The Trouble with Old Boats

Garboards

2012-02-29T23:16:00.001Z

After a day of more or less scratching our heads over the mysteries of keel/stem joints and aprons, all became clear on the next and rapid progress resumed on the garboards. In short, by trying to stick with the plans for epoxy/ply, we nearly went down a blind alley. Every boat is different, and this is no exception. And every boat has its moments, no matter how many you have built. But getting out of a corner is what makes it fun (albeit in retrospect).

By the end of the week the centreline and first two strakes should be up, with five more to go. The shape of the garboards was lovely to behold, a sweeping, scimitar that took but a little steaming into the fore and aft rabbets and if all goes as sweetly, then we will be happy indeed.

Pictures are worth a 1000 words, so here they are.

Meanwhile another milestone has been notched up: the 30,000 hits and counting since this blog fired up the woodburner last year. And 45 of you have even joined up as followers, poor fools. I am flattered, nevertheless.

One Week's Work

2012-02-25T10:26:00.001Z

Four hands are better than two, and that goes for two heads. A week into the Arctic Tern build and we have the centreline up, more or less, the daggerboard slot cut and, once the aprons are fastened to the keel, we can finish the rabbet, where it gets trickiest, at bow and stern.

I can't say it's gone twice as fast, maybe a third faster, but it's certainly been easier, and I have already learnt a great deal from a man fresh from two years at Stockholm's traditional boat building school. The result so far is a centreline that is not only super strong but within a gnat's todger of Iain Oughtred's plans, as verified by Viking Boat's laser-controlled levelling system (£12.99 at B&Q, borrowed from our neighbour and aeronautical engineer friend John McIntyre).

So while Mattis gets on with glueing the laminates to the jig, I spend the time making the hog and keel, then we have a chat about what needs doing. It's only then that I realise how dependent I have been on my own company for so long, and how hard it is to put into words what usually swirls around in my head, incomprehensible to all but myself.

As Mattis is from West Cork, there is also a slight language, or at least, accent problem on my part at the moment which, combined with my increasing difficulty in hearing (legacy of too many fast bike rides) makes discussion interesting at times... It reminds me of the old saying about English and Americans being divided by a common language (WS Churchill). But we are getting there.

But I do like the way he will say quietly: "Adrian, I think you may be making a small mistake there" as I reach for something sharp to cut off something absolutely crucial. It's the kind of advice the little voice of caution in my head would have been whispering to me in former times, albeit with a difference: this voice has an Irish accent. Suffice to say, it has already saved me from some expensive mistakes and come up with some simple solutions to the few problems so far encountered.

Establishing the rocker was perhaps the trickiest part, but by a combination of luck and careful measurement the laser beam appears to pick up the waterline close to perfection. If built upside down, as Iain intends his plywood versions to be built, then the jig, would of course, establish the rocker automatically.

Next stage, after cutting the rabbets fore and aft, is to fit the garboards. We will probably depart from Iain's lining out and bring it up a little higher at stem and stern, because timber can be steamed and will take a tighter twist than plywood. We also intend to plank up with seven, not six or eight strakes, the idea being to add three strakes for Iain's two below the waterline, and steadily creep back to his marks by the time we get to the turn of the bilge, but many hours of splines and squinting lie ahead to establish fairness.

So, that's it for the first week. A solid start, some beautiful lamination from Mattis; accuracy and above all enjoyment. Financially, by splitting the build, there'll be less in the bank at the end of the day, but it will be quicker, I will have gained much from Mattis, we will be able to take on more commissions and, on the evidence of progress so far, owners like Arctic Tern's will get a better boat.

Colder In than Out

2012-02-21T20:12:00.000Z

The scene was one of frantic activity at Viking Boats International (plc) Ullapool this morning as the stem and sternpost apron laminates were clamped up and the centreline began to take shape. Like most modern boat shops, this one is provided with full draught recycling air flow, to clear fumes and provide for a healthy working environment, ie we open the shed doors to let the warmth in from time to time.

Aprons on the jigs; hog and keel laminated and moulds trial fitted.

The purpose-built facility is furnished with state of the art equipment and the latest gear, as can be seen in the photo above. The climate-controlled conditions are ideal for the setting of the excellent Collano Semparoc adhesives which Viking Boats has endorsed ever since their introduction a few months back (can I have a bigger discount Mr Robbins?).

Seriously though, the Arctic Tern is taking shape steadily, with the centreline coming along nicely. There's a built-in rocker to the keel, which is laminated in three pieces, and the hog, laminated in two. Next step is to laminate the outer stems, using the apron as a jig. Once the aprons are off the jigs, they can be married to the hog and the whole centreline set up. Once it's all squared up and levelled, we can begin to cut the rabbet and, by the end of the week, who knows, maybe we'll have a garboard or two in place. No rush at this stage, and lots of thinking...

We're Off...

2012-02-20T18:12:00.002Z

The Arctic Tern is underway. Monday saw the hog and keel laminated, and the formers made for the stem and stern posts. Mattis arrived from Ireland to make it all look easy, and already the advantages of two working on a boat rather than one are becoming clear. I've probably learnt as much from him as he has from me, which makes us just about even so far. We have some head scratching over the rabbet to look forward to, as we clearly have our own ways.

If anything my methods tend to be worked out more on the job, whereas Mattis has had the time to work things from plans, which will be useful. My approach is often intuitive. It is as if my hands do the thinking. It's hard to explain in words without doing it.

So far it's working great. Tomorrow we laminate the stems and by the ened of the week we may even have a centreline set up. Then it's garboards time...

Two from Mr Oughtred

2012-02-09T17:00:00.001Z

Spotted these two dinghies outside my shed today and realised they must have been the ones I built recently. It's just nice to have two boats, especially so similar in style, alongside each other for a few days before they depart. A rare occurrence and one I thought I'd better capture while I could.

The smaller of the two is Iain's Guillemot; the larger his Tammie Norrie. The former is built of larch on oak and steamed Scots pine, the latter of Scots pine planking with larch garboards, and timbered out in larch as well, a material I am increasingly using for framing as it steams well, doesn't crack and can be found in long, clear lengths, whereas the slightest flaw in oak and it's in the wood burner.

The stem of the Guillemot is laminated while that of the Tammie Norrie is solid. And while the little boat is for rowing only her big sister carries a lugsail.

The only thing missing is a rubbing strip on the larger boat, probably a simple half round of oak or mahogany, left unfinished as the whole point is that it's designed to rub, so will lose any paint sharpish.

The blue strip on the Guillemot, on the other hand, is more for show as she's left on a mooring and to give that wide top strake a little more lift at the transom.

A Proper Yacht

2012-02-08T22:18:00.002Z

That's what I call a yacht, although I'm not sure what you'd call her skipper... In 1936 Philip Sharp of Poole in Dorset approached Jack Laurent Giles, yacht designer of Lymington, to draw him a 5 tonner for his personal use in the harbour and Solent. Sally II was his answer, based on Andrillot, but sloop rigged and lacking the exaggerated sheerstrake that became a Giles trademark. Built by Elkins of Christchurch, she was launched in the spring of 1937.

After the war, these little cruising boats became the Vertue class, named after the cup awarded to Lawrence Biddle in 1939 by the Little Ship Club, first donated in 1929 by the club librarian Michael Vertue, for an ambitious cruise, 745 miles in 16 days, engineless around the Western Approaches that would, even today, tax any modern yacht of 25ft or so overall.

Sally has won a few races under my ownership these past 15 or so years, and has cruised to Brittany and the West Country, throughout The Solent and as far east as Chichester. By lorry to Edinburgh, she transited the Forth-Clyde Canal in 2001, and made her way up the west coast, to Stornoway and beyond, and now lies to her mooring opposite Ullapool.

She is 75 this year, and as sound in timber as the day she was launched, thanks to her tungum bronze strap floors (as used on hydraulic pipes in Wellington bombers), pitchpine planking and oak timbers, two steamed to every grown frame in the standard construction of the 1930s.

Why the post? Mainly to remind myself that there is more to life than building little clinker dinghies, of the beauty of a perfect sheerline (of which more anon) and that the waters of Loch Broom are connected to all the wide seas of the world.

Launched at Last

2012-01-28T18:01:00.019Z

Today, a day of calm after the previous weeks' gales, was tailor made for the launching of the Tammie Norrie. Pleased? Well, mostly. I have yet to add a rubbing strip to the bottom edge of the sheer strake which will accentuate its natural sweep. And there's a plank somewhere up front that could have been wider by half an inch or so and a couple of other details.

The rig needs tweaking up quite a bit, as the tack is a few inches too low and the luff could do with more tension.

But all in all, I'm pretty pleased. Handles nicely, goes upwind with the board down well; bit slow in stays, without way on. And has a safe, solid feel about her, without being in any way lumpen (a nice word).

And no one around to watch, except for Rona, Bran and Mattis, who is joining me for a few weeks to help with the new project. No onlookers to scratch their chins and mutter (or take unflattering photos of her skipper...!)

An Arctic Tern has Alighted

2012-01-24T10:51:00.002Z

We can eat! The Oughtred-designed Arctic Tern that has been flitting about for a few weeks, has alighted on the roof of Viking Boats International's (Ullapool) shed and will be under construction just as soon as I can clear it of the other projects, notably the Tammie Norrie (finished but awaiting delivery) and the Guillemot, back in for some pre season fettling. There is also a Flying Fifteen and a small grp motor boat cluttering up the place.

Iain has redesigned the boat at 17ft and she will be built traditionally, in larch with Shetland-style framing, not steamed timbers, perhaps the first of his Arctic Terns to be built properly (cue angry cries from epoxy/plywood fans).

She'll be heavier, but will need less ballast than a plywood version. The buoyancy will not be built in, but in the form of bags under thwarts, the boat being essentially open. Iain has drawn her for eight strakes, rather than the original six, but I reckon we could go down to a more traditional seven a side.

After ten years on my own I am being joined by one Mattis Voss, a shipwright from Ireland who spent a couple of years at Skeppsholmens Folkhogskola in Stockholm, during which he built a 21ft haddock boat. He clearly knows a thing or two about Scandinavian types, and is also an aeronautical engineer, speaks five languages and has a CV that quite frankly puts mine to shame. The general idea is that I will simply pull up an armchair in front of the wood burner, light a fat cigar and from time to time say encouraging things as he builds the boat, while I deal with the admin and marketing (and count the cash).

It won't of course be like that. First off, we'll have to see if we get on; and furthermore, if he can stand the cold inside the shed for longer than a few hours, and the leaking roof and the choice of radio station. For this is boat building in the raw, as practised centuries ago in these parts, and the way I would like it to stay, for all its discomforts.

Mattis expects to learn a great deal from me, although I suspect it will be the other way around. Anyway, it seems the Arctic Tern arrived at the right time.

More next week...

2012

2012-01-10T11:07:00.000Z

First of all, welcome and happy New Year to my 37 (loyal but deluded) "followers", which makes me sound like the leader of some sort of sect, albeit one with fewer sectarians than Heinz once had varieties. Thank you for your support and if I had one wish for this blog in 2012, it is for more of you to post comments under the posts. There's no censorship involved and criticism is welcomed as much as applause.

Second (or is that secondly?) a gratuitous photo of girls opening a boat show, an event aimed at attracting hordes of Visa-card wielding males to ExCel in Docklands to buy more plastic boats (of which more later...)

Meanwhile, the Woodfish faering seems to have stalled after an email from the chap suggested that a problem with buying a house in France might delay things. That came as a bit of a relief, as another project seems to have cropped up in the meantime, and I can look forward to the faering, possibly, later in the year, which suits me fine. More time to find top quality larch for the wide strakes.

The weather, also, is horrible and although I have built boats through many horrible winters in the past, this one is just too horrible at the moment for words (although horrid is a good one to describe the remorseless wind and rain we have been getting for the past three months).

I had thought of escaping the gloom for the lights of London's boat show, until I remembered how horrid that was too, the last time I went. And this year sounds little better, albeit smaller. But it will still be wall-to-wall clothing stands offering bargains on garish oilskins; a hall totally devoted to Sunseeker (about whom I will not have a bad word spoken as my godson crafts the Jacuzzi surrounds for the Super Predator ExTreme Ultima) and the Guinness bar. The only bright spot in all this glitzy gloom is the Classic Boat stand, where Dan Houston and his team dispense common wooden sense, while youngsters brave life and limb to climb HMS Victory's mast.

I have it on good authority that the 'Elf and Safety people were insisting on parachutes, life harnesses and full metal jackets at one stage before allowing the little dears to go aloft. But our Dan (whose daredevil young sons embody the spirit of dering-do so lacking in today's iPod youth) managed to stamp on that, and the insistence that those responsible adults ushering the youth of today upwards would need to produce full disclosure of the kind designed to deter perverts and criminals.

So I decided to stay at home and ponder what 2012 might bring, eat the rest of the mince pies, read the pile of books left over from 2011, notably an excellent one by Adam Nicholson on Trafalgar, and meditate basically on life in general and boats in particular.

There's talk too of this being the last London show at ExCel. From its debut, when over 200,000 came, numbers have plummeted to around half, which does not surprise me a bit. Expensive to attend, and enter, halls stuffed with pile em high sell em cheap stalls, much of which is cheaper on the internet, a dearth of wooden boats - in fact boats with any appeal at all - and all in a hall that looks like a Zeppelin hangar from the outside and a Turkish bazaar inside.

So, maybe next year when I may have a better reason to go, if I can persuade Classic Boat to host a stand full of readers' home-built boats, many of which will have sprung from the board of Iain Oughtred, no doubt. It will have to be a mix of plywood and traditional, and one idea that came to mind would be to sit side by side an example each of one of Iain's boats, in timber and plywood and finally thrash out the advantages and disadvantages of both. It would be a project very close to my heart as, over the past year or so, I have softened somewhat my views on plywood. Somewhat...

What Next?

2011-12-31T17:43:00.000Z

Arctic Tern, another Tammie Norrie or that Woodfish faering I was looking forward to building in 2012; it looks like being an Oughtred year, or maybe they'll all fall through and I can dig into my diminishing savings and go sailing for a few months on Sally, whose 75th birthday falls in May.

Whatever the future holds it will no doubt involve boats of some kind. And to my 35 followers (that makes me sound like some kind of messiah), a Happy New Year. All I would ask is that you post a few more comments on my blog. You can't surely let me get away with some of that rubbish without demur?

Just Add Water

2011-12-23T14:55:00.000Z

Well, there she is, finished save for a few last tweaks, and awaiting the water. It's been a long one this; a build that has stretched out over much of the Autumn, because it could. So much else going on that it was nice to be able to pick up and leave off more or less at will, to tackle other things, not least a summerhouse and, for the first time in years, a trip abroad.

Now I've seen a number of Tammie Norries, mostly in glued clinker, and still can't for the life of me understand why Mr Oughtred persists in designing boats with that method primarily in mind. OK, I do, and I respect him for it. It just means that we have to rethink quite a lot of the construction details, notably the centreline. On a plywood boat the keel is slapped on last, whereas this one is made at the outset. Logically, as this is clearly a traditional clinker boat, the plan should be drawn for that method, and modified for glued plywood? Or am I being contentious as usual?

As it happens, I prefer to make up things as I go along, rather than following plans slavishly. This one certainly followed Iain's lining out pretty closely, transom and stem shapes and general arrangement, and yet leaving a whole lot to work out during the building process, which is a huge part of the satisfaction.

Nevertheless I would like to see how Iain might suggest we build this in solid timber one day, with a detailed drawing of the centreline, for example. And maybe add a datum line that does not depend on the boat being built upside down. It's OK if your moulds are all fixed to a jig, as everything kind of jigs itself, but working up from a notional datum at keel level it a bit hit and miss.

Among many changes from the plans, including my own take on the rudder design (mainly due to having a nice offcut of Super Elite plywood, perfect for the job) I simplified the thwarts, and made the aft benches easily removeable, for revarnishing. The floorboards are more workmanlike as well. Who wants to revarnish fancy floorboards every season? These are solid larch, primed and finished in Blakes' deck paint, sprinkled over with non-slip granules.

The whole ethos behind this boat was ease of maintenance. It's a common complaint about traditional clinker boats that they need a lot of upkeep, and it is true, but only if the initial finish is so glossy and so precious that you feel obliged to spend every winter bringing it back up to scratch (or rather removing the scratches).

This one is designed to be used and used hard, with a minium of fuss. She's precious but there's no need to treat her with kid gloves, like some of those show boats you see in which you'd dare not set foot for fear of scuffing the Epifanes. A fresh water hose at season's end, a thorough drying out and a misting with Varnol inside, and maybe a lick of varnish on the thwarts and topsides. I hope that'll be the extent of it most years.

As for weight, I have to say that in solid timber - Scots pine with larch garboards, in this case - the boat is significantly heavier than a glued clinker version, but will sit better in the water I reckon. As for looks, well you can judge for yourself. You know what I feel about plywood and epoxy...

