Here's something I wrote for Classic Boat some years ago. It ended up with me rebuilding the mast in a cow shed, 9 miles up a Highland track, a project I still feel proud of undertaking. The mast is still standing, the scarphed top section still solid.

John Ridgway – a near neighbour to us, as it happens – may have been the first to row the Atlantic, and Sir Ranulph Fiennes is about to trek to the pole in winter, but no-one to my knowledge has until now sailed around the British Isles with a broken mast, surely an achievement that ranks with the best of them, and more laudable for the fact that it went largely unrecorded, save for a brief note in the (Royal) Loch Broom blog**

This is the stuff of legend; the kind of stiff upper lip in the face of adversity we associate with our great country. What made an empire and won the war. Many a yachtsman with full and detailed preparation has circumnavigated our shores, some of them in astonishing times, others in a variety of craft both suitable and frankly ludicrous. There has probably been a fellow who did it in a bath tub, or  in a Citroen 2cv fitted with sails. Neil and Maddy Scobie with little on no preparation, save a trip to Costcutters for provisions, did it in a classic 43ft yacht designed by the Jack Giles called Lobie II. And for much of the voyage they were lacking a vital part of her, namely the top 10ft of her mast.

It was off Lowestoft that it all came crashing (literally) to the deck. One minute hard on the wind in a lumpy sea; the next a sharp report, more like the cracking of splintered spruce, and a chunk of it landed at Maddy’s feet, narrowly missing her head.

That was when the phone call came. “Hi, it’s Maddy. We’ve broken our mast,” rose a disembodied voice out of the North Sea. “What do you suggest?”

Well, I thought quickly, best get into a safe haven as fast as you can, call the local boatyard, have the rig pulled and Lobie transported home on a trailer. With barely a quarter of the round trip completed there was not much of a case to be made for continuing.

And that is where I left them: joggling about in the North Sea with the top of their mast on deck, no doubt swathed in a welter of sailcoth and stainless steel rigging.

A few days later their daughter called. “How they getting on? Have they pulled the mast yet? How are they planning to get her back home?” The answer was surprising, but typical of the spirit of adventure you would expect from a couple steeped in the old ways of doing things. Typical of a man who wears shorts in mid-winter and once worked with Ridgway. To borrow Henry Paget, 1^st Marquess of Anglesey’s remark to Wellington at Waterloo when a shot took off his leg: “We seem to have lost our mast,” says Neil.

“My goodness,” says Maddy. “So we have...” And soldier (sailor) on.

It was fully in keeping with  Blondie Hasler’s view, who famously suggested that those who sailed alone and got into trouble should be prepared to drown like gentlemen. In this case drowning was not a serious prospect; more like a huge repair bill and a low-loader up the M1.

“Oh they never mentioned the mast,” says the daughter.  “They’ve have found a tree surgeon.They’re in France now up some river having a great time. Apparently I’m to send out a smaller jib. And some Oxford marmalade.”

Next thing, Lobie was back on her mooring with the jagged stump above her top spreaders an unlikely perch for a herring gull. Maddy and Neil were rowing ashore. They had enjoyed a storming sail up the Irish Sea, too fast to stop, they said. And the mast? They had kept the pieces and reckoned it could all be glued back again.

Of course the mast would need pulling, but they would do that alongside the pier and Neil would strap it to an old Massey Ferguson, with no brakes, tax or insurance, and drag it 10 miles up the glen to their lodge in the hills. After all, if you’ve just sailed round Britain without an important section of what drives you then getting the rest of it, all 60ft mind you, up a potholed, single track, unmade road in the Highlands is really no big deal.

 It's been a while since I posted. I guess that gliding took over sailing, although I have been asked to write about the similarities between the two (answer: not as many as you may think.) With at least four of my former journalistic colleagues flying gliders, it seems that something rubs off. But to me it's just the sense of being reliant on the elements, rather than L/D, angles of attack and spurious comparisons between wings and sails.

