It’s windy, certainly, but it isn’t in any way a constant wind. Nothing nothing nothing wind wind wind BLAST THUMP. All of the storm’s bile and bitterness is in the gusts.
Imagine having stopped at the back end of a motorway pile-up – and sitting there while every few seconds an “air-HGV” slams into you, and another, and another. The wind is hitting the Cardinal fair and square on the stern – which is better, far better, than side-on; much less of a “sail” area. Every once in a while an “air motorbike” rushes past like a banshee, whipping up the canal water. Nothing nothing nothing WALLOP squeeeeee.
The water is really very calm, but then the random nature of the wind doesn’t have time to form a pattern and create rolling wave(lets) (this isn’t the North Sea – “waves” are hardly waves), even though it is blowing along this stretch of canal.
The rear tonneau cover and the stern ropes are the ones taking the brunt of things.
The bow ropes are as baggy as Baloo’s underwear, because the stern ropes are being pulled tight. The wind can pull harder on a rope than I can.
They also look like a pile of old knitting, because there are far too many ropes in use and looped twice – but then I reckon a rope not in use isn’t doing anything at all, and when the breeze dies down they can go back to turn and turn about again. 😉
The extra bungees on the tonneau have their work cut out for them, but they’re holding. I reckon that the engine bay will have a touch of water in it, the rain being driven with enthusiasm in that direction.
We’re also, methinkth, an inch or two down on water levels (look at the algae line on the pilings) for some reason. I would have thought the opposite would be true, but nope.
Some of the most enthusiastic winds are forecast for, well – now – really, and later today. We shall see.
That said, we’re still attached to the planet, Mr Stove is working splendidly, to the point where my morning coffee was brewed upon him, in double-quick time, and I am sitting here on the interworldwidewebnettingsonline, typing this. Mr Stove will warm up lunch later this morning.
My late Dad would laugh at this being called a “storm” – he was a deep-sea trawlerman, and saw real storms around Iceland and farther north.
My late Mother would love being jostled around on the boat, warm by the fire, with the aroma of cooking, the sound of the rain lashing down and with a pile of books to read.
So far, I think it’s not too shabby, too – so long as those dancing trees remain where they are, it gets at least bright enough to wake the solar panels, and my boat and covers and wotnots remain intact and fixed in position!
Doubtless many, many are feeling the full brunt of the weather (I suspect that I am not), and I hope everyone’s safe, most especially on the exposed coasts and in the highlands.
When we lived on the Isle of Lewis this would hardly have been regarded as “weather”, let alone a storm. Mind you, home then wasn’t afloat. Home was made of stone, and the roof was tied down with steel cables.
Ooh we’re rocking about a bit (for a narrowboat)!
I’ll still keep my fingers crossed, if you don’t mind.
Ian H., & Cardinal W.