Near Miss

2011-12-16T16:35:00.001Z

She's been afloat for nearly 75 years; next year is the anniversary of her launch in 1937. She's been through a dozen or so owners, and sailed from the north of Scotland to South Brittany and all points in between. She is the second of the Vertue class, brainchild of Jack Laurent Giles and perhaps the most capable small cruising boat ever designed. Vertues have sailed virtually [sic] everywhere there's water and round every cape, headland and ocean. She'll outlive me, with luck, the kind of luck that stood by her the other night.

It must have been sheer luck, and not the strength of her ground tackle and riser - all of which were renewed a few months ago, well before the storm out of the north west swept down on Loggie Bay.

Her near nemesis came in the shape of a huge, rusty steel barge weighing god knows how much. Sometime in the early hours, around high water, this barge that had been lying for 20 or so years on the beach upwind took it upon itself to drift free whereupon it ran amok among the dozen or so yachts and workboats moored in the bay. With winds touching well over 80 mph it must have been horrendous: 20 tons of slab-sided steel careering through the anchorage like the proverbial bull in a china shop. And by a miracle, Sally, and all but one of the other boats was spared, though it must have been by inches, for she lay right in the path of the barge which fetched up on the beach just beyond where Sally lay.

One yacht was not so fortunate; whether hit by the barge as it careered through the fleet, or not, we will probably never know. But she was right in its path and from there to her resting place at Ardcharnich beach is clear water, with nothing to stop her drift.

Next morning, stem badly scarred we found her a few miles downwind, high and dry, holed on her starboard side, her port side badly abraded from bouncing on the pebble beach. With a temporary patch over the hole, Robin and John towed her back to Ullapool that night in the driving sleet, and next day we had her hauled and dried her out against the sailing club wall. Her owner was remarkably sanguine: "She's a lucky boat. Been aground five times now, and survived..." Make up your own mind.

My, How those Long Winter Nights Fly Past....

2011-12-13T23:35:00.001Z

An extract from The Trouble With Old Boats (available from all good remainder shops, Blythswood, Oxfam and secondhand bookshops, priced from 99p, slightly foxed)

Dark and windy night in our Highland crofthouse, no telly, read everything, so we had the Ouija board out. It took me a moment to twig that I’d picked up Horatio Nelson, and it came as quite a shock, especially as I’d asked to be put through either to Horace, a forebear on my mother’s side who was purported to have stashed away a fortune in Kruger rands before passing away while fishing the Test last August, or failing that another relative, Horatio Sprague, US consul in Gibraltar when they towed in the Mary Celeste. No matter; what did England’s most celebrated admiral want, I wondered?

‘Need to set a few things straight, young man.’

Bee in his cocked hat about yachtsman’s ignorance of flag etiquette maybe? Something trivial from the great man. That was often the way with Nelson.

‘’Bout time we buried this Trafalgar nonsense once and for all. What’s it bin? Two hundred years? Bless me soul. Can’t ye leave me old bones in peace?’

Things were looking up. I grabbed my notebook. ‘But we do it to honour your memory, our hero.’

‘Well don’t. And that popinjay who prances around impersonating me with that woman on his arm, ’strewth, they trouble me sorely.' At which I think he meant that actor who impersonates Nelson at nautical gatherings, with a slim Ms Hamilton on his arm.

'Pah! My Emma was, bless me soul, a deuced sight more generously endowed than that slip of a girl. No tumblehome to speak of. Careening her’d be like heaving down a pinnace. My Emma was a first rate. Ship o’ the line. Broad in the beam, well fastened. When I came alongside, threw the grapples and fired me opening broadside…’

I tried to cut him short but he carried on it that vein for some time, speaking of buttock lines, bottoms and stays – naval stuff, you can probably imagine – until I managed to interrupt him, and advise that we lived in more prurient times, and besides, my editor was a Quaker. I lied. He sighed.

‘Pish. Where was I?’

‘Trafalgar?’

‘Ah yes. Trafalgar. Struck down in the thick of the fighting.Ticket to immortality and a prime spot in St Paul’s. Athough I’d have preferred a more weatherly gage. The Abbey perhaps?’

‘So the sparkly medals and the full uniform on the poop deck was on purpose, to attract attention? Kind of, how do I put it, "death wish"?' I ventured.

‘Nonsense. Remember when I left Portsmouth? Dashing down the steps to me cutter in full kit? Gets on board the old Vicky, stows me gear, weighs anchor and we're off Cornwall when – bless me – seems Emma’s forgotten to pack me second best. She’s not only forgot me old brown trousers, me smalls, me cravats, me silk stockings, but she’s sent me off with a trunk load of her stuff. So there I am, off to fight the Frenchies with seventy-two pairs of camisole knickers, in a fetching shade of pink, a t’gallant’s-worth of lace petticoats, fourteen bodices and seven ostrich feather bonnets.

'Typical of the woman. Body like a goddess, brain like a colander.’

‘So it was either the full dress, medals and all, or Emma’s underwear on deck, your lordship?’

‘Exactly. Pink knickers and a feathery hat - not likely to inspire men in the thick of a sea battle. Of course, I kept that for the privacy of me own cabin. Nothing like a freshly laundered pair of knickers on a long passage. Remember we chased them from Ushant to the Indies and back before we cornered them off Trafalgar. Clean underwear twice a week. Splendid.’

‘One more thing, your admiralship. That “Kiss me Hardy” stuff?’

‘Pah. Delirium. I was fast fading and here’s this vision of sobbing loveliness in lace bending over me, bodice heaving, eyes brimming. By my life! It was my Emma! Here at my last! Bliss! So, indeed, yes; I did whisper the immortal words “Kiss me” and “Hardy”, but not in the same breath.

‘When I saw Emma me heart leapt. “Kiss me”, I croaked. Then a pause as the mist cleared and there, instead of my dear one, was me old whiskery mate, flag captain Hardy, inches from me face, ear cocked for me last words, not the blessed Emma after all. “… Hardy?!!!”, I cried, with some measure of surprise.

'Too late. Great wet smacker, on the forehead thank God. Ah well. Beats that fellow whose last words were something about bringing him one of Mr Bellamy’s meat pies, though I wished I’d thought of “I think I can smell burning”. Who said that? Brilliant, quite brilliant, don’t yer think, young man? Must look him up. He'll be lurking about up here somewhere...’

To Catch a Fly

2011-11-28T21:12:00.001Z

Well, they say everyone's doing it the days; publishing books on the internet and crossing their fingers it'll go viral.

So here's the first instalment of a murder mystery, set on the banks of the little river that wanders through our patch of the Highlands. Well, it's not ours, exactly, it just runs through our valley. Kind of like a river runs through it.

To Catch a Fly

An Inspector MacDonald Mystery

CHAPTER ONE

One in the eye

The hooded crow, perched on a branch over the river, cast another quick hungry eye on the bright morsel hanging just out of reach. A cold wind ruffled its black feathers and sent the birch leaves rustling. The crow darted a glance, and seizing its chance, made a violent stab, only to lose its balance in a flurry of small, frantic wing beats. This was the third time he had mistimed the attack, failing to coincide with the inward swing of the small, moist, round object that had attracted his attention that morning, the elusiveness of which was now maddening him, blinding him to all sense of danger.

His first attempt had succeeded only in setting it swinging, like a marble on a string. Then the wind had dropped, the swinging had subsided and for a minute or so the crow could only watch the morsel floating, as if suspended in the air, so close, just feet away. A gust breathed through the trees, catching the ball, setting it in motion once again. The crow, judging his moment, made another stab as it swung towards him. This second attempt was more successful. The sharp beak made brief contact. The crow now sensed the sweetness, and the smell – a delicious odour of incipient corruption that obliterated all other instincts.

Using aerial skills honed over the years of scavenging the hills, the crow flapped noisily from his perch, and judging his approach to perfection, took the eyeball in his opened beak and with a delicious sense of triumph, swallowed it whole.

At once he knew he had made a terrible mistake. Who knows what goes on in a bird’s brain? Had this been a human the horror would have been instant. As the last shreds of optic nerve slipped down his throat, the euphoria of greed evaporated. The twin barbs of the salmon fly on which the eyeball had been expertly impaled bit and held. The 20lb monofilament to which it had been turle-knotted, held fast. The more the bird flapped and struggled, the deeper the hook bit.

At the beginning, four hours before exhaustion set in, and for a second or so at a time, the crow, like a hooked fish sensing escape, managed a few, panic-stricken strokes of flight. The line would then tighten, bringing him crashing to the ground in a tangle of broken feathers. Twice he managed to fly to the opposite bank and get a perch on the overhanging branch of a big rowan. But always there was the hook firmly lodged in his throat and the insidous, near- invisible line snaking down towards the river. Twice, having reached the branch, and recovered somewhat, he had taken to the air, only to be dragged brutally down by the strength of the monofilament and the weight of the 10 weight double-tapered Hardy floating fly line to which it was attached via a short length of heavy sink tip.

Once, in his increasingly frantic attempts to escape, the crow managed to lift the rod tip itself, which lay some six inches under the fast-flowing water of the quarry pool, beside which the matching Hardy Expert rod itself lay, complete with gold anodised Orvis Excel large arbour reel, an outfit that had probably cost its owner, who lay face down in the shingle beside it, around £2,000.

Wishful Thinking

2011-11-21T15:35:00.000Z

Thought perhaps that if I put up a photo of a faering, I might just be building another one soon. Fingers crossed, but if it comes about then it will not only keep me gainfully employed for a few months, but satisfy my longing to build one of Iain Oughtred's most delightful, and my favourite, small boats. The perfection of simplicity.

Choose Your Poison

2011-11-19T10:21:00.004Z

I have just been asked to contribute a piece about modern methods of restoration, you know, how to epoxify your old boat for the next decade. But I found it impossible not simply to reiterate that old mantra: "Restore like for like". If she was copper fastened, with oak timbers, then replace with copper rivets and oak timbers. You can probably justify a little high-end mastic, rather than some ancient, highly toxic concoction, and I would say that epoxy for plank splits, and certainly over a plywood sub deck, are an old boat's life savers, yet generally the traditional stuff is best.

Six litres of Varnol went into the Honduras mahogany planks of this skiff, inside, while the numerous splits in the hull planks were fixed with an epoxy/dust mix, and the topsides then primed with Woodseal before varnishing wth Hempels' Classic

The exception to the rule was my devotion to the now-defunct Woodseal, a single pot clear primer by Hempels, which was great as a first coat under varnish and paint; a really tough first layer, which gripped the wood fibres like egg to a non-stick frying pan (at least ours, until we discovered that frying eggs in butter is the answer). Now it's back to old technology, and Varnol (sometimes mixed with a little Cuprinol) as a first coat under anything, varnish or paint. It also is magic for revitalising old, dried-up, brittle timbers.

So here is my list of poisons. What are yours?

Paints and finishes

Varnol to prime bare wood surfaces, revitalise old, dried up timber and provide a basis for a paint or traditional varnish finish, which can be anything good from International, Epifanes, Hempels etc. Varnol, thinned up to 75% with pure turpentine, provides a superb foundation, which to some extent penetrates into and sticks to the bare wood, and the subsequent paint/varnishes. It can also be left as a final coat, which can easily be touched up by misting with thinned Varnol.

Underwater primer, as a base coat for bottom paint. I don't buy the expensive stuff from the top makers, as it's a pretty simple concoction and my local stockist, Norlands, have a perfectly good alternative at half the price. I'll try and remember the name...

Varnish, best quality from Hempels, (Classic or Favourite), International, Ravilak or Epifanes. No two-pack products. Again, Norlands do an excellent varnish, which is thick and brown and is called Sea Plane varnish, which I like the sound of. Good for general use, and nowhere near as pricey as the posh stuff.

Primer undercoat, (Hempels or International Pre-Kote) often mixed with proprietary enamel to give a semi gloss before the final topcoat. Norlands do a cheap one which is fine.

Hempels Multicoat (for a semi gloss finish that requires one coat, primer/topcoat: bilges in clinker dinghies, for example). Highly rated: tough and easy to apply.

Enamel, best quality ie International Toplac or Hempels.

Black bitumen, to seal the bilges on old boats, after soaking in Varnol, or as a last resort.

With the demise of UCP and Woodseal I am looking for a bulletproof, high tech clear primer, ideally one pot. I suspect I will need to go for International's two-pack clear primer UCP replacement, or the equivalent Epifanes, and try not to waste the mix.

Glues

Collano Semparoc for all laminating. I have also used it as an epoxy substitute when building a clinker ply pram (with epoxy fillets to strengthen joints and seal end grain). Much better than Balcotan, which bit the dust for some reason. I do not mourn its passing...

Epoxy, to mend splits in planks (mixed with wood dust from the plank itself).

A Poem for November

2011-11-17T19:30:00.000Z

THE SEA-KING'S BURIAL

by: Charles Mackay (1814-1889)

"MY strength is failing fast,"

Said the sea-king to his men;--

"I shall never sail the seas

Like a conqueror again.

But while yet a drop remains

Of the life-blood in my veins,

Raise, oh, raise me from the bed;

Put the crown upon my head;

Put my good sword in my hand;

And so lead me to the strand,

Where my ship at anchor rides

Steadily;

If I cannot end my life

In the bloody battle-strife,

Let me die as I have lived,

On the sea."

They have raised King Balder up,

Put his crown upon his head;

They have sheathed his limbs in mail,

And the purple o'er him spread;

And amid the greeting rude

Of a gathering multitude,

Borne him slowly to the shore--

All the energy of yore

From his dim eyes flashing forth--

Old sea-lion of the north--

As he looked upon his ship

Riding free,

And on his forehead pale

Felt the cold refreshing gale,

And heard the welcome sound

Of the sea.

They have borne him to the ship

With a slow and solemn tread;

They have placed him on the deck

With his crown upon his head,

Where he sat as on a throne;

And have left him there alone,

With his anchor ready weighed,

And the snowy sails displayed

To the favoring wind, once more

Blowing freshly from the shore;

And have bidden him farewell

Tenderly,

Saying, "King of mighty men,

We shall meet thee yet again,

In Valhalla, with the monarchs

Of the sea."

Underneath him in the hold

They have placed the lighted brand;

And the fire burning slow

As the vessel from the land,

Like a stag-hound from the slips,

Darted forth from out the ships.

There was music in her sail

As it swelled before the gale,

And a dashing at her prow

As it cleft the waves below,

And the good ship sped along,

Scudding free;

As on many a battle morn

In her time she had been borne,

To struggle, and to conquer

On the sea.

And the king with sudden strength

Started up, and paced the deck,

With his good sword for his staff,

And his robe around his neck:

Once alone, he raised his hand

To the people on the land;

And with shout and joyous cry

Once again they made reply,

Till the loud exulting cheer

Sounded faintly on his ear;

For the gale was o'er him blowing

Fresh and free;

And ere yet an hour had passed,

He was driven before the blast,

And a storm was on his path,

On the sea.

And still upon the deck,

While the storm about him rent,

King Balder paced about

Till his failing strength was spent.

Then he stopped awhile to rest--

Crossed his hands upon his breast,

And looked upward to the sky

With a dim but dauntless eye;

And heard the tall mast creak,

And the fitful tempest speak

Shrill and fierce, to the billows

Rushing free;

And within himself he said:

"I am coming, O ye dead!

To join you in Valhalla,

O'er the sea.

"So blow, ye tempests, blow,

And my spirit shall not quail;

I have fought with many a foe;

I have weathered many a gale;

And in this hour of death,

Ere I yield my fleeting breath--

Ere the fire now burning slow

Shall come rushing from below,

And this worn and wasted frame

Be devoted to the flame--

I will raise my voice in triumph,

Singing free;--

To the great All-Father's home

I am driving through the foam,

I am sailing to Valhalla,

O'er the sea.

"So blow, ye stormy winds--

And ye flames ascend on high;--

In the easy, idle bed

Let the slave and coward die!

But give me the driving keel,

Clang of shields and flashing steel;--

Or my foot on foreign ground,

With my enemies around!

Happy, happy, thus I'd yield,

On the deck, or in the field,

My last breath, shouting 'On

To victory.'

But since this has been denied,

They shall say that I have died

Without flinching, like a monarch

Of the sea."

And Balder spoke no more,

And no sound escaped his lip;--

And he looked, yet scarcely saw

The destruction of his ship,

Nor the fleet sparks mounting high,

Nor the glare upon the sky;--

Scarcely felt the scorching heat

That was gathering at his feet,

Nor the fierce flames mounting o'er him

Greedily.

But the life was in him yet,

And the courage to forget

All his pain, in his triumph

On the sea.

Once alone a cry arose,

Half of anguish, half of pride,

As he sprang upon his feet,

With the flames on every side.

"I am coming!" said the king,

"Where the swords and bucklers ring--

Where the warrior lives again

With the souls of mighty men--

Where the weary find repose,

And the red wine ever flows;--

I am coming, great All-Father,

Unto thee!

Unto Odin, unto Thor,

And the strong, true hearts of yore--

I am coming to Valhalla,

O'er the sea."

