An apology

The old man has,  again,  felt the need to apologise to his students.

And,  of course,  to himself.

If he didn't make assumptions,  and rush blindly to be all-knowing,  he would check his 'facts' (or at least,  review the evidence).

He finds it difficult,  in the middle of a navigation class,  to consult reference books and websites;  it rather spoils the flow of the presentation.

But he really should not have put-down the student who raised a perfectly valid question.

They were discussing height of tide,  charted depth and depth of water.   Someone asked how depth was measured in practice and he banged on for a bit about echo-sounders,  sounding and then lead-lines.

Someone else asked whether the word 'sounding' pre-dated echo-sounders.

It flashed through the old man's mind that he was unsure,  so he glossed over the question.

A glance at Falconer's 'Dictionary of the Marine' showed that,  even in 1815,  the word 'sound' had several meanings.   His student was quite right:   'sounding the deep' had been used to mean measuring the depth of the sea since the 14th century,  even though,  at that time,  they weren't sure what 'depth'  or the 'deep' meant.

But surely they didn't use noises,  or sound,  as we do with echo-sounders,  to measure the depth?   They used lead-lines.

A glance at a dictionary of etymology solved the mystery:  'sound' has several meanings.

Yes,  it means a noise,  or making a noise.

But it also,  in olden times,  meant measuring the depth of the sea.

It became clear to the old man that he had done what many before him had done.   He had confused two meanings of the word 'sound' and then conflated them.

An echo-sounder uses sound to sound the depth:  a rather nice homographic pun:  it would be nice to think that the inventor named it deliberately.

But,  of course,  every cloud has a silver lining.

The old man spent the whole of a rainy Saturday morning exploring his dictionaries and reference  books.

Along the Old West River

The River Great Ouse flows from Bedford through St Neots and Huntingdon toward Earith.

At Earith two wide, non-navigable drains,  the River Delph and the New Bedford River,  flow Northward toward Denver and the tidal Great Ouse.

A narrow lock,  under the B1050 Shelford Road,  opens into the Old West River next to Hermitage Marina,  where,  for a year or so,  Richard had kept his 60ft wide-beam boat.

He'd spent that year,  with his three sons,  fitting out the boat as their new home.

Now,  very nearly habitable,  he wanted to move the boat from Hermitage Marina to Cathedral Marina at Ely.

When he first bought the boat,  as a shell,  he'd arranged an Inland Waterways Helmsman's course with the LS.   After one day the course was abandoned because of strong winds.

The LS,  being honourable,  had offered the candidates another day,  to be arranged,  to complete the course.

Now,  a year or more later,  Richard asked whether the offer was still open:  would the LS help him move the widebeam from Earith to Ely?

Certainly he would:  how could he refuse such an offer?

It dawned a beautiful,  cloudless September day,  and he was early.   The boat was ready and Richard and Charlie were ready to go.

Dave arrived a few minutes later.

The engine checks revealed an immaculate,  gleaming,  unused engine room.

The big diesel engine,  silent for months,  rumbled into life at the first turn of the key.   The bow lines were cast off and the boat was sprung from its riverside mooring.

The Old West River has no perceptible flow.   It once carried all the water of the Great Ouse from Earith to the Cam at Pope's Corner but was bypassed by the Delph and the New Bedford.   Its channel has been narrowed by reeds and weeds encroaching from both banks.   Two narrowboats might pass easily,  but two widebeams?

The school holidays were over and it was a Friday:  perhaps there would be little or no traffic.

They met one cruiser and were overtaken by another.

It was a perfect day out.

Charlie lounged on the foredeck,  and the three others (all children for a day!) gossiped and drank coffee on the cruising deck.

Where the River Cam joins the River Great Ouse at Pope's Corner the waterway is wider and busier.   Richard practised turning in the river,  with the wind and against the wind,  while the LS lounged and watched.

He practiced coming alongside at the 48-hour EA mooring while Charlie learned and practiced lassoing the posts.

Ely Cathedral across the new bypass

The two railway bridges and the new Ely Southern Bypass  mark the final stages of the voyage.

The approach to Richard's new mooring was straightforward:  Charlie lassoed the bow bollard and the LS (roused from somnolence) caught the stern mooring.

