Words of Wisdom

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)

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.....

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...

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.

Copyright: Charlotte Watters

 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...

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

and another of the sjekte on the lake.

Time for a new Header

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

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...

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

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...

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?

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...

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

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...

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

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)

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...)