Memorial to Iain Oughtred, Boatbuilder and Inspiration

 

Iain Oughtred was born in 1939 and grew up in Sydney. He was a shy child, who didn’t enjoy his studies, but from early on he developed a fascination with aeroplanes and boats and the science around them. He became involved in racing the National Gwen dinghies that were a feature of the scene on the Harbour. These were flat bottomed racing boats, designed in 1942, with a hull just twelve feet long, weighing just ten stone (63.5 kg), but with the foresail on a bowsprit and what Iain called a “shy spinnaker” set on a ten foot pole, giving them a massive sail area and requiring incredible skill to keep them from turning over. By the 1950s the postwar availability of new glues and synthetic sailcloth increased the performance, so that he claimed, in an article he wrote in 1958, that one had been timed at 23 mph in a “gale-like wind”. He built seven of them and became the class champion. His long term friends knew him as Isig, from the number on his sail created from black tape.

After working for several yacht designers, in 1964 the lure of the Swinging Sixties brought Iain to London, where he established his own practice in his own distinctive style. There was at that time a huge interest in self-built sailing boats, led by the Daily Mirror sponsoring Barry Bucknell’s Mirror Dinghy at the 1963 Boat Show. Iain knew that a self-build need not resemble a shoe box and started putting out drawings of  hulls that were lovely as well as fast and seaworthy, accompanied by detailed building manuals, ensuring that anyone with the most basic skills could build one. His fascination with Viking designs led to his move to Scotland and then to Bernisdale on Skye, twenty three years ago. There he was truly in his element, working in his boat shaped drawing office and eventually reaching over a hundred designs. He’s best known for one of his last ones, for the community-built Scottish Coastal Rowing skiffs, with over two hundred in Scotland and almost the same number elsewhere. 

Iain was a quiet, deeply spiritual person, who invariably put others before himself. He was reluctant to embrace the internet, preferring to develop a personal connection with his clients, always available to take a call to resolve a problem. His drawings were works of art, invariably sent with a handwritten note adorned with tiny sketches. 

There is no easy way to leave this life, but it was a relief to know that Iain’s final few weeks were made as comfortable as possible in the brand new Broadford Hospital. His good friend and neighbour, Natalie Steele, had insisted on his being shifted from the back to the front of the building, with a view over Broadford Bay. As cards began to arrive from the boatbuilding and coastal rowing communities who owed him so much, and it turned out that one of the hospital staff was even building one of his boats, he was recognised as someone very special indeed. Although beyond the reach of any potential treatment, he was in no pain whatsoever, and so remained fully alert and cheerful. 

In his final days Iain had visits from his son, Haig, over from Lisbon, and his brother David, from Hawaii (what an international family!), also from many friends within easier travelling distance. Then in the morning of 22nd February we got word that he had quietly passed away during the night.

I understand that, by the time you read this, a quiet Quaker service will have taken place on Skye. I suspect that his sailing and rowing friends here and abroad will organise their own events later in the year. And, to preserve his legacy, a group of friends, with the agreement of his family, will be setting up a small charity to ensure that his designs live on and continue to support the tradition, culture and skills of which he was such a keen advocate.

A very short Trip

 

This summer has been utterly dreadful here in mid Argyll. As we head into the second half of the season I'm wondering if I should believe optimistic locals here assuring us that there will be an Indian Summer, starting any day now.

After another couple of weeks of extremely unsettled conditions, the forecasts a few days ago promised a couple of days of sunshine and light westerlies, so I headed off on Monday with three plastic boxes containing lunch, dinner and breakfast. 

Long term readers of this blog will know that Toberonochy is one of my favourite places, sheltered from anything with west in it and excellent holding ground. So, off I went in the late morning, tacking into a light westerly, but there was not too much of the promised sun. By the time I was half way down the loch the wind was really getting up, with some dirty black clouds bringing nasty puffs, but I figured that as I got closer to Shuna and then Luing there would be a bit of a lee, so decided not to reef and pressed on. Mariota is actually a much tougher wee boat than she might appear and there were no scary moments. 