Winter is Icumen In (Loud Sing What on Earth Do We do to Amuse Ourselves...?)

2011-11-13T15:39:00.002Z

The Flying Fifteens have all gone to their winter quarters, and the keelboats are chocked up against the storms that will soon batter our shoreline, so what does one do in the winter? I have been toying with the idea of going rowing, something I only ever thought useful for getting from A to B (ship to shore; yacht to pub, etc) and now I see that folk in Ullapool positively relish setting off in their skiff of an afternoon just for the hell of it (and presumably the exercise).

I have it on excellent authority that skiff rowing is addictive. "I get these withdrawal symptoms," one friend told me "if I don't get out on the water at least once a week." And it is not, definitely not the menfolk of the village who feel the need to brave the autumnal weather; but the women, who seem to have taken to skiffing like, well you tell me? Ducks to water sounds a bit sexist. Nevertheless, it is a phenomenon. Defies analysis. Is it the desire to keep fit? Escape household drudgery? The children? Husbands? Develop biceps big enough to wallop them with impunity when they stagger home from the pub?

Photo copyright Chris Perkins

I strongly suspect a bit of all that, but mostly a way of getting afloat without being shouted at, the curse of so many water-borne relationships. Five women in a boat and you have a crew. Add a man and more often than not he'll just start yelling and telling everyone how it should be done (although this is absolutely not true of our A team whose cox is the acme of calm and quiet authority) and arguments inevitably ensue.

I have it in mind to study this phenomenon more closely over the winter with a view to publishing a paper in the Journal of the Institute of Human Behaviour under the title "The Ladies Who Launch [OK, not an original title] or Why Women Prefer Rowing to Rowing.

And I might even go rowing myself... Alone.

Back Again

2011-11-12T21:31:00.000Z

Nothing much to write about so I didn't these past few weeks, and yet, strangely, the stats tell an interesting story. It's as if those who chance on this blog have taken the time to catch up on all the stuff they may have missed in the past. Certainly there seems to be no discernible let up with the graph showing a steady three or sometimes as many as four people a week popping in.

No, it's more than that, he says immodestly. To date nearly 23,000 people have taken an interest, or maybe that's 23,000 hits from 1 stalwart? Who can say. Whoever you are, thanks.

News afoot, with the possibility of another faering to build, a launch for the South of France, another Tammie Norrie and a rowing boat for an estate up north. If all come to fruition I'll eat my apron. Indeed I hope they do not, as it will leave precious little time to celebrate a 75th birthday which falls next year. Yes, Sally II will have passed three quarters of a century, quite a feat for any boat. And last time I had a peak in her bilges, all was as sound as the day she slipped down the ways at Elkins in Christchurch.

Pitch pine planked with steamed oak timbers between grown timbers, copper fastened with a lead keel, the secret perhaps of her longevity is her strap floors, which tie the centreline together, basically, bridging the planking via the keel and bolted to the timbers. Tungum; that's the name of the stuff her first owner specified, for he'd read about this miracle metal in some journal, and its use in Wellington bombers' hydraulic pipes.

I've seen many bilges from that pre-war era, and most have a mixture of iron floors, copper and bronze fastenings, oak timbers and mahogany planking, which is a recipe for disaster down the line. So, a little foresight, and an extra £15 10s 6d in 1937 has ensured that Sally is still afloat (or was the last time I saw her, this morning when I drove to my shed to varnish the mast on the new dinghy).

New Day, New Photo

2011-10-20T22:01:00.000+01:00

This is one of my favourite boats, and the smallest I have built to date. Built on spec, she's now owned by the young lead guitarist of one of the world's best-known singer's backing band. I have it on good authority that he's often to be seen out in the bay, on his own, presumably as far from the mad world of gigs and tours and venues and screaming fans as it is possible to be.

The design is by Karsten Ausland, in effect a small version of his Jan sjekte, of which I have built two 18ft versions and a couple of 16-footers, tweaked as to midship section but essentially as they came off his drawing board in the 1930s.

But it's this little son of sjekte that I like most. She's a bit unstable on her own, alighting on the water like thistledown, and stiffens up beautifully with a little body weight. Just like a fast rowing boat show be. And she just flies along. I can't think of a nicer little rowing boat. After all, what do you want? A boat that's stable and sluggish or light and fast? And she' a delight in a seaway, riding the waves like a bird.

Wish I hadn't sold her sometimes as she's the kind of boat that one day I will build for myself. Why would you want anything else and, just so as you don't think I haven't forgotten my old prejudices, why on earth would you want something made of plywood, when you can have the real thing? There, just so you don't think I've gone soft on the awful stuff.

Lapstrake (but not as we know it)

2011-10-16T09:12:00.000+01:00

I suppose it has some similarities to building clinker boats, yet Oh how I wish it were that easy. Some people think the planks on a boat are simply that: planks, parallel sided, and all you do is slap them around a set of formers. Now, we all know this will not a boat make; more like a box, which is what I've been up to these last few days, namely a log cabin.

Have to say that all those straight lines did not come naturally, or the need for absolute squareness. Not that boats are not meticulously trued at every stage, or you'd get one side rising faster than the other. It's just the absence of curves that made me glad I was not engaged in the business of house building rather than boat building. It becomes kind of monotonous after a while laying down identical lengths of spruce, notching them into each other and banging them with a mallet.

But it's done now and the result is pretty good; a place to sit and admire the view. What's more it's light, whereas croft houses up here tend to be dark, with small windows dating from a time when the view was the least of your concerns. It was more a case of coming in from the fields, wolfing your porridge in front of a meagre peat fire and scuttling up to bed with Morag holding a guttering candle. Must have been a miserable experience as these little cottages are hardly the best insulated, and certainly not in those days with earth floors and only thick walls to keep out the cold, rather than good old Kingspan thermal insulation.

I was told that a few inches of modern insulation is equivalent to a few feet of stone wall. Our log cabin has 130mm thick walls, a sandwich of spruce and insulation which means it's like one of those cooking boxes filled with straw in which you put your caserole in the morning and it's done to perfection by supper time.

Back to boat building next week with the added bonus that the third instalment is now safely in my bank account. Nothing like dosh to inspire you. And once again, an owner who is a joy to deal with. I'll work out how many boats and owners I have worked for in the last ten years one of these days but what I can say is that none of them baulked at paying; there has never been a formal contract with any of them and, with one exception, they all seem to have been happy with what I built for them. At least no one has come back to me with anything more than the usual wooden boat problems such as what varnish to use; and why is one side of my boat six inches higher than the other, to which I reply "natural movement of the timber. Quite normal."

Only joking...

Plus ca change...

2011-10-04T08:43:00.000+01:00

Back from Brittany (balmy breezes, bright sun, baguettes, crepes, galettes, wine, flowers) to wall to wall gales, driving rain and Tesco's best. Why can't they bake French bread in Britain, or at least in Ullapool? Why is their cheese so bland? And their tomatoes tasteless, and, and...

We have a great local baker (struggling no doubt against the odds) but there's nothing like the taste of a baguette bought in the early morning from a boulanger, carried home on the handlebars of an old bicycle and eaten with unsalted butter and French jam. We live like peasants up here. Well, I wish we did. French peasants eat far better than us, with the exception of the sea food available here, most of which is shipped off to France and Spain. (And personally I hate crabs... indeed most things that crawl about under water).

Sometimes it's hard to understand why we choose to live up here. Visitors go "ooh, what a lovely view... and we saw a deer too" and trip around the hills marvelling at the wild beauty. Those of us who live here see a landscape blighted by sheep grazing and denuded of trees by those same overpopulated deer, tolerated simply because shooting brings in money for the estate owners and adds to their value (and to hell with the damage to the countryside, let alone vehicles that habitually meet with them on dark nights).

No, for all the wild beauty of the Highlands there are some serious imbalances up here. Don't get me started as I would then have to enumerate all the blessings we enjoy: viz no cars, clean air, fresh water from those same hills (albeit tainted a wee bit at times by sheep and deer poo) good company, honest friends, great sailing (sometimes) etc, etc.

Anyway, enough of the post-Brittany blues. There's a dinghy awaiting a mast, and a lot besides so it's back to the grindstone and the charms of a draughty milking parlour and rain splattered iron roof. Once the radio's on and the coffee brewing it won't be too bad. It's just getting back into it after ten days that's the problem.

Off to France

2011-09-21T11:30:00.001+01:00

At last, a holiday. With the Tammie Norrie at a nice stage of completion, it's time to take a break from the awful weather up here and head south for a few days. When I get back it'll be to make a start on the spars, flip her over and work on the bottom with a view to a late October delivery.

It's been a leisurely build to date, but it's time now to up the pace as there's another on order which I hope will keep me occupied over the winter.

Scottishboating.blogspot.com

2011-09-14T17:08:00.010+01:00

I won't quote the whole post, as it would detract from Ewan's own excellent blog, but it starts well and gets better and is a measured response to my last post.

Read on, then go to Scottishboating.blogspot.com

'Adrian Morgan has just posted an interesting article on The Trouble With Old Boats, bemoaning the lack of profit in traditional boat carpentry, which he fears is partly caused by competition from colleges of boat-building taking on restorations as cost-subsidised teaching aids. His post ends with the words

' "Ultimately it's the likes of us, unfunded and unsubsidised what's trying to make a living from building boats, and a craft that can't scratch a living is irrelevant and deserves to die out".

'Some of the comments are reminiscent of the complaint by my wife's friend Pat, a now-retired professional opera singer, who would sometimes be approached after a performance by patrons asking "And what do you do during the day, dear, when you're not singing?" It's terribly easy for those on the outside looking in on what appears to be simply an enjoyable activity to forget that there's actually a lot of skill, self-discipline and time involved.

'Actually I suspect that the competition from the colleges isn't sufficient in terms of size to make a significant impact on the rest of what is admittedly, in the UK at least, a cottage industry...'

Well worth reading the whole piece, which ranges far and wide.

Speak for Yourself (2)

2011-09-12T18:25:00.000+01:00

A couple of comments from people made me think I had not expressed myself clearly enough in my last ramble (below). So I've edited it. Those who read it the first time might like to revisit it with fresh eyes.

Speak for Yourself (edited)...

2011-09-09T08:49:00.008+01:00

Any professional boat builder who says: "Well, I don't do this for money. Just for the love of working with wood, recreating the beauty of a bygone age, keeping the old traditions alive..." etc, etc, blah, blah, blah, is either reliant on a pension, independently wealthy or growing skunk in the loft.

Well I'll have you know that I, for one, am very fond of money and nothing makes me happier than the sound of an envelope being torn open to reveal the down payment on a new dinghy. My writing brings in a meagre sum every year, and decreasing steadily as fewer people are drawn to my erratic ramblings, which leaves me increasingly reliant on scratching a living in what the late John Leather, author and designer, yacht historian and brutal realist called "a precarious and unrewarding business..."

By which he certainly didn't mean we should not do our utmost best to make a go of it, but be aware of the difficulties and frustrations. John was not a romantic, but a true lover of boats and as keen as anyone to keep "the old traditions alive..." etc, etc. That had to be, in his view, of secondary importance, however, to earning a living plying a viable trade.

Those who build boats as a hobby have my full support and admiration. They can afford to build them to perfection, innovate, experiment. Who's counting the hours anyway? I and most of those foolish enough to build wooden boats commercially try and build as quickly as they can, for speed is good in many ways, not least your eye and hands keep fresh from day to day. And speed, of course, equals money.

So, the boat building perfectionists with a little more time on their hands are admirable. No one does it better. Admirable too are the charitable trusts and the training establishments. However, in passing on the skills, or keeping youth off the streets, are they helping potential boat builders secure commissions by taking on commissions themselves, at lower rates, or making it harder?

Ultimately it's the likes of us, unfunded and unsubsidised what's trying to make a living from building boats, and a craft that can't scratch a living is irrelevant and deserves to die out.

Getting There

2011-09-07T09:36:00.000+01:00

Thwarts in and more Varnol misted all over and the little boat is beginning to smell the water. I have simplified the aft seating plan from Iain's drawings, which seemed a bit too involved, and in my version the side benches can be simply unscrewed to give better access, something I am keen on in a clinker boat which needs to be washed out periodically. Easier to keep varnished too when the time comes.

Jobs to do include fitting the knees, making the foils and mast, turning her over to finish the bottom and a myriad of little things involving shiny bits of expensive bronze.

Getting There...

2011-09-02T09:55:00.000+01:00

The timbers were steamed in last week and the gunwales, breasthook and transom knees went in over the last day or so, and the whole of the inside given another good soaking in Varnol and Cuprinol. I have discovered a technique whereby you mist the Varnol/pure turpentine mixture using a garden spray (the hand-powered type). The mist seems to settle and cover the surfaces better than using a brush, and it's a breeze to apply a few coats, lightly misted whenever you feel like it, building up to a satin surface, which I find more pleasant than a shiny, yacht sheen.

I call my finish "smart fishing boat" and it seems a more honest and practical way to treat boats built and used up here in the Scottish Highlands. Maintenance involves a freshwater hose down, vacuum and more Varnol, misted over the durfaces.

The Varnol also provides an excellent primer to a final coat of varnish, if that's what you like, and in this case a coat or two of white paint on the bilges (the first two planks up from the keel).

Lovely smell too...

Progress

2011-08-26T20:12:00.000+01:00

Another week, and another milestone. Timbers now steamed in over a period of days and ready for fitting out.

Can there be anything more beautiful than a clinker boat at this stage of building? Why, I ask myself, would anyone want to replicate such a boat using plywood and schmoo... OK, it's not easy but so satisfying. There are imperfections that cannot be replicated, but make such a boat truly hand made. Some of those timbers are a little more (or less) than exactly 8in apart, for example. Gosh...

I am not a machine...

Now for the Fun Bit

2011-08-19T08:56:00.004+01:00

It is always a relief to finish the planking, enjoyable though it is, and stand back for a while before the next stage, which in this case is to face the centreboard case of the 14ft Tammie Norrie with Scots Pine before timbering out begins. The inside has had a few coats of Varnol, mixed with varnish and a drop of Cuprinol, a secret mix that I hope after a few more coats of varnish will ensure longevity and minimal maintenance.

But thinned with pure turps, it does seek out any gaps in the lands, and is thus a pretty good indication of closeness of fit.

Aside from a few characterful knots (sealed with UCP), which are pretty much unavoidable unless you want to trash all but the clearest timber, she came out well, the pine a nice contrast to the larch timbers steaming in next week. I've gone for larch as I have never seen a break in a larch timber (rib), but plenty in oak ones.

More next week. Meanwhile it's the Royal Loch Broom Sailing Club regatta this weekend. After last week's superb skiff racing regatta, in which Ulla's ladies (women, girls... help me someone) stormed to victory, this will be a more relaxed affair, motion provided by the power of the wind, rather than the size of bicep which, in Ulla's case, collectively, circumferentially would probably encircle a large oak tree. See what I mean?

(one of) Ulla's moment(s) of triumph, captured by Chris Perkins

Now I'm in real trouble...

Overlooked however in the adulation heaped upon our fearless four (Fiona, Kas, Bev and Sue, with John at the steering wheel) was Loki's performance against the top men's competition from Achiltibuie and Portobello.

This was A class racing against the best, and the Loch Broom Sailing Club's team took two bronze medals, pushing silver at times, while the women's 35+ team took a third, and without even breaking sweat (or whatever ladies/women/girls do. Glow, I believe?)

Two golds and three bronzes then for Ullapool's skiffs. Better and better...

All Planked Up

2011-08-12T19:12:00.001+01:00

So wooden boat building isn't wasteful eh? I have to say that the Scots pine I bought was cut to 3/4in, not the usual 5/8in which meant thicknessing down (don't you mean thin nessing?) to 12mm, or a gnat's goolie under half an inch. So that's about a quarter of the planks lost to shavings. Or is it a third? Never one for figures.

Note the mixed measurements: sometimes mm will do, other times feet and inches. Just depends on what' being measured. Then there's a tad, a smidgeon and a fag paper fit.

I did manage to get two strakes out of every board, by a whisker, and lots of juggling of spile board. Satisfying to make the absolute most of the Queen's Scots pine (from her estate at Balmoral, don't ya know).

The Tammie Norrie is now planked up and ready for a long, enjoyable spell of sanding and cleaning. That'll be the first job for next week. Problems? A few. The usual ones trying to get out planks while avoiding knots and the blue coloured areas of sap, which I believe are the sugars in the timber. I was told it was winter felled, but I'm not so sure now. Maybe very early spring. Maybe someone can tell me.

So, mid-August, 20 working days down the line and we have a boat shaped object which, up until now, has been good only to keep my tools in. It's one of the nice things about building a boat: you build your own toolbox as you go, which means nothing gets lost. Well it does, but you know it's in the boat somewhere.

PS The sheerline has yet to be trimmed, just in case you were wondering...