A truly wonderful day on the river.

Thank you,  Richard,  Dave,  Charlie.

Trailer repairs

Rumour has it that trailers are neglected.

Websites and magazine articles give lots of detail on the care and maintenance of trailers (see Cleaning,  here),  but who actually does this?

The LS likes trailers.

His car is a smallish hatchback which can carry some equipment:  camping gear;  peripatetic presentation materials;  Christmas presents;  you know the kind of thing.

For bulkier things (trips to the tip;  timber from the merchant) a trailer solves most problems.

The trailer under the Sandweaver was clean and tidy at first inspection,  but,  as detailed here,  had a few problems.

After the first shakedown cruise the scale of the trailer's problems became clearer.   Most of them were beyond the skills of the LS (Actually,  they were likely to be hard work;  outside the ethos of Lazy Sailing.).

Some years ago the baby son had bought a big oak log from a timber merchant in Essex.   He planned to rive it into staves for a chair,  but first it needed to be moved from Essex to Cambridge.

By trailer,  obviously.

The trailer was hired from Anglian Trailers,  near Bury St Edmunds who were meticulous about the lad's driving licence:  they weren't sure that it qualified him to tow such a big trailer.   He has subsequently taken a trailer course,  and is now fully qualified.   But on the day,  his Dad drove the car and trailer.

The hirer was less meticulous about trailer maintenance (despite advertising trailer servicing and maintenance on their website!) and it had to be taken into the workshop for the lights to be repaired.

So the LS 'phoned Anglian Trailers and explained his problems.   They were very kind,  very chatty,  very free with advice and totally unhelpful.

Snipe Trailers were even less helpful.

TrailerTek offered only straightforward servicing.

For some years the LS had offered Inland Waterways Helmsman courses.

The manager of Jones' Boatyard,  at St Ives,  had seen the value of this and had often referred his clients to the LS for own-boat tuition.   Margaret suggested that he might know of a trailer workshop.

He did:  F S Trailers in Huntingdon.   Paul was very cheerful,  with a 'can-do' attitude:  "bring it over and we'll take a look".

So the LS took it over,  and Paul took a look:  "the bearings are shot,  and the stub axle might be bent;  leave it with us and we'll quote for those,  the new tyres,  the breakback mechanism and new mudguards".

The LS expected this to cost a bit.  It did.   Less than £250.00,  within a week!
He picked it up on his way to Thrapston and it towed like a dream.
He took it home late that evening:  it towed as though it wasn't there.

He now knows that he has a trailer he can trust and,  with luck,  he can go sailing this season.

Sandweaver shakedown cruise

When the baby son (TBS,  as opposed to the elder son (TES),  who is a year or so older) returned from his US road trip one of his first duties was to spend a day or two at school checking his students' A level results (better than expected) and then to check the GCSE results and begin enrolling students into this September's 6th Form classes.

One of his filial duties was to 'phone his Mum and Dad (to discover whether or not they were still alive) and to chide the LS into launching the Sandweaver.

A moment of truth:  a shakedown cruise.

Rutland Water was the obvious place.   An hour or so up the A1;  no tides;   a decent slipway;  friendly,  helpful staff;  safety boats nearby.

Friday 23rd seemed as good a date as any.   0845BST outside the gate.

The roadworks on the A14 have a speed limit of 40mph;   stationary didn't seem reasonable until it became clear that a small van had broken down in the outside lane.

After that,  stationary seemed entirely unreasonable until it became clear that a lorry had broken down in the nearside lane.

Later,  on the A1,  the LS received a 'phone call from TBS to say that a mudguard had fallen off the trailer.

At purchase,  these mudguards look very solid,  capable steps.   The first step revealed that they were thin,  brittle plastic which,  in the event,  wouldn't even survive a road journey.

Later in the journey,  the bow snubber fell off and had to be retrieved.

TBS,  following the LS,  reported that the boat was riding smoothly and steadily on its trailer,  but that the trailer wheels were bouncing very fast and very violently.

Note to LS:  replace the mudguards with steps.

"Shakedown" in a very literal sense!

The people at Rutland Water are so very friendly and helpful.   The Watersports Centre is operated by Anglian Water,  which owns the reservoir and supplies drinking water.

