The next morning, after croissants, the boat vibrates into life. We enter the St. Florentin lock. The photographer gets off, me with him, and I study the manoeuvre. The team throw the ropes with masterly skill. Caught by the lockeeper, the boat is then held firmly and begins its ascent. Once the right level is reached the lock gates open, one after the other, and the pénichette starts off across a bridge over the Armance river, little tributary of the Armancon. I lean out to have a look and quickly recede. I have to admit that I suffer from vertigo, quite rare amongst snails, but I get that from my great-great-grandfather, Ernest Cargo, who worked in the catacombs.

 

The boat passes slowly past me and we rejoin it a few metres further on. What an adventure!
Without ado I board the boat again in the famous photo bag and quickly install myself on the upper bridge. I tidy up my celebrated black felt hat and have a good look at all that is going on. Two fishermen see me go by and watch in complete amazement!
While we are gently going along the canal I ask myself some questions. Why have these four highly energetic people chosen this mode of travel, at walking pace (a fast walk, admittedly) when there are so many more rapid methods of transport available? Why do they systematically explore the towns where they stop? What are they looking for? Are they also carrying out an investigation? With my legendary flair I will soon resolve this mystery, I have no doubt on that score, but all the same, it’s perplexing.
We arrive at Germigny lock with its high stone walls. Again the crew loop the ropes round the bollards and hold the boat while the water level adjusts in the lock. Then the two lockeepers open the gate paddles and then the gates themselves when the level is at its highest. The crew members slip the ropes off and store them on board and the boat moves off again into the green landscape. All this nature, it drives me wild.
At Egrevin lock the lock-keeper is Patrice. He shows the photographer how a lock works and lets him work the opening of the gates.

For those of you who are interested, this is how it all works: once the boat has gone into the lock and the gates are shut behind it, you open a gate paddle on the side where the boat is moored, which has the effect of pushing the boat to the side, and of course letting water into the lock. The paddle must be opened half-way. Then the other paddle is opened, also half-way. When the water level reaches the paddles they are opened fully. Once the right level of water in the lock chamber is reached, you open the gates entirely.

The crew get back on board with a number of bottles of Chablis and red Epineuil (what a good idea!) and off we set again.

Cows peer at me from a nearby meadow. It must be the hat… I am always a bit wary of these animals. When they graze it would only take a sweep of the tongue, and gulp! one is heading straight for the stomach. They’re herbivores, like me, but mistakes can easily happen…

The prow slices gently through the mirror-like water and we pass by some lovely houses. Suddenly I spot my sworn enemy on the bank: a heron, to whom my family and several friends have paid a heavy tribute. Magnificent, but highly dangerous.
Well…for a snail, because I see my new friends (I can certainly call them that now, and I must say I feel much safer with them than on the bank) going into raptures about the bird and its flight. They really haven’t a clue!

Birds vie with each other to sing the loudest, particularly a blackbird who starts up when evening comes. It’s certainly not an oven-like heat at this hour, but everyone puts on a jumper and it’s reasonably comfortable.

Just before Flogny lock, “Vénarey” stops to fill up with water at a little quay where a magnificent boat is already moored. There are two charming Englishmen on board who are going down to Narbonne via the canal, then on the Saone. They bought their boat “La Perle” so that their cat could have sufficient room… These are true animal-lovers!
A few herons (there really are a lot of them) and a few brilliant fields of rapeseed and flowers later we come right up to a wonderful seventeenth century chateau, which we are never going to learn the name of… We moor for the night there between a huge willow and a Japanese cherry tree covered in red flowers.