 

Launched

Sally's 82-year refit concluded this morning at 7.30, when she was slipped back into the waters of Loch Broom. She's had a survey, a keel bolt dropped (pristine and singing like new after 20 years) topsides primed, filled and painted, coachroof glassed, antifouled, new shaft bearing, mast revarnished. And a lot more besides. Not a sign of a seam, thanks to Mr Elkins and his men in 1937, headed by the legendary Reg Yebbseley (who died just a few months after I bought her way back in the lat 1990s.)

The weather helped, with a smattering a good day, punctuated by the usual West Coast stuff. Enough good days to allow everything to be done, with a few days to spare. Oh, and the rudder was rebuilt, tiller repaired and stuffing box refurbished.


I also raked the mast forward a touch, not to improve balance, but simply for aesthetics. She's always had a boldly raked mast, which I have often thought was a bit too bold.

After a month out of the water she leaked not a drop, the little 1GM 10 started third push and full marks Messrs Johnson and Loftus for a totally trouble free experience. If the yard was on Trip Advisor I'd give them 11/10.

Danger! Before you Scrape off your old Antifouling.

No, not the toxins or the dust (wear a mask and goggles or scrape upwind) but the danger you might pose to other people if you are of a malicious temperament.

After buying a scraper tool from a well know retailer  on line, I had an email from the sales team asking for my passport. 

I will say that again, ... asking to see my passport. 

It appears that anyone buying a paint scraper must prove they are over 16,  and thus not prone to go on a raging, hormone-fuelled teenage rampage, armed with a... scraper. 

I could not believe it. Ah, but it was true. No passport; no scraper. No amount of pleading. Did I sound like a 16-year old hoodlum? Clearly yes (which was a bit of a boost to my 60+-year-old ego). 

In the end I sent them a photo of my passport, and received my scraper. 

OK, it's the law, not the company. However, to date I have not heard of anyone being threatened, or injured maliciously by a paint scraper (which could, I admit, validate the passport requirement). 

The blades, by the way, would not have cut a hard cheese and, if anyone is planning to use them to scrape a boat, save your money. I believe, in fact, the blades themselves were made of cheese, Chinese cheddar. 

I imagine it would have been the same if I had ordered a screw driver, no doubt to stab myself in the eye, self harm or even, god forbid, extract a screw.

New Title, New Start

I hope I won't lose too many followers, all of whom I am grateful to for, er following. Boat building may have ceased but life, and sailing (and gliding - more of that later) goes on.

With more (too much) time now on my hands, attention turned at last to long suffering Sally, my 82-year-old Vertue which has been putting up with my neglect for a few years now. Finally the other day, after a couple of weeks away over Christmas, she decided she had had enough, and when I fired up the little Yanmar, decided to seize her propeller shaft.

She was clearly telling me something, viz: "I want to go ashore and get some proper TLC."

Which is why as I write she is sitting on the hard at Johnson & Loftus yard in Ullapool, with 20 years of antifouling in dust around her, and another 10 years scraping to go.

The bearing has also been removed (white metal) and as luck would have it,  a standard Westerly cutlass bearing should fit the housing.

The mast is out too, and I have to say it has done well despite being exposed to Highland weather for nearly ten years since it was last out. But then I did lay on about 30 coats of varnish, having primed it with a two part International clear finish.

I am in two minds whether to take the rest of the antifouling off, or just consolidate. Either way I have bought 5 litres of Strippit; a Bosch scraper and some chemical called trisodium phosphate, one of which should do the trick. It would certainly be nice to see all that pitch pine again, before covering it in underwater primer.

With so much of Sally under the water, it really does pay to have the smoothest possible hull.

Last Post

While posting yesterday I had a look, for the first time in a while, at all the comments over the years. I did not realise how many there were, and all but a few complimentary.

So to all those who posted comments, I have now read them all, and thank you for taking the time, and apologies for not replying.