The Sandweaver was rigged quickly and easily . . 

(More quickly and easily than a smart GP14 nearby;  stepping that GP14 mast is a nightmare.)
(Actually,  there was a hitch:  the mast has a heel fitting which carries the sheaves for the jib,  main & spinnaker ha'lyards.   This fitting should be held to the mast by two small screws.   The absence of these screws allowed the fitting to come loose and jam into the step.)

 . . and reversed down to the slipway.   A wide,  shallow,  gently-sloping slipway.   The trailer had to be detached from the car and fully immersed before the boat would float.

Three things,  perhaps.

1   The centreboard must be lifted fully and held up,  out of the way.

2    The break-back mechanism of the trailer must be made to work.

3    The rear skids of the trailer might be replaced with tilting rollers.

With the boat afloat and secured to the pontoon the engine was mounted and tested;  no problem.

Water bottles and luncheon were loaded;  no problems.

The A frame,  to hold up the after end of the boom,  was a success.

The real problem was the amount of water gushing into the boat from the centreboard case.   The vibration of the journey had loosened the pivot nut,  which,  with its washer had fallen into the bilge.   With the nut and washer replaced the gush was reduced to a seep.   The LS can live with a seep.

Note to LS:  replace the nut with a Nylock nut,  and replace the rubber sealing washers.

Why,  why do boatbuilders put the centreboard pivot bolt below the water line?

Paul Fisher often puts his below the boat,  in the keel,  where it cannot leak.

Francoir Vivier often puts his at the top of the board,  well above the waterline.

The Torqeedo 503 pushed the Sandweaver away from the pontoon,  between the children on their paddle boards,  canoes and inflatable things,  and out into clear water.

The Wykeham Martin furling gear worked perfectly,  but the jib set badly.   The ha'lyard is thin Dyneema with no purchase.   The LS couldn't get the luff tight enough,  and the line slipped on the cleat.

Two possible solutions:

1    Ditch the Wykeham Martin (TBS loves them,  but the LS is not so sure) and hank the jib to the forestay.

2    Attach a block to the head of the jib to give a 2:1 purchase.   This might be quite difficult.  The ha'lyard is part Dyneema and part wire;  the join (inside the mast) won't pass the sheaves at the top or the bottom.

The mainsail was set quickly and easily.   Again,  the LS couldn't get enough tension on the ha'lyard and the Cunningham has only one part.   The gooseneck is fixed.

The sail worked well enough,  but it's old and baggy.

The boat sailed well.   3.5 knots with little or no heeling when hard on the F2 to 3 wind.  4.3 knots downwind with (maybe) F3.

When the wind picked up a little,  and the boat heeled,  the reefing lines worked almost perfectly:  the starboard cheek block needs to be moved 2 inches forward on the boom.

The rest of the shakedown cruise was idyllic.

The reservoir is set in beautiful countryside,  the fishermen weren't too obnoxious,  and the two sailors didn't quarrel (much).   The wind was light,  but enough to give up to 4.5 knots on the beam.

Returning to the pontoon,  the jib furled perfectly;  the mainsail came down easily and was tied to the boom;   the electric motor gave perfect control between the children.

With the trailer fully immersed the boat floated on and was secured.   Taking down the mast and securing the boat for the road was easy and leisurely.

The road journey home was hell.

At 40mph the trailer ran fairly smoothly.

At 50mph it set up a vibration which shook the entire car.

The lighting board finally gave up;  it'll be replaced with LED lamps.

Perhaps a visit to the trailer workshop at Bury is called for?

Can I cruise my dinghy yet?

The myriad things to be done before the dinghy is ready to cruise.

A small item:  the anchor.

The boat came with a folding fisherman,  with no rode,  and a folding grapnel with 2m of chain and enough line.

The old chap doesn't trust either of these,  but he had a Danforth with 3m of chain which he knew was reliable (if dangerous to fingers).