Another I did Earlier

2011-08-04T08:09:00.000+01:00

The new heading photo shows the stage of building a boat I like perhaps the best - when all the planking is done and it's just a case of fitting the knees and other bits and pieces. All the shiny roves gleam in serried ranks, set against the gold of the larch planking, the shape defined by the steamed timbers. It's the moment when you stand back and say "Gosh/goodness/blimey (etc) did I really make that?" It's the culmination of a number of small processes, spiling, cutting planks, thicknessing, dry fitting, cutting jerrolds or gains, steaming... All of which must be done methodically and as meticulously as possible over a period of 10 days or so, before the moulds can be taken down and the timbers steamed in. It's why, despite the complexities and frustrations, I build boats in solid timber.

Too Busy to Blog

2011-08-02T19:10:00.000+01:00

So here's one I did earlier... while "aprenticed" to the lads at Ullapool Boat Builders.

Find me an amateur boatbuilder who doesn’t aspire to stand alongside time-served professionals in a working yard; handle the big machines; turn a pile of timber into a hull; steam and rove up straight grained oak; craft gunwales, thwarts, knees and finally launch the fruit of months of intense labour (and hours of sleepless nights). In short, to live the nostalgia, the romance of wooden boats...

Whoah. Romance? Nostalgia? Slips of the keyboard. After 12 months working alongside the partners at a busy traditional yard in the North West Coast of Scotland, I have to confess that this ancient and increasingly anachronistic occupation is - as the designer and author John Leather suggested in a letter I am sure he won’t mind my quoting - a ‘fragile and unrewarding thing to do’. ‘Nostalgia’ or ‘romance’ do not appear in John’s Pocket Oxford.

Now I take his ‘fragile’ in the sense that profit margins are as slender as a Dragon’s bow and for financial rewards you would indeed be advised to look elsewhere for a career. Oscar Wilde famously said that to make money and gain status in this world simply apply yourself, study hard and become a lawyer. While most people can be a lawyer, not everyone is cut out to be a boatbuilder. A year down the line I have built two boats, and the biggest compliment paid to me (and ever likely to be paid) was ‘not bad for a journalist’.

That does not, alas, make me a boatbuilder; it takes more than the skills to shape a plank, spile accurately, cut a bevel or steam timbers to call oneself a boatbuilder. Apart from the ability to weld, sister a frame in the depths of a rotting fishing boat, cut a thread in a piece of aluminium bronze or make a set of moulds from a photocopied lines plan you need to get on with all your colleagues, avoid wastage and, above all (although time spent thinking about a problem is indeed time well spent) cultivate speed.

Alas, on the first two counts. As to the third, I must have spent four months out of 12 thinking; which is far too long. Most people with some manual dexterity can build a 15ft clinker dinghy to a reasonable standard in five months and sell it for £4,000. Taking materials into account, say £1,500, that leaves £2,500, or £500 a month. That’s £6,000 a year. Hmm. Sharing the running costs of the yard - perhaps £150 a week- and you’d be losing £1,800 a year. No, the secret is speed. Turn out a boat in five weeks and it begins to make sense. Albeit fragile sense.

I have learnt a huge amount in my time at the yard, and yet at the back of my mind lurked the knowledge that my livelihood did not depend on building boats. To be brutal: if I had been doing it for a living I’d have gone bust in the first six months. Which makes the bravery of the handful of traditional yards that still eke out a fragile living in the country all the more admirable.

Until people are once again prepared to pay honest money for an honest wooden boat, and crucially pay up on time, keeping the flame alive will depend on us amateurs. We can take the luxury of spending three days polishing rivet heads. Trying new ways to do things done for centuries one way. Above all we can afford to be romantic. For the yards it will always be a question of watching the pennies and the clock.

And yet I have a sneaking suspicion that no boatbuilder ever quite believed he was ‘just doing a job’, toiling from daybreak to sunrise in a draughty shed turning out objects of desire for rich yachtsmen. Fragile and unrewarding it may have seemed, yet the best of them must have clung to some sense that what they were doing was more important than the work of a lawyer, bringing home more in a week than they could in a month.

What about that old fellow who stopped by the yard last month, the one who built clinker lifeboats for the Queen Mary. Was it just a job? In which case, after building hundreds of boats, why had he taken such a keen interest in mine? Surely the R- and the N-words. Sadly, in a business where the difference between profit and loss can be the price of a box of roves, romance or nostalgia, however essential ingredients, are not enough.

(Slightly non-PC) Observation for the Day (but it was written BC)

2011-07-27T08:30:00.001+01:00

Who wishes to give himself an abundance of expense let him equip these two things: a yacht and a woman. For nothing involves more expense, if you have begun to fit them out. Nor are these two things ever sufficiently adorned, nor is any excess of adornment enough for them.

Titus Maccius Plautus (c. 254 BC – 184 BC)

Now, where's the Gael Force catalogue...

PS And welcome Thomas Armstrong, 26th follower.

Building by Numbers

2011-07-20T21:24:00.001+01:00

Brandon need not worry about mistakes in Iain's plans. Not for a boat that's built traditionally. I saw Mark Stockl the other day, and we discussed his Guillemot. Almost nothing is according to the plans. Mark hates building by numbers so, I imagine, he just took the sections, set them up as moulds on a backbone and got planking. Probably ignored the lining out too as that would have taken away the pleasure of using his own eye, rather than the designer's.

I am sure that a detailed set of plans is essential for building an exact plywood Guillemot, or Tammie Norrie for that matter, but who wants a clone of the last Guillemot or Tammie Norrie?

And it's much the same with me. Having been taught all I know by Mark it's not surprising that I agree entirely with his philosophy. Give me a shape, preferably taken from an old boat with a lovely hull form, and let me do the rest. Who cares if there's a missing dimension (or three). It's an organic thing, building in solid timber. Iain's plans are works of art, but provide only a starting point for the likes of Mark and, to a lesser extent, myself.

Of course I will be trying to stick as close as I can to Iain's plans, but already the temptation to go my own way in matters of detail is overwhelming. That way I can say, for good or ill, "that's my boat". It has something of my character in it. Which is why I hate building by numbers, or building in plywood a lovely boat like the Tammie Norrie that simply cries out to be built, how should I say? OK. Here goes... cries out to be built properly, larch, oak, copper nails, (you know the rest).

And for those following the build, here are some taken today. The centreboard case, you will note, is built like a cassette, which slots down into a widened slot. The sides are 5mm ply, which will then be faced in larch. I reckon it's a better way of building a centreboard case.

What a Fine Boat

2011-07-19T18:42:00.000+01:00

What grace, what beauty. Yes, that's Ffly, my Flying Fifteen last weekend of the Tall Ships. And those other, bigger white things mating in the background. One's called Gloria, the other Christian Radich, not that you'd want to know...

Progress

2011-07-19T18:29:00.000+01:00

By the end of the week a plank or two may well be sprouting from the backbone of the Tammie Norrie taking shape in the shed. This time around I will be taking photos of every stage, as it took a bare four months for me to forget almost everything I had painstakingly worked out for the Guillemot.

You see the plans for both boats have a datum that is based on a building frame, the plywood version being built upside down. Everything kind of self jigs, once you get the moulds set up.

But it's not done like that when you build traditionally. I needed a datum to help me set up the centreline, and that would have been the bottom of the keel, which is straight. Trying to work out the curve of the rocker and depth of the skeg, for example, was tricky, but a string through the point where the centrelines of the moulds met the waterlines was better than nothing. And in any case I was going to cut down the depth of the skeg to make the sailing version handier.

In the end I set the moulds up with legs on the floor, braced from the roof joists, the floor then becoming the datum. Once the garboards are on it'll be turned over, set up on the strongback and the moulds braced to the ceiling.

One day Iain Oughtred says he'll get round to drawing a centreline for a traditionally built Tammie Norrie. Until then, it's a case of winging it, which is why building by hand and eye, with a glance at the plans from time to time, is so much nicer than building by numbers. Albeit a bit of a head scratch from time to time.

Required Reading...

2011-07-10T10:34:00.003+01:00

...apart from this load of old c***lers is Sam Llewellyn's very promising new Marine Quarterly. You probably know Sam for his nautical thrillers (and occasional contributions to the thinking gardeners' quarterly Hortus to which Sam's dinky little, impeccably produced Marine Quarterly bears a striking resemblance in terms both of size and excellence of content.) It's even got a proper colophon (Ha! That's got you thinking, eh?)

I was hoping Someone would buy me a subscription for my birthday and the catalyst came after reading an issue of Hortus, a subscription for which I had bought for Her Who gardens. Inside was a flyer. Within days she had reciprocated, and a packet arrived soon after with the first two issues of the Marine Quarterly, which I am now devouring.

All this pompous preamble boils down to this: if you are a lover of all things nautical, and literary and want an alternative to the repetitive yachtie porn that masquerades as sailing journalism these days ("How to service your outboard"; "Building a plywood pram"; "Seven chart plotters on test"; "Whittling a thole pin"; "Fitting out the easy way"; "Fog in the Channel: a cautionary Tale..."; "We sail the new Suneteau 43" etc etc) then take out a subscription to Sam's Marine Quarterly.

One day I may pluck up courage to submit something of my own, but I am in no doubt about the high standards from the likes of Tom Cunliffe, Roger Taylor of MingMing fame, Alex Ramsay (who sailed with Tilman) and Sam himself.

Now, back to the comfy armchair...

www.marinequarterly.com

We're Off...

2011-07-08T18:44:00.000+01:00

Progress since Tuesday on the Tammie Norrie has been patchy, but as of today the centreline is taking shape. The timber for the transom is on order, a composite of Super Elite 12mm faced with larch. On the inside or outside? Haven't yet decided. I have to admit that plywood has its place in a traditional boat: the transom, so long as one side is real. I think it might look rather good: larch on one side, mahogany on the other, and the top capped to hide the end grain. But I have asked Robbins, the supplier, to please, please select a piece with a grain that looks the part, rather than that strange squirrely pattern.

So that's it for the week. The rabbet's cut, barring the section meeting the transom, and centreboard slot marked out. The stem is one piece, the two sections tenoned together with an ancient piece of iroko, the inner face of the apron capped with a laminate of larch, and I'll probably cap the outer stem similarly, but with oak - a kind of larch sandwich, rather than a laminate which eats up timber, requires a jig, rapid working and masses of glue and pressure, two words with huge disaster potential.

And would you believe, as soon as I began work it all came flooding back. Maybe two plywood boats in a row had wiped my mental slate clean. However, this time I wll be taking photos at every stage, including the crucial centreline structure so next time I won't have to scratch my head too long or, as I usually do, soak in the bath with my eyes closed visualising every stage of the build. Nearly drowned last Sunday. Fell asleep counting rabbets...

Back to Work

2011-07-06T17:19:00.001+01:00

Gun punt gone; Nutshell pram gone; loch boat gone, so a few days off were just what I needed before work began on the Tammie Norrie.

And do you know, it took me a day of head scratching to remember how it all goes together. Thing is every time I build a boat I look to ways of doing things a little differently, which is one of the joys of building from scratch. Iain Oughtred's plans are superb, but they don't really go into much detail about how to build in traditional clinker, and, believe me, there are differences, beginning with the centreline.

In a ply/epoxy boat it's all planked onto the keelson or hog, and the (outer) keel gets plonked on at the end. In a traditional boat the keelson/keel assembly forms a T shape, and the rabbet is worked into where the two join. And it all gets a little interesting where it joins the stem, which can be made solid or laminated in two parts, just like its ply counterpart.

And there are so many ways to make that vital join. I was taught to half joint the inner stem (apron) to the outer keel, and blend the keelson into the apron, with a knee to strengthen the join, but in Iain's plans the apron sits on top of the keelson, making a sandwich with the outer keel. Too complicated to explain, and my head was spinning by the time I figured out (or remembered) how it all went together. Best to draw it (which I did with the centreboard case (above).

In the end I went for a solid one piece stem, which will mean chiselling out a rabbet, rather than forming the rabbet by slapping the outer stem onto the apron (after planing the protruding planks flush). It's always been a problem lining up the hood end screws in a two-part laminated stem. I am sure there's a clever trick to scribe a screw line on the ouside of the plank by following the fore side of the apron, using some contraption that straddles the excess plank end, but I've not discovered it, and thus every so often a screw gets a touch too close to the edge, or too far away, resulting not in that elegant curve of screws but a bit of a detour.

Not so with a rabbet. You can get those screws in bang where you want them, although fitting the plank ends is not quite as easy as simply planing them flush.

All pretty esoteric boat building stuff, for which I apologise.

But you can see at least what a stem/keel joint looks like as drawn by Mr Oughtred. Mine will have the same profile but not the same construction. Which means next time I build a boat I'll spend another day trying to remember what I did the time before.

PS And those monetary calculations are before the carriage was added (stuff from Robbins, if you must know...)

14,000!

2011-06-28T18:31:00.000+01:00

Just hit the 14,000 mark. Strikes me there are some funny people out there, hunched over hot computers rather than in their sheds building lovely wooden boats; bathing the kids; walking the hills; brushing up their tennis; indeed all the worthwhile things they should be doing rather than logging in to this load of....

But welcome all!

Question: What is the Boat Doing?

2011-06-28T09:29:00.008+01:00

There's a clue in a previous post, but can you (without peaking) tell me what this boat is up to?

The answer is that she's a scallop diving boat, going about her work, quite properly, and there's a diver somewhere underneath. The point surely is: would you not make absolutely clear your intentions if you had any doubts about your indentity being misconstrued? Would you not, with a man in the water, employ every correct IRPCS signal to make sure approaching boats keep well clear? Would you, in short, with a human life at stake make your purpose unambiguous? Rather than an A flag that can't be seen, and lights during the day which risk being obscured by bright sun and no day signals.

No one was at fault; it was simply a misunderstanding that could, surely, have been prevented. If the sailing boat skipper (an extremely experienced yachtsman on passage back from Norway at the time) had had any inkling of what he was approaching, then things might have turned out differently, avoiding action taken earlier and a cheery wave would have ensued.

Welcome 23rd

2011-06-27T23:41:00.005+01:00

It wasn't that long ago that I was waiting with bated keyboard for the 10,000th "hit" and now it's up towards 14,000. Plus there's a Dennis Willard just signed up, so welcome. I would love to know what all the other 22 followers signed up to read. More of the same nonsense I imagine. Let's hope you are not too disappointed. At least no money changed hands.

As I write Peggy Lee is singing Sunny Side of the Street, the sun is down finally after a glorious day that makes the Highlands worth living in, the shed's swept and ready for the next commission, deposit paid, there is a shhhmall glasshh (they call it a dram up here for my one Iranian follower) of Ardbeg by my computer, the gun punt went south yesterday and all is, temporarily, well with the world. Well, it's not well to be honest, listening to the news, but certainly in this neck of the world things could be a lot worse.

Just heard that Thembi left from the Faroes today en route to Jan Mayen (see posts below). Bon voyage. Meanwhile another club member arrived back from Sweden with his new yacht. All went well until, spinnaker up, he came upon a fishing boat in Edrachilles Bay, in the middle of a very narrow passage. Turns out it's a scallop diving boat. Now, tell me, no A flag visible, no day shapes (but lights signifying restricted in ability to manoeuvre, against the sun mind you), no indication which side he had a diver down; what's our man to make of it, under spinnaker with no room to manoeuvre either. Narrow miss. Angry words...

Wimp

2011-06-22T19:13:00.000+01:00

Some are born brave, and intrepid; some are, well, a little wimpy. As Thembi (see below) and Sumara, a Vertue class sloop, head for Jan Mayen, my own Vertue lies at her mooring dreaming of an owner with greater cruising aspirations than a gentle circumnavigation of the Summer Isles (about 20 miles, more or less).

I have an excuse though: Sally II has no mast. Well she has a mast, but they are separated by a mile or so of Loch Broom, boat being at her buoy in Loggie Bay; mast in the rafters of my shed at Leckmelm. The two are however due to be united for an August cruise, the mast having been stripped and varnished, Sally's topsides likewise.

I can't help thinking though that the best place for the mast is where it is, gathering dust, perhaps, but not deteriorating in the harsh Highland climate. And absolutely the best excuse for not heading for Jan Mayen. "No mast, mate. Sorry."

That's a photo of her taken last year at fitting out, dried out in Loggie on a perfect spring day - the kind of day when you would not want to be anywhere but up here.

Today, the day after mid summer, it's blowing a bitter north easterly and as my punt project is more or less finished, have been trolling the internet, which was where I came across the latest news of Sumara of Weymouth, en route to Jan Mayen where her crew, and that of her companion Thembi, will climb the Beerenberg volcano. Which makes me feel even wimpier...

Hello Iran (and the Philippines, Russia etc etc)

2011-06-20T19:00:00.001+01:00

There is someone in Iran who takes an interest in old boats, and the troubles thereof. I know this from the Stats button on my Dashboard (blog speak, don't worry, I haven't a clue either).

So, whoever you are, welcome. And do feel free to post a comment. I would love to know what you find of interest. (And the same goes for the visitors from Slovakia, Russia, New Zealand, Australia and the Philippines.) Welcome all. I am flattered...

