The Dinghy Show

Most people visit a boat show as a punter;  a would-be buyer;  a feeder of dreams;  a voyeur.   They exclaim over the expanses of white fibreglass or polyethylene,  or 'tut' over the effort of scraping and varnishing.   Some imagine themselves gliding over smooth,  sunlit water;  the family smiling and happy,  the picnic basket safe on the bottom boards.   Others live the moment of being first across the start line,  having anticipated the starting gun to the nearest fraction of a second;  and then leading the fleet around the triangle and across the finish line:  to them the glory (however temporary) of the starting and the winning gun.

The stand holders see them as targets;  sources of income.

There are two separate groups of people at boat shows:  those who (however potentially)  have the money,  and those who want it.

Dinghy shows are slightly different.   It's true that stand holders want to sell their wares,  and it's true that the punters are reluctant to part with their money,  except for a bargain.

But the two sides are closer;  it's a little less commercial.

Sailing dinghies are all about racing.  Aren't they?

Look at the polished,  go-fast surfaces.   Look at the plethora of lines for controlling all aspects of air-flow and water-flow.   Look at the exotic materials of which the hulls,  the lines,  the sails,  the rigging,  even the costumes,  are made.   Look at the eager,  competitive,  even aggressive faces of both the sailors and the salespeople.

The West Corridor

In the poorly lit West Corridor of the Alexandra Palace were four sailing dinghies that had,  and wanted,  nothing to do with racing.   Two were Wayfarers,  one belonging to the Sea Scouts,  the other to a commercial group.   Both had two sleeping bags laid in the bottom.   Huh?

On its road trailer was a thirty year old Mirror dinghy,  named Curlew,  which belonged to David.   A gaff-rigged Mirror dinghy!   With a topsail!!   Three rows of reefing nettles in the mainsail and a row in the jib.   The varnish was worn and scuffed;  clearly David spends less time with the sander,   brush and pot than he does with the sheets and tiller.   On the port bow was a business-like Fisherman anchor.   The well of the boat was a vision to disbelieve:   on the starboard side a pair of folding,  ply planks was covered by a thin sleeping mat and a sleeping bag;  on the port side was a box with a cooker,  kettle,  pans and plates;  another box was labelled 'battery 1',  'battery 2',   'bilge pump',  'navigation lights'.   This was a cruising dinghy in which David had explored the South Coast of England for twenty years;  sailing when the wind and tide served;  eating and sleeping aboard when they did not.

Curlew

Next to Curlew was Avel Dro,  also on her road trailer.

She was a 15' (palatial by comparison with Curlew) Ilur,  designed by Francois Vivier after the manner of a French inshore fishing boat.   No varnish here to scuff and repair:  this was a working,  cruising boat.   Here again was the sleeping mat (this time deep and inflated) and sleeping bag;  the tiny cooking stove and galley,  the 12V battery for lights and pumps.   Conspicuous near the centreboard was a modern electronic chart-plotter,  in the sternsheets a Personal Locator Beacon and VHF radio.   The mast,  well forward (to give space inside,  as befits a fishing (and cruising) boat) was unstayed,  the rig a standing lug.   Roger had sailed the coasts of England,  Wales,  Scotland and France.

Roger was (is still) President of an extraordinary group of people known as the Dinghy Cruising Association;  David is a member,  as were Alastair,  Geoff,  John and Mike,  who had not brought their boats.

These people were not there to sell;  they were there to evangelise their way of life;  to wax lyrical and lengthy about their adventures cruising the coasts of Britain,  Europe and the world.   Their listeners were legion;  there was hardly a moment in the two days of the show when a sailor didn't say  to them "We used to have a Mirror.   Wish we hadn't sold it!".   There was always someone asking about where to cruise,  what cooker was best,  how to modify their dinghy,  what clothing to wear.

In this poorly lit West Corridor,  close to the main entrance,  there was only one group of people,  not two.   The stand holders and the public were all dinghy cruisers.   The stand holders had cruised tens to thousands of miles,  for days to weeks at a time;  the public were avid,  excited,  would-be cruisers,  many having never realised that a dinghy could be other than a racing machine.   A few were frankly disbelieving (especially of David's Mirror),  but eager to learn.

