SPECIAL Alan the Lifeboat tours London s River Thames Part 2 - Lifeboat Conversion Ep34 4K

Well, this isn't quite the storm I promised you at the end of the first half of this London River Thames special, is it? These were the projected winds, and dire warnings from the authorities about Storm Arwen that was due to pass over the UK. We've apparently adopted the hitherto not very British habit of naming storms. Daft. Why would anyone label inanimate things with human names? Well, the storm did happen, and it smashed a good chunk of the country, These are the local forecasts and wind measurements. So, Alan needed to be taken back down the Thames, and his obedient crew turned up in good time to prepare, and then catch the tide. Here are some of the additional precautions we took, in case the storm had indeed given London a stern seeing to. The mooring lines in the springs were fine, but Dick had pointed out a major concern if large waves had begun to violently lift and drop Alan and the pontoon out of sync with each other. The three hanging fenders will end up on top of the pontoon edge, leaving the rubber fender strip around Alan to drop onto the hard edge. It would most likely be ripped off. So, the day before, we had passed a line underneath Alan's keel, linked it up with the bottom of the fenders, so they couldn't ride up. Also, a kind neighbour offered us a tyre that Dick roped securely to the pontoon itself. They'd done their job, and now all I needed to do was untie about a dozen robust, storm-ready knots. The only extra hurdle before setting off was to appease, and get past, the two members of pontoon security who turned up, and it turned out we're very, very cross. I'm getting used to all this boating malarkey. Remember, my core experience is on the ice, and both Rob and especially Dick are constantly showing me the ropes, for example, how to cast off without getting the line soaked. Hopefully, we'll be underway soon. I'm kind of hoping that we'll have a little bit more of a chop on the way down, because the way up, although we had a bit of a headwind, was quite straightforward, but it would be really nice to have a little bit extra challenge on the way home. We'll see. Both of you ready for the grand voyage again? We certainly are. Yes. Are we going polar today? Probably not. Well, the temperatures now at Balmy was at eight, nine degrees. I think it's going on that way. We're 70 short of the train. There's no need for the jacket. Yes, we're fit and ready to go. Yes, the wind's a bit strong at the moment, but the forecast is it for it to moderate, so yes, we're actually looking better. It's a good voyage, eh? Excellent, the owner. I think we're looking good, leaving our pontoon. A little bit of a breeze, but not too bad. The impatient refuse barge from last time was going very slowly, presumably about to dock. We've got all this slow-moving traffic, you see, holding up Alan. I thought you'd like to enjoy a little of the continuous footage as we headed down the Thames, although it was in time-lapse mode, so you don't get the sort of horizon-steadying you would if there had been a huge, long, sped-up video recording. The ebb tide was now increasing. We'd started off before high tide, so we had as long as possible to get down to the sea, more, and then prepare for the Before long, the tugs and barges got their own back, and one cruised past at a pace that Alan couldn't manage. Maximum hull speed is such a strange thing. Surely small and nimble should win the day, but not so. Motivations for taking Alan up the River Thames in London were varied, primary being his incessant demands. Secondary, though, was me wanting to put another dozen or so hours through the engine, and then other major working parts, to see if any gremlins appear, and because it's healthy to get all of the various fuels and oils circulating and zooming through Alan's plumbing. I wanted a better view as we passed back through Westminster and the tourist stretch. Alan's deck railings are all very well, but the summertime driving position, standing on the seat, head out of the hatch, and a boot to steer with, worked a treat. Down there, nattering away. We made a plea across social media for people to film Alan from the banks and bridges, and sell the footage to us. I saw tons of people taking pictures, but sadly none have converted into footage to help us out for this episode. You've probably gathered that from the mostly on-board camera angles. There is, however, some excellent news. Naturally, Alan will be going through the central span of Tower Bridge. I'm going to have to inquire how this modest vessel got there mooring. It's not a bad location. I don't know about you, but I'd rather have Alan. I was growing increasingly puzzled by the weather. The conditions were okay, despite the remnants of the storm lingering around the British Isles, and the clouds certainly weren't harbingers of doom and destruction. But, hard to tell when you're moving with it, a strong tailwind was building as the river widened, and we were offered less shelter from the banks and the built-up city centre. Past Greenwich, the middle of the world according to those people very much into their clocks, it was somewhat inevitable that we'd need to pass once more through the Thames barrier. If it didn't loom up in our sights, then it's possible we'd gone down the wrong river. Disaster averted, Alan and crew were through. This is the portion of the voyage where landmarks were thinner on the ground, and I spent my time doing a little more sorting out. It's weird having Alan's innards strapped down for transit, but still containing all the workshop gear. Not expedition mode, nor work mode. Dick naturally made good use of the time. Sosh's sandwich is a clock, and very good at it he is. My belly full, and with another free moment, I thought I'd check in on our Danish power plant. It had been burbling away with not a single word of complaint, and I'd been extremely impressed with the inner covering of the cowling, even if I say so myself. Low frequency noise is still there, and can only really be reduced by solid, dense noise deadening, and not foam and foil, but the annoying clatter really is gone when the panels are all on. The prop shaft is spinning in circles, as I gather it's meant to, and at the same impressively low temperatures I'd recalled from the summer. The engine is also a nice hand heater on a chilly early winter afternoon too. Dick wants me to install a heat exchanger to warm the cabin, and I may relent. The fuel tank I bought earlier this year isn't deluxe or glitzy, but it's been a good investment. No leaks around the fittings, and I like being able to instantaneously check the fuel level and mark waypoints on the translucent plastic. Some passing shipping offered up some entertainment. And by the time that entertainment had passed by, the only thing on offer to study was the rear end of a moored up tug. It did though illustrate the growing wind from the west. Part of the weather system blowing through was handing us a couple of