Stealth Boat

2011-06-18T18:37:00.001+01:00

Well, here it is, possibly the only 24ft gun punt to be built in this country for a decade, and maybe the last. It's a curious-looking thing and, although I can't say I approve of killing wild birds, it takes huge skill, patience and fortitude to spend 12 hours in winter, stalking ducks, with no guarantee that when the smoke clears you'll experience anything other than the sound of a flight of ducks chuckling to themselves...
.

Peter Scott learnt much of what he later employed in painting wild birds from hours, freezing, spent lying in the wet bilges of a duck punt. And nearly perished, from an account in his book Morning Flight of a terrifying 12 hours. "I never remember to have been frightened for so long a period," he concludes. "Bag: 2 geese, 3 mallards, 7 wigeon, 2 curlews, 39 knots, 3 dunlins."

Another gunner, Archie Blackett, was not so lucky, drowned on the Solway Firth in February 1970. His weapon of choice was a large bore, breech loader, converted by Vickers Armstrong from a Vickers artillery gun, machined down and bored out. It was proofed for 40 ounces of shot "and the appropriate charge of black powder". It's still out there somewhere, buried in the mud of the Border Esk estuary.

His 20-year punting career saw 1,889 ducks (mostly wigeon), 532 waders and 136 geese fall to his fearsome weapon. By the way that hole in the bow is for the breeching rope, which controls the recoil... Doesn't bear thinking about.

Bon Voyage Thembi

2011-06-18T10:43:00.001+01:00

All photos please credit Adrian Morgan

Tomorrow four friends set off from Ullapool bound for Jan Mayen Island, 71°N 8°30'W, 950km west of Norway, 600 km north of Iceland, to climb a volcano. Tim Loftus built Thembi, a 34ft Ed Burnett cutter, virtually single handedly in a shed near Cockenzie and she is certainly fit for purpose, being perhaps the best-built modern/traditional small yacht I know.

All the lessons learnt about materials since what I consider the heyday of plank on frame bulding in the 1930s have been incorporated into her structure: bronze floors and engineering, super strong centreline, a well supported mast, and what I like most: simplicity - all the structure visible, nothing hidden. Which means you can not only admire the workmanship, but perhaps more important, get at everything without stripping back layers of veneered panelling grp boat builders use to hide the structure.

Tim's task is to climb the northernmost volcano, Beerenberg, 7,000 or so feet of ice and rock that rises straight up from the sea. He's taking Dan Johnson, who shares my shed, and his partner Charlotte Watters, and marine biologist Stuart Anderson. It's only been climbed, Tim told me, by 16 people and as a non-climber can see why.

They certainly have the boat to get them there, and the climbing team is young, strong and experienced. Not my idea of fun but I admire those for whom it is.

Bon voyage.

Blimey!

2011-06-18T09:49:00.000+01:00

Thanks to Bursledon Blogger, and photographer Piconasso, I can bring you the largest wooden structure in the world, the Parasol in Seville. No mention of plywood, but I suspect that's what it's made of, so that'll be "the world's biggest plywood structure" (completely different to my mind).

Image Credit Flickr User Piconasso

Like it or not, it's a hell of a way to blow 130 million euros. Wonder what it'll look like in ten years time. And all that end grain.

Personally, and I have looked at the photos from all angles, I think it's horrible, but I don't know why. Not because it's probably responsible for destroying a forest, or consuming a swimming pool of e**xy. I just think it looks like it's been designed by a computer, which it was. As every element is uniquely shaped (I read) it would have taken a team of architects 20 years to draw it on paper.

Incidentally, that Collano glue stuff is shaping up well. It's not a complete alternative to epoxy, but pretty close. No waste, no mixing, cleans up pretty well, chips off like epoxy when dry, strong, water resistant. I wouldn't suggest using it on something like the Parasol without further tests though... But that Nutshell dinghy went together pretty well without a drop of epoxy in sight. Fingers crossed...

Nutshell Away

2011-06-16T20:25:00.000+01:00

For under ten days work I can't really fault the idea of building a tender in plywood, and the Nutshell looks pretty good to me. Both beamy and thus a good load carrier, it also looks pretty from side on. The owner took her away to be finished, so that's just primer on top of the late lamented Woodseal, of which the Nutshell consumed my very last tin. Alas.

Time now to finish the gun punt and then get my head round a Tammie Norrie, which will be quite another matter. Not sure I can remember how to build a proper boat any more. Let's hope it all comes back.

Waiting for Nails

2011-06-13T10:50:00.000+01:00

Monday and I should be tacking the sides on to the gun punt (posts passim), but the gripfast nails are somewhere en route from Anglia Stainless to our humble croft house, deep in the Highlands, and without them there's to be no nailing. Weather's ghastly, which seems to be the usual up here these days, although yesterday was a rare exeption: gentle breeze, warm and a Sunday too, so we had the full fleet of Flying Fifteens on the water, racing.

We maybe should have called the race the Prince Philip 90th anniversary Cup. The class has certainly come a long way since Uffa Fox and the prince sailed Coweslip together, and there's a world of difference in the boats. The newest boats have managed to squeeze an extra 2ft on to the waterline, which makes them plane earlier and faster than the older ones which have more rocker (though less wetted surface). Much better balance too.

As expected the newest, an Ovington IX, proved faster than the older boats by a long chalk, although my Trenoweth (2796) managed to win the first race by a combination of skill, brilliance, guile, determination (and a timely wardrobe malfunction in the opposition, which I suspect was simply an excuse). Not so the second race which suggests that Ffly's victory will be the first and last.

Which is a pity, because the fun of racing is surely to have boats that are more or less equal. There's little fun in being a lap ahead of the fleet with no one to play with, and the none of the satisfaction of knowing you beat your fellow competitor using similar equipment. This is like a fight between a sabre and an AK47. But, I have to say, it's great for me to have a boat against which I can pit my wits, and, if luck plays a part, win from time to time. We'll see...

Meanwhile the rain falls, and the sheep mooch about disconsolately. It's clippimg, or shearing time, so this weather is not much good. Tomorrow the sun will shine, and I have a day on the river planned, so something to look forward to. After the excitement of London, The Connaught and the Balvenie Awards, it's back to reality, I suppose. At least there's work in the offing.

Two Boat Builders and a Violin Maker

2011-06-03T19:12:00.002+01:00

Well, I didn't win, but of the three finalists in The Balvenie Masters of Craft Awards, two of us were builders of boats (although the organisers would have it that we were "makers"). Don't know if I care to be a "maker"; sounds a bit, well, precious.

But the winner was not Gail McGarva, on her third gig for Lyme Regis, or myself but a fabulously dedicated violin maker by the name of Christoph Gottings. And I have absolutely no problem with that. Apparently he carried out nearly 1000 tests just to get the varnish right, which is why his violins are mentioned in the same breath as those made by Antonio Stradivari.

Photo copyright Nick Hand

Gotting's joints are many times closer than any boat builder could manage. There is no scope for less than perfection, and the choice of wood is critical. And yet there was one thing about which his young apprentice was envious: he must build precisely the same shaped violin every time, he told me after the award dinner. But a wooden boat is seldom the same from one to another, and the shape can be changed mid build. Much of it is in the eye of the builder. He has a certain freedom, in other words, denied to the maker of violins.

The awards took place at The Connaught in London, a treat in itself although I seemed to get through a pocketful of £1 coins in the space of a few minutes: every time someone hailed a taxi or opened a door.

Gail McGarva, gig builder extraordinary

Over dinner the old question of art vs craft flourished as one single malt followed another while a screen flashed up images of the finalists. There were winners in eight categories, ours was in Wood.

Kevin McCloud, one of the judges, told me that the choice to nominate two boat builders out of three finalists had been a hard one. Encouraging for all of us doing our little bit to keep the traditional ways alive.

However, if there's one thing more important than a wooden boat, I would have to admit that it is the power of music. Which makes it no disappointment to be a runner up to someone like Christoph. On the contrary, just to be in the same category was an honour. To be honest I felt a bit of a fraud in such company...

In a Nutshell 2

2011-05-31T20:07:00.000+01:00

Day 9 and the Nutshell is ready, primed and awaiting her owner. Funny how you get to bond with a boat. I found myself looking at it (her) from all angles and quite liking what I saw.

Inevitably I couldn't let it go without adding some capping to the transoms, to hide the end grain. There's something about plywood end grain that makes me cringe. Better to hide it, although I couldn't do the same with the lodging knees.

I did, however, add a touch of proper boat building by riveting them through, and it makes sense too. Those rivets will makes sure the shape stays in for as long as the boat lasts.

All in all then, I have to say that I am pleased with the result. Joel White designed a fine tender, and the plans (I have a few quibbles) were accurate.

Have I Arrived?

2011-05-30T19:02:00.001+01:00

Can't say yet if it will make any difference to the level of enquiries received for wooden boats, but membership of the Wooden Boatbuilders Trade Association is at least recognition after 10 years that I am a boat builder.

I reckon to have the basics of a certain type of boat building, in my case plywood... NO! What am I saying? Traditional clinker is what I meant to say. Just that if you were to drop by my air-conditioned, purpose built workshop you would see a couple of plywood boats on the go. And the sooner they've gone the better, as I have a 14ft clinker boat next up, thank goodness.

The Nutshell pram has been satisfying, and mercifully quick. If nothing else you can build a boat in no time with plywood. And yet, and yet...

But I have set my sights higher, and I do believe solid timber is higher, for which reason I am very proud to be a member now of the WBTA, whose membership includes some of my boat building heroes. So, thanks those who felt I had earned my stripes. Trouble is my mentor Tom Whitfield in Australia knows full well that I haven't even scratched the surface of knowledge, and time is running out.

In a Nutshell

2011-05-27T17:07:00.002+01:00

I cannot deny it, but there are now two plywood boats on the go at Viking Boats International (Leckmelm) plc. The gun punt is resting, while I had less than 10 working days to put together this Nutshell dinghy by Joel White. I don't have to finish her, just prime and off she goes for final painting.

Nice little boat, but it's not my idea of boat building, and the dust... Despite trying to wear a mask as much as possible, it's just not possible all the time. The worst is cutting bits of Super Elite on the bandsaw. My snot at the end of the day looks like Plastic Wood (maybe try it one day).

The schedule was tight:. Day 1, make the moulds and set up the jig (which extended into day two). Day 2, make the bow knee and main frame, and cut out the bottom from 9mm ply. Cut out transoms from 18mm Super Elite. Day 3, set up bow and transom, main frame and bow knee. Day 4, set the bottom board onto the main frame, and transoms. Bevel edges for garboards. Day 5, cut out and fit garboards. Bevel garboards ready for next plank. Day 6, cut out and fit next plank, and bevel. Day 7, cut out and fit sheerstrake, wood seal transoms, frame and knee. Day 8, lift off jig, make thwarts, fit rubbing strips. General clean up. Plane to sheerline. Day 9 (half day), fit knees, clean up gunwale.

Which leaves a day and half in hand to prime the inside, rivet up the knees and generally tidy her up for delivery.

The glue I used was Robbins' replacement for Balcotan, called Collano. It is nothing like Balcotan, which can be chipped off, but sets hard like a one-part epoxy, and sticks like epoxy too. In fact in future, unless there's a good reason for mixing up mayonnaise, I will be using the new stuff as it's a joy to spread, quick and clean.

By the end of the month there'll be a Tammie Norie on the go, in solid timber, Scots pine in fact from the Queen's estate at Balmoral.

Loki at Large

2011-05-24T08:30:00.000+01:00

Here, by popular demand, is a typical shot of Loki at the recent Coigach Regatta, lifted from Ulla's website (www.ullcoastrow.wordpress.com) showing the brave Royal Loch Broom Sailing Club stroking, if not to victory, then to third place lead by bow man Robert, No 3 Andy, No 2 Sandy and stroked by John, with Commodore Copestake in steerage.

The strength of the wind, and temperature can be judged by the fact that Loki's figurehead was protected throughout the day with a wooly hat (celebrating her Irish bow man's birth place). Cut down on windage too.

Photo copyright Chris Perkins

18.16 9,999

2011-05-23T18:18:00.001+01:00

At 16 minutes past six the visitor tally stood at 9,999. As I type it has just passed the 10,000 mark. Whoever you are, welcome. Now get back to doing something useful...

10,000th

2011-05-22T18:28:00.001+01:00

I can't offer a free case of baked beans, or even a bottle of champagne, but the 10,000th visitor to this site (how on earth do you know who you are?) who can prove that he or she was indeed the 10,000th will get... my sympathies. Don't waste any more time, that's my advice...

Shipwrights Ahoy?

2011-05-22T18:13:00.002+01:00

I just had this email from a fellow in Forres (incidentally the name of my old prep school, where small boys were kept in line with a sharp tap on the back of the knees with a boxwood ruler - "never did me any harm..." etc etc - but that's another story).

Maybe someone out there can help him, as for sure my shed is way too small to accommodate his boat. I can put you in touch.

Dear Mr Morgan

I follow your articles in Classic Boats [sic] with interest and note your plaintiff [sic] tone as regards obtaining sufficient paying jobs. I own a 1936 50sq.m. windfall yacht, Seawraith, previously Seegeist, purchased as a retirement project.

However, in my "retirement" I am busier than ever (in gainful self-employment as a forester) and despairing of ever finding time to complete the boat. I am not interested in the complete replacement of every vestige of the original, intending to keep her very much intact, repairing rather than replacing.

The meticulous rebuild of beautiful classics retaining the odd bit of original boat as a token appals me.

Seawraith is presently lying in Forres, Moray, under a light protective roof (which itself may require rebuilding if I don't get my finger out). If we did come to an arrangement I'd expect to deliver the boat to you but wonder if you have a big enough shed. She is 41ft long and about 13ft deep from the base of the keel but would need a wheeled cradle to draw into a shed.

If you are interested perhaps you'd care to visit if you were this way and we can discuss possibilities. I am attaching a few photographs taken when the boat was lying in Canvey Island where I acquired her.

Yours sincerely, Richard Ogilvy

More Skiff Thoughts

2011-05-22T10:11:00.001+01:00

Strikes me that the Scandinavians, drawing on the Viking genius for boat building, had it right. The faering pictured above is just about as stripped out as you could wish for in a small rowing boat (bearing in mind this was long before the age of composite and epoxy).

Note the absence of gunwales forward. Just adds weight in the ends. And the minimal framing, the curved sections of which used to be formed from crooks. Very few fastenings and no steamed timbers either. Thwarts loose, and simply resting on the frames, and able to "rock" slightly to accommodate the rower's action. And just three planks or strakes a side, which made the absolute most of a squarish length of pine.

And yet achieved a shape which is glorious to look at and behaves beautifully in a seaway, allowing it to be rowed almost effortlessly for miles.

And the rowing gear: a spoon bladed oar, with a right angle section working in a kabe, held by a thong (or length of blue polyprop...). Looking at some of the cleverest skiffs at Coigach this weekend it struck me how those same criteria hold as good today: keep it light, simple and strong. The recipe for every winning yacht, skiff, boat, canoe ever built. I simply love faerings. My all-time favourite, designed 800 years or more ago and never bettered.

Correction...

2011-05-22T09:15:00.005+01:00

I have been informed that a certain Chris P**kins, photographer, boat builder, naturalist and self-confessed Varnol-addict (a Super injunction prevents me from naming him) has made it clear that, contrary to what I wrote a few posts ago, he is not and never has been a royalist and nothing would tempt him from his lair in the Strathkanaird hills to cover a royal honeymoon. In short, as he told me forcibly at this weekend's Coigach Skiff Regatta, he is a republican to the core.

As to the regatta, I will let others tell the story how Ullapool's skiffs fared. Their website has more details, but this probably sums it up best: "Ulla and her crews were proud to have taken part, winning was never really our strategy." Mr P's photos are well worth the visit alone. Ulla and Cul Mor were certainly up there with the prettiest, along with Newhaven's Wee Michael, but Portobello's two light, stripped to the bone minimalist skiffs had "fast" written all over them, and in racing it is not looks that count. Pretty good rowers though...


Credit Chris Perkins

Not all was gloom: the Royal Loch Broom Sailing Club's recently launched Loki (she with the fetching black bird at its prow) performed creditably, coming third in one race and missing two more third places by a short beak. Fourth, pushing third place, out of ten boats appeared to be her natural position, which was encouraging on a first outing. My role was to hand out queen cakes to the exhausted crew, provide vocal encouragement and commiseration in equal measure to the team consisting of Paul, Robert, Sandy, John, Andy, Karen, Shona and Kate (I hope I didn't leave anyone out?) Winning was definitely a strategic aim.

There was no certainly no mistaking her proud figurehead (protected from the cold wind with an Irish cap donated by bow man Robert White) as the fleet splashed and thrashed around the gruelling course. Moves are afoot to replicate the beast (bird not bow man) in glassfibre (or polystyrene) for, in racing trim, every ounce counts, and Loki's figurehead counts for quite a lot, right up there in the aptly named eyes of the boat. Subtle, incremental improvements are planned in the coming months after more lengthy debates in the RLBSC's mahogany-panelled board room overlooking the lovely Loch Broom.

