Ninety Locks and a Lens:
Come on in, pull up a chair.
If you’ve already read the main story, you’ll know that a fortnight on the Four Counties Ring isn't all lazy afternoons and gently drifting past weeping willows. It involves a fair amount of swearing at rusty ironwork, nursing muscles I forgot I owned, and desperately trying not to drop my expensive camera—or my dignity—into a muddy lock chamber.
What you see in the main articles are the carefully polished showstoppers. But a journey like this has a completely different side to it. It’s the split-second moments, the unexpected detours, the wildlife that decided to escort us for a mile, and the absolute, unvarnished reality of living in a seventy-foot steel corridor.
So, consider this page the digital equivalent of us sitting down by a roaring pub fire with a couple of cold pints. I’m pulling out my phone and my raw camera memory cards to show you the stuff that didn’t make the official edit, but completely stole our hearts anyway.
Lace up your boots, grab a glass of whatever you're drinking, and let’s take one last quiet wander down the towpath...
Escaping the tight cuttings. The moment the canal breaks out into the vast, quiet skies of the Cheshire Plains.
My view from the tiller as we crept toward our first lock of the morning. Standing there, listening to the water rushing through the paddles, you realise seventy feet of steel feels remarkably large when you're trying to guide it into a wet stone gap that looks about three inches wider than the hull.
Trying absolute best to look like a rugged, seasoned mariner navigating wild, uncharted waters. In reality, I was staring at those menacing, bruised clouds and silently calculating exactly how many seconds it would take to get my waterproofs on before the heavens inevitably opened.
A gathering of wet steel corridors, all silently agreeing that absolutely nobody is untying their lines until this 'atmospheric drizzle' clears up. It looks incredibly romantic in a photograph, but behind every single one of those steamy little windows is a boater furiously trying to dry their socks over a diesel radiator.
A masterclass in 18th-century engineering. These brick bridges weren't built for aesthetics—they were built to withstand the strain of working horses pulling massive coal barges—yet they manage to frame the English countryside more beautifully than any modern architect could hope to
When the sun actually decides to cooperate, the canal turns into something borderline magical. It's moments like this—where the water glows like polished bronze and the trees are an impossibly bright green—that make you completely forget about the sore shoulders and the damp socks
An elegant, serene local traffic warden enforcing the mandatory 'crust of bread' tax. He looks incredibly peaceful drifting down the center of the cut, but don't let the white feathers fool you—he is silently sizing us up, highly offended by our lack of sourdough, and fully prepared to hiss us into submission.
The Kettle's Always On
If you've enjoyed this journey, have a question about the walk, fancy one of the photographs as a print, or simply want to recommend somewhere I should explore next, I'd love to hear from you.
And if you'd like to join me on a future adventure, let me know. I'm always looking for like-minded people who enjoy exploring Britain's hidden corners, taking photographs, discovering great pubs and cafés, and sharing the experience along the way.
After all, every adventure starts with someone saying, "Have you ever been to...?"