And not just the punters.   The leaders of sailing clubs,  those bastions of hard-core racing,  were keen to learn to cruise.   They wanted links,  and they offered to host cruising rallies at their sailing clubs.

Gardening Advice?

The suggestion has been made that Robyn's school needs someone to guide the children in their school garden.   It's not clear at this stage whether the teacher in charge of the garden knows anything about plants,  or whether he needs support.

It seems that the ideal candidate is a parent or grandparent (check),   retired (check),  with lots of free time (?),  who knows about gardening (check) and is not afraid of very small children (??).

Shallots

 

"Plant on the shortest day, 
to harvest on the longest day"  from here

Since the last of the beans,  the bed had been mulched with a thick layer of weeds and grass clippings.

This was in lieu of a compost heap which had always seemed like a waste of effort.

The grass clippings had sunk down into a compact sodden layer.   The gardening experts tell us that a too-thick layer of grass mulch becomes an anaerobic stinking mess,  but this mulch had not yet begun to smell.

 

The matted layer lifted easily from the soil underneath.   The soil looked crumbly and worm-worked:  there was evidence of moles.   Some of the mulch would have been turned into worm casts which would have been spread across the interface of soil and mulch and taken deep into the ground.

 

The surface needed no preparation;  digging would have ruined it.

Forty shallot cloves from last years crop had been kept in a cool loft,  but about 50% had rotted:  perhaps they had not been dried thoroughly.   Twenty of the biggest bulbs were taken from the kitchen to replace them.

They were spaced along a marking board at regular intervals,  and each one covered with a clay pot to keep off the birds.

Asparagus and Leaves

It's the end of October,  and the deciduous trees are shedding their leaves.  The lawns are covered,  and the grass will begin to suffer if they are not moved.

The asparagus shoots are over;  they,  too,  are shedding their leaves and beginning to fall over.

The asparagus was cut to the ground (with all that mulch it's hard to know where the 'ground' really is,  but just below the surface of the mulch will do!) and thrown onto the lawn.  The thick cover of foliage through the summer had inhibited the growth of weeds,  but new seedlings of mallow and nettle had to be removed and the dying stems of willow-herb pulled out.  The willow-herb is perennial and its roots spread widely through the vegetable beds and the fruit cage:  probably all over the garden!  It can't be eliminated;  just pulled out whenever it's seen.

The stack of weeds and asparagus fronds on the lawn might get in the way of the electric mower,  but the petrol mower cut them into tiny fragments which were perfect for the compost bin!

And then the leaves.
The petrol mower sucked them up,  cut them into tiny pieces and bagged them.  They were then tipped onto the asparagus bed and spread into a uniform layer.  Over the winter the fungal hyphae will invade the pieces of leaves and digest them.  The earthworms will move up under the insulating blanket and swallow the fungal hyphae,  bits of leaf and lots of soil.  Then they'll spread their fertilizing casts throughout the mulch and deep into the root-zone of the soil.

Next Spring the plump,  succulent spears of asparagus will push up through the mouldering leaves and the family will enjoy this most delicate of gourmet foods until mid-June.
By the time the fronds are allowed to grow again the leaves,  the fungi and the worms will have worked their magic,  and the thick,  spider-like roots will swell with food for the following Spring's harvest.
By this time next year all those leaves will be leaf-mould,  more leaves will have fallen and the cycle will continue.

Meanwhile,  it's a mild Autumn and most of the leaves have not yet fallen:  more leaf-mould to come!

The Bris Sextant

Everyone knows about Sven Yrvind,  the brilliant,  crazy Swede who wants to be the first to sail around the world in a 10 foot (3 metre) boat of his own design and construction.

Fewer people know that he designed a small instrument for measuring the time at which the sun reached a pre-calibrated altitude.   This is useful for plotting a position,  with an accuracy of a few miles,  at sea.   He called this instrument a 'Bris Sextant'.

Sven Yrvind with his Bris sextant

It's not a sextant,  strictly speaking (possibly a fixed solar goniograph),  although it does a similar job.

'Bris' is the Swedish word for 'breeze':  at least one of Sven's boats was called Breeze.

Almost no-one,  it seems,  has built or used a Bris Sextant (or,  if they have,  they haven't written about it),  although there are some very learned discussions of its reflections and angles on the internet.

