Canal du Midi: Everyone’s a Captain(#713)
There is something wonderfully democratic about the Canal du Midi.
You do not need to own a yacht. You do not need years of boating experience. You do not even need, in the conventional sense, to know very much about boats.
You can simply rent one.
Companies such as Le Boat and other operators rent self-drive pleasure craft from bases along the Canal du Midi. After a relatively brief introduction to the boat - how to start it, steer it, stop it, operate the ropes and negotiate the locks - the holidaymaker is set loose on one of the most historic waterways in Europe.
And almost immediately, something remarkable happens:
They become a captain.
A Boat Wearing Body Armor
One of the first things I noticed about the rental boats was the extraordinary number of boat fenders hanging from them.
A boat fender is a protective cushion or bumper that hangs from the side of a boat to prevent the hull from scraping or crashing into docks, locks, or other vessels.
A privately owned boat might have a carefully positioned collection of boat fenders on deck ready to protect its hull while mooring.
A Canal du Midi rental boat sometimes looks as though it has been wrapped in protective packaging.
Fenders hang from the bow. They hang along both sides. They dangle from the stern. Some boats appear to carry enough rubber cushioning to survive an amphibious assault.
There is a reason.
These boats are being driven by people who, only hours earlier, may never have piloted anything larger than a shopping trolley.
The fenders are therefore not merely boating equipment. They are an admission of reality.
Things are going to be bumped.
Lock walls will be encountered. Quays will be approached with excessive enthusiasm. Other rental boats may become unexpectedly close acquaintances. A stone bridge abutment may suddenly seem to move several meters toward the boat.
The rental companies understand all of this. Better to pad the boat than expect instant seamanship.
The Five-Minute Captain
Of course, the training is longer than five minutes, but compared with the years of experience accumulated by professional boatmen, it can seem remarkably brief.
The new skipper learns the essentials. Steering is demonstrated. The throttle is explained. Mooring gets a mention. There are instructions about locks, ropes, bridges and what to do if something goes wrong.
Then comes the great moment.
Off you go!
There is something appealing about that freedom. It allows thousands of people to experience the Canal du Midi from the water rather than merely looking at it from a towpath.
But there is a difference between knowing how to operate a boat and knowing how to behave on a canal.
The first can be taught quickly.
The second takes experience.
The Invisible Rules of the Canal
Canals have an etiquette.
Professional crews understand it almost instinctively. They anticipate one another. They know when to slow down, when to wait and when to move aside. They understand the effect of their wake. They know how wind, current, propeller wash and shallow water affect a vessel.
Most importantly, they understand that not all boats are equal.
A large hotel barge, for example, has considerably deeper draught than a small rental cruiser. It cannot simply wander toward the shallow edge of the canal to accommodate an approaching pleasure boat.
The little boat can.
Yet the novice skipper may see two vessels approaching one another and think simply:
We each get half the canal.
Not necessarily.
The deeper-draught vessel may need the deeper water nearer the center of the navigable channel.
The smaller rental boat should give it sufficient room rather than forcing the larger vessel toward shallower water.
That requires something beyond knowing which way to turn the wheel.
It requires situational awareness.
And courtesy.
Then Comes the Captain’s Hat
There is another transformation that seems to occur shortly after departure.
The hat appears.
A white captain's cap can apparently confer several decades of maritime experience instantaneously.
I watched rental boats pass us carrying newly minted captains standing proudly at their helms, often wearing the obligatory nautical cap. Striped shirts were particularly effective. Sunglasses helped.
Occasionally the command structure became difficult to determine because there appeared to be more than one captain aboard.
One person held the wheel. Another stood beside him giving advice. A third seemed to be providing strategic guidance from the stern.
Sometimes all three wore nautical clothing.
The photograph above captures the phenomenon beautifully. There are enough striped shirts and white caps aboard this little cruiser to suggest that the French Navy has taken an unexpected interest in canal tourism.
And yet there is something rather endearing about it.
For a week, why not be Captain Jean-Pierre?
The Locks Sort Everyone Out
Locks are where confidence encounters physics.
The approach that looked straightforward from 100 meters away suddenly becomes remarkably narrow. The wind develops opinions. The boat refuses to stop simply because the captain wishes it to. Someone discovers that throwing a rope is considerably easier in films.
Then there are other boats. And stone walls. And spectators. Lots of spectators.
The Canal du Midi has been teaching humility to boaters for centuries, and the rental-boat era has simply provided it with a fresh supply of students.
By the third or fourth lock, however, something changes.
People improve.
The approach becomes slower. Someone has the rope ready before it is needed. Crew members stop shouting quite so much. The captain discovers that small corrections work better than dramatic ones.
The boat fenders still earn their keep, but perhaps not quite as often.
The Democratization of the Canal
It would be easy to be dismissive of rental boats and their inexperienced crews. That would also miss something important.
Self-drive boating has opened the Canal du Midi to people who otherwise might never experience life on an inland waterway.
For a few days they travel slowly through southern France. They tie up beside villages. They buy bread in the morning. They eat lunch beneath plane trees - or beneath the younger trees now replacing so many lost to canker stain. They pass vineyards and old stone bridges. They negotiate locks designed for an entirely different age.
And they discover something increasingly rare in modern travel:
You cannot hurry very much.
The canal dictates the pace.
Perhaps that is why people put on the captain's hat.
For once they are not passengers on an aircraft, occupants of a train, or drivers following a GPS instruction.
They are commanding their own vessel through a 17th-century waterway.
Admittedly, the vessel is traveling at about walking speed.
Admittedly, it is surrounded by enough rubber boat fenders to resemble a floating bumper car.
And admittedly, when a large hotel barge appears ahead, the new captain might benefit from remembering that the bigger vessel cannot necessarily move over as easily as he can.
But there he stands nonetheless. Hands on the wheel. Striped shirt. White cap. France sliding slowly past.
Captain for a week.
And judging from the number of captains I saw aboard some boats, occasionally captaincy is a shared command.
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