John R Smith
12-05-2001, 03:32 AM
This one is dedicated to Darryl
http://a5.cpimg.com/image/15/C6/7069205-c2ee-01D6013E-.jpg
Tides, as I keep reminding you, are funny old things. If Lulu, Kate and I chanced to live elsewhere, perhaps on the Baltic or the glorious Med, then things would be much of a briny muchness whatever the time of day. But here in Cornwall things go in and out somewhat, and nowhere is this more pronounced than at good old Sunny Corner. Here, by way of example, is Lulu's home port with the tide resolutely out -
http://a2.cpimg.com/image/9E/AA/7060382-8d3f-0207015E-.jpg
A nice autumn afternoon, looking up river towards Truro, with Sunny Corner House and quay in the centre of our view. At this state of the tide (low water) you can easily walk across the channel to our left in your wellies (gum-boots for you lot). The boats, as you can see, all moor up to the wall bows-first.
Our lives have settled into a bi-weekly rhythm, matching the phases of the moon. One weekend in two, the tide is high during the day, giving us the opportunity to slip away down river for four or five hours of fun. These are the voyages which have formed the basis of our Lulu sagas right here on the illustrious Forum.
Each alternate weekend, however, the tide is out all day. Unless the hardy yachtsman rises with the dawn, dashes down to the quay to catch the fast-flowing ebb and runs with it to deep water, his pride and joy is firmly on the mud. These, then, are Lulu's quiet weekends, as she sits dreaming in the Cornish sun of a glorious past when all little sloops were wooden just like her, with portholes and a bucket for a loo.
http://a9.cpimg.com/image/1F/C7/7061279-3040-0207015E-.jpg
For her crew, though, such times are anything but quiet. Now is our chance to address the lengthy list of Jobs To Be Done. An endless list, it seems, for as soon as one task is ticked as done, a fresh one takes its place. Working on our beach has its own distinctive problems, most compelling being the nature of mud. Up by Lulu's bow the beach is in fact quite firm, firm enough to stand and walk in normal human fashion. But back towards the stern the mud thickens. Work on the after hull or transom is accompanied by horrid sucking sounds as mud clings to wellies with a glutinous tenacity, gluing the unfortunate shipwright to the fundus.
And of course we drop things. Screwdrivers, scrapers, sanding blocks, and worst of all, the matches, just when the blow-torch has expired. Each has to be groped for, retrieved, and cleansed in the dinghy (which provides a handy bath). The matches, well, they were a lost cause . . .
Matches? Blow-torch? Sounds like we could have used Doc's help. All we were missing was the marshmallows - but no, we resisted the temptation to claim on the insurance and buy a plastic boat instead. Our efforts were not in vain -
http://a8.cpimg.com/image/18/C6/7069208-3367-0157020E-.jpg
It has taken us the whole season, working every alternate weekend, to burn-off and scrape the top-sides back to bare wood. Judging from the build-up of paint, no-one had done this since the boat was built, forty years ago. Here is Kate, as we approach the finish line - just three and a tiddy-bit strakes to go. As I write, the starboard side is now in top-coat, the port side (this one) all in two coats of undercoat.
In case some of you can't quite believe it took so long, I should perhaps explain that each precious Sat or Sunday goes like this. We have just six hours between the tides when the water has receded far enough to work around the boat. An hour or so is lost to lunch. The paint was, as mentioned, VERY thick, so at least two passes with the flames and scrapers are required. When scraped, the mahogany must be sanded, nail holes are puttied, we sand again, and a coat of paint must be applied before the tide returns. All this by hand, of course, for there is no power on our beach. If we are lucky and we find no rot, and the weather holds, we can manage one 23 foot strake a day.
Ho hum. The joys of (wooden) boat maintenance, folks http://media5.hypernet.com/~dick/ubb/smile.gif
http://a8.cpimg.com/image/9A/AA/7060378-46b7-01AA0164-.jpg
Still, we can dream. Here is the Skipper, firmly aground but in his imagination racing under full sail to the Scilly Isles or the French coast. And when you are not up to your armpits in mud or grappling with the dreaded rot, Sunny Corner is really a rather pleasant spot to pass those quiet weekends.