Outside the bay I hove too and got anchor, chain, warp and tripping line nicely rigged and flaked, then sheeted in and tacked up inshore of Mariota's older sister Minna. When I started sailing I tended not to use a tripping line and was perhaps lucky never to lose an anchor, although fifty years ago the seabed wasn't littered so much with discarded fishing gear and debris from abandoned fish farms. Another problem in recent years is the growth of kelp, which seems to be taking over everywhere, perhaps also a bi-product of fish farming, via the excess nutrients dumped in the water column. This can mean that the anchor never actually reaches the seabed, an issue if you're using a wee Bruce or similar type of hook. Even if it makes its way through, it will likely come up with a load of heavy material, giving the foredeck hand a nasty job and maybe rendering the boat difficult to steer until it's cleared. And working alone, it's essential to get back to the helm sharpish, once you're clear. A problem with a tripping line can arise when some lazy fellow comes in after you and mistakes it for a mooring, which traditionally caused some to paint some strong language on the float. With a long line it's possible to keep it on the foredeck.

        

There was no real reason to go ashore, but having brought the tender I went for a walk up to the old Kilchattan church. Over the years I've tried unsuccessfully to get a good photograph of the ancient graffiti, which is as interesting as the church itself. This time the light was perfect and it worked!

    

You can read more about the history behind this here: From Toberonochy to the Battle of Largs

And since writing that earlier post a kind friend has donated an authentic image of the battle.

When I turned in, the forecast was for a day of beautiful sunshine and a gentle westerly breeze, so it was a surprise when, just after I had taken down the cockpit tent, black clouds came over with quarter of an hour of a strong, very cold northwesterly and a downpour. Then, all was calm. The anchor came up loaded with mud, no kelp at all. I rigged the electric outboard and used about 0.5% of the battery storage travelling at about two knots across to the mouth of Loch Melfort.

Off Kilchoan, the wind arrived, providing a dead run back to base. I was lucky to be hooked up before it strengthened to a fierce, cold blow that lasted until night time.  

A New Season awaits

 

Just a quick reminder that I'm still here and hope to be posting more often as the year goes on.

A great delight about living beside the sea is that Mariota can be run down the drive, across a single track road and over the foreshore when the tide is out, to float off later and be towed to her mooring.

I've had a lazy winter, as far as maintenance is concerned, just a few spots touched up and of course that dreaded antifouling.

A short Summer Trip that ended with some fun

At last there was a prospect of nice settled weather, sunny with gentle breezes, so it seemed a good idea to set off for a couple of days. With a fine crew, The First Mate and her pal, the newly appointed Cabin Girl being both on annual leave we duly left the anchorage in Loch na Cille in light airs and drifted down the loch on a falling tide, the idea being to stop for lunch at Caisteal nan Coin and wait for the Cuan Sound to open its gate for us two hours before High Water Oban. In the event we were there pretty well at opening time and found a gentle breeze as we entered, giving us the required ability to steer, although in the Sound the tide does most of the work.

Not generally appreciated is that the tide is still falling during those two hours. The outgoing water travels West before taking a turn to Port and joining the last of the ebb down past Fladda light. At that point the wind failed us, we rigged the Torqeedo outboard and headed North at a gentle pace to conserve electricity, giving us a speed of 1.5 knots that doubled as the flood came up.

After six miles, when we had hardly dented the reserve in the battery, a nice breeze came up and we were able to anchor under sail in Garbh Airde. We set a tripping line, essential here because the kelp is really growing and there are few visitors to this long narrow cut in the land, with high rock on one side and reefs lurking just under the surface on the other.

Once settled we were delighted to see the lovely, historic Kentra at anchor in a slightly wider bay half a mile away. Beyond her a forest of masts in Puilladhòbhran, basically a parking lot these days and probably too busy for the otters after which it’s named.

Dinner ashore supplied by the CG in the encampment she and the FM had established, venison meatballs in tomato sauce followed by chocolate. Then the Kentras arrived for strawberries, bringing with them an invitation for breakfast next day, which we felt we couldn’t refuse.

Kerrera in the distance

Evening

Early Morning, Second Day

I love the Kentra, now in rather better shape than when I first came across her thirty years ago. She triggered one of the most fascinating and complex episodes in my career and was responsible for numerous friendships.

