The romance of the Canal des Ardennes

Hello and welcome to the latest blog from The Olivia Rose Diaries on May 23^rd 2025.

The Canal des Ardennes – 88km long, 44 locks in total although 26 of them are squeezed into a chain over a distance of around 9km. The normal depth of the water is 1.8m but the first 6km of the canal is currently at 1.3m and has a warning flagged up on it. Olivia Rose has a draft of 1.1m (draft being the depth of hull beneath the water line) so we shouldn’t have any problems but given the complete lack of rain this part of the country is experiencing the long-term outlook isn’t promising, particularly with boats who have a deeper draft than us.

So there are the facts. I’ve always wanted to cruise this canal. It has an appeal, something about the name itself, something about the fact that it winds its way through woods, unspoilt, peaceful, a haven for wildlife and humans alike. In my mind I felt sure I would love it, although I had nothing to base that conviction upon apart from romantic notions, and we all know how reliable they can be.

But it didn’t disappoint. We passed through hamlets rich with the smell of newly cut hay, old barns in their usual varied states of falling down, cows standing knee-deep in buttercup-strewn fields, gazing at us with wide, vacant eyes. As so often happens in rural France there was a sense of time standing still, frozen in a different era, when the hands on the clock moved slowly and life was something to be savoured, not rushed. The thought of the old ways and the old times has such a strong pull for so many of us, certainly for me, a poignancy tinged with regret as that time has, for the most part, passed and won’t come again. In this modern digital era so many people are on a treadmill they’d like to get off but are not sure how to.

However, back to the canal. A buzzard flapped overhead, the birds trilled and whistled in the dappled shade from the woods and a damsel fly landed on the rail in front of me as I was about to throw my rope in a lock. It was so exquisite, such a deep midnight blue, that I was completely distracted until a call (more like a yell) from the skipper bought me back to the demands of the day. Wild roses dotted the banks, cascading down to the waters edge where they were greeted by clumps of yellow iris sitting in the shallows.

I wish I had more photos to share with you but there were so many locks and in such quick succession there was no time. Once you enter an automated staircase you need to keep going or the system will have a nervous breakdown. There is an excellent cycle route that has mirrored our journey, beginning in Rotterdam in the Netherlands and ending, for some strange reason, in Langres, and the cyclists upon it would have had more time to stop and enjoy the scenery than we did at this particular point! I found myself wishing I could be in two places at one time, indulging my two favourite pastimes, cycling and boating, views from the water and views from the woods.

Below the staircase the nature of the canal changed, the pretty hamlets disappearing as the forest closed in, and we found ourselves cruising on a narrow ribbon of water, surrounded by a jungle wilderness. Long dead trees lay stretched out beneath the water, most of them deep enough that they they didn’t bother us but occasionally we felt and heard that unmistakeable clunk on the hull and knew we’d made contact. Others had fallen out across the canal, hanging in mid-air, so we had to skirt around them. And now we had the weed, growing up from the depths, thick rope-like forests that grabbed at the propeller.

We could feel Olivia Rose slowing, and with increasing frequency had to stop and go astern for a few moments to free the prop up. (Going backwards like this turns the prop in the other direction and spews out the clogged-up weed.)

In one particular section we had the weed below the water and dense mats of algae on top, thick and pockmarked, like a festering sore.

And yet below the algae the water was clear and clean, a fishy wonderland, and another reason to be distracted from my rope-throwing duties.

It wasn’t all wonderful though. In one short section we saw a dead ginger cat, a deer and a badger floating in the water. This happens occasionally in canals, where the steel siding makes it impossible for them to get out, although we’ve never seen three animals in one stretch before. It’s always heartbreaking.

Each night we moored up for free against the bank or in small towns.

If I had to pick one thing that explains why I so love cruising in France, it is this, a peaceful mooring after a good day out in the fresh air. I know all countries have their peaceful places, places where you feel cocooned in nature and the serenity and stillness gets into your bones, right to the heart of you. But I don’t think anywhere does it quite like France. Or at least not for me…..

See you next week.

MJ