Aqueduct

This is my favourite photo from 2022.

I took it one year ago yesterday, October 7, 2022, while crossing the Pontcyscyllte Aqueduct on the Llangollen Canal in Wales.

In the 16 years following our 2006 trip to England (during which we rented a canal boat), Jason often mentioned how much he’d like to do another canal trip. Last fall we finally did it. I blogged a bit about the boat experience after we got back, but I didn’t talk about the aqueduct, and now, on the one-year anniversary of our second crossing over it, I’m looking back at this picture and thinking about why it means so much to me.

During those 16 years, not only did Jason say how much he’d like to rent a narrowboat again, he often said, “I’d really like to do one of those routes where the boat goes through an aqueduct so you’re way above the ground.”

And I, for whom “scared of heights” is one of my defining personality traits, would smile and nods and say, “yeah, maybe,” and think, “nope, never.”

The thing is that I am the Trip Planner in our family — I love planning travel and I’m good at it, so whatever wishes Jason expresses, they’re only likely to happen if I actually do the research and make the reservations. Which, I felt, kept me pretty safe from ever crossing an aqueduct in a narrowboat.

But by the time we were planning our 2022 trip, I felt differently. Not differently about being on a small boat in a narrow channel of water high above the ground on a water bridge made of stone and metal over a hundred years old. I still felt terrified of that. But after our 2020 dream anniversary trip had to be cancelled, and so many things we had looked forward to doing in 2020 and 2021 had to be cancelled, and Jason had been the absolute, uncomplaining, rock of my life who made the months of lockdowns and isolation not only bearable but often fun … I wanted to do something that would make him happy, even if it made me (briefly) terrified.

So I started researching aqueducts.

If you’re going to travel over an aqueduct, especially if it’s likely to be a once in a lifetime experience, you may as well go for the biggest and the best.

The photo above was taken from our boat, while going over the aqueduct. But for a bit more context, here’s a pic of what the aqueduct looks like and how high up 126 feet actually is. (Not my photo; this is from the website of the boat rental company, Anglo Welsh).

Before the trip, when I told people what we were doing and showed them this picture, they would either say, “You’re going over that? That’s so cool!” or “You’re going over that? You’re crazy.”

To either response, I would say, “Jason really wants to do this. He’ll be outside, driving the boat, and I’ll be curled up on the floor of the boat with my eyes closed.” That was what I planned to do.

After a lovely week in London, we arrived in the little town of Ruabon by train on a day of pouring rain, and found a cab to the boat base at Trevor. All the while we checked in, stowed our luggage on the boat, got the boat intro from the guy at the base, it was pouring rain. And immediately after you leave the base, you’re going over the aqueduct. No opportunity to wait for good weather for this stunning sight.

Still, I thought, it’ll be a good excuse for me to stay inside and not expose myself to the terror of being in a narrow tube of water 126 feet above the ground (and above the River Dee). Jason put on his raincoat, put up the hood and sat in the steering position outside on the stern of the boat, and I took my position inside as our boat edged onto the aqueduct.

Then something strange happened.

I realized I didn’t want to spent this once-in-a-lifetime experience inside the boat (the trip across is only about 10 minutes or so). I had to at least put my head outside to look around.

Once my head was outside, the rest of me wanted to be out on the bow of the boat looking over the edge and down. Despite the rain, despite my fear of heights, I found myself outside, gazing at the valley and the river below us, then looking back over the long roof of the boat to where Jason stood at the other end.

“This is amazing!” I shouted.

“It is, isn’t it?!” he shouted back.

What I felt was not the terror I expected to feel, that I usually feel when I’m up high — but sheer exhilaration. We were sailing over the roof of the world, and I loved it.

On the return trip a week later, after the sights and sounds and pleasures of the canals and the towns we passed through, we had a cloudy but not rainy day to go back over the aqueduct. Then, just as the boat nosed onto the bridge, the sun broke through the clouds.

That’s when I took the picture at the top of this post. Silhouetted on the green valley, you can clearly see not just the majesty of the aqueduct, but our little boat on top of it. If you look really closely you can even see the tiny shadow of Jason on the back of the boat, waving. It was only that brilliantly sunny for a moment, but it was long enough for me to capture this picture and save the moment.

Sometimes taking a picture removes you from an amazing moment; you’re focused on documenting rather than living the experience, and all you have afterwards is a little image that doesn’t capture any of the feeling.

This picture is different. Whenever I look at it, I’m back on the aqueduct again, feeling so many things: the joy of making my husband’s dream come true and enjoying his pleasure in it, but also my own joy, that something I expected to be scared of was thrilling and beautiful.

When I got my personalized planner printed for 2023, for which I normally choose a couple of my favourite photos of the previous year for the cover, I put this picture of the aqueduct on the front. (I guess using it as my computer wallpaper also would’ve worked, but that space is reserved for pictures of my dog). Every day I look at this photo of the aqueduct and think, “Sometimes you do a thing that scares you — maybe because you have to, or maybe because you need it to get to an important goal, or maybe just to make someone you love happy — and once in awhile, the scary thing turns out to be one of the best moments of your life.”

Not everyone has to take a narrowboat across an aqueduct, but if you can — literally or metaphorically — I highly recommend doing the scary thing. And I hope the sun breaks through the clouds when you do, and you have a moment you’ll never forget.