4.30 p.m. and we reach the top of the infamous 21 lock Wigan Flight. What would sensible people do? Moor up, of course, and start down the next morning.
Not us. This barking mad pair on Star set off down the flight on their own with enthusiasm, a couple of bottles of water and some bananas for sustenance. Four hours later we had reached the bottom. The water and bananas had run out; the enthusiasm was stretching thin. We'd met two set of paddles that hadn't been properly lowered, several gates that were all but impossible to open or shut, a ground paddle that wouldn't close which we had to report to the BW (sorry C&RT) emergency number and help, encouragement and banter from passing locals. Fortunately no unpleasant encounters with scrotes, though.
But that wasn't the end of a day which started with the seven lock descent of the Johnson's Hillock flight in the company of our locking buddies on Nb Hallriff from days back just after Skipton. No, after Wigan we had to find somewhere to moor for the night in the gathering gloom so we pressed on through two more locks - stopping for some quick scrambled eggs on toast before one of them - before finally resting up for the night just outside the town.
Now we have a 40 mile stretch to Preston Brook with no locks at all - what will we do with ourselves?