Farewell Viking Boats

With the workshop now resounding to the cries of turkeys, rather than the cacophony of nails and band saws, Viking Boats is now officially defunct after over 15 years.

It was never a reliable means to make a living, but kept the wolves from the door, and its owner busy in the dark winter days when most of the 25 or so boats were built.

Off to Lake Geneva

I can't say I miss those dawn starts, chipping ice off the chisels - well, you know what I mean. In the early years the cold never bothered me. The activity soon warmed you up, although visitors would invariably ask: "How can you work in the cold like this".

Well, no more. It is 8am on a freezing morning, and I am typing this in my pyjamas.

So, to all my clients, who have to the man and woman been totally trusting and a delight to work with, thank you. I have not had a single bad debt in all that time. Payments have often arrived before the work was done, which meant it was spent by the time it was done, leaving me almost always in arrears and in the red.

Also now on Lake Geneva, here at Beale Park

 Boat building will never make you a fortune, unless you start with a fortune as some fortunately have. But among the lawyers, estate agents, accountants and office workers, building a wooden boat carries enormous cachet. You are considered amongst the lucky elite, to be working with your hands, no matter how far from reality and romance that can be on a bitter morning in January with a recalcitrant strake refusing to yield to gentle persuasion.

Owners became friends, some of whom stayed with us before, during and after taking their boat home. As far as I know none have sunk, or sprung unquenchable leaks, but I must admit that some could have been built better. There's always room for improvement, and being largely self taught, I did enjoy finding new, sometimes unconventional ways to do things, some of which worked well, others not so, leading to a reversion to the old, trusted ways.

My favourite: a faering in solid larch, with copper fastenings and oak frames

 However, although old and trusted ways are often the best ways, that is not always the case, so I would urge budding boat buildiers to trust their own instincts. The old and trusted ways may simply have become ingrained habits, and after taking apart many old wooden boats, you often find old and trusted ways have in fact contributed to the deterioration you find deep inside the structure.

And if you do need a mentor, someone to keep you honest, then I can highly recommend my own, personal guru, Tom Whitfield in Australia. We have never met, and may never meet, but his encouragement has been beyond compare.

And to the late John Leather, wherever you are, when you told me that boat building would be a thankless and unrewarding business, you were not far wrong. But I urge anyone keen to try their hand, to go for it, whatever the rewards or thanks. The satisfaction of seeing a boat you built is all the thanks and reward anyone needs.

Nearly There

October last year was it? The last post? It must have been a long, cold winter (it was) and with snowdrifts above the windowsills at one point.

 Now spring is in the air and the Arctic Tern is about to fly south to Lake Geneva where she will cut a very strange figure. What will the Genevans make of a Norwegian/Scottish, Scandinavian/Shetland type boat among all those Rivas?

And coming along nicely is a loch fishing boat for the Isle of Mull, due out on 1 May, after which I intend to take a break for a few weeks to work on Sally.

Besides which, our tenure at the Old Dairy Parlour is coming to an end in 9 months. The end of an era, indeed, after nearly 18 years in which over 20 new boats have emerged from the dusty depths, some of them quite good, I have to say.

What I will do is anyone's guess. It depends on whether I can find a place to work, and I have a few ideas. But surely there can be no better place than where I am, for which thanks are due to my wonderful landlady, sometime pig farmer, turkey breeder, sheep raiser, cattle farmer, chainsaw wielder, wall builder and crofter extraordinary, Lucy Beattie

Arctic Tern

Too busy to blog; here's a few shots of the Arctic Tern taking shape in the old cowshed at Leckmelm for the last month or so. I believe this is designer Iain Oughtred's favourite, and I can see why.

For the curious, the details are: larch keelson, laminated Vendia stems, oak keel, daggerboard, not c/b. The fit out has yet to be decided, whether to go for a traditional joggled framing or laminated frames, or even a combination of the two.

