We should have guessed that the HBA boats we left behind in Carrick on Suir would go off and do something so off the wall that Jill and I would regret leaving. After all, once Cheekpoint had been ruled out by engineering works,  and with returning to the Barrow pointless until the river had risen by at least a foot, they were always going to find something challenging to have fun with. So the phone call from Ronnie Byrne informing me of the plan to go up the river Pil, a narrow tidal inlet that runs into the Suir from the north a few miles downstream of Carrick, shouldn't have come out of the blue. That a barge had not been up the Pil to Piltown for fifty years made the idea even madder. Ronnie's invite to join himself and Mary for a weekend of high excitement was most  happily accepted.

Getting over from Graig to Carrick was made easier by the sad departure of the fine lockeeper, Trevor, who we had begun to think of as both our local lockie and a friend.  We took to Trevor on first meeting him back in May, and had a long running joke about his being 'the best lock keeper in the world' ever since.  The problem was that by the end of August, after numerous trips through his length of river, the odd cup of tea, lunch when he visited us at Cheekpoint and chance meetings along the way, we were genuinely believing our springtime joke. Inevitably, his departure  was a matter of budget rather than any personal failing but there is a slim chance of his returning next year and we hope to see his cheery bald head sticking out of a blue pick up's window again (in the meantime, should you read this Trevor, I hope married life is being kind to you and Jill). All of which meant Ronnie, who is as fond of Trevor as we are, wanted to give his and Mary's personal thanks and best wishes. So Ronnie came to lunch and Trevor called by for a quick cup of tea and to collect his Good Luck cards on this his last day with WI.  Ronnie then drove us, with our dinghy on his roof-rack and the outboard in his boot, over to Carrick.  We called in at Piltown on route and stood looking into a ditch thinking Ronnie and cohorts must be joking:  there was little to no water in it by the meadow and it appeared to disappear into a wood downstream. The other great surprise of the day was walking into The Strand pub in Carrick to discover that Trevor had been in before us in order to leave a few drinks behind the bar for the Byrnes and ourselves. He's  truly the gift that keeps on giving!

With the tide filling the Carrick moorings a little later than the Pil, the plan was to leave as early as possible. Leaving  started well with the two modern boats getting away earlier than expected. Through nobody's fault,  the Ms, 68 and 72, left a little later than planned.  Ronnie, who had been on the small local boat borrowed the weekend before for a reconnaissance run to Piltown, had already prepped 72M in readiness for hard going with the flags down and everything on the roof lashed or placed where branches could not snag it. Jill and I were happy to dismantle and stow the canvas wheelhouse, which would have suffered pretty badly if left up. Given the cover is one of our own creations we made light work of removing it.  The last thing, and one often overlooked, was to put the moorings ropes inside as we left the Carrick jetty. We weren't the only guests on board: it seemed the whole of the Carrick boating community was along, as well as a number of Piltown folk hoping to be part of such a historic trip. So many were their number they had to be shared around the fleet rather than adding six inches of ballast to one of the boats. Though that thought did come a little later.

The Pil joins the Suir at quite an acute angle which, given that the bank at it's junction is heavily overgrown, makes it hard to see. Once found the plan was simple enough: 68M was going to make the biggest hole in the overgrowth above the channel, so it really had to go first.  It did not matter who followed as the other boats were either a lot lower or considerably smaller in all dimensions - they should glide through the broken bush like little elephants following their mother. The downside was that if 68M couldn't get on, they might all end up stuck behind her. Scooting about in the dinghy in the hope of getting some good pictures, I too was concerned about getting stuck behind in the narrow river, so I shot ahead as the boats lined up with 'Trust me Scout' and 'Aqualegia' being the filling in an M boat sandwich as Ronnie covered the rear.

       Gathering for the rush up the Pil                                                                                                      The start of the Pil

At first the river is reasonably wide and clear of any willow canopy. It did twist a lot though and this, combined with a rising tide, kept Gerry very busy on the helm of 68M. Obviously a dinghy is much more mobile than a barge (though I would have given anything to have been following on up in Hawthorn at this point)  so I was more than able to pause above a tight bend in order to see how Gerry was going. The bow of 68M followed the channel well enough, unfortunately the stern was running a little wide and I could hear the crashing of undergrowth even with the engine running and being a few hundred feet away. Any wildlife in the nature reserve beside the lower Pil must have thought the apocalypse was on its way. As the river narrowed the canopy closed in above and the going got a little slower, before coming to a dead stop at the railway bridge approximately half way between the Suir and Piltown. Scouting ahead I was struck by how low it looked and shot back to say so to Gerry. Watching from upstream as the M approached the bridge it was clear things were going to be tight, and that the motorbike on top of the cabin had to be put on its side in order not to strike the bridge, confirmed our fears.  There was no way the steel wheelhouse was going to fit and everything came to a halt. 68M has flood tanks that can be used to ballast her down a bit but filling these was going to take time. It was also suggested that all the extra bodies could pile onto 68s stern. With a good hour and a bit of tide still to come the reality of what would follow if 68 were to get stuck under the bridge(it would have resulted in serious damage and not to the bridge) was accepted - sadly 68M was not going to be able to continue.  The only good fortune was there being enough room for the other barges, which were now queued behind Gerry, to slide past. Which they duly did. Suddenly, by dint of being second, Ken and Bernie on 'Trust Me Scout' (TMS) were now leaders - probably quite a shock as trailblazing was probably not something they anticipated when leaving Carrick.

Gerry's very own 'Bridge of Sighs'!

For some reason the overhanging undergrowth that had been a feature of the river to this point, had been trimmed back along the middle section. I was to find out who by when, pausing to speak to some onlookers who had come to the bottom of their gardens with cameras and cups of tea to witness the event, I was informed that, wanting a view, they had done this work themselves from the rowing boat pulled up on their lawn.  All good news for Bernie on TMS as she valiantly battled on round the tight bends with her vision upstream now further restricted by all the locals having piled off 68 onto her bow when passing Gerry under the bridge. Unfortunately, the clearance work came to an end soon enough and the last few hundred yards were hard going, not that this was going to deny Bernie (Ken was 'directing' from the bow) and TMS their moment of glory as she ploughed on through.

Trust Me Scout leads on with Aqualegia in pursuit.

                                                                                 How much lower the levels were for Gerry can be seen here.

The final length, the 'ditch in the wood' I had observed from the meadow above the day before, was by far the tightest, and then the last remaining obstacle, the stern of a concrete yacht jutting out from the bank that Paddy (the meadow owner and now a passenger with Ken and Bernie) one day hoped to complete, was passed. TMS drove out into the light to be greeted by the small crowd of locals gathered in anticipation. Bernie and Ken's faces beamed with relief and excitement - mission accomplished! 'Aqualegia' soon followed and then 72M.  By now even the local Garda had driven down to have a look.  The buzz about the boats was only diminished by the knowledge one of our number was waiting downstream hoping there would be enough water left to get 68 up once the tide was low enough to clear the bridge. Watching the tide drop from under the moored boats a couple of hours later we came to the conclusion that Gerry was done for the day - I was even doubting being able to get back if I went down in the dinghy - but the sound of woodland being destroyed and a roaring diesel engine soon dispelled any negativity. Unbelievably, 68 was approaching. To say things were tight would be an understatement, and the boat did briefly halt on the bottom when passing Paddy's boat, but Gerry freed her enough to creep the last few feet needed to moor on the field. It was done: the HBA had conquered the Pil and for the first time in fifty years barges were flying at Piltown!

Mission accomplished!

Erh, Ronnie who Officer?                                                                                                          Not going anywhere.