Heading South, the legendary Harry Spencer aboard

I’m always thrilled to see her on her West coast excursions. Named after a bay beloved by her first owner she’s the prime example of the very best of Scottish ship craftsmanship, launched from Fairlie in 1923. She also my favourite Fife yacht by far, designed to take her folk anywhere they choose and weather the World’s worst storms.

We were collected for breakfast and a good chat about the Middle Ages (of the Western World that is, not ourselves), then ferried back to the bay we’d made our base.

With no sign of wind the day was spent walking, reading and exploring the interesting bays along the North coast of Seil in the tender.

Ardfad from the sea

I visited the ancient MacDougall stronghold of Ardfad, confiscated by King Robert the Bruce in January 1313 and given to the Campbells, about which you can read more here: The Campbells

Day Three started calm, plenty of time for breakfast, packing up to leave not a trace onshore, before our planned departure time of 1030, an hour before High Water. The anchor duly dekelped, we drifted round the rocky point and headed South into an extremely unpleasant and increasingly bumpy swell, rocking the minimal air from the sails and unsettling us physically and mentally.

We decided to hold to seaward of Easdale, as to return through Cuan would have deprived us of the fun of the passage down the Sound of Luing. What fun it turned out to be. Just past the shelter of Insh a breeze sprang up and within five minutes had risen massively, accompanied by a strong Atlantic swell, ruling the idea of heaving to to tie in a reef safely.

The clips give a better idea of what the next forty minutes were like. Under full sail Mariota flew, always under control, her buoyant ends coping perfectly with seas that were more blocks of water than definable waves. These were by far the most testing conditions I’ve been in with her since launching her in 2019.

The seas flattened greatly past Fladda and the passage to Ard Luing seemed to take just a few minutes. We squared off for an interesting gybe; the CG took over the helm for the stretch down past Shuna and I settled down for a rest and a drink.

The fun wasn’t quite over. We decided to take in the first reef and while doing so noticed that the cap on the tender’s daggerboard had been lost in the turmoil, with the result that she was rapidly filling up.

The FM and the CG took turns to bail her out and we reckoned we’d make it home before the problem returned. The CG then took us on a close reach down to Arduaine, followed by a half hour’s run back to the mooring.

Mid Season with Mariota

This Summer has been good for getting to know the Mariota and discovering the extent to which age has diminished my ability to move about the deck on a small boat with confidence since I was last regularly sailing aboard Juni in 2016. Actually building a boat for two and a half years followed by going for government walks during the lockdowns has kept me reasonably fit.

When we launched in 2019 I was quite nervous, but more about me than the boat. It’s well known that amateur builders always overbuild and I always remember that advice from one of the ancients that the time to worry about whether or not you used enough glue is not when you’re two miles offshore and it’s blowing a hoolie. Yes, the boat was strong enough, but I had become a bit chicken ashore, not helped by there being very little sailing last year.

The 2021 Season has started rather well and I’m liking the Kotik design more, the more I venture out. The basic hull shape is extremely sea-kindly, but being beamy and shallow she should be sailed flat, the total opposite of the Stroma, with a tonne and a half of lead beneath her. I've rigged up lots of string and can easily take in a reef in about five minutes without venturing on deck. Sailing on my own in Force 3 is very comfortable with one reef, a good, easily controllable spread. The expression for reefing in Gaelic, by the way, is “cuir ceann a steach”, bring the head in! And white horses are eich bhana! (eech vana)

Last month my new mate the Professor and I went to a socially distanced meet up on an uninhabited island, where a group of suitably eccentric friends came together for the first time in ages. On the Saturday there was a pretty strong breeze from the South west, probably verging on a Force 4, which is a lot for wee boats. Most of us decided to go, as we operate on the flock principle, with the fastest boats herding the others and looking after each other. With two reefs down Mariota felt very safe and steady.

When the Tollesbury wizard was making the sails he announced that he was adding a third reef, as he was sure it would come in handy one day. While I hope not to need it, I’m very pleased that it’s there. I’ve also asked for a storm jib, which will be tacked down a little aft of the roller and hoisted on a separate halliard.

On the Sunday we sailed round to the Castle of the Dogs on Torsa for a picnic, “Caisteal nan Coin” since you ask. Read more about that here: A Voyage Round Torsa

Then the heatwaves started and there have been some lovely days afloat in gentle breezes, most recently down to Eilean na Gamhna, the Island of the Stirks, where the pals took some lovely photos.