So here goes . . .

Humanure

July 2015

It might have started 60 years ago when George Humphris said something about "starving the drains of water".   Sewers need a flow of water,  at a slight angle downward from horizontal,  to keep things moving along.   There had been a drought for weeks,  and a radio personality,  Ted Moult, talked about putting a brick in the WC cistern to save water:  Prince Phillip had made a comment about using two gallons of drinking water to flush away a pint of urine or half a pound of faeces.

George Humphris was,  for a while,  a dairy farmer.   His cattle produced milk,  urine and faeces.   The first he sold,  of course;  there was a great demand.   But the second and third were not waste products:  they were a valuable resource which kept his land fertile and the grass growing.

At one time lavatorial flushing water was drained into the sea,  without any treatment.   Now (2015) it's settled to remove the solids,  oxygenated to remove as many chemicals as possible,  chlorinated to kill pathogens and then recycled as drinking water.   It has been said that the Thames passes through seven people before it gets to the sea.   (In Cambridge the effluent is pumped into the River Cam whence it drains directly into the sea.)

Even so,  we end up drinking chlorine;  enough progesterone (excreted by women taking contraceptive pills) gets past the purification process that record numbers of British men are being feminized,  partially sterilized and getting gynecomastia.

To paraphrase Joseph Jenkins "Why do we still defaecate into our drinking water?"

On a visit to Sweden in the 1960s John and Margaret were given tea by a young man building his own house.   He had built into the house a "waterless lavatory".   The concept struck a chord in two people interested in sanitation,  sewerage,  and compost! It's all about bacteriology.

Then,  fifty years later,  the "flushing" lavatory on the narrowboat began to give up.   In reality,  its waterpipes had become furred with limescale,  and it no longer rinsed the bowl properly.   If the pump pressure was increased,  the pipe joints tended to part:  if the pressure was reduced,  the lavatory would not rinse properly!

Its plywood plinth had begun to disintegrate and looked nasty.

There was no way to know how clean (or,  more accurately,  how unclean) the holding tank had become.   It was tedious to empty and to rinse.

The problem was not helped by a tenant who never learned to use it properly.

Surely there was a better way?

Several subscribers to the Wooden Boat Forum had begun to write about "waterless closets" and "composting toilets".

And then there was the Humanure Handbook by Joseph Jenkins

Chapter 8 (The Tao of Compost) described in detail how to build and maintain a waterless toilet,  and how to compost human manure and urine for use in the garden.

It should be noted that urine from a healthy person is sterile:  it contains no bacteria,  pathogenic or otherwise.   Shortly after excretion,  bacteria from the air contaminate stored urine and use the nitrogenous chemicals for their own growth.   The infected urine smells,  often strongly.

Faeces from a healthy person,  by contrast,  is full of (one might say almost entirely composed of) bacteria.   They have turned undigested food into a state suitable for elimination from the body.   Of the 400 or more species of bacterium present most are perfectly harmless in the bowels of the person from which they came,  but some of them are dangerous,  even deadly,  in the mouth and stomach of the same person or other people.

StJohn is a keen kayaker and canoeist;  he has been a keen climber.   He often camps in wild places,  and carries a small trowel to dig a hole for his faeces:  all wild campers do this.   Covered with a layer of soil and grass,  no faeces are visible to offend the eyes;  no smells escape to offend the nose.   More than that,  many of the micro- and mini- beasts in the soil enjoy the nitrogen and digest the faecal bacteria,  destroying the pathogens along with all the others.   These beasts include beetles,  worms,  fungi and soil-bacteria.   Within days the buried faeces have been consumed and anything which remains is humus;  that black gold for which gardeners build and maintain compost heaps.   By burying them,  StJohn and his wild-camping friends compost their faeces.  Their sterile urine simply soaks into the ground:  its fluid waters the plants and its nitrogen nourishes them.

Compost,  and its main constituent,  humus,  are valuable resources.   If our faeces and urine can be turned into compost why do we use drinking water to flush them to waste?

Perhaps the answer to the narrowboat question was a dry toilet,  similar to that described by Joseph Jenkins?

August 2015

A single 25L plastic bucket arrived from Amazon.   £8.55

The instructions say that 4 are needed,  but let's start with one.