knots. The tide was now offering up near to nothing in free pace, and low water was nigh. And then sporadic, intense cloudbursts. So sporadic that I only caught them on camera after they'd passed. My excuse that I was busy on driving duty and checking the horizons for oncoming traffic. Our plan was to head back into the nearby inlet again to moor. The reasons being that it would have been rude not to collect Rob's launch from the foreshore near the pier, and that we fancied a pint in the local pub. The fact that there would be zero water on Allen's Creek for a few hours yet was purely incidental on our priority list. There's something very satisfying about how a slightly breezy surface out in the estuary settles down to nigh on a millpond just by ducking into a creek or inlet. Providing, I suppose, that the wind direction is playing ball. England in early winter did treat us to a rather excellent sunset in between the rain. It's quite noisy isn't it when we're running? Yes, good evening owner. You're tied up and all secure sir. No one had stolen our mooring and Allen was left to relax for a short while. We've moored up in this little inlet. Is that your philosophy on life jackets? It certainly is at home, we should all be wearing life jackets and be practicing safe rowing. Don't try this at home kids. Is it just me or does Allen always look like he's about to throw a tantrum whenever he's left alone for a moment? This is what he got up to whilst we were waiting for some more water to appear in the sea and sat in the pub explaining to the bar staff how completely procedural and unremarkable Dick's request of ginger wine and brandy is. Turns out that even Google got confused. We returned to Allen once again via Rob's expert chauffeuring service. I'd now given up offering. The weather was getting progressively grimmer. Yes I do prefer minus 40 degrees to the hell that is rain and damp murk but Allen had been waiting patiently yet resentfully and was where we'd left him. Naturally I thought it was an ideal opportunity to hop up on deck and check all was well with the tied down fenders and other bits and bobs. I also sought to increase my heart rate somewhat by taking my drone for a quick spin before we headed off. I wasn't going to do so underway because I've not yet bought one of those grab handle things and the last time I tried to recover my drone from the air on a moving Allen I lost the skin off the top of two of my fingers and it was dark and a bit windy and it was raining and we were on the water. I'm not convinced the sensor was designed for light levels this low and glaring LED lights aboard Allen so we won't be winning any drone footage awards like usual but the drone survived as did my fingers. This view is highlighted though however hatches open it gets in the way of the flood lighting a little. That was definitely worth the graceful ascending aerial shot looking directly downwards. Research and appraisal. It's a bit of a mucky night but we're doing the final little leg back into where Allen lives. Anyway we set off the final stretch back home. I could use my bear torch. Can you do that to get us out? That's the longest that I'm in. Okay that's fine. Got all the fumes. Have a look mate. Allen doesn't yet have a searchlight and there were all manner of hazards and potential calamities in our way. Unlit boats, mooring buoys, wooden posts, 10,000 tonne ships. So Dick and I were deployed to the bow hatch to search for things in the water illuminating each for Rob to then avoid as we made our way back into the shipping channel. Having struck nothing whatsoever therefore certifying Dick and I as excellent searchlight operatives the next hour or so was straightforward as there wasn't a lot of evening movement of large shipping no radio traffic and the water channel was deep even at the margins. Allen hadn't had much or indeed any proper night time transit opportunities. It's highlighted an immediate problem exacerbated by the very limited visibility from the driver's position. It's very different to a helming position at the stern of a yacht or the bridge of a ship. When checking our position on a dim screen or operating switches and levers we needed to see and white light was killing our night vision. I'd hastily rigged up the beginnings of a small red light panel for the cockpit the year before last when I thought Allen was going to head straight to the Arctic but haven't wired it in yet as I wanted to make improvements which didn't really help us here. Excuses, excuses. Then things got tricky. Crossing from the channel over the barely covered sandbars and to the winding creek was made easier due to the fact that both my crew mates knew the route like the back of their hand. Despite this our stern wave did start to catch up with us for a moment or two meaning that we were inches away from the rudder skeg touching mud. Regardless Allen pressed on unwavering in his duty to return home. We weaved the final lefts and rights around the channel buoys and reunited with Rob's tug. Clearly the lift out would wait for the return of daylight but it was a job nearly done. The storm was over so only typical mooring lines were needed overnight. Once again the next day we needed to await some water to get Allen out and back on his cradle. A few people have commented to ask why I don't keep Allen in the water and why I incur the cost of all these lifts in and out. There are quite a few answers. Space ashore is more plentiful and it's cheaper. I have work I want to do on the underside still and I'm really not sure if I want to leave Allen constantly beaching and refloating every day. It's fun once or twice but it's just a recipe for issues. So I avoid the issues. And I summon once again the superb yard team who hoik Allen out the water and take him over to his spot which I'm lucky to have protected from wind by a large building. The sling lift is tricky to manoeuvre and I think a view from the air shows the skill needed to sort it in a one-er. Well done them. I'm going to ask you guys a question before I disappear once again. To avoid crew like Dick and I getting freezing cold arms shining torches out of hatches I've bought this monstrosity. It's quite fun though. Where do people think I should mount it? It needs a full swivel range to sweep left and right, be mounted securely and not get in the way of the crew's view or of other gear. Halfway up the mast? At the top? On the bow? Somewhere on the railings? I'm undecided. Do let me know your thoughts. And on the topic of thoughts, I get a lot of emails from people and I reply to every one to a longer or shorter extent. I've had a few replies bounce recently to incorrect email addresses. So if you've felt bereft of a reply, contact me again and check the spelling of your email. Aside from that, I have some Big Alan projects scheduled and they'll need investment. As such, I'd really appreciate any contribution to the cause that you may see fit to offer. Links in the description. Direct brimstone and abuse into the comment section. Onwards for Alan. Bye.