A Day on the Nivernais...locks and winching bridges.

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To get to Clamecy from Mailly La Ville we had to pass through 14 locks and something the pilot guide listed as a 'life bridge'. “What's that?” I said to Mike. “Not sure,” he replied “we'll find out when we get to it.” “Do you think we can get to Clamecy before the locks shut at 6?” I asked. “If we don't have to wait to long we should be fine.” Mike replied. “It's a lot of locks, but it's only 32 km.” To begin with we were lucky with the locks. The first four were ready as soon as we arrived and we passed through all of them in two hours with no problem. Each lock was unique, some decorated with flowers, gnomes or 'welcome' signs in various languages. Some were painted in pretty colours, some had been left to look more 'rustic' and were tarnished metal and wood with cottages full of slightly dilapidated character alongside. The sun was blazing again and we were enjoying the sights and smells of the surroundings. All of the lock-keepers had been pleasant and jovial, and one was even an English guy who'd moved to France after falling in love with the canals. Some accepted our offers to help out with the gates and sluices, others waved us off with an appreciative smile and said they'd do it.
We pulled up next to lock number five of the day at around 12.15. The gates were closed. “Well, it's going to be shut for 45 mins,” I said. “I'll make lunch.” We hammered in the pegs and tied the boat to them and I set about making a salad with the food we had left. We'd need to go shopping again in Clamecy! After lunch Mike went for a run whilst I washed up and had a tidy around. He got back just after 1. “I can't see anyone there,” he said. “and the gates are shut at both ends.” “The lock should be re-opening by now,” I said “Maybe the lock-keeper does more than one. We'll give it a minute.” Twenty minutes more passed. “This is ridiculous.” I said “Let's walk up there and see if anyone's around or there's a phone number to call.” We walked up to the lock again and walked around it, across the gates and to the cottage. No sign of anyone. I noticed the cottage door was ajar. “Bonjour?” I called into the gap. I heard movement from inside. A huge woman in a flowered dress and apron appeared in the doorway. “Excuse-moi, madame,” I said “Où est l'éclusier s'il-vous plait?” (excuse me Madam, where is the lock-keeper, please?). “C'est moi”(It's me) she grunted in reply. I smiled at her. “Ah, c'est possible à passé l'écluse? J'ai attendu pour plus d'une heure.” (Ah, is it possible to cross the lock? I've waited for more than an hour.) She simply shrugged in response and muttered “J'ai ne su pas” (I didn't know) as she heaved her bulk through the door and waddled to the gates. Mike and I exchanged a look and started to go back to get the boat. “Monsieur,” the hulk called out as we passed. We turned around, hoping for a “Je suis désolée” in apology for making us wait over an hour, but she just grunted and pointed to the other sluice-gate. To make it clearer that she wanted Mike to open the second sluice gate, she leant and relaxed on the winch she had just finished turning. Unbelievable, we'd often offered help and had it accepted, but never had any lock-keeper failed to return from lunch, offered no apology then only done half the work and insisted we do the rest, particularly not when we still had to get the boat off the bank. “I don't think her heart's in this.” I said to Mike. He opened the gate and we ran back to our boat to bring it through the locks. As we came in she watched me lasso the bollard and secure the boat, then closed the sluice gate she'd been leaning on. Again she pointed at the one opposite. “Hop to it,” I said to Mike. He climbed on to the roof then pulled himself up out of the lock, walked to the sluice gate and wound it shut. He then looked at the éclusière and pointed to the opposite end, then himself. She nodded. Mike walked down to the bottom end and opened the sluice on the gate. She waddled slowly down the opposite side. Mike decided to open both sluices – it seemed quicker! She nodded a thank-you – the first sign of civilisation or politeness we'd witnessed from her thus far. Mike waited outside the boat, inevitably he was expected to open the sluice gate once the lock had filled. As soon as the lock was full, the hulk slowly began to wind open her gate. Mike quickly opened his side and came back to the boat to fire up the engine. The second gate finally opened and we left, calling a “Merci” to the hulk, though I'm not sure she deserved it. “I hope this isn't her full time job,” I said to Mike. “Maybe she only did it to get the cottage.” He said. “Or,” I replied, “her husband or son usually operate the lock, but aren't around today. She definitely doesn't like doing it, does she? What sort of lockeeper closes all the sluice gates for lunch then doesn't bother re-opening them ,or even leaving the cottage, until someone comes to get her?” “Her sort.” Mike dead-panned in reply. It was now almost two o'clock and we had nine locks and the mysterious 'lift bridge' to get through by six. We hoped to make it in time.
The next lock was next to a boat hire base, so was very busy. However, we were quickly through. The éclusier here was a lovely man who accepted our offer of help with the gates and told us he operated the next lock too. We could see there were three boats waiting to cross the lock downstream. He told us we may have to wait, but the lock was open so we could go inside and tie up. He was sorry. I told him it wasn't a problem, we would wait. This guy knew how to deal with people and obviously took his job seriously, not like the previous woman!