The seat came from B&Q.         £12.50

Needed to be chosen carefully,  as not all seats are flat underneath.

None of them have supports which can be twisted.   Cut off one of the pins and turn them.

The hinges also came from B&Q.

Plywood from Ridgeons. 3/4" (18mm) birch exterior ply.    Wow!     £86

It arrived on Friday,  and was cut into the right sized pieces within an hour or two.
More than half left over for another project,  so,  say £30?
Construction ply would have done the job and would have been cheaper.

A flour scoop came from Amazon (actually,  from China).

It took two days to assemble and paint.

Sawdust is not easy to get,  but compost (astonishingly) is free.   Nip up the A10 to Amey Cespa's recycling place,  turn left at the first roundabout,  then right at the second and help yourself!

Margaret volunteered to try it in her bathroom.
She said it was very comfortable:  just the right height.
She used it almost exclusively for five days.   No offensive sights or smells,  and no flies.   The only smell is the slightly earthy,  natural smell of the compost.
When the bucket was full,  it was emptied into the outdoor compost bin.  Then the whole thing was moved into the instigator's bathroom.   He,  too,  found it comfortable and easy to use,  and used it exclusively for over a week.

Only when both Margaret and John are happy will the system on the narrowboat be changed.

Rosie

Fifty small children,  two narrowboats and 16 'teachers'!

Peter had been approached by the school to take the tots for a trip on the river.  He'd organised it well.  A couple of gazebos and six tables on the bank gave them a place to draw and colour their drawings.  In small groups they were given pots of bird seed and allowed to approach the water and feed the ducks,  geese and swans.
The pub had agreed to let them use the facilities.

Groups of 10 were kitted out in life jackets and herded onto Rosie and Little Rosie. 
"Can I leave my bag with you,  Miss?"
"Please Miss,  may I sit next to Rachel?"
"I'm going to climb through the window!"
"I don't like boats.  I'm scared!"
"I can't swim!"
You have to admire primary school teachers:  they are organised,  caring,  thoughtful,  patient.

Two parents or mothers to each boat with the hopeless task of keeping them seated and keeping their arms and legs inside the gun'l'.  The safety briefing is always fun:  there are three fire extinguishers which you won't need (even if you know how to use them!); please don't let them fall in the water;  and everybody must test the whistle on the life jacket to be sure it works (but don't use it again unless someone goes in).  It seems cruel:  blow the whistle when the skipper says so,  but not when you want to.
Each child was issued with a list of likely sightings (swans,  fishermen,  moorhens,  horses) and a pencil to record every sighting.  This seems to be good educational practice.  Whenever one sees organised groups of schoolchildren they have checklists.

Away from the mooring,  winding in the river,  and down toward the lock.
Lots of ducks,  many moorhens,  several horses,  a pair of swans and a heron.
Joggers,  fishermen,  single sculls and a double scull.
Winding again before the lock and back to The Plough.
And the Dragon Boat race had started!

Three times for Rosie and twice for Little Rosie.
The children squealed with joy and excitement;  the Dragon Boat paddlers sweated and struggled;  the teachers worried and coped;  the boatmen steered and moored.

What a wonderful morning!

For the two narrowboat helmsmen the extra factor was the Dragon Boat race taking place at the same time and in the same piece of river.
So,  fifty small children,  16 mothers or teachers,  30 corporate day-outers,  five boatmen,  two narrow boats,  two Dragon Boats and one safety boat.  Plus,  of course,  the First Aiders for the sweating Dragon Boaters.  Could this possibly end well?

It started well.
The children embarked and disembarked safely.  None of them fell into the water.  All of them went away with a ticked checklist (although none of them saw the heron) and most handed back their pencils and crayons.

It progressed well.
The youngsters squealed and laughed all the way there and back.  The helmsmen enjoyed the half-hour voyages.  The teachers and parents seemed happy.
Someone won the Dragon Boat races.

It ended well!
The lifejackets were all recovered (none used),  the children were reunited with their coats,  bags and friends,  the facilities were used and,  finally,  the bus was caught.
Peter and John took down the gazebos and returned the picnic tables.  The boats were tidied and closed.

It was a truly satisfying morning.

Rosie at Jesus Lock