The Selkie is of course another of Iain Oughtred’s designs, the community skiff from the Isle of Seil, which I helped to build. My wee tender, the Peigi, is a Nutshell from the board of Joel White. My first build, from 1986. Meeting up with the fellow Selkies was a real bonus, with cuirm -chnuic air an traigh (picnic on the beach. My friend James Fenton took these shots.

Anchored in our favourite spot and there was a huge dod of mud on it when it came up. Cue to use the canvas bucket, that Wilson Thom’s widow gave me thirty years ago when she decided to give up driving and had to clear her garage.

Wilson was one of Willie Russell’s crew in the Seawanhaka Cup races in the 1930s and taught me a lot about sailing nuair a bha mi og . A competitive fellow who exhorted me to overtake when I was learning to drive, shouting “justifiable risk”.

So the bucket could be any age. The great thing is that it doesn’t chip the paintwork, as a metal one would, and of course plastic ones just detach from the handle when full of water and add to marine pollution. Folds away to nothing and back under stern deck until the next time.

Top Image courtesy Richard Pierce aka the Luing Guru

Building a Replacement for Stroma

 

As my seventieth birthday approached I finally parted from Stroma, designed by Alfred Mylne and built by McGruers on the Clyde in 1929. We had looked after each other in all weather for over forty years. These old racing yachts sail beautifully but need a fit, young crew and after a few years on the market she had found ideal new custodians in a young couple of the same age I had been when I took her on. I’m hoping for an invitation to the hundredth birthday party in a few years time.

Over the years I’ve built several boats and have also acquired a number of good friends among some of the professional designers and builders who inhabit the traditional boating community, men and women whom I’ve found universally generous with their time and expertise and whose advice has saved me from potential blunders on projects such as the extensive restoration of Stroma, which took several years. That gave me the confidence to believe that I could safely take on the challenge of building my next cruising boat. The search was on for a suitable design.

The basic requirements were for a boat small enough to be sailed by one person, but with space for a couple of friends, the rig controlled as far as possible from the cockpit and seaworthy for inshore waters among the islands of Scotland’s West coast. Where I live, in mid-Argyll, we don't see big waves very often but our tides are fierce and can set up extremely nasty jabbles that sometimes can’t be avoided. The bonus is the ability to ride on top of a tide and vastly increase your cruising range if you’re prepared to set an alarm. One of our best ever trips on Stroma, about forty years ago, involved setting off from Ardminish on Gigha at about 4 am with a good strong Southwesterly and a flooding Spring tide, and reaching North at eight knots over the ground to moor up at Ardfern in time for breakfast in the old drovers inn.

There were a couple of further considerations. First, auxiliary power. After the first few years I took the little two stroke Vire out of Stroma and sailed engineless from then on. This was for reasons of both practicality and vanity; small petrol engines don’t readily cope with life under a leaking cockpit sole and the weight of a diesel replacement would upset the trim, but also there’s nothing uglier than an outboard bolted on the side or over the stern of a lovely old yacht. What was to be done? Second, handling on shore. I wanted to be free from boatyard bills except if absolutely necessary. This indicated a hull that could be managed on a launching trolley and a mast that could be easily dropped.

Readers will be familiar with the countless discussions on yachting forums about designs and I would only say that there is no such thing as the ideal boat. The list boiled down to just two, Francois Vivier’s Beniguet and Iain Oughtred’s Wee Seal, both very elegant and practical. The former had the advantages of being a more modern concept, lighter and simpler to build, with just sufficient space below. The latter had more internal space and looked more like what the late David Ryder-Turner called a “floaty boat”, but also seemed to my eye too compressed, an awful lot of boat crammed into eighteen and a half feet. Then I heard about Kotik, the result of Mikhail Markov commissioning Iain to stretch the Wee Seal out to twenty one feet. The result was more generous space inside and to my eye a more aesthetic shape.

Over the years I’ve enjoyed studying boat plans. I’ve never regretted buying study plans and occasionally complete sets of drawings for boats that I’ve ended up not building. You learn a great deal from them and it helps today’s designers to keep going. I’ve kept the plans for the Beniguet and may build her some day; that would only be following Mikhail, who now has one of each!

