Cold return to Normality

The forecast on the Sunday evening was dire, offering a strong cold North-easterly building up during the day with rain arriving from mid-day. I considered hitching a lift back by road, but that would have left a sense of incompleteness and lack of achievement. Also it's a good old rule that if conditions look possible and you have an escape route you should always go.

My mates for the trip were going back on the sturdy Blue Sky, so the Kelpie's now solitary crew departed just before nine, with a couple of hours of favourable tide left.

 

Once I had rowed out far enough to get an offing the main was set. 

At that stage there wasn't a lot of wind, so the jib went up as well, but a few minutes later this effort was rewarded when a squall came over and we shipped a bathful of water. Thereafter for most of the day the jib stayed firmly lashed to the bowsprit.

 

Despite the strongish wind progress was slow, with Kelpie's flat bottom slamming a lot in the nasty short chop, then the waves gradually got bigger and she really got into her groove, charging along with her rail a couple of inches clear, luffing in the puffs and eating up the distance to windward. Operating the new pump was a bit like wrestling with an eel, however.

After a couple of hours Kelpie and I were well into Loch Melfort when a short line forming part of the snotter burst during a squall and the sprit fell down, leaving the rig accidentally scandalised and flapping like mad, quite useless for further windward progress. As it continued to blow very hard I couldn't see exactly what had happened, so stowed the main and got the jib up to see if any progress could be made against the wind. The answer was a resounding no.

I could have reached across to the South shore of the loch, except for the fact that the route to the only stretch with any shelter was totally barred by the lines of black buoys of the mussel farm, fastened with steel wires along the surface stretching for several hundred metres. This is exactly the sort of problem some of us have tried time and again to bring to the attention of the authorities who license these things, to absolutely no avail. The general public have the inalienable right to use the surface of the sea for the purposes inter alia of navigation and recreation, but the Crown Estate, who hold the seabed in trust for us, ignore these rights and make money by granting leases of the seabed. The farm in question, owned by some Swiss investors, was badly damaged in the storm a year ago, turning the lines of ropes into a tangled confused mess and a real hazard to everyone. It's been rumoured that they even got a cash grant from our government to start their operations here, which sometimes makes me wonder what kind of reply we would get if a group of Scots asked one of the Swiss cantons for finance to spoil one of their lovely mountainsides with a similar intensive farm. Surely the Swiss, with no seas of their own, should stick to tax dodging, cuckoo clocks and occasional sorties into the America's Cup?

Downwind from the mussel farm was a nasty lee shore with waves breaking on sharp  boulders. The only course was to run under the jib to the shelter of the point at Arduaine where I got the oars out and had a brisk row round the corner, passing close between the reef and the shore (there's a deep passage there, I discovered) before beaching on a nice sheltered sandy bay. I discovered that one tiny piece of line had let the whole show down, a real reminder of the old adage for the want of a nail .... After some lunch and a walk on shore I quickly got the rig repaired and the Kelpie relaunched.

There now followed a hard beat of about three hours into a really cold North-easterly with occasional squalls of sleet and a real sense of achievement on getting safely moored in time for tea. Once again Walt Simmons' wherry showed her seaworthiness.

Visit to a magical Island

Risking the wrath of our Leader, the One Who Wears the Hat of Authority, I can disclose that it took place again, for the tenth time. By popular acclaim it was probably the best yet, attracting an interesting and varied crowd, who brought a range of craft representing different traditions. The Leader had also allowed in some drascophiles, presumably because they were nice people.



The total secrecy surrounding this meeting ensures that the grassy sward where most of us camp and the facilities of the tiny village cope with the influx. There was no rowdiness this year, mainly because the chief culprit has been on the lemonade for a few months.

I sailed over on the Thursday in nice quiet conditions, the Kelpie loaded to the gunwales with gear, a day early to claim my site and defend it against the banshee. Actually the whole island is infested with wraiths, spirits and such creatures and if you come by road be very careful as you pass the old watermill to leave a hair from your head as a tribute to the elves who live there.