The next look was like something out of Disney. A little stone bridge decorated with flowers stretched across the open gates and water came in through the gaps in the opposite gates, creating a waterfall inside the lock. The little stone cottage was covered in a climbing plant and a beautifully tended vegetable garden was at its side. On the grass opposite were gnomes of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves and hanging baskets full of more beautiful flowers surrounded us. It was the most gorgeous lock by far. Once we'd tied up, we climbed up out of the lock to have a look around. We took the opportunity to take some photographs , something we'd not been able to do in many locks due to the fact that both of us were often occupied with rope work or helping out with the sluices and gates. “This is just beautiful.” I said “It would be fab to live in that cottage – maybe we could do this when we retire – move to France and operate a lock on the Nivernais. We'd do a better job than the grumpy hulk earlier.” “It's an idea,” said Mike. Just over half an hour later the éclusier arrived. “Je suis désole,” he said “il y a beaucoup des bateaux aujourd'hui.” (I'm sorry, there are a lot of boats today) “N'est pas un problème,” I replied “l'écluse est très belle et le soleil est ici!” (It's not a problem, the lock is very beautiful and the sun is here!) He laughed and thanked me. Mike gestured that he would close one of the gates. “Merci, Monsieur” said the éclusier. Once the lock was full, Mike helped open the gates again. “Merci, au revoir” I called, waving. “Et merci à vous, bon journée!” (and thank-you to you, have a good day) called the lockeeper, smiling. What a lovely man, and what a lovely lock.
The next lock was ready when we arrived. It also had stunning views, though this time they were not of the lock itself but of an impressive medieval estate. “Wow, look at that!” I said “it's like we've gone back in time!” I consulted the pilot guide and discovered that this little place was a heritage site called Lichières-sur-Yonne. “We'll have to visit this place if we've got time.” I said. Mike agreed. It was quarter to four when we left the lock. We still had six locks to get through in the next hour and forty five minutes. Luck was on our side though and we got through the next three in less than an hour and with no fuss. Then we arrived at the fabled 'lift bridge'.
Across our path was an iron drawbridge, just like the ones off of medieval castles. We could see no sign of a 'bridge keeper' but there was a little pontoon just before it. We tied up and Mike went up to look at the bridge. In five minutes he was back, looking a bit confused. “There's no-one to operate it but there is a sign up there. I can't read it though, can you have a look.” I went up and, with my limited French, deciphered that the bridge was to be operated by the users of the canal, at their own risk and must be closed again after passage. I went to look at the bridge. It was a chain and winch system and a big metal handle jutted out. Behind the handle were illustrations demonstrating how the bridge was operated. It looked like hard work. I went back to tell Mike what I'd discovered. “You do it yourself,” I said “It's an old fashioned winch and chain system.” “Well, either you can do the bridge or drive the boat through.” Mike said. I thought about it. I wasn't confident driving the boat and if I drove I'd have to go through the narrow gap left by the bridge then pull up onto a pontoon shorter than the boat to pick Mike up again after. I didn't fancy that, if I damaged the boat I'd feel terrible. “I'll do the bridge.” I said and jumped back off. At the bridge I tried with all my might to turn the handle. It wouldn't budge. Then I realised I'd been turning it the wrong way. I heaved in the opposite direction and was greeted with a rusty creak as the bridge started to lift. Several grunting sweaty minutes later the bridge was open and the boat through. An English family who were out walking had stopped to watch. “That looks like hard work,2 commented the woman with a smile. “Your man's got the right idea, getting you to do it,” said the man. I smiled. “I chose this over driving and possibly damaging the boat,” I smiled as I began to lower the bridge again. “well, it looks like you've earned a G and T,” grinned the woman. I laughed, agreed and carried on closing the bridge as they continued on their walk.
It took as long to close it as it had to open and I noticed an elderly woman watching earnestly from her window opposite. She watched as I lowered it, winced as it closed with a bang, watched me re-secure the peg to hold the handle in place, watched me go back to the boat and watched as I climbed aboard, panting. Only when someone (possibly her son?) arrived by car with groceries, spoke to her through the window and checked the bridge was closed properly before entering the house (cheek!) did she leave her window. “I reckon they must get a lot of people leaving it open,” I said to Mike. “She never took her eyes off me!” “Either that or she was marvelling at your superwoman strength,” he joked. “Hell yeah, GAAAA-DOOOSH!” I said, flexing my biceps, “Watch out for the guns, they'll get ya.” Mike laughed at Family Guy and Anchorman quotes and manly gestures then uttered the words I'd been waiting for...“Thanks baby, fancy a glass of cold white?” “Thought you'd never ask,” I grinned, “I'm knackered. I need to improve my fitness. That was hard work. Did you get any photo's?” “No, I'll get some next time,” he grimaced. I took one of the closed bridge as we set off again. I wanted the folks back home to see the effort I'd put in! By twenty to six the final three locks had been negotiated successfully and we were tied up to a gorgeous old stone quay at Clamecy; ready to shower, change and go off in search of food.

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