Collars and Jeckells will make the lug rig.

Faering under Sail

Faering Finished

That's it then. The third faering out of the workshop, and the first in Vendia. Nothing I can say now can add to what I said about the material in past blogs, and from now on all my boats will be built using the stuff (unless I get a commission for a solid wooden boat...!)

Thanks Iain for designing such a delightful boat and to Alec Jordan for turning out millimetre perfect planks.

The more traditional framing, by the way, comes from the Woodfish design, rather than the much simpler Elfyn. And you'll note the aft thwart has been moved forward so as to keep crew weight more central if sailing single handed. It is removable if more leg room is need for rowing.

Old photos, I'm afraid, some of them from way back when framing up.
Here goes:

Framing begins

I will be fitting the framing from the Galloway Faering, rather than the plywood Elfyn, which is much simpler, and less authentic.

The thwarts will rest on the frames, without fastenings, to allow them to rock a little as you row. Easier too when you want to re varnish.

Next to fit will be the rangs, the fore and aft cant frames. Not sure quite how necessary this all is in a glued structure, but it looks nice!

A lot of extra work, mind you, but one of the best bits about making a boat is the shaping of the interior framing, and in the case of a Faering, band sawing and fashioning
and planing lots of lovely bits of oak is a joy...

Turn Time Soon

The underwater (canoe body, technically) is now painted in a semi-matt white, to set off the Vendia's grain, and provide a little more protection.

The waterline sweeps up a tad at bow and stern, which should show a flash of white at the cutwater.

The keel has been deepened to around 3 1/2in amidships, and will be planed off a touch before the keel band is fitted, after which she'll be flipped for the interior framing to start next week, I hope.

Among the things I might do differently next time are to specify that the scarphs are staggered, like a solid clinker faering, ie two in the garboards fore and aft, and one each (staggered) in the other two strakes. There's no strength issue in a laminate having the scarphs more or less aligned, but it would look more authentic, albeit at the cost of having to use longer Vendia boards. It might also be nice to employ Norwegian-type scarphs, with proud lips, but that might be just trying too hard.

Busy busy

No posts for a while and now three boats to build, which should keep Viking Boats of Ullapool going into next spring. The first off the blocks is an Oughtred Elfyn. This one will be my third, the last two in solid timber, this one in the lovely Vendia plank from Finland.

The decision to go for a laminate over solid was simple:any three strake boat that's not kept damp will tend to move, and most boats these days live their lives on trailers and in dry sheds, or outside in the East wind, or trailed down motorways or a combination of all of the above, which is not ideal.

Besides which, Vendia is, how shall I say, absolutely, totally wonderful to work with: don't think pl*wood, think more in terms of flawless pine, but sliced in veneers and reassembled, leaving the grain and figure as it would be in solid timber.

www.vendia.fi

Having said that, due to an oversight, the planks were cut from quarter sawn Vendia, not what they call crown cut. That's a small shame, as the faering will look almost too good, without the grain and figure (and sometimes knots) that come with planks sawn through and through.

And let's not forget a plug for my favourite glue: Collano Semparoc 60. Fantastico!

The second of the boats, awaiting keel timber, is a 22ft authentic Viking boat, designed by Aidan Campbell for his Wirral-based reenactment society. This will be rather special, in that the stems have been carved from solid by my good friend and boat builder Mattis Voss, who spent five days with chainsaw and adze. Alec Jordan digitised Aidan's plans and provided full size templates which might make it easier to build, but probably not. It will be an interesting experiment in any case to see if it is possible to construct an authentic Viking boiat using modern methods. I suspect we will find that the Vikings knew better.

The third boat, also in Vendia and due for delivery next year, is a 17ft Arctic Tern, the second I will have built, the first one in solid timber again. This is a shrunken version of Iain's popular design, and at 17ft a little more manageable perhaps.

And there's a pair of spoon oars, based on a Pete Culler design...