Best wishes to you all
http://a3.cpimg.com/image/6B/D1/6680683-1e8a-00B600AE-.jpg
John
[This message has been edited by JohnRSmith (edited 12-05-2001).]
http://a5.cpimg.com/image/15/C6/7069205-c2ee-01D6013E-.jpg
Tides, as I keep reminding you, are funny old things. If Lulu, Kate and I chanced to live elsewhere, perhaps on the Baltic or the glorious Med, then things would be much of a briny muchness whatever the time of day. But here in Cornwall things go in and out somewhat, and nowhere is this more pronounced than at good old Sunny Corner. Here, by way of example, is Lulu's home port with the tide resolutely out -
http://a2.cpimg.com/image/9E/AA/7060382-8d3f-0207015E-.jpg
A nice autumn afternoon, looking up river towards Truro, with Sunny Corner House and quay in the centre of our view. At this state of the tide (low water) you can easily walk across the channel to our left in your wellies (gum-boots for you lot). The boats, as you can see, all moor up to the wall bows-first.
Our lives have settled into a bi-weekly rhythm, matching the phases of the moon. One weekend in two, the tide is high during the day, giving us the opportunity to slip away down river for four or five hours of fun. These are the voyages which have formed the basis of our Lulu sagas right here on the illustrious Forum.
Each alternate weekend, however, the tide is out all day. Unless the hardy yachtsman rises with the dawn, dashes down to the quay to catch the fast-flowing ebb and runs with it to deep water, his pride and joy is firmly on the mud. These, then, are Lulu's quiet weekends, as she sits dreaming in the Cornish sun of a glorious past when all little sloops were wooden just like her, with portholes and a bucket for a loo.
http://a9.cpimg.com/image/1F/C7/7061279-3040-0207015E-.jpg
For her crew, though, such times are anything but quiet. Now is our chance to address the lengthy list of Jobs To Be Done. An endless list, it seems, for as soon as one task is ticked as done, a fresh one takes its place. Working on our beach has its own distinctive problems, most compelling being the nature of mud. Up by Lulu's bow the beach is in fact quite firm, firm enough to stand and walk in normal human fashion. But back towards the stern the mud thickens. Work on the after hull or transom is accompanied by horrid sucking sounds as mud clings to wellies with a glutinous tenacity, gluing the unfortunate shipwright to the fundus.
And of course we drop things. Screwdrivers, scrapers, sanding blocks, and worst of all, the matches, just when the blow-torch has expired. Each has to be groped for, retrieved, and cleansed in the dinghy (which provides a handy bath). The matches, well, they were a lost cause . . .
Matches? Blow-torch? Sounds like we could have used Doc's help. All we were missing was the marshmallows - but no, we resisted the temptation to claim on the insurance and buy a plastic boat instead. Our efforts were not in vain -
http://a8.cpimg.com/image/18/C6/7069208-3367-0157020E-.jpg
It has taken us the whole season, working every alternate weekend, to burn-off and scrape the top-sides back to bare wood. Judging from the build-up of paint, no-one had done this since the boat was built, forty years ago. Here is Kate, as we approach the finish line - just three and a tiddy-bit strakes to go. As I write, the starboard side is now in top-coat, the port side (this one) all in two coats of undercoat.
In case some of you can't quite believe it took so long, I should perhaps explain that each precious Sat or Sunday goes like this. We have just six hours between the tides when the water has receded far enough to work around the boat. An hour or so is lost to lunch. The paint was, as mentioned, VERY thick, so at least two passes with the flames and scrapers are required. When scraped, the mahogany must be sanded, nail holes are puttied, we sand again, and a coat of paint must be applied before the tide returns. All this by hand, of course, for there is no power on our beach. If we are lucky and we find no rot, and the weather holds, we can manage one 23 foot strake a day.
Ho hum. The joys of (wooden) boat maintenance, folks http://media5.hypernet.com/~dick/ubb/smile.gif
http://a8.cpimg.com/image/9A/AA/7060378-46b7-01AA0164-.jpg
Still, we can dream. Here is the Skipper, firmly aground but in his imagination racing under full sail to the Scilly Isles or the French coast. And when you are not up to your armpits in mud or grappling with the dreaded rot, Sunny Corner is really a rather pleasant spot to pass those quiet weekends.
Best wishes to you all
http://a3.cpimg.com/image/6B/D1/6680683-1e8a-00B600AE-.jpg
John
[This message has been edited by JohnRSmith (edited 12-05-2001).]