Altogether it's a magical place, with hares the size of dogs lolloping along the main street at dawn and a history that goes back to the times when the seas were the main routes of communication and our islands were centres of commerce and administration. I've posted about all this before, here:- From Toberonochy to the battle of Largs

Here are a few more images.

A ticket-collector's hut?

Someone can only dream

New road to the windmills

On Friday the wind came up but the early arrivals had too much to do to sail. In the afternoon we watched the Mat Ali arrive in a real blow and expertly pick up a mooring.

The blue thing on deck is a collapsible dinghy designed and built by master craftsman Charlie Hussey. Similar to my nutshell, it goes into two pieces for deck storage. I'm sure Charlie will make one for you if you're fed up with having your inflatable stolen or just want a bit of style. Mat Ali is a lovely interesting ship and I've posted about her before, here:- Autumn Visitors

The old Kilchattan Kirk has seen a lot of history, so it was good that a Viking ship could make it,

although the wooden rollers greased with herring are no longer in use to move her about.


 

Fast forward a thousand years or so, we had the new Oban Skiff on her first proper outing, a fantastic tribute to Adam Way and his local team, who have made an impressive job using flawless larch from a tree found near Oban itself. A lot of the old workboat designs don't translate well into leisure craft, being built for burden, but this one looks really slippery on the water and I'm sure will be a delight when she's tuned up. I intend to do a detailed post on her in due course.

Saturday was a light sunny day, with a picnic lunch on one of the few bays around Shuna still accessible despite the industrial fish farms which are ruining the amenity (and killing off our wild fish, crustaceans and aquatic mammals).



Ken's wee Jig has a new sail this year too.

It was nice to be played back into the bay by the Brother.

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Sunday was even quieter and we settled for a jaunt across to Eilann Gamha with a nice reaching course round Shuna on the way back.



There are some great things about this meeting, apart from having one's normal decision-making processes hijacked for the weekend. There's a feeling of mutual help and encouragement, lots of varied conversation, excellent food and drink and a proper ceilidh, this year courtesy of the Brother.

Update 18 May

Thanks to Julia for pointing out that the green hut is the missing lemon shop, per my earlier post here:- The Toberonochy Lemon Shop

Evening Sun in Argyll

It's been great weather for varnishing and the wherry Kelpie now has a fresh look to her spars.

Also a Portugese theme to her rails.

The sprit rig is great, once properly set up, which has admittedly taken some fiddling about. I've added a little jib on a bowsprit too, as we need some extra sail in the light airs that seem to be promised for this weekend.

When we run ashore for our lunch we disconnect the mainsheet and haul the sail to the mast with the brailing line. Reversing this gets us underway again in seconds.

In the evening, or if it really blows when we're out, we can lift out the whole rig, an advantage of an unstayed mast. Altogether a great system.



It's all looking good this year for that top secret event that may be happening soon.

The troubles with old boats (and old bloggers)

I've not posted anything for a couple of weeks, one of the longest breaks since this blog began. Partly I've been reflecting after the first hundred, but also I admit the weather here has been utterly unseasonal and great for varnishing. Also there is the (not so) small matter of my part-time subsidiary career campaigning against the relentless destruction of our underwater habitat and our wild life by the activities of industrial-scale fish farmers and scallop dredgers. Two industries that are allowed to police themselves are getting away with destruction on a massive scale, justified by unproven claims of economic benefit and the principle "out of sight out of mind" because of course only recreational and commercial divers are seeing what is going on beneath the surface. I try to keep this blog uncontroversial but occasionally one's anger boils over.

It's been interesting to review the various posts so far and the extent to which they have been gaining hits.

In an earlier post about a top secret event in mid-Argyll, which may (or then again may not) happen somewhere at some time in the near (or distant) future I made a reference to the Bilderberg Conference, which resulted in a flurry of hits. If you're reading this because I've done the same again, then welcome to a better World. Your life will improve if you give up the love of greatness and huge wealth and get close to nature in a little boat. You may even get an invitation from our revered convenor.

