Today we slogged down another eighteen locks through the grungy industrial outskirts of Greater Manchester.

No more foxes (or cows) but a suspected mink sighting. Sorry, it was too fast for the camera.

The Ashton Canal is not the most scenic, but not as bad as some accounts. I did not see any used condoms, needles, or prostitutes under the bridges. The locks were a bit of a challenge, as they all the paddles were locked to prevent vandalism, and had to be relocked after use. The key is a special Canal and River Trust “handcuff key”, and we only have one of them so Greg and I had to do some careful planning to optimize its use.

For the last half of the locks it started drizzling and then raining, so by the time we got to a mooring in Manchester nobody wanted to leave the boat till the rain stopped. It still hasn’t, but we have plans for dinner and a concert this evening.