge by one thirty as we moved up to seven knots. More small pontoons in this stretch, each one sat in front of a riverside restaurant and beckoned for lunch, but we were all tucked up with those Carrefour baguettes. Ham and French cheese, puff buns only the French sort, oranges for vitamins and water makes up a tasty river cruise lunch. The boat was not alone a whole troop of youngsters and coach in the orange plastic dingy pull round the corner, sculling their way upriver. On a sunny day this could have been Henley. The way to read the river map is to count the bridges and there are countless of them. The river map is not always up to date and heading just four hours up river, Frissan mooring was expected for a brief overnight stop. Oh no said Mummy it’s gone! With a beautiful new car park having been laid where the mooring most certainly was the only bit left was the wooden wall. Onwards to Macon. Being half way there was still enough sunshine and daylight to make it another 40klms. How the river banks change, from small beaches sunken off the river wall sat fishermen and families enjoying the water like Toad. Like the scullers suddenly a wave of cyclists joined us on the river bank as they cruised past a holiday park, Butlins R Us and Minehead memories come flooding back. Watching the diamonds on the bridges the auto pilot one click at a time moves serenely from one side of the river to the other.

Our second lock of the day and second lock of the Soane river, clearly the hydro power plant locks of the Rhone are long gone on this stretch north. Fixed cleats again, centre and stern then get the next level above and daring for a throw at the top cleat on the footpath of the lock. Drace lock was another baby at four meters, a small French day boat ahead of us on the wall, children in bright orange buoyancy aids used boat hooks to push of the wall. ‘Mercy bequeu, thank you lock keeper, goodbye’ ‘Bon voyage’ he replied. Mountains of the Rhone gone we had miles of views across what could have been the Cheshire plain, white cows and golden-brown horses in manicured paddocks, but we could not see Jodrell Bank!

Then a commercial post for the barges, some bridges and we were in the heart of Macon, giant tourist cruise barge in the centre, an arched stone bridge, steady an onward, red and green, starboard and port poles, a rich green park area, then a giant cray golf section in the park, blue pylons in rows stood out of the green. Crazy golf? No, it was the pontoon pylons of Macon marina, they were tall, we could not see boats, but we could see the top of row after row of blue pylons. A port pylon on the river and we turned in to port against the red to red, a narrow channel opened into what could have been Penton Hook on the Thames. Splendid to see I giant fuel pontoon, ropes on with ease. A short walk to the golden coloured Capitanery. ‘Bonjour, hello’ petit Anglaise. This was a long way upriver from the English-speaking Rhone. All smiles, welcome English, how many nights. Some word the canals ahead had gained water with heavy rain. Every day is an adventure!

Macon 46:19.51N  04:50.80E

The blue mooring poles of Macon