He knew because it had held the West Wight Potter in a violent overnight thunderstorm on the Stour when the rode was bar taut and dead straight.
That thunderstorm had been a beast.
He'd been reading in the well as the evening drifted toward dusk and the sun sank over Essex.   At first he'd thought the flashes to the South were the electric trains between London and Harwich (the ones that serve the North Sea ferries out of Parkeston Quay) but they became too frequent and too bright   The constant low rumbling should have been a hint but then the wind began to rise and the rain began to fall.   By midnight the rain was torrential,  the wind screamed in the rigging and the thunder & lightning were continuous.   He peered out of the tiny cabin at the glittering mud on the North bank and tried to guess how hard the little boat would be driven onto it when the rode failed;   would he be able to crawl through the mud to firm ground?
As the dawn sun struggled through the cloud the thunder still rumbled away to the East and North.

But;  back to that small item,  the anchor.

Simple.   Unshackle the grapnel,  cut the rode from the Danforth and shackle the two chains together.   Except that the shackle on the grapnel was a block of rust and had to be cut away from the anchor with a hacksaw.   The old fool cut the bow (in two places) and then found that the pin section would not pass through the link of the chain.   So then he had to saw through the pin.   We won't mention the complication of holding it all still because the shackle was too small to be held in the vice.

The shackle on the Danforth chain was bronze,  so not rusted,  but it took half an hour with WD40 and a shackle key to move the pin.   And then it wouldn't fit through the links of either chain.   The ditty box supplied a smaller shackle which did fit.   But,  being stainless steel,  it will,  one day,  fail without warning.

A 15 minute job became 2 hours of frustration.

The old man hates shackles,  and he hates Monel wire even more.

Which is why his mainsheet blocks are attached to the boom and the traveller with selvagee strops:  simple,  reliable,  replaceable bits of cordage.

So why didn't he replace the anchor chain shackles with strops?

Summer Camp

Last week the old man had the opportunity to teach navigation to a group of teenagers.

This would be the ultimate nightmare for some people,  but the old bloke was excited on the way out and euphoric on his return.   He was also exhausted.

ENS is a 16 hour (two,  maybe three,  days) course,  but the officer in charge of the Sea Cadet’s Summer Camp wanted five days.   So the old duffer expanded the course.   And asked for a couple of boats to do some practical work.

The camp is held on a small island linked to the mainland by a causeway.   The small island is home to quite a lot of very senior Royal Navy people,  who carry lots of gold lace on their shoulders and caps.   It makes the volunteers with wavy lace feel a bit nervous,  and it makes the cadets feel very nervous.

The Leading Cadet in charge of the squad marching to and from lunch,  to and from the classroom,  to and from the accommodation ship became so nervous that he failed to salute several senior Royal Marines officers and,  on one occasion,  called “eyes right” when he knew he meant “eyes left”.   He was mortified,  as was one of his officers:  the other,  and the senior Naval people in question,  thought it hilarious.

Do we expect too much of our young people?   That a 15-year-old is in charge of a squad of marching cadets,  on a working Naval base,  under the eyes of Admirals,  is something to be applauded and congratulated.   A few mistakes are to be expected,  smiled at,  and gently corrected.   At least we can recognise their fears and help them overcome.

They are all (volunteers and cadets) housed in an old warship moored close to the island.

‘Housed’ is probably the wrong word:  it implies a degree of comfort and homeliness which the old,  stripped-out warship can’t offer.

The cadet’s quarters are cramped.   While upright and moving they are within a metre or so of other cadets all the time.   While asleep they could (if they could) reach out and link hands with two other cadets (three if they had three arms).   Privacy is available only in the heads:  a blessing not available to sailors in the Age of Sail.

The volunteers have better quarters.   The senior people have individual cabins;  the lesser people (which includes our ancient hero) have six to a cabin with lots of space.

It was unfortunate that half-way through the week a water pipe burst and no more hot water came from any of the taps.   It was even more unfortunate (though temporary) when the officer's heads became blocked.

The navigation course went surprisingly well.

Most of the class had hoped to be shooting,  or sailing,  or power-boating,  or windsurfing,  but,  instead,  they were in a classroom with desks,  chairs,  projectors and PowerPoint.   A bit like school,  really.

But,  after a noisy start,  they buckled down and enjoyed the chartwork.   It was new and fairly exciting.   It opened up a world they hadn’t thought about.   It showed that there was more to moving a boat around than just starting the engine and wiggling the tiller.   These were new skills;  useful skills with even the possibility of interesting careers.