Mikhail's Beniguet

When the Kotik plans arrived I discovered that Iain had drawn a yawl rig option as well as the basic sloop. This gave me food for thought, because thirty years ago I built Sonas, a pretty, very slender gunter sloop designed by David Ryder-Turner and found that she would have been far happier as a yawl. With a large mainsail she proved a real handful at times and we were usually reefed unless it was pretty calm. The idea of dropping the main in a blow and getting home under jib and reefed mizzen became very attractive. Yawl rig, probably with a Bermudian main, would have worked fine, as that design had a counter stern and the rudder post forward in a tube. But the Kotik has an external rudder and I like the positive feel of a straight tiller. There was also the consideration that the stern deck doesn't have a lot of space for extra spars and bits of string, so I stayed with the sloop. Of the six Kotik designs built so far, I think that only one, Ian Milne’s in New Zealand, is a yawl.

A couple of other decisions had to be made. Iain had drawn options for both a self draining cockpit and a deep, traditional one. The former seem almost standard in small boats and they are, I understand, compulsory under safety regulations in some countries. I’ve never liked them and am not convinced that they’re helpful in normal inshore conditions. I believe that if a big wave did come over it would be safer for it to flood into the lowest part of the ship, from where we could pump it out, rather than to have it trapped higher up, which would surely make the ship vulnerable to the following one. I went for the deep cockpit, allowing the crew to sit in comfort well out of the wind.

I also decided to keep the cabin dry with a bridge deck, which also provides extra seating in the cockpit and storage space inside the cabin.

Iain provided several alternative layout suggestions, fitting in up to four berths. I redesigned the space for just one, good sized, berth and the possibility of a second person sleeping under the foredeck. However, in coastal cruising I think it's better for any crew simply to bring a tent and sleep comfortably ashore, which we can do anywhere in Scotland. Here we don’t have a law of trespass and you can set up camp anywhere, as long as it’s not in someone’s garden.

I decided to offset the main hatch to starboard, leaving more space to port for a wide chart table, which has a drawer underneath. This relates well to the centreboard case, which is offset to port, avoiding the problems of casting a slot in the ballast keel.

As I started studying the drawings I also made a couple of changes to the design, in each case following a discussion with Iain, who was always very patient and open to new ideas. Please, never alter a design without the designer’s approval!

First, I increased the ballast somewhat, as Kotik was designed to sail with a crew, while I would be mainly single handed and our weather can change very quickly. I did so by deepening the casting and extending it forward a little, which thankfully hasn’t spoiled the trim. I changed the profile slightly, so that it will be ballast, rather than deadwood, that takes the bump if we ever meet a misbehaving skerry.

Second, I learned from Mikhail that his Kotik could sometimes be tricky to steer, a feature of long straight keels and canoe sterns, which necessitate a raked sternpost. On the theory that it’s easier to cut off than to add a bit of rudder blade later I increased the area and also made it widest below to make it more effective.

A further change came along much later, once I was in contact with the brilliant sailmaker Steven Hall of Tollesbury. He recommended increasing the angle between the yard and the mast, enabling the mainsail to be sewn with vertical panels and no battens. It also allowed more space for the halliard block and the wire span. Space here is a problem with all steep gaff and gunter rigs, leading to innovative solutions, including as a last resort, bringing the halliard through the mast with an internal sheeve.

The construction took two and a half years from late in 2016. I am fortunate to have a wonderful neighbour, who doesn’t use her garage, as a result of which I had a nice dry space over thirty feet long and about three feet wider than the maximum beam. There were no doors, which at least prevented any fumes from epoxy resin causing a problem. Fortunately that winter was mild here and I could work for at least an hour or two most days. The photographs tell the story better than I can, but I’ll mention a few decisions I made that may be of interest.

First, a piece of advice that I got from Richard Pierce, formerly of Ferry Nab at Windermere and now based on the Isle of Luing, one of the historic Slate Islands near where I live, a man who has built more boats than anyone I know. Instead of lining up the building ladder by running a string through the moulds at a low level Richard rigs a tensioned garden wire directly above the centre line of the boat, from which he suspends plumb lines of varying lengths that can be slid along to provide accurate reference whenever needed. This proved its worth with the hull both inverted and upright, making it easy to ensure bulkheads etcetera were true.

