Field Notes from Equestria

by Admiral Biscuit


Canal Boat: Fens Junction

Fens Junction
Admiral Biscuit

I got to send the barge through the second set of locks as well. Now that I knew what I was doing, it went much more efficiently, even though this time they were still set for upbound traffic—I had to drain it out before I could open the lower gates. 

This time, I didn’t have to cross over the canal; there were controls on both sides. Flash Lock said that this one had two sets of paddle gates, and each side’s controls operated one. That was one of the reasons why it was important to make sure that they were closed after transiting the lock, so the next pony to come along wouldn’t have to cross over and set the gates on the other side.

•••

We passed under a railroad bridge, then intersected a small river that ran more or less parallel to the tracks. On both sides, there were floodgates which could be raised if the river level was too low, and moveable wooden bridges for the towpath.

“Those gates weren’t there when I was a filly,” Flash Lock said. “Used to be late in the summer, the water level in the canal between here and Fens Junction would sometimes drop low enough that you could only carry a half-load. Putting them in really helped things out, kept the water from draining down that canal, but there was a lot of debate from some of the farmers.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’d run their crops in flat-bottomed boats down to the canal and then ship it to Manehattan that way. The original idea at the river was to just build a wall that was at the minimum water level for the canal—that would have been the cheapest—but then the farmboats would get stuck on it, so they compromised and came up with the gates. They were going to build a full lock system on the upstream side, but then the trains came through and the farmers stopped using the river at all.”

“Well, not having a permanent gate is probably better for the fish,” I said. “Are there fish in the canal?”

“Of course there are. Some places it isn’t good for fish to live—the bottom’s not much deeper than a barge’s draft, or it’s all stone. But a lot of places the canal was a river before, and wherever it’s deep enough and there isn’t any trouble with soil getting deposited, it’s a nice bottom for fish. Some of the good spots, you might see pegasi fishing.”

•••

The fields gave way to forest, and I started to notice more wildlife. Turtles sunning themselves, otters playing on the bank, and a heron eying the water for a fishy meal. He apparently didn’t like our barge, and flew off when we got close.

A little further on, we came to a set of sturdy stone abutments with a ramshackle cabin nearby. 

“That’s the old toll bridge,” Flash Lock explained. “Used to be across the canal. You had to pay the bridge operator one bit to put it down for you, if you were on the road. Just a little bit ahead, you might notice some newer stones on the edge of the canal, ‘cause ponies who weren’t towing a wagon would just ford the canal.”

“What happened to it?”

Flash Lock rubbed her chin. “Well, I heard two stories. The boring story is that it got old and fell apart, and there wasn’t enough traffic on the road to pay for a new bridge. They dug out one side of the ford and for a while there was a rope ferry, but there wasn’t enough road traffic to make that worthwhile, either.”

“What’s the interesting story?”

“That the bridge tender thought he could make more bits by leaving the bridge down and making bargees pay for passage, so one night they burned down the bridge.” She shrugged. “It’s been gone since before I was born, so I don’t know which is true. My mother says it fell down; my father says it was burned down.”

“Which do you think is true?”

“I think the canal’s been around long enough that a bridge might get old and fall down,” she said. “But if the bridge tender blocked the canal, bargeponies would burn it down rather than pay him a bit each time they passed.”

•••

We passed out of the forest into marshland. It reminded me of swampy areas around home—besides the clear path of the canal, there were other low-lying areas with standing water, along with hummocks of grass and clusters of trees in the drier, solider spots.

There was also another canal intersection; this one was a proper junction. Each of the quadrants had a swinging bridge for the towpath. Our route was clearly the principal route, since the bridges on both sides were closed, while the cross-bridges were open.

“Are all canals built like this? When they intersect?”

“Depends on how important they are. You can make bridges tall enough that the towpath clears barges in the other canal, but if you’ve got four, the rope won’t clear. If both canals have heavy traffic, and if the terrain allows, it’s smarter to have one canal cross the other on a bridge. But if the canal levels are too close, it would take just as long for the top route to lock up and down.

“Further along the canal, past Stroudwater, there’s a fording canal crossing. That’s nice for towponies on summer days, but not so much on cooler days since the water’s at about mid-barrel. Sometimes when we’ve got to pass it, Meresy or Swanky Bank will start pulling faster so we can coast by and they can ride the boat instead of getting wet.”