The concept of pilotage;  that the navigator could not simply follow the buoys without a detailed plan;  was exciting and new.   Especially exciting because the plan being worked was for the harbour outside the window.

The Boat Station let them borrow two Champs (with all the appropriate paperwork and signatures,  of course) and the galley had provided bag meals.

What a wonderful evening,  and what a wonderful way to round off a great week.

Sandweaver 16

The LS has bought another boat.

Sandweaver 16

He had become too old and fat and lazy for the Hobie Tandem Island.   It was an exciting and fast boat,  but not the coastal cruiser he had hoped for.   He resented the need to find a beach on which to pitch his tent.   Pitching a tent is something to be done overnight,  especially when coastal wild-camping,  and tides simply don't coordinate with day and night.   When cruising the coast in a dinghy it's necessary to sail with the tide,  and anchor,  sleep and eat when the tide is contrary.

So he sold the Hobie to a charming lady in Norfolk who knew exactly where and how she wanted to sail it.   She's about half the age (and girth) of the LS,  with ten times his energy.

The LS has bought a Sandweaver 16.   Sixteen feet (4.87m to you) of fibreglass with (alas) an aluminium Marconi mast and a Bermudan mainsail with roller-furling jib.   It's astonishing how a grown man can dream for so long about a varnished clinker dinghy with a balanced lugsail and then get a Sandweaver 16.   A triumph of common sense over romanticism?

The keel didn't rest on the rollers

One of the essential features of a cruising dinghy is that it can,  unlike most yachts,  be trailed from home to a launch site,  and then taken home from the same,  or another,  launch site.
The trailer,  and the position of the boat on the trailer,  are important.
The weight of the boat should be taken on all of the keel rollers.   The side rollers and slides are there to prevent the boat rocking side to side,  not to take its weight.   At purchase,  the Sandweaver was not fitted to its trailer:  its keel didn't touch two of the rollers  at all,  and its entire weight was borne on the two slides and the forward roller.   A couple of hours of anxious (scary) work with blocks,  jacks and spanners underneath the boat readjusted it all.

Break-back release pin & spring

The boat should be fore and aft on the trailer so that the weight of the tow hitch is about the same as a person:  no more than 7% of the weight of the fully loaded trailer:  in this case 35Kg (95lbs).   With the keel on the rollers the boat moved fore and aft fairly easily,  and the bow snubber of the trailer was adjusted to this.
It's important,  of course that the boat is easy to launch and recover:  a break-back trailer is one of the best ways to achieve this.   The pivot was oiled and the release pin & spring sprayed with easing oil,  and cleaned.   Sadly,  the outer arms of the trailer had been pinched tightly to the draw bar.   Adam advised that spreading the trailer arms might damage them or the weld,  and that it might be better to use the trailer without breaking its back for the time being.

The trailer was tested (to partial destruction) on the A14 and A1 for the Sandweaver's shakedown cruise.   It did not do well,  so it was taken to F S Trailers at Huntindon,  where Paul declared that "the bearings are shot:  the stub axle might be bent".   The tyres and mudguards need replacing,  and he quoted a very reasonable price for freeing the breakback mechanism.

The winch strap was at the wrong angle

The trailer winch,  which hauls the boat onto the trailer,  was in good condition and needed only cleaning and oiling.   The winch strap was sound and the carabiner which links the strap to the boat was not too bad.
But the U bolt in the stem of the boat was in entirely the wrong place,  so that the strain on the winch forced the bows down toward the trailer.   The best place for that U bolt is at the same height as the winch so that the boat is pulled straight onto the trailer.   The angle had caused the U bolt partially to pull out and had caused stress crazing in the fibreglass of the stem.
The U bolt was replaced with an M12 ring bolt through the stem band and stem,  and held with a shaped timber pad,  a large square washer and Nylock nuts.

The boat was described in the advertisement as "ready to sail":  an exaggeration bordering on an untruth.

The end-stop was missing from the mainsheet track,  and the mainsheet had been cobbled together with a set of blocks and jamcleats,  but no traveller car.   The first tack would have brought disaster.   A pair of blocks from the LS's bo's'n's* store and an endstop & car from Force 4 chandlery sorted out the mainsheet.   The shakedown cruise revealed that the mainsheet was a little heavy,  so the 2-part purchase was replaced with 3 parts.