To Drown Like a Gentleman...

2011-05-18T08:28:00.000+01:00

This was the ethos behind the old OSTAR, coined by Blondie Hasler who believed that anyone daft enough to attempt a single-handed voyage should not rely on outside help if it all turned to worms (or the nautical equivalent).

Nowadays a red button will summon a helicopter in minutes, and thank goodness too. We are not all born Cockleshell Heroes. Nevertheless the total self reliance that Hasler epitomised has an almost romantic appeal, as one yachtsman recently proved. From the Yachting Monthly website comes this inspiring story. Some might say it was sheer foolhardiness, but not me.

A Cornish sailor has returned to the UK after a 17-month circumnavigation in which he used only an atlas for navigation.

Paddy Macklin, 52, arrived back in Falmouth after a 'traditional' circumnavigation via the three capes on his 27ft wooden Buchanan sloop with no EPIRB or proper charts.

His friend, Steve Ransley, said: 'He didn't want anybody to call help for him, he wanted to do it in the true tradition of going to sea and being prepared to drown like a a gentleman.'

It's That Perkins again...

2011-05-15T12:11:00.000+01:00

Will and Kate can thank their lucky stars our Mr "Snatch" Perkins, photographer extraordnaire, is safely ensconced up here in Strathkanaird, rather than hiding behind a palm tree on their honeymoon isle. Once again he popped out of the woodwork to catch the Hon Sec of the Royal Loch Broom Sailing Club unawares beside the club St Ayles skiff Loki's figurehead. This time I managed a cheery gesture before Chris disappeared again... (to catch a plane to the Seychelles, perhaps?)

Three Things...

2011-05-09T22:41:00.001+01:00

.... that caught my attention recently. First, the plywood that arrived yesterday had the name Burmarine stamped on it. Does that mean it came from Burma? And is not the Burmese military regime one of the most repressive in the world, and are we sure the money is going into the right pockets? Should I send it back (actually, it's a bit late as two sheets now form the bottom of the gun punt, see posts passim). And shouldn't it be called Myanmarmarine, in any case? Perhaps it didn't come from Burma/Myanmar at all, in which case ignore the above, and read on.

Secondly, I had a friend staying who used to work in a superyacht yard. He recalls an owner demanding the teak deck be stripped off his 140ft racing yacht because it was looking a bit tired after three years (couldn't scrub the suntan lotion off it...) They couldn't even re-use the old stuff, as it was well Sikaflexed down, and full of holes in any case, so into the skip it went. And that is common practice among owners of large yachts, I believe. When I worked at Ullapool Boat Builders Gill would have us collect the bent and offcut copper nails.

And thirdly? Why would you want to steam oak timbers into a glued plywood pram? That's like putting up Tudor beams on the ceiling of a 1950s semi, no? Must be me...

Loki Launched

2011-04-24T08:43:00.003+01:00

Jonathan Osborne pipes Loki to the water. Photo copyright Chris Perkins

What a day was had on Saturday. Loki, the soon to be renamed Royal Loch Broom Sailing Club (in honour of Kate and Will's marriage, not that committee meetings more often than not end up in the bar of the Royal Hotel opposite) skiff was launched amid great rejoicing and fine piping from Jonathan Osborne. Loki, Norse god of mirth and chaos, appropriately, the work of two winters by a posse of stalwart club builders, led by commodore Copestake, was launched in the traditional way with a dram of malt on her figurehead. Her colour scheme of cream and black, by the by, bears a striking resemblance to an Irish stout, but that could be purely coincidental. Concensus was she is pretty fast 'out of the box' and if we avoid too much fiddling and fettling, and concentrate on rowing, should get faster as the season unfolds.


Cream and black in honour of the liquid that kept her stout-hearted builders hard at it for two bitter Highland winters. Photo copyright Chris Perkins

I was present, minding my own business, when surprised in an un(?)characteristic pose by our resident paparazzi Chris 'Snatch' Perkins who crept up from behind a bush to snap this candid shot of the RLBSC secretary and flag officer, captioned cruelly on Ulla's website "Loki's quite remarkable figurhead...". I will get even...

Photo Copyright Chris P******s

Too Nice to Blog

2011-04-19T09:56:00.002+01:00

Thing is up here in the Highlands, if the sun shines, with such long days you can divide up your time in any number of ways. I may get up at crack of dawn, check emails, spend an hour or so in the garden, maybe take the dog for a wander down to the river, then off to the boat shed. At midday it's across the loch to check the mooring, then back in the shed until 5pm, an hour sailing the Fifteen, then early evening on the hill with a model glider, late evening walking down by the river, and the rest of the evening in front of the fire (as there's still a chill in the air). Bed and a book, and crossed fingers for another sunny day.

So, little time for wasting it in front of a computer. That's why my blogging rate inevitably drops as the weather improves, and it's the same for all the others I follow.

Yesterday, for example, was a classic case in point. A glorious spring day, the whole of which was spent working on club boats down at the shore where the Royal Loch Broom Sailing Club has its elegant clubhouse...

Commodore Copestake in front of the clubhouse. Lady member Margaret Steventon sits at the table where a light al fresco luncheon will soon be served by the club steward.

On the rolling, manicured lawns that sweep majestically down to the loch (where the club launch lies at her berth, ready to take members to and from their racing yachts) peacocks roam, and white-gloved waiters bring refreshment to the lady members, disporting themselves among the daffodils.

Meanwhile, hard at work, the club bosun and a team of paid hands in spotless, monogrammed overalls, are carefully burnishing the antifouling on the fleet of brand-new Flying Fifteens. Nearby, members' cruising yachts - a collection of some of the finest marques - in handsome, purpose-built cradles await launching day.

The Royal Loch Broom, with sweeping lawn(s) down to the sea, the elegant clubhouse to the right and a selection of members' yachts on purpose-built trailers.

The gong sounds, the club steward appears and members make their way to the dining room for a light luncheon, served on the club's fine bone china. On summer days, members will often take their meals outside, al fresco, seated at oak tables in the club grounds.

In the evening, the commodore and his lady wife and members of the committee sit at the top table, under the club role of honour, distinguished yachtsmen all, with a range of gallant exploits to their names: an ambitious circumnavigation of the remote Summer Isles; a daring attempt to force a passage through the Sound of Harris; a late season cruise to Badachro...

The club launch, which ferries crews to and from the fleet of Flying Fifteens, can be seen dried out alongside the jetty. The absence of members suggests that luncheon is being served in the walnut-panelled dining room...

Such is the life we lead up here in the remote fastnesses north of the Great Glen. Not so uncivilised then, compared to the madness, bustle and congestion of the south. Just a little chillier, perhaps, and if the sun doesn't shine as much, when it does, we make the most of every second.

WMD

2011-04-09T08:34:00.001+01:00

It was with characteristic wit, and a wicked smile, that my neighbour Mr Perkins christened the gunning punt taking shape in my shed under close guard, video surveillance and a pack of fierce Dobermans. Personally I see little wrong in sneaking up on water fowl in low-slung punts at crack of dawn, crouched in wet bilges, shivering in the icy wind that whistles in from the North Sea for hours on end with only a Thermos and a pork pie for company. Hunting doesn't get harder than this, and mostly after the smoke and din has died away the scene, I am told, is not so much one of carnage, but mockery as the intended victims make their winged escape, honking noisily in derision at the poor damp sods beneath. So, here's how she looks as I write, what Chris calls the Weapon of Mass Destruction, or should that be Duck-struction...?

I know I'll be in Trouble for this One...

2011-04-06T21:37:00.003+01:00

I have said some harsh thing about plywood, and have been misunderstood, sometimes deliberately. I think the stuff is great, if used in the right way. That is, honestly, by those who fully understand its strengths and weaknesses. In the right hands it can produce exceptional, useable boats. Personally I would like to see clinker boats built in solid timber, as they look nicer, and are nicer to build. I am entitled to my views, just as others are.

In short, there are good and bad and indifferent examples of boats built in plywood and solid timber. But you would have thought that the purveyor of arguably the best marine plywood might have used an example of the best use of marine plywood on the front page of their marine trade list. Instead there is an example of what I would argue is the worst example; a shiny, faux clinker boat, with a ludicrous plywood breasthook, doubling as a mast partner and flimsy and unnecessary fake knees supporting the plywood thwarts. All the end grain is there to see, and furthermore the lands have been clarted in what looks like a light brown, poo-coloured epoxy mix. The plywood itself (probably 9mm Super Elite Plus at £140 a sheet) has been lovingly varnished to accentuate the strange grain pattern.

Now this is someone's pride and joy, and he or she might read this (or have it pointed out). I apologise. It's not personal. That is the nature of criticism; it cannot take account of sentiment. The builder is clearly highly skilled, and yet there is little artistry or understanding of small boats. The strips of brass around the truncated stempost are largely decorative; they have little purpose. I can see why the photo was used, but the boat is, quite frankly wrong. Someone's pride and joy, undoubtedly, but wrong nonetheless. Why not put all that considerable skill to work on a boat, rather than a piece of fanciful, expensive plywood furniture? There, it's done. What can I say?

Here's an example, which properly showcases the best use of plywood, in a modern Merlin Rocket.

Copyright: Magnus Smith
Rob Holroyd's new boat 'Wicked' (built by Laurie Smart, to Keith Callaghan's "Hazardous 09" design) on display at the 2009 Dinghy Show

Time for a New Photo...

2011-04-05T20:23:00.000+01:00

This one was built for a freshwater loch in the Highlands, for salmon trawling. The owner didn't much like it and preferred the one he had for many years previously, pictured below. I offered to buy her back. I suppose it's what you get used to, like a comfortable old pair of trousers...

Last of the Summer Wine (or Paradise Found)

2011-04-05T07:20:00.001+01:00

It does seem - in answer to Doryman's comment - that all we do up here is mess about on the water, or at least in small boats. There's Chris beavering away in his shed, stitching or gluing ply together exquisitely (which he says he dislikes) in the joyous anticipation of spending hours laying down possibly the most perfect varnish known to man. And Topher, skiffologist of repute, engineer, boat builder, mathematician, inventor for whom no old solution to a problem is too sacrosanct to try and improve upon (swivelling kabes on turned ebony thole pins springs to mind).

"Oh no, Topher, not more fun..." Photo: copyright Sue 'the sew' Evans

And John, rebuilding his steel cutter with a degree of accuracy that can only come from being a naval architect, climate-change scientist, aeronautical engineer (he built a man-powered aeroplane in a previous life: Google "Airglow" if you don't believe me) and dinghy builder. Then there's Mark over on loch side who builds traditional wooden boats professionally, as does Joe (who canoes, windsurfs, skis and climbs trees for a living) and will build you a house too. Don't mention Dan who is building a 34ft schooner and who also can make you a fine piece of furniture (or weld up a trailer, or fix your land Rover, or build a house, or...)

Most of us are still trying to scrape a living between having fun, but we are at a small disadvantage up here, weather-wise. You just have to be flexible enough to take your chances when you can. That means making the most of the wonderful long summer days. One day in Ffly was followed by four of gales. Not that it deterred the skiffies from taking Ulla out yesterday, into the teeth of it, and enjoying every minute I gather. Too windy for a Flying Fifteen though, so I spent the day working on the bow of the gunning punt in my shed, to the sound of Mozart...

Heaven is a Flying Fifteen

2011-04-03T20:59:00.001+01:00

You are going to get sick of my eulogy to the genius of Uffa Fox before too long, so let's get it over and done with: he is a genius.

Why? For one reason because the Flying Fifteen he designed in the '50s, and which is still going strong, must be one of the prettiest and funniest (that's "most fun" in anglo-Belgian) keelboats afloat. Ffly is among those 3,500 or so Ffs now afloat, and among the furthest north, lying to her mooring off the Wee Pier at Ullapool, where she was launched last week.

Since then I have had the most extreme fun in many a year. Alone, with a crew in winds ranging from Force 3 to gusting 6 she was, as they say, a blast. Yesterday being a case in point. The MetOffice said strong, gale-force at times, winds and so it proved - hitting us squarely on the beam around midday, and sending Ffly fflying homewards, barely in control. But what larks!

Photo: Chris Perkins copyright

Courtesy of Chris Perkins, boat builder extraordinary and photographer par excellence, here are some shots taken during the much quieter Saturday. He says she only came into shot as the backdrop to the launch of Ulla, the St Ayles skiff built in these parts. But I can't help thinking his lens was inexorably drawn to the elegance of her line, the speed of her advance and the ludicrous attitude of her owner and skipper...

Things that (might have) Made me Swear (pt 2)

2011-04-01T21:23:00.000+01:00

The chickens that surround my shed have been fortunate not to have heard much swearing recently, as I get stuck into the punt project which, to date, has been going ominously smoothly. That's a dangerous thing to have said as I will arrive there tomorrow to find the epoxy has not kicked...

Found mouse poo in my coffee cup this morning, and even that didn't make me swear. Just boiled the kettle and turned it into Nescapoo. You think I drank it, yes?

So what did I last swear at? Last week it was the vacuum cleaner. Yesterday it might well have been a flimsy hand pump made by one Fladen. One pull on the plunger and it fell apart. Simply held together with glue, so it transpired after I managed to prise it apart.

There was a silver lining to the cloud, in that the nice man who sold it to me on eBay was more than happy to exchange it. "Never had anyone send one back," he said.

"I'm going to have a go at fixing it," I said.

"Good for you," he said.

"But if I can't fix it, it might have to go back, and will probably be in a distressed state by then."

(I would have lost my temper, in other words...)

"No bother, most people just ring up and moan. Good luck."

So I fixed it, and it's better than new. But why oh why didn't they make it properly in the first place?

In a Secret Location Somewhere in Scotland...

2011-04-01T14:56:00.002+01:00

... a 23ft 4in gunning punt is taking shape. Only a few are trusted enough to see progress, and are blindfolded on the way there and back. A close watch is kept on any bird watchers seen to stray too close to the location.

I am joking, of course. So, here are the first photos of the punt, as taken this morning after the last of the frames were fixed onto the hog. These are made up from pieces of oak, 3in x 1/2in, with marine ply webs top and bottom on which the skins will land. Seems pretty strong so far.

Although I will use plywood for the deck and bottom, I am keen to use larch for the sides, which are only 8in wide at most. If anyone has any thoughts about whether to use 8mm or 9mm ply, please let me know. For the sides I will probably thickness the larch to 1/2in, or about 12mm. She's a touch over 4ft wide at the widest point.

I reckon with a sail she would go pretty quick, sideways...

A Load of Old Cobblers...?

2011-03-29T09:37:00.000+01:00

I have an old pair of Dubarry leather boots, which are past their best, and leaking badly. They have served me well and once, on the foreshore of a Caribbean island I was offered the entire contents of a fruit stall (and the rights to the business) by a rasta smoking a suspicious looking roll-up.

I like the idea of wearing a pair of boots hand crafted by some time-served bootmakers in Ballinasloe, County Galway, "shoe and boot makers since 1937". No wonder they are so expensive; labour even in the recession-hit Irish Republic cannot be cheap. These ones are 200 quid...

Then I had a thought: maybe they are not made in Ireland? What does "For over 70 years Dubarry has been associated with producing high quality footwear..." suggest to you? Associated? Does that mean boot making, or does it mean an association with boot making. And producing is that the same as "making"? If I imported my boats from abroad, would I still be "producing" them?

I re-read the words, and detected a note of uncertainty. Heaven forbid they should be made anywhere other than in cosy little cobblers' shops in Galway? Maybe "for over 70 years" does mean what it says: that boot making in Ireland began in 1937 and stopped soon after 2007. My old boots were made around 2000, in Ireland I assume. Where would my new boots be made, then?

Call me cynical, but I have my suspicions. Just wish manufacturers could be up front. Where do Prada make their bags, or Gucci their watches or Louis Vuitton their trunks? Possibly in little artisan shops in the backwaters of Paris, perhaps not. Who cares. Well I do, not so much about quality (the Far East produces fantastic quality) but I do care about honesty. If Dubarry boots are not made in Ireland these days I would like to know, and dispel my suspicions that they are now simply "associated" with boot making.

Things that Make me Swear (pt1)

2011-03-25T22:07:00.000Z

I call it the "fury of inanimate objects", or rather the fury that is directed towards things that seem to exhibit perverse and most un-objective traits. Take the yard vacuum cleaner for starters. It is noisy, hellishly so, and indiscriminate in what it decides to suck up. It shows no remorse after swallowing the pencil left in the bilges, half a dozen expensive bronze screws, loose change, the bung, or the bitter ends of control lines. Slurp, gobble... gone.