One of the most popular posts has been The Trouble with old Boats, which was really just a feed to Adrian Morgan's excellent site, but perhaps the hit level suggests that there is a demand for advice on this subject. I am privileged to regard Adrian as a friend and I hope he'll forgive me for saying that his blog is more about new boats than old ones and that they seem remarkably trouble-free. His descriptions of the traditional building process and images of the results certainly give me moments when I feel like throwing out the epoxy, sticking the remaining stocks of plywood in the stove and putting in a call to Ullapool.

That the North-west hasn't got a new customer is mainly due to the fact we don't have a great deal of space or time for any more boats here. Over the last twenty five years or so I've built six boats, of which three are still on the policies, my very first a Joel White Nutshell (how many of us have started that way?) an Iain Oughtred Acorn dinghy and the very versatile Walt Simmons Christmas Wherry. No longer around are the John Gardner Swampscott Dory (unimproved version, but a great boat) and his Quincy skiff, both given away to good homes and I hope still around somewhere and finally Sonas, my biggest and most challenging build to date.

I've done two restorations. The first was the Islander, Stroma, which took me about 5000 hours over eight years between 1995 and 2003. She and her sisters have their own website, www.scottishislandsclass.blogspot.com. After nine seasons afloat she is showing no signs of deterioration and needs only minimal maintenance, but her topsides paint is fading and this Summer she's being kept out for a thorough going over, which should see her well on her way to her centenary. We are truly custodians rather than owners of these old ladies.
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My second restoration is current. Juni was brought back from Sweden in 2005 in an expedition which I chronicled here, An Expedition to Stockholm. I had to buy her after sailing on one of her sisters, Miss Juli, whose image appears above. I completed a certain amount of conservation work then had to shelve the project to allow the small matter of building a house to proceed. That now over I'm getting to work with a vengeance and hope to be launching in a month or so. She's a lovely little yachtlet with a history by a designer, Tore Herlin, who deserves to be much better known outside his native land. In between completing the work to get her afloat I'll be writing about some of the problems faced in the restoration and also looking into the stories about Juni and the Juni-type boats.

Post No 100, time for a party

There are now 100 posts here, ranging from short demented jottings to my attempts to record some serious bits of boating and yachting history, anecdotes and other stuff that shouldn't be allowed to disappear. I'm going to have a wee party, with some nice  lemonade and orange biscuits straight from the stove, in tune with the music from newly health-conscious Scotland (update - the recipe can be found below among the comments).

For anyone who started visiting here recently I should point out that most of my efforts are not time-specific and some of the more useful historical pieces appear early on, such as the Juni expedition and the story of the Ralli II, although I've also recorded events that seemed significant as they occurred, such as the stranding of the HMS Astute, surely now one of the most unlucky and certainly the most inappropriately named ship in the Royal Navy of all time (astute- shrewd, sagacious, wily). Personally I hate these things and think that the World would be a better place if they all got stuck, but preferably not in the Kyles. As for aircraft carriers with or without planes for them, don't start me.

Thinking about names reminds me of my late dear friend John Gardner explaining the origin of La Belle Poule. Apparently there was a tradition in the French navy to allow the commander of a new ship to supply her name and in this case he had provided "La Belle Pauline" after his wife, but something went wrong with Admiralty communications and the result had rather a special meaning around the coastal towns.

John Gardner has inspired a lot of what I've posted here and his images have resulted in numerous hits. I intend to do what I can to keep his memory alive and share his images. Being of a generous disposition his family do not seek compensation for the non-commercial use of his images, but if anyone who appreciates his work would like to send me a message I'll pass it on.

Blogging is an odd activity, which of course no-one had heard of until recently. Indeed I remember when I got the first computer in my office back in 1985, a huge ugly expensive box of tricks installed by so-called experts, but who in a previous incarnation would have sold second-hand cars or insurance policies. My old secretary was sure that the lines of gaudy green text glaring out at her like messages from Outer Space would affect her fertility (she was then about fifty and unmarried) so she turned the screen towards the window and continued touch-typing as before, with interesting results. I never imagined for an instant that we were seeing the start of perhaps the greatest development in letters since 1450.