The reefing lines were harder.   The mainsail had cringles for slab reefing,  but the boom had no cheek blocks:  it did have two tube cleats,  but they both faced aft!?   The LG's jury-rig involved 4 lengths of Hempex (and is too embarrassing to be shown in a photograph).
Later,  a pair of cheek blocks was screwed to the after end of the boom and 6mm Hempex used as reefing lines.   They are led forward to tube cleats on the boom.   The two forward reefing lines were led to nylon horn cleats on the mast below the gooseneck.

The main ha'lyard appeared to be OK.
The shrouds are held out by adjustable spreaders,  the ends of which,  being sharp metal and wire,  are covered by plastic or rubber boots to prevent the spreaders tearing or chafing the sails.   The boots had perished and cracked;  they were easily replaced.   

At purchase the jib had a wire luff with a swivel at the peak:  the tack roller lay on the broker's desk and was thrown into the sale.   The boat is now rigged with the Martin-Wykeham furling gear:  it can't be reefed.   A block at the stemhead and a 6mm line from the well through the block to the forestay ensured that the mast could be raised and lowered by one person.

Jib sheet fairlead and camcleat

The jib sheet sliders had been adjusted to be used by crew sitting forward in the boat,  but the LS will usually sail alone.   It was a simple matter to readjust the angle of the camcleats.

Rudder:  screw removed!

For a while the rudder was a mystery.   The vendor had pointed out that the uphaul didn't work:  had the bungee downhaul hardened over time?   No,  it hadn't:  to prevent the rudder floating up someone had driven a screw through the rudder cheeks into the rudder!   With the screw removed,  a spare length of cord as an uphaul and the fairlead moved to provide a fair lead the rudder lifted perfectly.
At the shakedown cruise it became clear that the downhaul bungee cord was not up (?down) to the job.   It was replaced with a downhaul cord and safety-release cleat.
The entire assembly was dismantled and given three coats of varnish.

Stainless steel engine mount
bolted to the stern deck

Electric outboard motor

The bracket for the outboard motor is something that the LS has not seen before.   Even though it's stainless steel it's lighter and smaller than most,  and it can be mounted and dismounted from within the boat.   It holds the Torqeedo 503 perfectly:  the long shaft projects well below the transom so that the propeller is in clear water.   The motor itself,  when not in use,  fits across the stern of the boat forward of the transom,  aft of the thwart.
If one must have an outboard motor an electric machine is a joy.   No petrol or oil,  no plugs to foul, no ignition to fail.   Virtually no noise,  and enormous torque from a big,  slow-turning propeller.

Rope tidies

The boat itself is spacious,  being nearly 2m in the beam,  but has little stowage space.   There are no lockers or lazarettes;  no bins or crates.   It's a day-boat,  with no attempt to provide sleeping space.   Curiously,  there was nowhere to hang lines,  but this was quickly put right with a set of rope tidies from Bayside Marine.   There is no galley,  no pantry,  no heads,  no tent and no bed.
There are two anchors:  one is a grapnel,  which most sailors don't like,  although it does have 2m of chain and 15m of line;  the other is a folding Fisherman,  which the LS doesn't like.   A coastal cruising dinghy is unlikely to anchor in water deeper than 5m (although Margaret Dye would have disagreed) so about 30m of line would be better than the 15m available.
The bo's'n's store has a Danforth anchor with 5m of chain and 50m of line,  but,  having seen a Danforth trap and ruin someone's fingers,  the LS is likely to use this only if nothing else is available. In the event,  he did use it.

There are two thwarts;  one aft at the helm,  the other forward across the centreboard case.   They are nearly 6 feet (2m) apart.   Two six foot planks,  resting on these thwarts,  alongside the side benches,  became an excellent bed.   Even better with the inflatable mattress and a sleeping bag.

*

For those who enjoy apostrophes this is a lovely word:  two sets of missing letters and a possessive!

Those who don't enjoy apostrophes can ignore my glee.

GPS. Or is it GNSS?

One of the Coastal Skipper candidates muttered something about GPS satellites being in geosynchronous  orbits.   Another muttered something in reply about them being confined to equatorial orbits.

