Three days on the river

 The recent three days,  Friday,  Saturday and Sunday,  on the River Great Ouse,  have been astonishingly hot.   The hottest heatwave in May for (I believe) 60 years.

Three very different boats,  one out of Jones Boatyard,  St Ives;  two out of Buckden Marina.

One boat had a straightforward outboard motor;  no complications,  no frills;  very smart and clean;  very tidy accommodation.   A trifle skittish;  we needed to watch the wind carefully especially into a narrow mooring or lock entrance.

Another had a single inboard petrol engine and a bow thruster;  totally manoeuvrable,  very controllable.   I worry a little about petrol engines because they can be tempramental.   On the river we can’t operate American sports boats at their design speeds;  cruising at tickover means that the spark plugs can foul.   A beautifully kept boat with lovely accommodation.

The third boat had twin diesel engines and again,  spacious and tidy accommodation.   When the engine controls are properly adjusted,  as these were,  twin diesels are a pleasure to operate.

Three boats,  three lovely couples.

A father and son with a brand new (to them) boat.

A husband and wife on a new adventure.

Two friends looking forward to a relaxing time on the river.

The beginning of every new training day is exciting.

The early morning drive to the marina reminds me of commuting to work (which I usually enjoyed).   The A14 is often busy;  but not over this Bank Holiday weekend.   Most of the drivers are professional and we all know what we’re doing.   Except,  of course,  the occasional lunatic hell-bent on killing all of us.

The marina staff are very pleasant and welcoming.

Have you tried the coffee at Jones Boatyard?

Both marinas sell boats.   Every new boat owner is given a demonstration and a few recommendations.   They are also given my card and many of them book a day with me.

This is where I become a little apprehensive.

What will the people be like?   What will the boat be like?

My only contact so far has been an e-mail or,  if I’m lucky,  a phone call and a follow-up e-mail.   It’s in the nature of things that new boaters don’t know what to ask for or what to expect,  so I have a list of questions and a list of things they need on the boat before we go out.

What do they need?

Lunch,  water,  heads,  fenders,  boathook,  lifejackets,  warps,  springs.

At StIves we meet at the chandlery (I mentioned the coffee).   Elsewhere I have a gate key or the gate number so we meet at the boat.

They are more apprehensive than I am.

They are about to hand over a chunk of money to an unknown old man.   He has professional qualifications and a naval or maritime background;  but is he smiley or surly?   Is he loquacious or taciturn?   Is he didactic or listening?   Is he patronising or pleasant?   Is he patient or not?

On the other hand they’ve already handed over one hundred times as much for a sleek motorised aquatic conveyance that’s quite daunting.   Maybe this old man can make today less daunting,  easier to handle,  more understandable.

As it turned out,  all three couples were charming and ready to learn.   Trust and rapport was built quickly,  in one case within seconds,  in another within the hour.

Three glorious,  exhausting,  hot days.

Headings and bearings

 I’ve been teaching maritime navigation for a few years and I’ve noticed that some of my students have trouble with headings and bearings

I think it’s simple.

A heading is the direction in which you’re pointing the boat.

A bearing is the direction of something you’re looking at (like a lighthouse or a buoy).

But it’s become clear to me that not all my candidates think it’s simple.

And now I think I know why.

I’ve been watching a YouTube channel featuring Wayne of the Map Reading Company.   Wayne teaches land navigation;  how to get from A to B across country.   He uses a map and a compass (On the boats we use a map (which we call a chart) and two compasses;  but I’ll come back to that.).   He uses the map to find the direction from where he is to where he wants to be.   Then he uses the compass to take a bearing on the object that he wants to get to.   Then he follows that bearing until he gets there.

In Wayne’s world,  on land,  his bearing and his heading are the same.

In my world,  on the sea,  I can take a bearing on the buoy I want to reach.   If I follow that bearing I discover that my world,  the sea,  is moving sideways,  with the tide.   If I stay on the bearing I’ll end up a long way down-tide of the buoy I wanted.

To get to the buoy I need to point my boat a little (sometimes a lot) into the tide to stay on the bearing.

My heading is different (sometimes very different) from my bearing.

Wayne’s world,  on land,  doesn’t (usually) move sideways under him.   He takes a bearing and points himself in that direction;  it doesn’t occur to him to use a separate word (heading) for the way he’s pointing,  they are the same.