“You could do that at a lot of the intersections,” I said.

“Usually, but it depends on barge traffic, if somepony is trying to make a turn from one canal into the other, or how the wind’s blowing—that’s why it’s smart to have bridges. Otherwise somepony with a heavy boat or who isn’t too good on the tiller might clog up the canal for everypony else.”

“So I assume this intersection is why it’s called Fens Junction?”

“It was actually the railroad that gave the town its name,” Flash Lock told me. “’Cause it was also a good place to transfer things between the north/south route and the east/west route. So after they built the interchange, they put up signs at the switching yard saying that it was Fens Junction, and then some of the bargees decided that this junction was the original Fens Junction and the railroad was just some johnny-come-lately.”

“It would have stopped there but the tavern decided that the main crossroads in town was the original original Fens Junction and put up a sign, and then a couple farmers who had paths that crossed said that they were the original and it all got very silly. An intersection on a cowpath became the Original Original Original Fens Junction, and the railroad didn’t want to be outdone so they called the yard Fens Junction Junction and after that everypony decided it was silly and all the signs got taken down and the town was called Fens Junction after that.

“The land gets higher and not as swampy past the bend, and, you’ll be able to see the railroad yard.”

“Fens Junction Junction?”

Flash Lock stuck her tongue out at me.

•••

True to her word, after we came around the bend I could see the railroad yard. They had a loading dock that went right down to the canal, and there was a barge tied up there, although I didn’t see any activity around it. Most of the trees along the canal had been cut down, and I could easily see a few strings of railcars lined up on the sidings, as well as a few ponies working in the yard, coupling and uncoupling cars.

One of the railroaders was a pegasus who flew along lines of cars, occasionally swooping down between the rows, before flying back up. I assumed he was some sort of car inspector or car locator—it seemed a needlessly complicated way to find railcars, but then I remembered that there were no better solutions humans had come up with, not unless they were installing GPS in railcars now.

A lot of public vehicles like police cars and busses had numbers on top of them, which was something that the ponies apparently hadn’t thought of. I hadn’t seen any like that at the train station, anyway, but maybe that was less important for passenger trains.

I lost sight of him as a train rounded the very outside track, blocking my entire view of the yard. One of the ponies in the cab leaned out and waved, and I waved back at her.

“That was Reuben,” Flash Lock told me. “In case you were wondering.”

“Do you know all the train engineers?”

“Not all of them, but I know her and her whistle. She usually runs the west route, ‘cause she’s good at getting trains over hills. I don’t see her this far east too often. Somepony must have called in sick.” 

•••

The tracks curved away from the canal, and we settled back into swampland for a short stretch before we came to the actual town of Fens Junction, which was largely situated on a rise above the canal. A pair of fillies peered over the edge as we passed below, and we waved back. As the barge went under the bridge, they crossed over the road so they could get another look at us, and then the two of them galloped off into town. While it was possible that they were excited at having seen a barge, I thought it was more likely that I was the first human they’d ever seen.

Sure enough, as we neared the end of town, the two of them were again leaning on a railing overlooking the canal, and they’d brought some of their friends with them to see, as well. I wasn’t sure what I should do—stand up so they could get a better look? Wave to them like a benevolent monarch as we passed by?

I settled on waving to them, which resulted in not only waves back, but also a cheer from one pony. Mersey turned around to see what the commotion was, looking first at the bank and then back at me before shaking her head and carrying on.

I got the feeling that she wasn’t the kind of pony given to enthusiasm. And now that I thought about it, I hadn’t ever heard her talk. Was she mute?

“Looks like you’re famous,” Flash Lock said.

“There aren’t too many humans out this way, are there?”

“Not really. You’re not the first I’ve seen, if you were wondering. In the old fishyards in Manehattan there’s even a woman who works at a knick-knack shop. I think that’s the first human I saw up close.

“Some ponies are intimidated by how tall humans are, but I didn’t get that impression. Of course, she was working with a minotaur, so she was a lot smaller by comparison.”

“I’ll have to see if I can find her,” I said. “Be interesting to talk to somebody else who’s been in Equestria for a while. See what her experiences have been.”

