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danced across its sleek lines and gleaming, white hull, but the
movement of light was the only motion I could detect.
    Still holding onto the rope, I lay on my front and tried to reach the
handle of the canoe. The tips of my fingers brushed the plastic, but not
enough to wrap them around the grip and I leaned further over the edge, my
cheek pressed to the ground but even at full stretch I couldn’t grasp it. I
clambered back to my feet and bit my lip before heaving on the rope. The front
end of the canoe lifted and I simply hoped it wouldn’t tip and fill with water as
I pulled it slowly upwards. After much effort, the handle was elevated enough
for me to be able to reach and I leaned back to pull the rest of the boat out
after it. It scraped over the sharp concrete edge and I expected that when I looked,
there would be green plastic shavings from my hull curled on the bank. Another scratch to add to the collection. I just hoped they weren’t too deep this time and then wondered why I was
worrying, I wasn’t likely to own it for much longer.
     
    With the canoe out of the water, I slumped onto one of the barrels and
asked Lindsey to pass me the water. Up until now, she’d been standing quietly
by the gear. “Here you are,” she said, passing me the container. There were
only a couple of mouthfuls left in the bottom and so I took a smaller glug than
I would have liked, and passed her the last bit.
    “I’m going to move the canoe, save doing it in the morning,” I said to
her. “You go and see if you can find any water to fill up the bottle.” I
glanced toward the lock keeper’s hut, to see if I could see anyone through the
big, plate glass window in the front of it whom I could ask about camping.
Although we were likely to be back on the river early, I didn’t want any rude
awakenings. “There might be a tap over there.”
    “Okay,” she replied but stayed where she was, watching as I flipped the
canoe upside-down, noting that the damage to the underside didn’t look too bad,
and picked up one end before walking along its length, lifting it as I went.
When I got to the middle and my arms were almost at full stretch, I ducked my
head under the yoke and lowered it onto my shoulders. With the canoe balanced,
it was easy to pivot the other end upwards and walk with it over my head like a
giant, pointed hat. It meant I couldn’t see much other than my feet, but I
heard Lindsey scurrying off to find water.
     
    I’d negotiated a few brick steps and reached the lower end of the lock
when I heard her scream, a piercing sound that could only mean trouble and the
type which triggers an instinctive response. Without consideration of further
damage to the canoe, or to myself, I threw it to the ground and while it landed
with a loud, hollow thunk and rolled, I was already sprinting toward the lock
keeper’s hut.
    Lindsey was standing just outside the door, rooted to the spot with her
hands raised around her face. What I saw when I reached her made me pull up
short and gasp before shoving her aside to avert her trembling stare.
    On the floor, just inside the hut were three - what appeared to be at
first glance - cocoons of white thread. Closer inspection showed them for what
they really were, bodies, tightly wrapped from head to toe in spider silk. The
lock keeper was amongst them, identifiable by the orange of his life-vest
showing through the web and the toes of his shiny shoes, poking out the end.
The others, I assumed, were the owners of the boat in the lock. An ear stuck
out of the side of one of the silk wrapped bundles, a gaudy Pat Butcher style
ear ring trailing from the lobe. Although the bodies couldn’t have been more
than a day old, they were as desiccated as a three thousand year old mummy. A
spider crawled from the decorated ear, not a large one, probably smaller than
the average house spider. Its body was round, with an iridescent beetle-like
carapace and its legs were about twice as long as its body