I learned land navigation with the Boy Scouts in Wales,  and then in more detail with another group of people.

Many of my students have done the same or similar.

We followed bearings to get to our destinations.

We used a compass to see,  and follow,  the bearing.

On the boat we take a bearing (the direction of the feature we need to reach) with a bearing compass.   This is often (erroneously) known as a “hand-bearing compass” (it’s actually a ‘hand-held bearing compass’ to distinguish it from the fixed bearing compasses used on larger vessels).

We then calculate a triangle of vectors (easier than it sounds!) where the vectors are direction & speed of the track we want to follow (which is,  of course,  the bearing to the feature),  direction & speed of the tide and,  thirdly,  direction & speed of the boat (this third direction being the heading we need in order to follow the bearing).

The heading of the boat is derived from the steering compass,  which is usually fixed.   In a tideway,  or a strong wind,  the heading is never the same as the bearing

Nowadays of course,  global navigation satellite systems (of which GPS is one) have made knowing where we are and the bearing to our destination much simpler.   But I would argue that it’s made calculating our best heading across a tide quite a bit harder.

'New Moon'

 New Moon is a smart-looking boat,  and it’s owners are a lovely couple.

It’s kept moored in a tidy circular creek near Bottisham Lock,  and brought upriver to The Plough for hirers to board.

At The Plough it shares a mooring with Rosie,  Princess Charlotte and a couple more of Peter’s boats.   Not always a comfortable association but it works most of the time.

A year or so ago the old man had given Gary his card.   They’d chatted amicably for a few minutes and the old man had thought no more of it.

Then,  a week or two ago,  Gary had ‘phoned to talk about handing over the boat and training the hirers.

Owning a boat which you hire out is at first exciting,  but,  like all jobs,  it can become tedious.

The old man went on board at 1000 and was shown ‘the ropes’.   The multi-fuel stove in the lounge and the diesel-powered heater are very promising for chilly evenings on the fens.

The dining area seats four cozily around the table,  where the old man settled himself with a book from the well-stocked shelf.

The galley is a dream,  even for a culinary dunce like the old man.   An electric fridge,  a gas hob and oven,  pumped hot and cold water at the sink.

The heads are definitely not a perforated plank across the bowsprit;   Instead,  a sparkling electric macerated system.   The shower is pumped and,  as always,  the sump is pumped over side.

Right aft is a big double bed.

The hirers were late;  very late.   They’d come a long way,  and the dog had needed several comfort stops.

But,  at last,  the old man came into his own.   With the boat under way,  and the crew capable,  his job was delightful and easy.   Even the gongoozlers at the lock had no complaints.

The old man loves narrow boats.

They are perfectly designed for their original job of carrying goods along the canals and through the narrows.

When the rivers,  and then the canals,  were the highways of England boats up to 70ft long (but only 7ft wide) could be drawn by two galloping horses and carry 30 or 40 passengers,  or several tons of goods at  over 10mph from city to city across the country.

Forrester wrote vividly of a dash from Gloucester to London in less than 2 days,  horses changed every 20 miles or so.

Now,  passengers travel as tourists,  not traders,  and the narrowboats no longer carry sharp scythes to cut the tow ropes of slower boats.

Staunches were replaced by locks which,  especially the long staircase flights,  are marvels of 18th century engineering.   So easy to use if the boatman is patient.

Now of course,  the boats are powered by diesel (even electric) engines.   On the Cam even the locks are electric.

 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.

 Downhaul or tack line

Nautical nomenclature is tricky work.

Over the centuries words have changed.   Their meanings have changed and their spelling has changed.

In some ways both of these are understandable.   Until the end of the 18th century no-one really cared about spelling,  partly because so many people were uneducated and therefore illiterate.   Sadly,  despite modern education (or perhaps because of it) many people are still illiterate,  and so mis-spelling is frequent.

Changes of meaning have been more subtle and evolutionary.   “This” ship is a frigate.   If we change this structure or that shape slightly it’s still a frigate,   innit?   If the changes are over decades or centuries we forget what the original frigate was like,  so today’s frigate might be totally different.

But we know what a downhaul is.   Don't we?

A downhaul pulls something down.

