Narrow Escapism

Flashback to the beginning of life on the water...

‘This is a nice spot’, tall stems of corn glow in low light. The scent on the wind is a mix of farmland, diesel, and stirred stagnant water. At the horizon stands a large Elizabethan-style house with just one lamp beaming out, mingling into a melting sunset. I jump as the floor moves beneath me, the gruff rope between my fingertips tethering my landing. The ambient ‘chug-a-chug’ lulling us here fades to a countryside quiet. This is our life now, finding the best view and enjoying it.

There are some other parts of this new life too; fighting with engines, running along small ledges over high drops of water, emptying toilets, scrubbing deck and, oh, so much renovation work to do. Welcome to our mobile tiny home lifestyle: 23ft of indoor living space within 40ft of narrowboat. After months of isolation during a pandemic lockdown, it might have seemed a little mad to embrace even smaller living quarters, but in a boat you can put the wild at the window as you please. For me and my partner, it felt like we we’re arising again, shaking the dust off our shoulders. The flavour of this new phase: challenging with a dash of freedom and lashings of cosy.

We’d spent the past decade travelling the world and wanted some downtime back home, but it would seem the nomads within us couldn’t help but get creative. This isn’t a prolonged staycation, or a jolly jaunt down the  canals: it’s a new mode of being. The bonus of this new home is discovery – of our land along flowing routes that web out like veins of history. I’m hopeful, to finally see things I’ve left unturned before; waterfalls, glens, famous art and cathedrals, things world visitors have come to see but we’ve been busy visiting the world elsewhere. A life as barge-captains and bumbling DIYers.

‘Why a boat?’ you might be asking… We’ve never been skippers or sailors, but we’re both from canal towns. Callum grew up in Stoke, capital of The Potteries and slow-moving delicate cargos. I grew up in Runcorn, nestled between the Bridgewater and Manchester ship canals, with family ties to the dredgers that cruised along them. England, has many land laws and properties are expensive, but it also has a lot of canals. If you want to travel and live on this land, a van or a boat are the most accessible options . As we didn’t have drivers licenses we opted for a boat. We could have gone for a European classic houseboat like a beautiful big Dutch Barge, but these boats are too wide to cruise the entire network. For us, being able to reach the wide outdoors was more important than spinning around arms wide indoors. Well, at least being able to reach the England and Welsh outdoors – Scotland and Ireland are another story, another possibility of disconnected canals. Narrowboats embrace a slow pace of life and minimalism; reducing our impact on Earth at a mindful pace, felt right too.

To say we might have moved hastily would be… completely accurate. It began with a Facebook ad, a same-day visit and purchase before Callum had even seen the boat. Who knew there was a whole community waiting for us at the edge of the towpath? Soap boats, rope plaiters, sign painters, brass-shapers, coalmen and more. If you need fuel – ring the coal boat, if you need advice – stand looking confused on the towpath and wait as the curious appear. It truly works. We spent our first day aboard surrounded by a circle of Johns. Literally, a crowd of people all coincidentally named John. First-John, was a floating mechanic. Second-John, was a long-term boater/ amateur inventor. Third-John had been born on a boat and never left; he was a self-proclaimed tinker and problem solver. A loud twenty minutes passed as all Johns debated (or rather agreed but misheard one another due to different hearing abilities) about our new boats inability to move. ‘Whaaaat? Who lives here?’ In the end we pulled the boat, in the same way historic shire horses did a century ago.  Eventually, Fifth-John came along and got us ticking again. We weren’t roaming as just the two of us, but as part of a fleeting tribe.

The canals in the UK have been around since the 1700s and liveaboards have been around since then too. They come in waves, a changeable community but a community non-the-less. It has become clear to us that we are just a short story in our boats life, rather than it in ours. So, as I watched the water and light work together to make patterns on my ceilings, I understood how my home and I were working together in the same way. Giving each other the power of movement, giving each other the power of  moments.

The best thing about a narrowboat is that you have a choice of where to be. The speed limit being 4mph means no one is going anywhere fast. You can, however, still choose to be a part of a buzzing hive if you want to, by mooring in the city. If that’s the antithesis of what you want then keep gliding and take to the countryside. You’ll find nature squatting in both spaces, indiscriminate. Officially speaking, you have to travel 20miles in a year and move every 2 weeks if you’re living as a continuous cruiser with no fixed mooring, such as ourselves. So, if the wind changes, turn the key and go.

There is a symbiotic flow between a boat and life. All roads are liquid, when you sail, small ripples appear all around you. The ducks bob up and down, the trees wave as you pass. Nature dances to the tune of your whims and at times you reciprocate, preparing for a storm, igniting a fire and breaking ice at the bow. Your effect on this world is seen, heard and made room for. So, you watch the world and return in kind. If the water is still then so am I. A small change can be powerful enough to ricochet through every part of the canal and the lives upon it.

By autumn of 2020, we had already crossed two canals and a country border. Before that Christmas we would venture further, experience the leaves falling above us, changing to snow that would envelope us into dark days. This was all happening whilst we kept wandering, kept reconnecting with the land around us. The biggest change between living onboard and living on land is travelling through seasons, as though you are in motion together. Time never stands still,  but living on a boat means neither do you. I write a lot of poetry, one of them reads: ‘be romantic about your life, it is your one and only’. This right here, this meandering life – a little imperfect, a little unknown – feels like a blossoming romance to me…

[This piece is a revisited and adjusted articles featured in Postal Magazine, 2020]