There was a time when heads were simple.

A plank across the bows,  with circular holes.   Convenient in many ways.   Every time the ship dipped its head into the sea the fouling would be washed away,  both from the ship and,  presumably,  the men.   In those days sailors were almost all men.

These days the heads are much more complicated,  and they are hidden away in a tiny cubby hole below decks.

At home,  you press the button,  or the handle,  and your drinking water flushes away your waste.   On board,  you need to open seacocks,  move the lever,  operate the pump,  move the lever again,  pump again.

At home,  the system rarely blocks.   If it does,  you call a plumber and she sorts it out.   On board,   almost anything will block the heads;  the mantra has it "if you haven't eaten it,  don't put it down the heads".   The worst culprits are 'wet wipe' type things;  because they are made of cotton (or similar) they don't disintegrate in water or in the pump.   They wrap themselves around the valves,

 and they get trapped in the limescale in the pipes.   The pipes are narrower than those at home and they get blocked.

The 'limescale' is interesting (to a chemist!).   Human urine contains urate ions;  being associated with hydrogen,  sodium and potassium ions they stay dissolved.   Sea water contains calcium ions.   When urine mixes with sea water the calcium ions and urate ions combine to form calcium urate,  which is insoluble;  if left for any time in the waste pipes it precipitates on the walls of the waste pipes and gradually narrows them.   Over time the waste pipes become too narrow to pass anything that is not liquid.   Especially 'wet wipe' type things.   Less pleasant stuff,  too.

One answer,  of course is to flush properly.   The problem is partly that noise carries very well throughout a boat;  everyone can hear you pumping the heads,  especially at night.   So people tend to pump two or three times and then leave it.   It also leaves most of your waste still in the waste pipes,  where it accumulates,  settles and precipitates.   If everyone pumped 25 times (the recommended procedure) everything would end up in the sea and the pipes would be cleaned out (and everyone on the boat would be wide awake!).

When the heads become blocked you don't call a marine plumber;  do they even exist?   You leave it to the skipper.   When you own your own boat (or become a skipper of Nancy Blackett) you very quickly learn to strip down the marine heads and flush out the valves and pipes.

It's a nasty job,  but someone has to do it.

Nancy Blackett on the Orwell

John Smith had made the suggestion that I take out a couple of Mates in Nancy Blackett and that we call it a refresher day.   I wasn’t sure what to make of this,  or how I should prepare for the day.

The volunteers on Wednesday included John Holmes,  Mark Taylor,  Adrian Pyke and Judy Pyke.   Brave souls.

We spent the first few hours of the day exploring the boat in detail.   We each laid hands on warps,  springs,  ha’lyards,  topping lift,  sheets,  backstays and furling lines.   We now know exactly where every line runs and what it does.

We explored below,  and we each filled,  lit and extinguished the alcohol stove;  we even made coffee!

We removed the companionway steps,  lifted the cockpit sole and explored the engine.   We now know that removing the weed filter top before closing the engine seacock will flood the boat.   We know that the engine oil level is very high,  and we know how to look at the gearbox oil level.

The one thing we didn’t do was to strip down and reassemble the heads;   I reserved that delight for myself two days later!

Still on the mooring,  we reefed the mainsail,  and shook the reefs out;  several times.

Then,  finally,  we moved out into the estuary.

Again we reefed and shook out.   We put two reefs in and shook them out.   We discovered that dancing on the quarters is OK if the topping lift is set and the mainsheet is tight;  this keeps the boom relatively still.

Then we put the boat on a mooring buoy and debriefed each other over lunch.

After lunch we each brought the boat up to the buoy,  and we each stood on the foredeck and picked up the buoy pennant.   We learned how to communicate between foredeck and helm,  and that it’s best with hand signals not words.

Then,  back at the marina,  we each brought the boat alongside and moored it.

An exhausting day,  but we all learned so much.

For Adrian and Judy this was the last and (they said!) the best day of their short holiday in Suffolk.   They weren’t able to come back on Thursday because they had to pack and travel home.

So John,  Mark and I sailed ‘round to Erwarton Bay and had lunch on the anchor.

A Daysail on the Orwell

 John Smith sent out an invitation for a Skipper and Mate to take Tim, Louise and Abigail out for a day sail on Nancy Blackett  on 3rd July.

StJohn and I responded immediately: it would be our first outing on Nancy Blackett as Skipper and Mate together and we were looking forward to it.

Then we discovered that the Pin Mill Barge Match would be held on that day, and we became both apprehensive and excited.

We pictured a dozen or more sailing barges competing for space in the estuary, with dozens more spectator boats milling around. We would need to navigate a precious, 90 year old wooden boat through it all without damage.

We imagined a thrilling sight of the Eighteenth century mingling with the Twentyfirst. Stately sailing barges mixing it with modern power boats and all ages of sailing boats. I also knew that the Dinghy Cruising Association would be in the Orwell that day.

I wrote to James Ackland, Barge Match Secretary, to ask about start times and courses, and his reply was detailed and friendly, with some very generous remarks about Nancy Blackett.

They would be going down on the same tide as us, and then returning on the same flood.

StJohn and I decided to arrive early, prepare the boat and then leave as soon as everyone else arrived. The plan was to get below Pin Mill before the start of the match, pick up a buoy and watch them go by in safety. The plan didn’t survive: do they ever?

As we tacked down past Pin Mill there was not a barge in sight: they had gone early. Instead of worrying, we engaged in friendly conversation and enjoyed the sailing.

At about noon we picked up a buoy near Levington, and had a long, lazy lunch.

A couple of cruising dinghies circled to say “hello”, then sailed off toward the Stour, where they would spend the night.

As the tide turned the barges began to trickle back in ones, twos and small groups and we watched in relaxed safety.

When we thought that the last one had returned we set the jib and staysail and sailed gently back with the tide.

Although the plan had failed the day had turned out well. It had been relaxed and convivial, and I hope that the crew enjoyed it as much as I did.