Gaffs rarely need downhauls.   They are usually so massive that they come down under their own weight when the ha’lyard is eased.   Indeed,  the bigger problem is getting, and keeping them up,  and they often need two ha’lyards and several purchases.   But some lighter gaffs tend to jam at the throat saddle,  however much slush is applied,  and then a downhaul is useful.

Squaresails are no problem.   If the yards are on slides they come down under their own weight.

Furled squaressails often come down under the weight of their canvas when the buntlines and clewlines are eased.   If they do not it's because of the friction in the clewline blocks and (especially) the buntline cringles,  and a downhaul tends to damage the running rigging and the canvas.   The solution is to send someone aloft to overhaul the buntlines:  men were once cheaper than cordage.

Downhauls come into their own at the staysails.   A full-rigged ship might have as many as 10 staysails,  each hanked to a stay at roughly 45° to the deck.   The friction between those hanks and the stays is enormous,  and so it is on the hanked-on jib or genoa of a sailing yacht.

On a sailing yacht it’s normal to have a crewman stand astride the stay,  at the tack,  to pull the sail down as the ha’lyard is eased,  but on a full-rigged ship that's too arduous a task and too risky.   Up to three of those tacks are out on the bowsprit.   Many of the others are partway up a mast.

But run a line from the head of the staysail to the tack,  through a block,  and then aft along the deck and you have a downhaul on which any number of sailors can haul.   Ease the ha’lyard and haul the downhaul and the staysail bundles itself neatly at the tack of the stay.   A Swedish furl,  and it’s safe.

I sailed my West Wight Potter extensively on the East Coast:  it’s a 14 foot (4.3m) cabin cruiser.   No-one sensible wants to stand on the foredeck of a 4.3m boat to handle the foresail,  so I fitted a downhaul.

A tack-line is a line attached close to the tack of the sail to tighten the luff,  or to prevent the tack from riding up the mast or stay.

On a square-rigged ship the luff (the fore-leech) of most of the squaresails  was tightened by hauling the fore-sheet to the yard below.   The luff (or fore-leech) of the course-sail was tightened by tacking it down to the weather rail.   The luffs of the staysails were tightened by the ha’lyard hauling against a tack-line.

On a sailing dinghy the tack-line of the mainsail is often replaced with a slide on the mast into which a slider on the gooseneck fits.   The sailor puts some weight on the gooseneck to tighten the luff of the main and then locks the slider with a turnscrew.

On a bigger sailing yacht the tack-line might have a Cunningham purchase (erroneously called a ‘downhaul’) between the sail and the boom or between the boom and the deck to tighten the luff.   On even bigger yachts the luff is tightened by winding the ha’lyard around a winch. 

Foresails always have tack-lines,  but very rarely with a purchase to tighten the luff:  this is almost always done with the ha’lyard.

Folkard,  writing in 1906,  described two forms of lugsail.

The balance lug of the 19th century,  and earlier,  was what we would now call a dipping lug.   The head of the sail was bent to an asymmetric oblique yard,  the tack was tacked to the l’ward bow and the clew was attached to a sheet;  there was never a boom.   The luff was tightened (insomuch as this was necessary on a lugsail) by hauling up the yard with the ha’lyard.

The standing lug also had an asymmetric oblique yard;  its tack was tacked close to the foot of the mast,  and a sheet was attached to the clew of the sail.   There was occasionally a boom.   Again,  the luff was tightened by the ha’lyard.

Folkard also described a split-lug derived from his balance lug (our dipping lug).   The tack of the forepart of the sail was tacked down to the stemhead or the lee bow.   The tack of the after part of the sail was tacked down at the foot of the mast.   Both parts of the sail had sheets,  but neither part had a boom because the sail could be split,  or not,  at will in a few minutes by lacing or unlacing the two parts.

Toward the end of the 19th century a form of ‘balance’ lugsail was developed which had a boom along the entire foot of the sail,  from the tack to the clew.   There was a sheet at the clew or at the after end of the boom,  but clearly the tack could not be held down;  it must be free to move around the mast opposite to the clew.   A line or purchase (Folkard called it a small tackle) from the balance point of the boom to the deck,  or to the foot of the mast,  acting against the ha’lyard would keep the sail flat and obviate the need for a vang.

But is this a tack-line?  It’s a long way from the tack of the sail.   Or is it a kicking strap?   It has a very similar function and arrangement.    It’s clearly not a downhaul,  and it's certainly not a vang.