More Skiff Thoughts

Strikes me that the Scandinavians, drawing on the Viking genius for boat building, had it right. The faering pictured above is just about as stripped out as you could wish for in a small rowing boat (bearing in mind this was long before the age of composite and epoxy).

Note the absence of gunwales forward. Just adds weight in the ends. And the minimal framing, the curved sections of which used to be formed from crooks. Very few fastenings and no steamed timbers either. Thwarts loose, and simply resting on the frames, and able to "rock" slightly to accommodate the rower's action. And just three planks or strakes a side, which made the absolute most of a squarish length of pine.

And yet achieved a shape which is glorious to look at and behaves beautifully in a seaway, allowing it to be rowed almost effortlessly for miles.

And the rowing gear: a spoon bladed oar, with a right angle section working in a kabe, held by a thong (or length of blue polyprop...). Looking at some of the cleverest skiffs at Coigach this weekend it struck me how those same criteria hold as good today: keep it light, simple and strong. The recipe for every winning yacht, skiff, boat, canoe ever built. I simply love faerings. My all-time favourite, designed 800 years or more ago and never bettered.

Correction...

I have been informed that a certain Chris P**kins, photographer, boat builder, naturalist and self-confessed Varnol-addict (a Super injunction prevents me from naming him) has made it clear that, contrary to what I wrote a few posts ago, he is not and never has been a royalist and nothing would tempt him from his lair in the Strathkanaird hills to cover a royal honeymoon. In short, as he told me forcibly at this weekend's Coigach Skiff Regatta, he is a republican to the core.

As to the regatta, I will let others tell the story how Ullapool's skiffs fared. Their website has more details, but this probably sums it up best: "Ulla and her crews were proud to have taken part, winning was never really our strategy." Mr P's photos are well worth the visit alone. Ulla and Cul Mor were certainly up there with the prettiest, along with Newhaven's Wee Michael, but Portobello's two light, stripped to the bone minimalist skiffs had "fast" written all over them, and in racing it is not looks that count. Pretty good rowers though...

Credit Chris Perkins

Not all was gloom: the Royal Loch Broom Sailing Club's recently launched  Loki (she with the fetching black bird at its prow) performed creditably, coming third in one race and missing two more third places by a short beak. Fourth, pushing third place, out of ten boats appeared to be her natural position, which was encouraging on a first outing. My role was to hand out queen cakes to the exhausted crew, provide vocal encouragement and commiseration in equal measure to the team consisting of Paul, Robert, Sandy, John, Andy, Karen, Shona and Kate (I hope I didn't leave anyone out?) Winning was definitely a strategic aim.

There was no certainly no mistaking her proud figurehead (protected from the cold wind with an Irish cap donated by bow man Robert White) as the fleet splashed and thrashed around the gruelling course. Moves are afoot to replicate the beast (bird not bow man) in glassfibre (or polystyrene) for, in racing trim, every ounce counts, and Loki's figurehead counts for quite a lot, right up there in the aptly named eyes of the boat. Subtle, incremental improvements are planned in the coming months after more lengthy debates in the RLBSC's mahogany-panelled board room overlooking the lovely Loch Broom.

To Drown Like a Gentleman...

This was the ethos behind the old OSTAR, coined by Blondie Hasler who believed that anyone daft enough to attempt a single-handed voyage should not rely on outside help if it all turned to worms (or the nautical equivalent).

Nowadays a red button will summon a helicopter in minutes, and thank goodness too. We are not all born Cockleshell Heroes. Nevertheless the total self reliance that Hasler epitomised has an almost romantic appeal, as one yachtsman recently proved. From the Yachting Monthly website comes this inspiring story. Some might say it was sheer foolhardiness, but not me.

A Cornish sailor has returned to the UK after a 17-month circumnavigation in which he used only an atlas for navigation.

Paddy Macklin, 52, arrived back in Falmouth after a 'traditional' circumnavigation via the three capes on his 27ft wooden Buchanan sloop with no EPIRB or proper charts.

His friend, Steve Ransley, said: 'He didn't want anybody to call help for him, he wanted to do it in the true tradition of going to sea and being prepared to drown like a a gentleman.'

It's That Perkins again...

Will and Kate can thank their lucky stars our Mr "Snatch" Perkins, photographer extraordnaire, is safely ensconced up here in Strathkanaird, rather than hiding behind a palm tree on their honeymoon isle. Once again he popped out of the woodwork to catch the Hon Sec of the Royal Loch Broom Sailing Club unawares beside the club St Ayles skiff Loki's figurehead. This time I managed a cheery gesture before Chris disappeared again... (to catch a plane to the Seychelles, perhaps?)

Copyright Chris P***ins

Three Things...

.... that caught my attention recently. First, the plywood that arrived yesterday had the name Burmarine stamped on it. Does that mean it came from Burma? And is not the Burmese military regime one of the most repressive in the world, and are we sure the money is going into the right pockets? Should I send it back (actually, it's a bit late as two sheets now form the bottom of the gun punt, see posts passim). And shouldn't it be called Myanmarmarine, in any case? Perhaps it didn't come from Burma/Myanmar at all, in which case ignore the above, and read on.

Secondly, I had a friend staying who used to work in a superyacht yard. He recalls an owner demanding the teak deck be stripped off his 140ft racing yacht because it was looking a bit tired after three years (couldn't scrub the suntan lotion off it...) They couldn't even re-use the old stuff, as it was well Sikaflexed down, and full of holes in any case, so into the skip it went. And that is common practice among owners of large yachts, I believe. When I worked at Ullapool Boat Builders Gill would have us collect the bent and offcut copper nails.

And thirdly? Why would you want to steam oak timbers into a glued plywood pram? That's like putting up Tudor beams on the ceiling of a 1950s semi, no? Must be me...

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.