Loki Launched

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

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

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...

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...

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)

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

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

Photo: Chris Perkins copyright

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)

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...

... 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...