Well, as I sit here at the bow of Zee wondering how I can mount a large cannon above the foc’sle to wake up bridge keepers with a 10lb shot through the window (more on this later) I have time to reminisce on the events which led to possibly one of the most stressful few hours afloat (and there’s some competition I can tell you, even in our limited experience).

Le premier “ache des ballons” is finding a Skipper. Now be warned for all those thinking this is easy, it isn’t. One of the major hurdles is getting a skipper who is happy to take your barge in the condition it is in, without having to spend the budget deficit of a large African nation in order to bring it up to the spec that they decide is suitable. At some point you will receive an email from your skipper with the mandatory equipment list. This can be brief and sensible or overly lengthy and ridiculous, such as “rope, 2.5 times the length of the boat, 2 x rope 2 times the length of the boat, 2 x rope 1.5 times the length of the boat, small hamster on a stick, inflatable life size humpback whale with authentic whale-song tape and hydro speaker…”. Ok, maybe not the last one, but you catch my drift.

There came a point where, after tracking down the anchor size calculations for inshore vessels (yes, there are some) and trying to make them work I eventually called time on it and we decided that an additional 150kg anchor, plus chain etc was just not something we were prepared to splurge a butt-load of money on. Fortunately, after much searching we found another chap who was pretty relaxed about the equipment (and by relaxed I mean sensible) to take us to Vlissing and then a UK company who hire out skippers and who sent us a “must have” list of about 10 things - 9 of which I had and the 10th we were going to hire (4 man life-raft). We have a Winner….

So, confirm with the first skipper, book eurotunnel, dash over, drive up through France and Belgium, park at Elburg, unpack, fire up engine, make sure all is ship shape and then wait for the skipper the following morning. We meet the previous owner and his wife for some “bye-bye” beers and then have an uncomfortable night trying to get to sleep in 30 degrees.

Yes you read that correctly. It was about 32 degrees in Holland. They don’t sell thermometers in Holland which go over about 22…. We packed for the North Atlantic and got the Bahamas. Or Suez. I now know why every ship or U-Boat engineer is always pictured covered in grease and sweat after only a short stint in our engine bay.

So, skipper arrives, I pick him up from the train station and we head back to Zee. In short order we are off. However, the skipper's reluctance to use a stern or bow spring to get the barge away from the concrete mooring means we now have a large ugly gash on the rear starboard side of the barge. Not a good start and I could very faintly hear warning bells at the back of my mind...

And then it starts…. We are in forward and gradually easing out of our berth and trundling down the canal. Throttle is not responding. Crap… Now, on the Kromhout, there is a system whereby if you have forgotten to turn the velvet which allows the lubrication oil around the system, it stops you having anything more than idle power. Check lube oil valve - it’s out. Nuts. I can still see the interlock which stops the throttle engaging properly. Nuts again. Much rushing around, checking the choke, resetting the lube oil valve but no joy. I call the previous owner who scratches his head. “I will meet you further up the canal,” he says.

As we nudge the bank, nose in to pick up said passenger and the skipper engages reverse, the throttle picks up… Weird… Previous owner gets in, throws it into reverse and gets us off the bank, hammers the gear into forward and the throttle picks up. WTF? So, I ask the obvious question…. Apparently, if you do not shove the lever into the forward gear as hard as it being hit by a rutting rhino on a potent mix of viagra and speed, you hit a neutral-ish-type forward gear. The prop spins, but you don’t get any throttle response (this comes into play later). Add that to the list of “character traits” for Zee. Once sorted we speed off… well, shamble, at about 5.5 kts to the first lock, where we meet the “grey wave”….

Yep, every man and woman of a certain age who onwed a boat in or around Elburg was waiting for the lock. Great. I could use that cannon right now. An hour delay while all the plastic tubs go through, then we get our chance.With a bump and a scrape we bounce into the lock. The skipper seems less worried about damage to my barge than I am and seems incapable of using the rudder to control the bow position. It requires much smashing of gears from forwarard to aft but without a bowthruster it is the only way.I will give him one more chance befor ethe immortal words every flying instructor knows "I have control" come into play. Through and out the other side and we head for the next bridge (which we are about 30 minutes from) when we see it lower. Normally the cycles are every 30 minutes out here so we thought, “Most excellent” (in our Bill and Ted kind of way). The “excellence” was short lived as the Dutch rush hour (from 1600-1830 - how is that a rush hour?) meant that the bridge stayed firmly shut. No chance of getting to Amsterdam tonight as we went round in circles and drifted for 2 hours…

In the skipper’s excitement to get through the bridge once it was raised there was a throttle mis-set on almost full ahead,only half into forward (I did say this would come into play again) engage forward properly, skipper has gone to the wrong side of the gear lever (it's a massive metal pole sticking out of the floor), being an older individual with 2 duff knees he struggles to get around the obstructing gear lever, holy sweet mother-of-cr@p we-are-heading-for-the-piling, moment. I knew it wasn’t great when the skipper’s stream of consciousness was “scheiss, scheiss, scheiss, scheiss….(ad infinitum)”. One slight bump with a major steel piling later (and it was only a minor bump - thank you Kromhout for not flunking that test) and we were through. Even more wary eye being kept on said skipper as we dashed for Lelystad.

Hopefully we will find showers (I haven’t stopped sweating in 2 days and am going through t-shirts and trolleys so fast that my distinctly better half was press-ganged into emergency washing duties). I believe underpants on a line are counted as dis-courtesy flags in nautical terms… My long suffering other half has been a rock of cool-headedness and calm for which I am grateful. It has just turned 20:00 and we have about 30 mins left to go. The water is glassy with barely a breath of wind and the Kromhout beats like the heart of some giant, iron clad leviathon. One could almost think it was a wonderful way to spend a day. But we know different. Just the lock at Lelystad and then sleep...

Until next time, dear reader…