And that's not the end of it. My vacuum cleaner has a ball valve to stop is sucking up water into its motor (sensible) but as it perches perilously on three tiny supermarket trolley-type wheels, it is pre-programmed to topple over whenever you yank lightly on its trunk, and when it falls over the little ball valve thinks it's about to ingest a bellyful of water, and up pops the ball (to the accompaniment of an even more hideous high-pitched screeching which only stops when you climb down from the boat you are up-ended in and switch it off). After what seems an age, you hear a little "plop" which signifies the ball has dropped, and it's safe to switch on again (having set it upright on its stupid little casters).

A few minutes later and over it goes again, and so on... Ha! But I have tamed it, by extracting the ball (which means it will soon, out of pure spite, develop the thirst of a rabid dog).

Next: the power cord from hell...

Spring is Sprung(ing)...

2011-03-23T09:00:00.000Z

The daffs are shining in the sun (or at least they were yesterday), buds are budding and the strath is coming alive once more after a grim, long winter. Time for a new header picture too, this one a 16ft lug sailed boat built last year for Loch Torridon.

The next one on the stocks is a rather different craft: the gun punt of posts passim.

Just a Thought...

2011-03-21T22:01:00.000Z

It's been a while since I had a go at plywood, so here goes. It struck me the other day after seeing another fine traditional wooden boat restoration project completed that you seldom if ever hear about an old plywood boat being restored. That may be because, unlike a clinker or carvel boat, they never need restoring. Maybe. Some years ago I recall seeing something about one of the first cruising boats, Maid of Ply, under restoration. And then there's Kees Bruynzeel's fabulous Stormvogel. But she's exceptional.

More likely most old plywood cruising boats are simply not worth bothering about - all those Eventides and the like. And yet, why not? Darn sight easier to strip off a sheet or two of rotten plywood and reskin than all that palaver with planks and ribs and the rest.

Meanwhile, here's a cautionary tale that applies to all clinker boats of a certain age. At some point in their lives someone comes up with the brilliant idea to cover them in glassfibre. This, I have to tell you, is the beginning of the end. It is the last gasp; the final phase in the life of a clinker boat. Indeed of any wooden boat traditionally built.

I have one such under repair in my shed as I write. It is, if I had to describe it honestly, a thin glassfibre shell, lined with slowly rotting wood. Thing is, water coming in from above will inevitably find its way out via the plank lands, and any convenient exit points - splits and such. As the glassfibre will not have adhered to the damp and expanding/contracting wooden planks, the water will seep between planks and glassfibre, settling in the keel.

The keel band will have been attached after the glassfibre skin has cured with screws, which will leak water from below. And there is nothing you can do to stop the rot, short of pouring in a gallon of Cuprinol which will slow the process.

The good news is that old boats tend to hang together through force of habit. It must be true, as there's nothing much else holding this one together. I will do my best, and she will last a good five years or more. But why oh why did someone not simply replace the damaged planks? A clinker boat is, after all, infinitely repairable.

Inspiration from the Smallest Room

2011-03-20T08:40:00.004Z

Every morning, regularly... no I won't go there. But let's just say that in the smallest room of the house - actually all the rooms are pretty small, but this one is marginally smaller than the rest - a huge pile of old yachting magazines, which grows by the month, threatens to block access, yet provides inspiration and, occasionally, good advice. The advertisements are probably the best part of the contents, the car ads rodolent of a more leisured age. The Railton Cobham Deluxe saloon, for exampe, at £680. I wonder if any of them are still around? An 18 ton Hillyard for £700; primus boat heaters from Pascall Atkey; Burberry's Steadfast shoes, made from sail canvas and felt soles for 12/6 a pair... you could wallow in nostalgia for hours.

In the October 1936 issue of Yachting Monthly William Atkin writes from America with comments on Stormy Weather's 1935 Newport to Bergen transatlantic win: "The chipper youngster Rod Stephens, with a slight-built yacht Stormy Weather, went to the north, escaped damage and won..." he writes.

Incidentally, talking of advice, Stephens' autobiography Rod on Sailing; Lessons from the Sea, unpublished, I think, is on free download. Superb reading, full of really down to earth advice, and in minute detail too on everything from bilge pumps to anchors, drawers, galleys, rigging, sails and more. For any owner of a wooden boat of the 1930s to 1960s, and beyond it is as invaluable as Eric Hiscock's old Cruising Under Sail. You can understand why to have Rod on board was so valued. Preparation, preparation, preparation...

Today's gem from the old magazine pile, however, was this: "The only way to become a really accomplished sailor and seaman is to learn to sail in a centreboard boat; and then, when once learned in the art, never again to set foot in one." Having just bought a Flying Fifteen, I can see what he's getting at.

No More Weather... Promise

2011-03-18T07:43:00.001Z

OK, enough's enough. The MetOffice have remodelled our weather and the proof is outside my window as I write: early sunshine and clear skies. Whatever they did to the Ullapool forecast model, it has certainly worked. Which means I can concentrate now on boats (what this blog is allegedly all about).

Yesterday, a day of mixed weather... (dang, there I go again). OK, yesterday I drove down to Forres (incidentally the name of my first school, under the strict headmastership of Mr McKay, an archetypical Scotsman who delighted in clipping ears and slapping wrists but never viciously - didn't do me any harm, etc etc) to pick up the timber for the gun punt. The frames will be of 12x80mm oak, but doubled where more strength is needed, the stringers of Douglas. Planking will be 9mm plywood from Robbins, the topsides possibly in larch. We will see.

While at the sawmill I was shown some lovely pine from the Queen's forests, and will put my name down for some, in the increasing absence of good boatskin larch.

Seems like the wretched architects have "discovered" larch cladding, so all the good stuff we used to have for boats is being slapped on the sides of eco-buildings. All the really good stuff. Having exhausted the cheap Siberian stuff - that was beautiful as well - they are now hacking into the best boat building timber.

So this pine (the Scandinavians had no issues with the stuff) will be a good substitute, but I was warned "Don't leave it too long as the cladding Mafia have been sniffing round..."

Result (I think...)

2011-03-17T08:33:00.001Z

I have over the past few weeks been tirelessly trying to improve the weather up here, and the MetOffice seem to agree that we deserve better. To their credit they have responded magnificently and we now have a new model for Ullapool (although new weather is what I was really after).

So here is the good news from my new best friend, Sarah Spedding at the MetOffice in Exeter (who, despite her cheery note, must be heartily sick of me by now. Bless you Sarah...)

The joy of Strathkanaird in the sunshine (but note the rainbow)

Good morning Adrian,

I do hope the weather is coming up to expectation this morning?

The changes my scientific colleagues intend to make to the model have yet to be applied but the first part should become operational today. However, to be effective some site information needs to be adjusted which will be via a subsequent change in the next couple of weeks. This might not resolve everything especially in the context of air flow because it is a product of how the model resolves the difficult terrain on a 4km grid in the Ullapool vicinity.

In terms of the changing forecast you highlighted, this is unfortunately unavoidable at present. Both the days were showery and we suspect all weather types occurred at some point. We cannot predict the formation, growth, movement and decay of individual showers with any accuracy beyond a few hours ahead. What we can do is produce reasonable forecasts of the areas in which the showers will occur and the likely intensity and distribution. But just as in reality on a showery day, some locations can miss the showers, so there will be points in the model that are between showers, particularly where showers are slow moving and well scattered. This explains the difference noted because in one run the showers happen to miss Ullapool and in the next the shower distribution is slightly different and Ullapool gets showers! It is possible to resolve this simply by blending together model runs, thereby smoothing out run to run "noise" and giving more consistency between web forecast updates; we are pursuing this for a late summer release. We are also as you know, moving in the direction of probabilities, for example "sunny intervals with a 30% chance of showers".

Whatever approach we take, there will always be instances where new information makes the forecast change and occasions where straighforwardly we get it wrong. As previously advised it is always our recommendation to read the regional text forecast alongside the location-specific forecast because, whilst the forecasters cannot give local detail, (the model does that), they can bring out in the text forecast far more of the uncertainty and indicate possible alternative outcomes.

Finally, thank you for our exchange of emails. I do hope I have been able to reassure you that we do listen and take feedback seriously and I hope you agree we are moving in the right direction to make the forecasts more helpful to you and other Ullapool residents.

Kind Regards
Sarah Spedding   Customer Feedback Co-ordinator
Met Office   FitzRoy Road   Exeter   EX1 3PB   United Kingdom
Tel: +44 (0)0870 900 0100   Fax: +44 (0)1392 885681
E-mail: enquiries@metoffice.gov.uk   http://www.metoffice.gov.uk

What a day!

2011-03-16T20:23:00.000Z

Well, as promised the MetOffice remodelled the Ullapool weather programme for us and, lo! we had sun today... all day. No clouds, warm(ish) and a gentle north easterly which veered at lunchtime to SE and then south. That signalled the end of my working day (or at least a break until the evening) to head for the hills with a couple of gliders: the Simprop Solution, a 2.8m German machine, and later a Graupner Elektro Junior motorised glider and a Czech-built 2.8m Proxima slope soarer.

What joy! The wind was bang on the hill, and if the lift wasn't great all the time, when it was great the sky was the limit. And then, more joy. A huge speck in the sky about 1,000ft above turned into a golden eagle which, seeing the intruder, circled round for a look. I was hoping sooner or later a thermalling eagle would spot the glider. Last year another glider of mine came under attack, and still bears the scars. This time it kept its distance, lurking a few hundred feet above.

All this and a full day writing a piece about Antarctica for a travel magazine and editing some artists' CVs (what a nightnare). These are days to savour. Full days which begin at 7am and end at 7pm with a glass of whisky. This is why we live in the Highlands, although ask me why a few weeks ago and I would not have been able to give you a good answer. And it's not looking too bad for the rest of the week either.

Met Office Latest

2011-03-11T19:49:00.000Z

OK, so the Met Office having forecasted everything from a glorious spring day with fluffy clouds and a gentle westerly, wafting balmily up the strath, to a full blow snowstorm, what really happened today? Well, The Met Office got it right, in as much as that one of the numerous versions of our weather forecast over the last few days was spot on. Which was hardly surprising as they had tried pretty much everything, in the hope presumably that something might stick.

Trouble is, having said we were to have snow on Friday, late on Thursday afternoon, they chickened out on Friday morning, and as the snow swirled around our little croft house, it was amusing to see on the website the good news that our eyes were in fact mistaken, and those huge snow flakes were indeed cherry blossom.

Certainly felt like snow on my face as I ventured out in T shirt and shorts confident that the money we spend on our weathermen was fully justified. Later, nursing frostbite, I had to admit that my faith was possibly not wholly warranted. Soon afterwards a sheep flew past my window, hastened onwards by a strong westerly wind...

I wonder what's in store for tomorrow?

Met Office? They haven't the Foggiest

2011-03-11T08:44:00.002Z

Become a bit obsessed with the weather up here, or rather what the Met Office think we should be getting. The truth is, for all their terrabytes and super computers, they are more often than not completely wrong.

One example. On Thursday afternoon they said we would be getting a nice, sunny-ish day on Friday. Later that same afternoon they changed their prediction and reckoned we would have snow the next day.

Meanwhile their wind directions ranged from west to south east to variable and north east, seemingly at random. Friday morning broke cold and sleaty, more or less as forecast the afternoon before, but the weather far from deteriorating, was now due to look up (a bit like what they said in the first place). Crucially, all mention of snow from midday onwards had gone, the sun would appear around 3pm and the wind, rather than from the north north east, was now predicted to be west south west!

Basically, the Met Office haven't a clue when it comes to forecasting our weather. Either that or they have a malicious streak which seeks to raise our spirits falsely with a good forecast, and then, cruelly, give us a horrible one a few hours later. Then, just when we are totally confused and depressed (and an hour or so before we get the real weather and can see for ourselves), they consult their weather stations and give us the true story. That's not a forecast defined as "to predict in advance". It's inspired guesswork.

Just admit it: you haven't the foggiest idea of what's going on up here, in which case, don't guess, just give me a bell and I'll tell you.

6,000th Visitor

2011-03-09T08:48:00.001Z

Any day now and the 6,000th visitor will click on this site. I suspect that most of those who have stumbled across this load of indulgent nonsense have done so accidentally, and just once - probably en route to a site selling secondhand boots. Then there are some stalwart regulars who check in most days, according to the statistics, to see what's on my mind that day. Usually of little import, to be honest.

Of late it's been a question of getting the new Flying Fifteen Ffelicity back from the deep south and working out where all the strings go. I reckon that's sorted. And it's so nice to work on your own boat for a change. Pure bliss, in fact, fiddling and fettling.

Now it's time to get down to the next paying project. Yes, the gun punt is back on the stocks, the first thing to do is scale up the plans from 18ft to 23ft 6in. These punts are deceptively simple. There's a spring to the bottom, fore and aft (a gentle rocker in effect) without which the thing won't turn. Too much and it will spin when you paddle it.

The recoil from that huge fowling piece needs taming as well (see that hefty rope from the bow?) And lots more details. And for those who object to the use such craft are put, reflect on how much crueller to raise chickens in cages. It is an ancient sport, full of lore and literature, and art. It is, above all, not easy, requiring skill, patience, stamina and an intimate knowledge of the birds they hunt. I don't really know why I feel the need to justify it.

Mooring Fees and Flying Fifteens

2011-03-08T11:32:00.000Z

Just been advised that the Royal Wedding is to be funded by the Crown Estate, the same bunch that charge us £40 to rent a bit of the seabed every year. They denied it, of course, which is a pity because it would have been a great stick with which to beat them: "Exclusive: Boat Owners Pay for Royal Wedding".

In fact, as a tax gathering body, the Crown Estate revenue from poor boat owners goes straight to the Exchequer (it does not go to pay for Camilla's hats, as rumoured), so we are, in fact, paying for the wedding one way or another.

My main objection to paying a mooring fee at all is: How can anyone own the seabed anyway? What do we get out of it? They do not lay or maintain the mooring, let alone maintain the seabed; they cannot prevent other boats laying moorings nearby and appear to have no powers to get moorings moved if they are too close. No, they just collect tax from us, and get volunteers to collect it for them, in the form of local moorings association secretaries. Cunning, eh?

And they also, I believe, issue licences to fish farms to use sites, then, having approved the sites, charge the farms rent. Even more cunning, no?

On a lighter note, the new (or rather old) Flying Fifteen of past posts arrived last week, after a 1200-miles trip down south and back, where she was christened by my mum Ffelicity in a little ceremony outside the family home in Dorset. My mum, with Fablon fascinator (that's the thing women wear on their heads at royal weddings) did the honours, as the dishcloth (seen here on the seat of my father's scooter) slid from the bow to reveal the name. Gor' Bless 'er (my mum that is...)

Words of Wisdom

2011-02-22T23:05:00.007Z

Chuck Paine is a force of nature; an American yacht designer who is both a traditionalist and bang up to the moment. He is worth listening to, so, rather than witter on about him, here is a recent quote taken directly from his website and blog. I think he is spot on.

"I have just returned from London Boat Show. My primary purpose was to meet with the editor of ClassicBoat magazine, which will be publishing a series of articles about my classic designs. The show followed the recent trend of being smaller each year, though what was missing were the plethora of massive powerboats chasing the maybe two customers left in the world who would want such a thing. The ClassicBoat stand was once again the best part of the show… remember, everyone, that I predicted in my memoir that the world of boating would go full circle and that what will be left in the end will be traditionally shaped, aesthetically derived, small raceable sailboats made of a material that grows on trees. The other thing that was really fun was the huge new aquasport pool where I leaned against the railing and watched improbably tiny kids trying to get their floating windsurfers to the northern end of the pool against a fan-generated wind. This, and anything shorter than fifteen feet that doesn’t consume fuel, is the future of boating!"

Here's a taste of the kind of boat he's talking about, the Paine 26. Personally, at 26ft, I prefer our British models. Those hollow bow sections are a bit too Herreshoff for me, but she's beamy enough to carry her sail well, and ballasted to half her displacement in lead. Shallow draught too, at 3ft 6in or so.

Now look at something from Ed Burnett, who takes his cues from Harrison Butler, S&S, Robert Clark and Laurent Giles (among many inspirations). Here's a little 23ft cutter which clearly owes something to Eric Hiscock's Wanderer II.

And here's another 26-footer, guess...

This is where it all began: Andrillot, lower by a strake, no doghouse, just a 5-tonner from the late 1930s, and drawing heavily on French fishing boats, small pilot boats and other healthy designs.

And now for some Shelley... (see post below)

2011-02-21T13:23:00.001Z

Ode to the West Wind


I O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou, Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low, Each like a corpse within its grave,until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odours plain and hill: Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear! II Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion, Loose clouds like Earth's decaying leaves are shed, Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread On the blue surface of thine airy surge, Like the bright hair uplifted from the head Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith's height, The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge Of the dying year, to which this closing night Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre Vaulted with all thy congregated might Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O hear! III Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou For whose path the Atlantic's level powers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean, know Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear, And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear! IV If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than thou, O Uncontrollable! If even I were as in my boyhood, and could be The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven, As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud. V Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawakened Earth The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.....

2011-02-21T13:19:00.001Z

Here's a favourite poem, which is far less well known than Shelley's Ode to the West Wind, and concentrates on the brutal but invaluable north-easter, on which this island nation relied in the days of sail.