•••

Our side of the bridge had a basin where barge traffic could wait, and Flash Lock affirmed that the other side did, as well. It was only large enough for barges to pass in one direction, and like the tunnel there was a bridge authority who guided bridge traffic.

It reminded me of roadwork, of people flagging temporary one-way traffic, something unwanted and unexpected for modern-day travellers, but not enough of a bother for the ponies to design something bigger.

Admittedly, there was a lot on the canals I’d seen so far that could have been improved upon but for competition from the railroad. It was both faster and easier to construct, so even while the canal still seemed to serve a viable commercial service, it had probably peaked in terms of traffic.


Mersey stopped the barge just astern of a packet boat, and Flash Lock tied up. Judging by the number of barges waiting in the basin, we wouldn’t be moving all that soon.

Each side of the bridge had a restaurant, and Flash Lock told me that they were both owned by the same mare. There was no reason not to get a meal while waiting for passage to open, after all. 

Between the normal restaurants, the thermopoliums, and the food carts ambitious ponies set up, I thought I’d seen it all, but I clearly hadn’t. Ponies might not want to get off their barges and lose their spot in the queue, so the restaurant came to us—a food truck that floated.

Their boat had some sort of an engine, and shortly after we made fast to the shore, it nosed up alongside. They had everything from hayburgers to casseroles, from soups and stews to pasture grass mixes. They even had a catch of the day which they claimed was caught from the canal or a nearby feeder river, and which could be had cooked or raw.

I decided on a canal fish. Flash Lock ordered a hayburger for herself, an oat porridge for Mersey, and a pasture grass salad for Swanky Brook. She told me that he usually got up after they’d crossed the bridge and was always grumpy and hungry before he had something to eat.

If the waitresses had been in dinghies, that would have been the complete experience, but they weren’t. They did have a pegasus food-runner for the tow ponies, which was thoughtful of them. Some came aboard their barges, while others stayed on shore and gossipped with their friends.

My meal came in a grease-stained sack. Back on Earth, food trucks ran the gamut, and it was hardly surprising that the same was true in Equestria. They’d boned it, breaded it, and fried it, and while it wasn’t gourmet, it was filling. I traded my summer greens side salad with Flash Lock for some of her potato wedges, and both of us thought we’d gotten the better part of that deal.

Mersey had unhitched to use the public bathrooms, and after she’d finished there she came aboard the boat to eat her porridge. She occasionally looked in my direction—I couldn’t figure out if she was checking me out and trying to be subtle about it, or if she thought I might try and sneak up on her and steal her lunch.

Swanky Brook must have been restless—he emerged from the cabin bleary-eyed, his mane completely tangled. Mersey nuzzled him and went down into the cabin for a brush, running it through his mane despite his insincere protests.

Once everyone had finished eating, Mersey hopped off the boat with everyone trash and deposited it in a waste basket, then hitched herself back up to the towrope and sat down on the path, waiting for traffic to start moving.

•••

 

About a dozen barges passed through the basin before it was our side’s turn to cross the bridge. Just as with auto traffic, the queue moved individually, although with more separation. I thought it strange that Mersey didn't start moving as soon as the barge in front of us, although I figured she knew what she was doing.

When she did start moving it was at a very fast walk, until she’d pulled the slack out of the rope. As it pulled taut, she stopped, letting the rebound of the stretched rope do some fo the work to get the barge moving, then dug in her hooves and went to work.

Flash Lock helped her with a barge pole, and then used it to fend off the bank until the boat got up enough speed for the tiller to work.

I’d expected to see a gradual narrowing of the canal as it approached the bridge, an expectation from a lifetime of experience of roads doing that. Instead, there were just stone walls jutting out to make a narrower channel.

Flash Lock angled the boat to the center of the canal well in advance of the obstacle. Mersey kept looking back to see where we were, and I figured out later than I should have that if Flash Lock didn’t line up properly, it was going to be a sudden stop that would pull Mersey off her hooves. I had an idea that she’d done this long enough that she knew where the boat should be, and was verifying that it was moving into position correctly.

As soon as the bow of the barge had nosed into the narrower canal, Mersey picked up speed, then she slowed enough to put some slack in the tow rope and crossed over the canal on a sort-of gate with a wide walkway atop.