This arose from the realization that the variation of a magnetic compass would increase dramatically as one approached the Poles.   Unless,  of course,  one approached along a meridian which passed through the magnetic poles.   Even so,  the dip of a magnetic compass close to the poles would make it very inaccurate.

This led to a discussion that the use of Global Navigation Satellite Systems would be a better way to navigate close to the Poles (or indeed,  anywhere else!).

The LG (in this context,  a Lazy Sailor) was reminded of the time when he attended a five-day Astronavigation class which showed him that for the price of a decent sextant he could buy between 5 and 10 GPS instruments and that for the annual cost of tables he could buy all the batteries those instruments would ever need.

GNSS satellites are,  of course,  in geosynchronous orbits:  they pass over the same spot on the surface once every day or once every half day.   To do this they orbit at a precisely predetermined height at a predetermined speed.   Each has a different orbital angle to the Equator so that a constellation of satellites covers most of the Earth's surface most of the time.

Because the satellites are moving with respect to the receiving instrument the latter must constantly search for other,  more appropriately positioned,  satellites.

By contrast,  communications satellites are placed in geostationary orbits:  they 'hover' above the same point on the surface all the time so that directional antennae (TV dishes!) can remain fixed pointing in one direction.   These satellites orbit at the same speed that the Earth rotates,  and they do so above the Equator.

The LS has always been an advocate for paper charts.

Yes,  they get damp in the well of a small boat,  especially a dinghy,  but they can be enclosed in a waterproof case.

On a recent visit to Imray's offices Amy showed him their new-ish electronic charts on an iPad,  and they were a revelation.   They were,  in appearance,  scanned copies of the paper charts.   No more disappearing detail that is so annoying with vector charts.   Straightforward zoom by 'pinching' and tapping in the classic iPad way.  And when you need the detail charts,  simply zoom in to the detail charts.

The LS has always sailed away from teaching electronic navigation.   He's used the old mantra "better to practice with the machine on the boat",  which doesn't convince even he.

But now he has something sensible to teach.

As soon as he can persuade his iPad to communicate with his monitor and projector he'll use Imray Navigator.

He might even use it on the boat.

Fido's companion

Fido had become unwell;  he had been working too hard.

Fido

Over several years he had done so well that his patch had been enlarged incrementally and he had found himself working all available hours.

"Available hours" is limited;  Husqvarna require that he rest for 7 or 8 hours every day,  so they built it into his firm-ware.   They suggest that he rest for at least one day every week,  but he wasn't able to patrol his entire turf in the available hours.   So,  no rest days.

So he broke down.

The saga of his workshopisation is a sad one,  told elsewhere.   He was lucky to survive,  and he will never go back to that workshop.

Another was found,  and Martin proved to be an able and intelligent technician:  Fido survived and thrived.   But Martin did point out that Fido was not built for the amount of work he was expected to do.

Rover

A replacement?

With Fido working again it seemed harsh to sell him and buy a bigger machine.
A better solution was for Fido to enter semi-retirement and another machine be found to patrol the larger area.
The new machine is a Husqvarna 430X:  Rover.

This was also an opportunity for the LG to ease his workload,  especially as his Sea Cadet duties needed more and more time.
So the vegetable beds were levelled and seeded with grass.   Some of the overgrown shrubs were trimmed back and the slope to the river was smoothed and grassed.
He couldn't bring himself to grass over the asparagus bed,  despite its short season and the beetle.
New cable was laid,  and Rover was activated and released.
Rover's programming turned out to be far more complex than Fido's,  and the LG still isn't sure,  months later,  that he's mastered it.

Decapitated snowdrops

But Rover works,  and he works well.   He copes well with roughish ground and very well with narrow passageways.   He worked,  with reduced hours,  through the winter rain and cold,  but not,  of course,  with the snow.   He coped not so well with the bottom of the slope to the landing stage:  something will need to be rearranged there before the growing season begins again.
The expanded area included some wild flowers under bushes which were removed:  February showed that Rover had no respect for snowdrops.

And Fido?