Herr Gutenberg

Scottishboating started as a spin-off from my scottishislandsclass blog, which in turn was started to record the history of those lovely yachts with the general intention to produce a book in due course, which is still an ambition. It's grown to produce a nice little cyber-community with 35 followers and about 41,000 page views to date. I'm sufficiently realistic to understand that most of them probably come here by mistake, but there's a good solid nucleus of readers who sometimes email me with information, occasional guest posts or just encouragement, so I'll keep going.

better with a little dark chocolate

Now I'm off to the party. Cheers!

Sixes at Buidhe

 

Children are getting a lot older these days and the average age of those who brought their toys to Buidhe at the weekend was a bit over sixty. It was nice to get a day on the water, or at least near it, while the bigger boats are still on dry land. The five pictured above present a cross section of the current sixes, including:-

This is one of the older Dolphin designs, always very pretty and still sailing nicely.

 I think this one is probably an early offering from the guru Graham Bantock.

This fellow is my own build, the lines being John Lewis' Tern.

 This is Richard's own effort, showing how a skilled designer can add displacement within the rules.

And finally Neil's beautiful Thistle, by far the prettiest of the bunch.

It wasn't a great day for sailing, but we were all left inspired to meet up again and the word is that there are a few more in the area, so maybe there will be a mid-Argyll group before long.

In Germany with David Ryder-Turner

My former career had a few interesting moments, one of which was in the early 1990s when I arrested a ship, an unusual but venerable process invented in the days when a visiting sailing ship might run up bills in a foreign port and forget to pay them. An old friend and mentor who had worked in shipping law for decades without ever getting the chance to do this was extremely envious, and became more so when the case was eventually resolved with a judicial sale by public auction, unheard of in living memory, at least in our jurisdiction. The whole episode involved time spent in the faculty library studying precedents and working out how one should nail the writ to a vessel with no masts. Fortunately all went well and today the ship survives and has acquired some masts. Not so lucky was a racehorse that I arrested a few years later (I got a name for the practice) as someone shot him, but that's a story for a horsey blog rather than a boating one.

My client in the case introduced me to David Ryder-Turner, who lived a few miles away but whom I had never met, which in turn led to David designing me the little yacht Sonas, about which I have already written (Sonas, a Gaelic form of happiness) and whose image is above. She was built over a couple of years under his legendary artistic and very critical eye, ensuring a sweetness in the sheerline that I could never have managed alone.

David had spent time in post-War Hamburg and wanted to revisit some old haunts, so in 1997 I agreed to share the driving and keep him company on the trip. We managed to avoid killing each other and had what David would have described as a very jolly time. This trip and a number of subsequent ones resulted in a number of lasting friendships and in me a great love not just of the Baltic and Northern Germany as places but also German language and culture, studies which had not been encouraged in my childhood.

The landscape is very different from Scotland's, being all flat, well-cultivated and prone to fogs and the sailing entirely different, the Baltic being basically a huge, almost tideless shallow lake, throwing up short steep seas. Despite this I felt an eerie sense of belonging, as if my ancestors had been there before me, and maybe they had been, given the long trading links between Scotland and the Hanseatic towns. The long lost Luebeck Letter was being written about in the Press at that time.

What follows is a photo-essay based on some of these visits.

On our first trip we stopped off at Maldon, where the scene is already much different from the Scottish West coast. Where I sail we have plenty of deep water, if you keep an eye out for reefs and skerries.

On arrival at Laboe we were greeted by the sight of quite a few boats and typical atmospheric conditions.

David was attracted to someone nice and blonde on aboard Feolinn.

The next year we went back and found the weather a bit windier.

Here is Feolinn going like a rocket in about Force Seven

And an Eight Metre doing likewise

That year and later I sailed aboard the Ylva, built by Gustav Plym in 1930 and a ship that has enjoyed a fascinating life.

Ylva in earlier days

Racing in a Force Eight

On all of my visits I was struck by the wonderful standard to which the German yachts had been restored, sadly contrasting with the treatment afforded to a lot of the so-called windfall yachts, which were often neglected after being confiscated by the British armed forces.

This is the Abeking & Rasmussen Piraya, probably the loveliest yacht in the harbour, beautifully restored and maintained. And finally a detail of Piraya's bow, showing Henry Rasmussen's trade mark ash rail-capping and his double arrow signature.