Plus ca change...

Back from Brittany (balmy breezes, bright sun, baguettes, crepes, galettes, wine, flowers) to wall to wall gales, driving rain and Tesco's best. Why can't they bake French bread in Britain, or at least in Ullapool? Why is their cheese so bland? And their tomatoes tasteless, and, and...

We have a great local baker (struggling no doubt against the odds) but there's nothing like the taste of a baguette bought in the early morning from a boulanger, carried home on the handlebars of an old bicycle and eaten with unsalted butter and French jam. We live like peasants up here. Well, I wish we did. French peasants eat far better than us, with the exception of the sea food available here, most of which is shipped off to France and Spain. (And personally I hate crabs... indeed most things that crawl about under water).

 Sometimes it's hard to understand why we choose to live up here. Visitors go "ooh, what a lovely view... and we saw a deer too" and trip around the hills marvelling at the wild beauty. Those of us who live here see a landscape blighted by sheep grazing and denuded of trees by those same overpopulated deer, tolerated simply because shooting brings in money for the estate owners and adds to their value (and to hell with the damage to the countryside, let alone vehicles that habitually meet with them on dark nights).

No, for all the wild beauty of the Highlands there are some serious imbalances up here. Don't get me started as I would then have to enumerate all the blessings we enjoy: viz no cars, clean air, fresh water from those same hills (albeit tainted a wee bit at times by sheep and deer poo) good company, honest friends, great sailing (sometimes) etc, etc.

Anyway, enough of the post-Brittany blues. There's a dinghy awaiting a mast, and a lot besides so it's back to the grindstone and the charms of a draughty milking parlour and rain splattered iron roof. Once the radio's on and the coffee brewing it won't be too bad. It's just getting back into it after ten days that's the problem.

Off to France

At last, a holiday. With the Tammie Norrie at a nice stage of completion, it's time to take a break from the awful weather up here and head south for a few days. When I get back it'll be to make a start on the spars, flip her over and work on the bottom with a view to a late October delivery.

It's been a leisurely build to date, but it's time now to up the pace as there's another on order which I hope will keep me occupied over the winter.

Scottishboating.blogspot.com

I won't quote the whole post, as it would detract from Ewan's own excellent blog, but it starts well and gets better and is a measured response to my last post.

Read on, then go to Scottishboating.blogspot.com

'Adrian Morgan has just posted an interesting article on The Trouble With Old Boats, bemoaning the lack of profit in traditional boat carpentry, which he fears is partly caused by competition from colleges of boat-building taking on restorations as cost-subsidised teaching aids. His post ends with the words

' "Ultimately it's the likes of us, unfunded and unsubsidised what's trying to make a living from building boats, and a craft that can't scratch a living is irrelevant and deserves to die out".

'Some of the comments are reminiscent of the complaint by my wife's friend Pat, a now-retired professional opera singer, who would sometimes be approached after a performance by patrons asking "And what do you do during the day, dear, when you're not singing?" It's terribly easy for those on the outside looking in on what appears to be simply an enjoyable activity to forget that there's actually a lot of skill, self-discipline and time involved.

'Actually I suspect that the competition from the colleges isn't sufficient in terms of size to make a significant impact on the rest of what is admittedly, in the UK at least, a cottage industry...'

Well worth reading the whole piece, which ranges far and wide.

Speak for Yourself (2)

A couple of comments from people made me think I had not expressed myself clearly enough in my last ramble (below). So I've edited it. Those who read it the first time might like to revisit it with fresh eyes.

Speak for Yourself (edited)...

Any professional boat builder who says: "Well, I don't do this for money. Just for the love of working with wood, recreating the beauty of a bygone age, keeping the old traditions alive..." etc, etc, blah, blah, blah, is either reliant on a pension, independently wealthy or growing skunk in the loft.

Well I'll have you know that I, for one, am very fond of money and nothing makes me happier than the sound of an envelope being torn open to reveal the down payment on a new dinghy. My writing brings in a meagre sum every year, and decreasing steadily as fewer people are drawn to my erratic ramblings, which leaves me increasingly reliant on scratching a living in what the late John Leather, author and designer, yacht historian and brutal realist called "a precarious and unrewarding business..."

By which he certainly didn't mean we should not do our utmost best to make a go of it, but be aware of the difficulties and frustrations. John was not a romantic, but a true lover of boats and as keen as anyone to keep "the old traditions alive..." etc, etc. That had to be, in his view, of secondary importance, however, to earning a living plying a viable trade.

Those who build boats as a hobby have my full support and admiration. They can afford to build them to perfection, innovate, experiment. Who's counting the hours anyway? I and most of those foolish enough to build wooden boats commercially try and build as quickly as they can, for speed is good in many ways, not least your eye and hands keep fresh from day to day. And speed, of course, equals money.

So, the boat building perfectionists with a little more time on their hands are admirable. No one does it better. Admirable too are the charitable trusts and the training establishments. However, in passing on the skills, or keeping youth off the streets, are they helping potential boat builders secure commissions by taking on commissions themselves, at lower rates, or making it harder?

Ultimately it's the likes of us, unfunded and unsubsidised what's trying to make a living from building boats, and a craft that can't scratch a living is irrelevant and deserves to die out.

Getting There

Thwarts in and more Varnol misted all over and the little boat is beginning to smell the water. I have simplified the aft seating plan from Iain's drawings, which seemed a bit too involved, and in my version the side benches can be simply unscrewed to give better access, something I am keen on in a clinker boat which needs to be washed out periodically. Easier to keep varnished too when the time comes.

Jobs to do include fitting the knees, making the foils and mast, turning her over to finish the bottom and a myriad of little things involving shiny bits of expensive bronze.

Getting There...

The timbers were steamed in last week and the gunwales, breasthook and transom knees went in over the last day or so, and the whole of the inside given another good soaking in Varnol and Cuprinol. I have discovered a technique whereby you mist the Varnol/pure turpentine mixture using a garden spray (the hand-powered type). The mist seems to settle and cover the surfaces better than using a brush, and it's a breeze to apply a few coats, lightly misted whenever you feel like it, building up to a satin surface, which I find more pleasant than a shiny, yacht sheen.

I call my finish "smart fishing boat" and it seems a more honest and practical way to treat boats built and used up here in the Scottish Highlands. Maintenance involves a freshwater hose down, vacuum and more Varnol, misted over the durfaces.

The Varnol also provides an excellent primer to a final coat of varnish, if that's what you like, and in this case a coat or two of white paint on the bilges (the first two planks up from the keel).

Lovely smell too...