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...
Monday, June 20, 2011
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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