There is a veiled reference to Shelley's poem in the first few lines. I will post the much more famous Ode to the West Wind next, for comparison.

Ode to the North East Wind

Welcome, wild Northeaster!
Shame it is to see
Odes to every zephyr;
Ne'er a verse to thee.
Welcome, black Northeaster!
O'er the German foam;
O'er the Danish moorlands,
From thy frozen home.
Tired are we of summer,
Tired of gaudy glare,
Showers soft and steaming,
Hot and breathless air.
Tired of listless dreaming,
Through the lazy day--
Jovial wind of winter
Turn us out to play!
Sweep the golden reed-beds;
Crisp the lazy dike;
Hunger into madness
Every plunging pike.
Fill the lake with wild fowl;
Fill the marsh with snipe;
While on dreary moorlands
Lonely curlew pipe.
Through the black fir-forest
Thunder harsh and dry,
Shattering down the snowflakes
Off the curdled sky.
Hark! The brave Northeaster!
Breast-high lies the scent,
On by holt and headland,
Over heath and bent.
Chime, ye dappled darlings,
Through the sleet and snow.
Who can override you?
Let the horses go!
Chime, ye dappled darlings,
Down the roaring blast;
You shall see a fox die
Ere an hour be past.
Go! and rest tomorrow,
Hunting in your dreams,
While our skates are ringing
O'er the frozen streams.
Let the luscious Southwind
Breathe in lovers' sighs,
While the lazy gallants
Bask in ladies' eyes.
What does he but soften
Heart alike and pen?
'Tis the hard gray weather
Breeds hard English men.
What's the soft Southwester?
'Tis the ladies' breeze,
Bringing home their trueloves
Out of all the seas.
But the black Northeaster,
Through the snowstorm hurled,
Drives our English hearts of oak
Seaward round the world.
Come, as came our fathers,
Heralded by thee,
Conquering from the eastward,
Lords by land and sea.
Come; and strong, within us
Stir the Vikings' blood;
Bracing brain and sinew;
Blow, thou wind of God!

Charles Kingsley

No More Ads...

2011-02-20T09:45:00.003Z

No, they didn't look right. After a fortnight, the adverts that appeared on this blog have been removed. They were a distraction, and cheapened the tone of the blog; and besides they will never make me a fortune. In any case, it would have been a fortune built on the digits of my visitors. Click, click, click. How many times have you clicked inadvertently on an advertisement, and cursed? I do not want to lose weight; I did not need a new car, I did not mean to click.

So The Trouble With Old Boats has reverted to its pristine purity. Its aims are unchanged (what are its aims, I ask myself?) And the £3 or so that has apparently been accrued in the last two weeks will be donated to charity.

Coyright: Charlotte Watters

One click you may want to experience is that of Charlotte Watters, who illustrated the book of the blog. Click on the picture of the boat outside the shed (top right) and you will be transported instantly (depending on speed of modem connection, naturally) to another world: a world of beauty and artistry, for Charlotte is indeed a remarkable artist. One day the book will be a collectors' item, whereas at the moment you can't give them away (well you can, in fact. I gave one to my Mum for her birthday)...

Just for Brandon, by Special Request...

2011-02-18T08:33:00.000Z

OK, here's the old faering again, from a different angle...

and another of the sjekte on the lake.

Time for a new Header

2011-02-18T00:20:00.000Z

The old Oughtred faering I built has been popped back in its folder, to be replaced by a 15ft sjekte I built for a Sussex lake a year or so back. She was, to be honest, somewhat wasted on the water; a bit small for her, but she made a pretty enough picture, laid out on the bank under a washed out Sussex sky that day we went to launch her.

Probably my favourite rowing boat in terms of aesthetics to date. Quite narrow on the waterline, but that's fine for speed one up, and then as she settles with more crew she becomes more sedate. What do you think? Be honest...

Second Hand Blues

2011-02-16T18:20:00.002Z

I appear to own nothing that's new; well, strictly speaking as soon as you buy something it's no longer new, but I don't mean that. I mean that pretty well nothing of any value was bought first hand. The house, right? 1880s, or thereabouts; the Land Rover 1992; Sally II, the 1937 Vertue... and so on. Do I like old things, or is it that I can't afford new ones? Bit of both, probably. But I suspect that the underlying reason why I am attracted to secondhand stuff is that I enjoy mending it.

The Land Rover had the full spring clean over the weekend (there was a burst of sunshine for about five hours) and all the holes that appeared over the winter have been covered either with sheet lead or roofing material, and clarted (technical term: Scottish) with a mixture of bitumen and Waxoyl. Sally II's mast has been refurbished and her hull will get a coat of paint before too long. The old motor bike (which was about the only thing I bought new) is now in the category of things that need fettling before the summer. I think I'll sell it.

Owning all this old stuff means I seem to spend my whole time mending and repairing things. Do I enjoy it? Well, yes I suppose I do. It's definitely a male thing, this tinkering, and is probably deep down a replacement activity of some sort (let's not go there).

The latest old thing I have acquired is that 1980 flying fifteen. She'll have a new home and a new lease of life. I call it recycling, reusing, making do and mending. It is probably a hangover from the war, and the attitudes inculcated in me by my mother and grandmother who reused everything; never wasted nothing.

So most of my time is spent repairing things. What's wrong with that? What's so great about owning things that work, from new and then get trashed? One thing that did nearly get trashed were the bathroom scales (bought new but now three years old) which were reading everything from a flattering 65kg, to a more truthful 78kg, at random. They seem to have settled around 76kg. At one time they registered 80kg, and were heading bin-wards, until I gave them one more chance. They're on death row unless they behave. I'd settle for 75kg.

All this reminds me that I am also approaching my sell-by date, and long overdue for some (minor) repairs. And thus we are like the objects we collect: subject to deterioration from the moment we are born. But it does erk me somewhat that an inanimate object like a boat will still be around long after I am gone. Human beings are transitory; boats are forever (if subjected to routine maintenance).

By the way, look at the line of that old clinker boat. Perfect, built in Alligin, on loch Torridon. She's a flower bed now, simply and sadly for lack of that saviour of old boats who sometimes appears in the nick of time. He didn't. She was unlucky.

Ffffflying Ffffifteens...

2011-02-16T13:02:00.002Z

That's what happens when you have too much time on your hands: you buy boats. Flying Fifteen 2796 is now mine, and you will be pleased to know that she is traditionally built out of a material that has been around as long, if not longer, than man himself: oil, plus a bit of silica and whatever else constitutes glassfibre.

Yes, I have never had a problem with glassfibre. It's an honest, man-made material that doesn't pretend to be anything other than what it is. This boat, formerly Ffascination Feeling, Fascinating, Ffascinating Ffeeling and Ffruto del Mar (I like the last one) will be coming up the country some time in the next few weeks to take her place alongside the fleet of decrepit old Fifteens hanging about the clubhouse at Lochbroom Sailing Club.

Among the factors in choosing this particular boat was that she would not outclass all the others. So, if I have not exactly bought myself a slow boat, I did not buy the fastest or newest on the secondhand market. She looks good and solid, and original, built by Bernie Trenoweth in Cornwall, and a very good boat in her day.

So what has become of the wooden boat in the barn? Well, the owner is still swithering over whether he wants to sell, or maybe it's the offer I made; whatever, negotiations stalled and rather than waiting, I decided to buy a boat that will be less vulnerable on a mooring, and, to be honest, easier to upkeep.

That's not to say that the club has not given up on the boat, as once restored she would make a wonderful showcase, a high gloss varnished piece of furniture, and competitive to boot. I would hope to undertake the restoration to the highest standards. We will have to wait and see. It would be a great pity if she were left to languish for much longer in a barn.

Coville Update

2011-02-11T09:53:00.001Z

I don't intend to post updates on Thomas Coville's round the world progress, which you can track on http://sodebo-voile.geovoile.com/tourdumonde/2011/

But I do like the way the French sailors describe their world in a completely different way to us Anglo Saxons. Compare Moitessier's book about the Golden Globe with Robin Knox-Johnston's. Both great books, but oh, the difference in language.

From Coville's recent report comes a phrase that is pure Moitessier.

"Every cloud is a seller of dreams."

The dream being to harness the wind that clouds so often signal. And, 800 or so miles behind record-holder Joyon, he needs to up the pace with 19,400 nm to go.

On a more prosaic note, what is Coville himself trying to sell? The answer lies below... Would you risk life and limb to flog a few more pots of, if my French serves me, little vegetables and beef crumble? Vraiment, les francais sont fous, non?

http://www.sodebo-voile.com

The Trouble with Trimarans...

2011-02-09T22:25:00.003Z

Got to take my hat off to Thomas Coville, famous French singlehander attempting in his trimaran Sodebo to set a new round the world record, currently held by Francis Joyon in a time of 57 days, 13 hours 34 minutes and 6 seconds. Now, some people have called me a luddite (they were the ones who smashed the new-fangled looms in the early days of the Industrial Revolution). No, I would never have condoned that, as alongside a full-blown wallow-in-it nostalgia for the old ways, I really like innovation, and especially the really high-tech stuff.

I do not understand much of the detail, but when I see a wing-sailed trimaran or a 30ft carbon fibre racing boat, beautifully fashioned from the black stuff weighing 30kg, I am impressed. My thing is keeping alive the tradition of building boats in heavy old wood; but I am not blind to the fantastic craft, from kite boards to foiling multihulls, being developed in clinical sheds a million miles from the one where my boats gestate.

This trimaran of Coville's is quite a machine, but his attempt nearly ended before it began off Brest. How the hell he managed to stop the thing pitchpoling is beyond me. Now somewhere in the South Atlantic, trying to skirt its fickle and infuriating high, Coville and his trimaran Sodebo will soon have the Southern Ocean ahead. God only knows what inspires people to sail around the world alone in something as magnificently quick and potentially lethal as Sodebo.

I remember interviewing Alain Gautier, or was it Titouan Lamazou, before a Vendee Globe some years back, and asked him what he thought of spending 80 days alone on a boat. "What eez 80 days? Not even zree month. What is zree month in my life? What else should I do in zree month? It is nothing zree month...." or words to that effect. Moral being you can choose to spend three months going to work on a commuter train and watching TV in the evenings, or sail round the world. You have a choice and one life. Thomas, Titouan, Alain (and all the others who chase records in ludicrously fast boats. I salute you...

Laser or Flying Fifteen?

2011-02-08T10:07:00.001Z

I am at that age when I'm not sure quite how old I am. Mentally, certainly, I'll always be about 12 but physically it's hard to convince myself that over five decades have passed since Mrs Morgan's second-born entered the world, a small, sickly yellow thing (he had jaundice).

A case in point: I have enjoyed racing Flying Fifteens these past few seasons, and at times they are quite physical. At times they comes close to the broad reach, crazy, on the edge planing speeds of a Laser (when the tiller goes scarily light and there's a high-pitched hum from the centreboard like a glider's variometer in a strong thermal.)

The Laser has a visceral appeal: sailing at its simplest. You sit on a Laser, whereas you are half in and half out of a Flying Fifteen. It is half dinghy, half keelboat. My friends are saying "Sell the Laser, buy a Fifteen. You're passed it." Nonsense. There are Laser sailors in their 70s, and undoubtedly 80s. I've just subscribed to a blog called Proper Course, which advises: "Cheat the nursing home: Die on your Laser". Up here in Ullapool, when the wind comes down in great blasts from the hills, and with no warning, that could well be on the cards.

For the time being I'll keep the Laser, as a reminder of how young I am really just as I keep a red Honda VFR 750 in a shed, which I fire up from time to time but seldom dare take on the roads (the potholes are truly horrendous after the cold winter).

I realise that keeping two boats is bound to end in tears. One will get neglected and sulk, shedding vital bits at crucial times. Maybe it's time to declutter; sell the Laser. Last time I did that was in 1992, when I sold the very same Laser to an old school friend. Fifteen years later I bought it back for the same price. It was like seeing an old friend. With a yellow Laser again in the drive I feel complete, and younger, even if I seldom use it. Some people surround themselves with a comfort blanket of books; others collect things. Those of use who have more than one boat feel more secure, surrounded by our boats. It makes no sense, costs a lot and yet...

Standard Quay again...

2011-02-07T11:17:00.000Z

I have copied this from Port-na-Storm's site to show you all just how wonderful the old Standard Quay is. Shabby, working, genuine and now under threat...

Save Standard Quay

2011-02-06T17:26:00.001Z

Gavin who lives in a boat shed lucky man, or so his blog suggests, has reminded us that time is running out to save Faversham's wonderful Standard Quay from the usual suspects: developers. He urges all to sign the petition to save the quay, by going to http://intheboatshed.net/?p=12714

I am cynical enough to suggest that it will make make not the blindest bit of difference, but you've got to try. Traditional craftsmen will be turfed out in favour of a bijou waterside experience, with a Thames-style barge to provide atmosphere...

How she Might Look...

2011-02-04T08:58:00.001Z

Here are a couple of photos of a beautifully restored Flying Fifteen, owned by Graham Lamond of the association (British Isles Flying Fifteen Association). If the one I looked at comes my way, which I sincerely hope, this is what she may look like after a few weeks of hard labour. Notice how the top veneer is diagonal, rather than fore and aft.

The keel drawn by Uffa Fox for his design is pretty, rather than efficient, and decidedly idiosyncratic. But to hell with fluid dynamics; it works well enough, and the class thrives (albeit with a modified keel and rudder and subtle changes to hull shape). And, of course, they are all glassfibre these days. To find a wooden one with this potential for restoration is exciting.

Guess What we Found in the Coal Store

2011-02-03T18:48:00.000Z

What is it about old boats found in barns (or Bugattis for that matter)? You get wind of a boat that's been left mothballed since the 1980s, or as once happened to me, a Thames skiff in a woodshed that hadn't seen the light of day for over 100 years, and a shiver of anticipation runs down your spine. You anticipate discovering a time-capsule, preserved to perfection, save for a few cobwebs and a bird's nest. Scrape back the chicken poo, and there she is. Wet a finger, rub away the dust and the deep brown of Honduras mahogany appears. What a moment. More likely you will return home disappointed.

Well, it wasn't quite like that, but having got wind of a 40-year-old Flying Fifteen lying in a coal store for 20 years or so and the familiar excitement came over me. I didn't dare hope for anything but a tired old wreck when the double doors creaked open (or the tomb of Tutankhamen). To cut a long story short, this is what we found...

At first it looked like we had wasted our journey. The decks were bare, the Treadmaster peeling and the transom split. She looked like she had been painted a dark red, and rust streaks dripped from her keel. Her gear and sails lay as they had been left, after sailing her last race back in the 1980s.

I shone a torch inside, and poked about a bit, and the more I poked, the sounder she looked. Maybe she would scrub up fine, given a month or so of hard labour. The hull was good, the mast was good, and the sails had some life in them. But no sign of the boom. And that paint job would have to go.

I stepped back into the gloom and found a spot in the corner of the shed from where I could take a photo of her side on. And this is what I saw in the screen...

A cold moulded Flying Fifteen, the top veneer running fore and aft, all seams tight and the rich glow of a mahogany stained and varnished hull, not red paint. That just about clinched it.

She'll take hours of work, I'll find all sorts of nasty things no doubt, but the joy of seeing her back on the water in all her varnished glory will be exquisite. Do I need another boat? No. Can I afford the time, and money to restore her? No. Am I going to? You bet, if the owner is willing to part with her.

Keep you posted...

That Aerial (again)

2011-02-01T12:18:00.001Z

A few posts back I was moaning about the ridiculous cost of a simple VHF aerial. This kind of over pricing seems rife in the marine industry, but is it justified? It seems that marketing, packaging and mark ups of 40% right up the chain from China leave the customer paying £50 for something made for less than £5.

But, it seems, this is the price we pay for our addiction to our pastime, and just the way our crazy economy works. This is confirmed by my good friend in the electronics business, who deals with China all the time.

I have done some preliminary checking with our man in China, and the
consensus seems to be that what you are experiencing is normal.

The sordid fact in this day and age is that the actual cost of the item you
are buying is ludicrously small in relation to the price. This is only
partly related to the fact that everything is made in China, but rather more
that in today's market, anyone can source anything at that low price. So
the only thing that differentiates is image and branding. So today, all the
money goes on money, branding and distribution. This is inevitably a big
lump of cash. Every set of hands it passes through on its way from factory
to consumer adds 30-40% to it, and, if the volumes are small, then the big
lump of cash spent on branding etc has to come from a low number of sales.

Marine parts are the epitome of this - large bits of cash spent on branding,
advertising, setting up distribution channels being recouped on low volume
lines.

The consensus was that this particular widget was not outrageously
overpriced.

Regrettably, also, a quick trawl of their Oriental sources and contacts
revealed no prospect of getting this particular item any cheaper on a
one-off basis.

So there we have it. Meanwhile a soldering iron and a length of self amalgamating tape later, the old aerial is better than new (a saving of around £49.99...)