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...)