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!
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Question: What is the Boat Doing?
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.
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.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Welcome 23rd
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...
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...
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Wimp
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...
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...
Monday, June 20, 2011
Hello Iran (and the Philippines, Russia etc etc)
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...
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...
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Stealth Boat
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...
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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.
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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
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| All photos please credit Adrian Morgan |
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!
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).
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...
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| Image Credit Flickr User Piconasso |
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...
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Nutshell Away
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.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Waiting for Nails
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.
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.
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| Copyright Beken of Cowes (I imagine) |
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.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Two Boat Builders and a Violin Maker
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.
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.
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...
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.
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| Photo copyright Nick Hand |
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.
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| Gail McGarva, gig builder extraordinary |
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...
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