A Load of Old Cobblers...?

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)

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)...

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...

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

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

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...)

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!

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

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

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

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

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...)