To avoid any possibility of rot later I decided to use Accoya, a specially treated softwood that starts out mainly as Radiata Pine, for the stems, hog, floors and deadwood. It was easy to work with, if a little softer than I would have liked. For deckbeams and other parts I used mainly the tried and tested Douglas Fir, readily available and an old friend.

I had heard of Vendia Plank from Finland and decided to use it for the hull. It proved extremely hard, flexible in the right directions and I would recommend it if it could still be obtained. I saved several months by getting Alec Jordan to cut the hull planks and moulds for me, which he did most accurately. I suspect he was relieved when I told him that there had been no gaps anywhere. I cut the scarfs in the garage and then turned part of our house into a production shop in a dry, warm atmosphere which suited the epoxy resin. I would then walk the planks, up to twenty three feet long, along the road to the garage, provided it wasn’t too windy or raining. Robbins Super-Elite plywood was used for bulkheads and decking.

In my view there are no tricks to working with epoxy, just do frequent mixes of precisely the amount needed, measuring it on digital scales protected by clingfilm rather than using pumps. Treat it like the deadly poison it is, cleaning all spills as they happen. In cold weather I help it along with a hot air gun.

Under this system the hull went together very quickly, basically at the rate of a pair of planks every couple of days, held by the usual homemade giant clothes pegs. There followed several months of building up the deadwood, fairing it off, filleting everything and coating the exterior with three coats of epoxy until we were ready to turn over in May 2017.

The start, Accoya for machining

What houses are good for

Hull complete, three coats epoxy on

About 10 % of the build done!

As a fan of recycling and keen to keep some references to the past I was lucky to find enough old growth pitch pine to build the cockpit seating and flooring. It is lovely material, which used to be plentiful but is now endangered. It can be found in old buildings throughout my native city of Glasgow and was also used for hull planking in old yachts. The thrust post for the mast started out in life as part of the Ardrishaig Distillery, built in 1831, that my friend John the builder had rescued from the demolition thirty years ago, so part of my new boat came from a tree that would have been growing at the time of Bonnie Prince Charlie.

The biggest worry was sourcing the ballast keel, which weighed about 400 kilograms by the time I had deepened it as described above. I wasn’t brave enough to cast it and decided that it would be an interesting challenge for Ballantines of Bo’ness, now into their third century. They must have done them in the past. The present managing director, Gavin Ballantine, was game if I provided the pattern. I would love to have seen the pour taking place; it's probably better that I didn’t.

The Designer and his Apprentice

For the spars I went with the traditional recommendations, Sitka Spruce for the mast, boom and yard and ash for the tiller, the latter made by my friend Pat as a present to the boat, using a piece from a local windfall tree. These parts were the only ones to be varnished, with lots of coats to prevent rot.

Pat and the tiller

For standing rigging I decided to go with 4mm Dyneema, incredibly strong of course, but I get slightly spooked when I go forward, as on Stroma there was a comforting trio of galvanised stays to grasp and this stuff doesn’t feel the same.

My intention regarding propulsion was to mount a two stroke outboard, bought years earlier but never used, in a well behind the cockpit rear bulkhead. Then I learned that this might be problematic, as an outboard in a well can choke on its own exhaust. I also learned about electric outboards, which I’m sure are the future. Sadly they swing a propellor too big for the internal well that I had built, so I now had the pleasure of removing it and reinstating the hole I had reluctantly cut in the bottom of the hull. External brackets exert a lot of torque in the wrong places, but Richard came up with a neat solution, a sturdy retractable beam that slides in a secure housing unseen behind the bulkhead.

The Pierce Bracket

Final touches were a nice Harris tweed cushion for my bunk and a clock and barometer from Wempe of Hamburg; in a self build you can spend the money you save on nice things. Named Mariota, after the Queen of the Western Isles circa 1380, she was launched in the Summer of 2019.

Final Inspection

The launching crew

Not content with making a lovely ash tiller, Pat turned up with a fine carving dedicated to Mariota, made from an ancient piece of Kerrera oak from a windfall tree.