I’d thought she was going to open them—there was some sort of mechanism with a pulley and chain alongside the gate—instead, she resumed her normal pace.

I thought they might be spring-loaded, and push aside as the bow of the boat bumped them. I’d seen that arrangement before on amusement park rides.

Instead, the boat bumped into a trip-roller under the water, the chain on the roller advanced a link, and the gate swung open.

Flash Lock noticed where I was looking. “Clever, isn’t it? Used to have to stop and open it by hoof. 

“There’s two rollers under the water, one on each side of the gate, a clockwork mechanism, and some hydraulics that run on canal water to open and close the gate.”

“All because there’s only one towpath on the bridge?” I was assuming, but it made sense.

“Yeah—back when it was built, it was the highest bridge on the canal, and they thought that ponies wouldn’t like to walk on the towpath, so there were stallions who would take the barge across. You could even hire a tillermare if you were too scared to navigate yourself.”

“It was probably cheaper to not put a towpath on both sides, too.”

“I’m sure that was a consideration.”

“If they’d had more money, they could have built it as two channels, with a towpath down the middle.” I mused. “I suppose ponies would have had to cross over at both ends, then, but with those clockwork gates it wouldn't’ have been a problem.”

“When they built it, they wanted to prioritize ponies bound for Manehattan,” she said. “That’s why the towpath is on the right side. Well, for us.”

I’d only just realized, but the canal boats ran on opposite sides of the canal as road traffic did. I was about to ask Flash Lock if she knew why, when the boat crossed onto the bridge.

I’d never been on a bridge on a boat before, so I didn’t know what to expect and fell back on my experience with road bridges.

Road bridges had guardrails. The towpath also had one, presumably to keep an inattentive pony from falling off the edge, but there weren’t any on the other side. With the height of the boat’s deck above the water, I couldn’t even see the stones that made up the channel unless I craned my neck over to the side, so from my view in the stern it looked like we were languidly flying through the treetops.

Then the trees stopped, and I got a view down another canal—it was too straight to be anything else—and then a set of railroad tracks.

“On the north side, the tracks curve around to Fens Junction; this is where Reuben’s train would have come from,” Flanking Lock told me. “And the canal used to connect at Fens Junction, as well, with several sets of locks north of town, but they’re not used any more. Now it’s faster to ship things on that route by train, that’s why. You can’t tell from here, but a couple of the downstream locks have been fixed open except if they’re needed for flood control, so there’s a lot of places where it’s too shallow to run a barge anyway.”

“So there are already routes where you’ve been outcompeted by trains.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “When I was a filly, we’d sometimes barge down that canal, the Manehattan Wey, then they got a little locomotive which could tow two heavy barges at a time, or a string of railcars behind it, whatever was needed. A lot of the bargees scoffed at it, and the towponies didn’t like the narrow tracks it ran on, ‘cause they took up the entire towpath on that side. Plus, it ran both ways on that path, so you had to stop and untie to get around it when it was coming at you.

“Then they got a bigger locomotive and that was more reliable and it could tow up to ten barges or twenty railcars. They had to winch the railcars up at the locks, ‘cause the towpath was too steep for the train to tow them, until they came up with a cog gear on the axles and it could climb that way, and after that it was only a matter of time before ponies stopped shipping anything by barge on the Manehattan Wey.

“Since there was hardly any barge traffic any more, they knocked the slope out of the towpaths, so the trains could get up easier, and that made it even less convenient for ponies. It does get used some, but they only use the east side towpath and the rule is barges headed away from Fens Junction have to give way to the ones going towards it, ‘cause the barges bound for Fens are usually loaded and the ones going away usually aren’t.

“There are a few recreational boats on that canal, and sometimes they get in fights with the working ponies, ‘cause they don’t know the rule. Mostly rich ponies from Manehattan who buy a packet boat and fancy it up.”

We left the valley behind and I turned my attention forward as Mersey crossed back to the proper side over another gate-bridge which obligingly opened as the prow of the barge neared it.

I looked over the stern as we crossed back onto solid land. It wasn’t the biggest or most impressive bridge I’d seen, but it impressed me in its audacity. Surely before, barges had locked down to cross the valley and then back up the other side, and some pony had looked at the lay of the land and decided that building a bridge instead so the barges could get through faster was the obvious solution. It probably saved a day of travel.