LOST IN FRANCE
PART 2
Our inland explorers tackle the climb to the summit of the Canal du Rhone au Rhin
PART 2 LOCKS, LUNCHES AND LAZY DAYS
Months of planning and our first two days’ cruising had taken us to Besançon, in the heart of the Jura. From here onwards we were in new territory so we planned an early start next morning with a certain thrill of anticipation.
The first problem was getting out of our cosy berth, just below the only manual lock on the river. We couldn’t operate it ourselves because there was no landing stage for access. I spoke with the friendly marina staff, who told us they start at 8am and offered to work the lock for us – problem solved!
They were as good as their word, and soon after 8am we were waving our thanks and enjoying a final view of Besançon as we motored gently upstream. Arriving at the first lock, we were pleased to get an immediate green light, telling us it was preparing to let us through. Then suddenly, for no apparent reason, it went ‘double red’ and everything stopped. With nowhere to moor, all we could do was cruise around on the river, while calling for assistance.
We never discovered what the problem was but spent a frustrating hour watching from a distance as it was fixed, a disappointing waste of our early start! Spirits soon lifted as we got going again, winding our way through a majestic steep-sided valley punctuated by the occasional lock and picturesque watermill set into the limestone cliffs.
Further up stream, the valley opened out and we entered a canalised section. Minutes later I was wakened from my dreamy idyll by the screech of our depth alarm. A quick look over the side reassured me that it was just weed but the further we went, the more problematic it became. We were collecting so much weed round the props and rudders that I was having difficultly steering. Fortunately, the canal was short and once in clear water I was able to dislodge the weed by reversing vigorously.
We had picked a place called Clerval for our overnight stop, just over halfway to Montbéliard where we were planning a rest day to celebrate Marjorie’s birthday. Having made slower progress than hoped, we were sorely tempted by a nice mooring in a pretty village called Baume-les-dames, but now that we had the river to ourselves we decided to press on.
ROCK BOTTOM
The mooring for Clerval was shown as being on a wide river section and as we approached we were relieved to pick out the promised pontoon on the far bank just beyond the town bridge. However, on closer inspection I started to have misgivings. The pontoon, which had looked fine from a distance, seemed rather dilapidated. And was that yellow tape round the edges? We tiptoed outside the marked channel into what looked like shallow water but, unwilling to accept the evidence of my eyes, I crept closer until suddenly I felt the bow touch ground.
It was a simple matter to reverse off, no harm done, but the big question was: where to now? It was time to stop and I could almost taste the cold beer I had been so looking forward to. We motored on, more in hope than expectation, and were relieved to find that the next lock, only a kilometre upstream, had a waiting pontoon – salvation!
It was against the rules to stay overnight and there was no electricity but who was going to object? After that much-needed beer and dinner, we walked back along the river to explore Clerval, which turned out to be every bit as nice as we had hoped. It even had a couple of decent-looking restaurants. Such a shame that their visitors' pontoon had been allowed to fall into a state of disrepair through neglect.
The following morning we prepared to get underway before 9am, only to be met with another nasty surprise – the port engine starter was dead. I guessed it was likely to be a simple fault but what a place to be stuck and where to start looking?
Checking the wiring behind the instrument panel, nothing seemed amiss, so I got down into the engine room. It all looked good here too, so I tried tapping the solenoid as Marjorie turned the key. To my profound relief the engine burst into life. Deciding this was no time for further investigation, we set off straight away, prepared to keep the engine running all day if necessary.
As we headed upstream, the countryside became flatter and more cultivated. The river, in places, opened out into small lakes, requiring vigilance for the channel markers. Around midday, we reached L’isle sur les Doubs, where we found moorings right beside a supermarket. This was our first shopping opportunity since leaving St Jean so we stopped for lunch to stock up with food and replenish our wine cellar. Reassuringly, the port engine started without a problem – I stopped worrying about it.
From here the route was mostly canalised and we made good progress until, as we rounded a corner on the outskirts of Montbéliard, we found a bridge just a couple of feet above water level. It took me a few seconds to realise that this was a lifting bridge. I reached for the lock ‘zapper’ to open it. It didn’t work. The bridge needed an operator and we spent a frustrating 30 minutes going backwards and forwards in the narrow canal until someone came to help. I suspect that on quieter sections, VNF only have staff on duty when they are expecting boats. Once opened, we soon found Montbéliard marina in the former canal port, now a pleasant park situated between the canal and river.
THE GREAT ASCENT
The manager supplied us with maps and leaflets about the town’s attractions and explained that if we were planning to carry on upstream to the canal summit, we must book a day in advance with VNF. Dashing next door to see them, I learned that the locks either side of the summit are not automated so we would need the services of a travelling éclusier (lock keeper). Boats are paired up to conserve water and the crossing normally takes two and a half days.
The next day being Marjorie’s birthday, the 24 hours' notice was not a problem, but I was disconcerted to hear how long it would take. Happily, after some discussion, they agreed that if we left Montbéliard early enough to get through the first seven locks and meet the éclusier by 10am, they would get us to Mulhouse by the end of day two. With that sorted, we could relax and enjoy the next day exploring the town. It grew up around an old Roman fort and in recent centuries has changed hands several times between France and Germany.