He was asked to look after the front lawn:  the one that visitors,  students and candidates see first.
He cuts it short,  down to 2cm,  for about 10 minutes every day.
The grass has become thicker and stronger,  and some of the perennial weeds have died down.   But the better grass shows up the patches of moss.

The LG has a new quandary.

He spends no time mowing the lawns,  but the time saved is not spent in a deck chair,  admiring the grass.   He's spending it on lawn maintenance.

Challenger

Gerry had arranged to take ten cadets aboard one of the TSYT Challengers for a week:  he needed another adult volunteer;  he preferred one with some sailing experience.

Guess who had sailed a Challenger some years ago!   And guess who agreed with alacrity!!

We met at 0830BST on Monday outside the school and assembled the luggage.   Some of the youngsters were travelling light:  a sleeping bag and a small holdall.   Others had brought everything they might (or might not) need for a month on a cruise liner.

They were all lads;  no lasses.   This was not sexist:   the layout of a Challenger is such that there must be an equal number of lads and lasses,  and not enough lasses elected to go.

Lads in a group tend to go feral quite quickly;  as we assembled at the bus it had already begun.

Gerry was more afraid of a 'starburst' and that he might lose cadets to all points of the compass;  that, too,  had already begun!

The drive to Portsmouth (ably executed by Brian) was boring.   The halfway stop at a service station on the A3 was nothing special (apart from the mini-starburst!).   The arrival at Gunwharf Quays was unremarkable.   Chas,  as ever,  was cheerful and smiling when he met us,  but the lads were horrified at the prospect of carrying their own kit half a mile to the boat.

But the sight of the boat was electrifying.   It brought back exciting,  long-forgotten memories to those of us (me!) who had sailed her before.   The long,  clean hull.   The tall mast.   The snake-pit of lines,  ha'lyards,  sheets and winches.   The stowing of kit and allocation of bunks.   The explanation of the heads.  The skipper's briefing.   The galley and the saloon.

We moved out of the marina about mid-afternoon and headed South down the channel.   At 5q-Outer Spit South Cardinal we turned West along the Solent.
It was a lovely afternoon,  calm water,  little wind and a sinking sun ahead.
There were no marina spaces at Cowes and we found ourselves alongside the breakwater in the North Basin.   With the tide falling the ladder became longer and longer:  the cadets had hoped to run ashore,  but the skipper thought the ladder too dangerous.   As the Westerly breeze rose the boat was pushed away up to 2 metres from the wall,  and reaching the ladder became almost impossible.   The lads were not pleased.   One or two had already decided that they wanted to be anywhere except on a boat.

High water on Tuesday morning made the ladder shorter,  so they used the marina showers and heads and felt a little better.

The weather had deteriorated and the wind had risen,  but the waves in the Solent had not yet built.
The lads were taught how to set the yankee and the staysail and we sailed Westward into the teeth of the rising gale.   Half a dozen tacks later we reached Yarmouth to discover that the skipper had recorded Force 8,  gusting 9,  during the afternoon.
Once again we moored on the breakwater,  this time within a few metres of the Ferry terminal.   but this time the wind pressed the boat against the ladder and running ashore became straightforward.

Wednesday was race day.   Three closely matched Challengers around a standard triangular course.
Your author hates racing.   It pushes people and machines to their limit;  sometimes beyond their limits.   With luck the machine breaks before the people break,  but the people always become aggressive.  Or perhaps those who race do so because they are already,  by nature,  aggressive.
Your author allows that the drive to win fosters improvements in the design and construction of the machine and,  possibly,  in the skills,  strength and fitness of the people.
The lads were bored.   When racing a big yacht the skipper and mate are intense and focussed;  the helmsman (in this case,  your author) did his best.   For the crew (the lads) it was hours of waiting punctuated by minutes of frantic hard work.
We came second.
That evening,  back in Cowes,  they desperately wanted to run ashore.

Thursday was a gentle day.
The afternoon and evening were devoted to the classroom.   The navigator showed them around a chart of the Solent and helped them with a night pilotage plan.   For the first time they were enthusiastic and excited.
The night exercise went well and the boat was sailed safely into Gunwharfs Quay.

Did the lads enjoy the trip?   It was hard to tell.   On the long journey home some slept and some used their smartphones.
Landlocked Sea Cadets!   It makes one wonder.