We visited the Beaux Arts museum and the impressive 15th century Chateau high above the town, but the highlight of our day was Marjorie’s birthday lunch. Her choice, in this French/ German town was, of all places, a Sicilian Restaurant. To be fair, their home-made pastas were exceptional and included plenty of vegetarian options. The wine at least was distinctly French.
That evening, after clearing the filters, ready for our early start, I got out my folding bike to explore the route ahead, checking for any surprises between here and our meeting point with the lock keeper. Unfortunately I went wrong after the first lock, losing myself in a confusion of canals, rivers and lakes around the town. I don’t think it was just the lunchtime wine!
It all became clearer when we set out next morning. We discovered that we had left the Doubs and were now following its tributary, the part-canalised River Allan. Along the way, we passed the now disused Embranchement de Belfort, which is where I had gone wrong the previous evening. Originally planned as a link with the Haute Saône, it was never completed.
Reaching our rendezvous, we found a yacht, mast lying horizontal along the coachroof, which was to be our partner for the crossing. Surprised to find a sailing boat so far inland, we soon learned from its Norwegian owner that this is a popular inland route for German and Scandinavian boats moving to and from the Med. Once our éclusier took charge, the remaining locks to the summit passed quickly. By noon we were 1,140 feet above sea-level, the highest La Strega has ever been. At this point he announced it was lunchtime and told us to be at the first lock down, just 5km ahead, at 1.30pm.
QUEUE BARGER
At the appointed hour there was still no sign of our éclusier but we were able to admire the panoramic view of 15 locks descending down towards Mulhouse in the distance. It turned out our éclusier had been assisting with the passage of a full-size péniche a couple of locks in front of us. With only two centimetres to spare on each side, this decrepit old barge was taking ages to squeeze in and out of each lock. We spent a long afternoon watching the struggle unfold below us but when we
Our spirits lifted winding our way through a majestic steep-sided valley
finally reached our overnight stop we were relieved to be told that we could leave ahead of the péniche in the morning.
Dannemarie, where we spent the night, felt like another country, more German than French judging by the street names, architecture and the restaurants. Next morning, our éclusier arrived promptly to get us away in front of the péniche. Cue another heart-stopping moment when the port engine refused to start again. To my relief, a tap on the solenoid did the trick again. I don’t think our companions even noticed but it took a little while for my heart rate to settle down.
After that, things went smoothly, the only delay being the éclusier’s compulsory lunch stop. We were now just 12km and a few more locks from the Vieux Bassin in Mulhouse. The closer we got, the more numerous and the lower the bridges became, until eventually we had to lower the bimini. The last stretch was virtually a tunnel from which we emerged to find ourselves in a crowded marina.
Thankfully, the Capitaine directed us to the only two vacant berths. Many of the boats seemed to belong to locals and this being Saturday, a lot of them were onboard, adding to the lively atmosphere. As I unwound with a cold beer, we got chatting to the guy working on the boat next door. He was a local and told us a lot about the town and its attractions. Hearing the sort of food we liked, he gave us directions to a Lebanese restaurant in the old part of town. It was clearly very popular but as there were only two of us they set up an extra table on the pavement outside, where we enjoyed an excellent meal.
Before we could fully relax, we needed to do some forward planning. We were committed to being in Edinburgh on July 3 for an important anniversary celebration, meaning that we had to find somewhere to leave the boat for a week or so while we travelled back to the UK. My original idea was to head for Strasbourg but after dinner I called on our Norwegian friend. He was planning to take his yacht up to Basle, only 18km upstream from the Rhine junction, before heading home. This sounded tempting but I realised that if we skipped Basle, we would have time to visit Colmar – a place we were keen to see as well as a more convenient starting point for our journey to Edinbugh. This would leave us with two days to kill in Mulhouse so we were delighted to find we could buy a three-day pass to all the local attractions and trams for only €18.
BEARS AND BUGATTIS
Marjorie’s favourite was an amazing zoo set in beautiful parkland to the south of the town. We spent most of our first day there but also visited the 16th century Hotel de Ville and a fascinating art gallery with a crochet-covered tree outside. My highlight was the Schlumpf Car Collection, quite the best motor museum I have ever visited with over 500 vehicles covering the entire history of motoring and a unique collection of 50 Bugattis. They also have a few historic cars which, for an extra charge, visitors can drive around their test track. One of those was a
1959 Le Mans MGA which, having driven and worked on MGAS during my youth, proved irresistible.
So ended two glorious days in Mulhouse. But before setting off to the Rhine and all its challenges, there was one thing I had to sort. Why had the port engine starter twice let me down? The solution was surprisingly simple. Taking the top off the solenoid box, I found a component had become detached from the base plate, making the electrical connection unreliable. I screwed it back down, greatly relieved that there was one less thing to worry about on our future travels.