'Blue Mistress'

On sailing a Folksong – rudder 2

/ Bill / 1 Comment

Blue Mistress has a very heavy rudder – “overworked”, the marine surveyor called it.

It might have graced the stern of an early twentieth century vessel.

Compared to similar sized craft, it is also slightly short of the keel . . .

For example, another Folksong 26 . . .

a Folkboat . . .

a Contessa 26**  . . .

This may mean that Blue Mistress’ rudder has been repaired sometime in the past, but it may not . . .

So, I’m looking for the answers to three questions:

What is the effect of a heavy rudder on the sailing performance of a long-keeled boat?

What is the effect of a shorter rudder on the sailing performance of a long-keeled boat?

What is the effect of rudder shape on the sailing performance of a long-keeled boat?

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A younger me would have searched for a definitive answer.

Now I don’t think there is one answer – but a series of ideas about rudders that, put together, mean we can learn more about small, long-keeled boats.

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For example, a Google search showed the Swedish Folkboat Association having a useful note on this – here.

In their submission to the Nordic International Folkboat Association, they state: “We have consulted Lars Larsson, professor in hydrodynamics on Chalmers (Gothenburg’s technical university), folkboat sailor, and earlier three times Swedish Champion in Folkboats. He thinks that the lifting power 10 kg has a moderate effect – the same as if the whole crew (250 kg) moves 0.1 m forwards in the boat. Hydrodynamically it can be a favour to make the rudder a little thicker, so that the water follows a harmonic bend along the keel and rudder on the boats windward side when it tacks with a rudder angel of about 5 degrees ( to prevent the boat from turning up against the wind). The shape of the leeward side is of less importance. To make an even thicker rudder is a disadvantage hydrodynamically.”

The Association then dealt with it in a formal fashion, i.e. there is a revised class rule to be adhered to – here.

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Fair enough. But here are no class rules with a Folksong 26, so we have some leeway, which means we can work it out for ourselves . . . with a little help from friends.

If you have answers, part answers – or even more questions, please feel free to comment..

**(I am very grateful to Nick for allowing me to use this picture of Constellation. I enjoy his blog and highly recommend following and supporting his venture back to Australia on Big Oceans/Tiny Boat)

On sailing a Folksong – rudder 1

/ Bill / 2 Comments

Getting to know a boat . . .

How long does it take to get to know a boat?

Longer than most people think.

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When I first sailed Blue Mistress, she had a lot of weather helm.

I thought it might be something to do with the rudder.

It became a feature of our sailing – slowed us a little but it didn’t stop us. I got used to it.

Then I discovered it wasn’t necessarily the rudder.

I learnt to trim the sails more carefully, and got used to selecting the ‘right’ foresail for the particular weather. I reduced it – significantly.

That was a pretty obvious, you say.

Perhaps, but, problems often work that way – they crop up and are set aside to be solved later. We get used to them and move on because there are plenty of other problems to deal with.

The bigger, more pressing problems draw our attention and the lesser ones are tolerated and fade into the background.

As a result many of us live our lives at less than our full potential – mildly (or heavily) inhibited by a pot full of unfinished business.

“All problems carry their own solutions” (anon), but it takes some event to stir us into revisiting a tolerated problem and looking for the solution.

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So with the weather helm.

A calm day, force 1, following two slightly bigger yachts with different keels, wondering whether I could keep up – (it was already apparent that my leeway was less).

I was sailing with the No 1 foresail. The lighter, larger genoa would have made a lot of difference.

On Blue Mistress, the No 1 foresail works best in a blow with one reef in the main. It was good practice to be working with it in light airs.

Easing the foresheet to give the foresail more power, and bringing the main sheet up the traveller and the boom midships, took some weigh off the tiller and gave us an extra half knot in the light wind.

They always had the edge on me in this light air, but we sailed all the way to Cawsand whereas they tacked back as they approached Picklecombe Point.

Straightfoward stuff.

I didn’t solve the weather helm problem, but I did consider it more closely and began to tackle it.

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And I enjoyed the sense of a race.

Sailing is always a race – sometimes against other boats but mostly against the tide, the weather, time – and our own need to keep up.

Inward bound

/ Bill / 1 Comment

I took a series of images of Cemluna inward bound on the last of the tide this morning.

Not my usual subject but the moment was right.

Whether you are interested in ships or not, I defy you to ignore the grace of such a large object being shepherded gently through the water

Then this evening, I was directed to Tugster’s blog – stunning images and a facinating site.

Photography is not always the answer

/ Bill / 1 Comment

Photography is often frustrating because what you are able to record is a small fraction of what you want to record. Sometimes it’s what is outside the image that makes the image itself worthwhile. At other times it’s better not to try but to leave the moment alone.

This was the case the other morning when we set out to enjoy a short sail.

As we left the Sound, the wind strengthened and steadied from the west. We settled on a course south south west, Eddystone on our starboard bow – four and a half knots across a gentle swell.

The sky had been heavily overcast all morning – a dark layer of stratus that shut out the sun and promised rain.  But, for now, there were clear patches of blue sky showing in the west.

It was that approaching blue sky that held our attention as, four miles out, we watched the coast come to life – cherished Cornwall unveiling in the sunshine.

First the Dodman, then the steep cliffs around Fowey, the green fields behind Polperro and on to the bright houses of Looe, sunlight flashing on expectant windows; Downderry sparkled along the water’s edge, pointing to Portwrinkle still hidden behind Rame, before the headland itself beamed out at us.

Silenced, we breathed in the startling November light, marvelling at the clarity of detail, excited by the intensity of the experience. Behind us the sea seemed to darken.

Suddenly, inland, the high chimney stack on Kit Hill stood proud in the sunshine. Next, a group of buildings on Plymouth Hoe, white beacons in the afternoon, overwhelming their less fortunate neighbours. In the foreground, the Breakwater leapt at us. And the whole stunning display moved eastward – scudding along the South Devon coast.

By now, Cornwall was dark again and disappearing fast.

Five miles out we turned for home, basking in our own ten-minute spotlight before, with the Cornish coast lost behind Rame, the gloom bore down on us. Dartmoor disappeared behind the city, leaving it without background – bleak, solemn and solitary, enveloped in drizzle.

We rounded the Breakwater in the murk, the band of drizzle mercifully lifting as we crossed the Sound.

A little later, dry and ashore, we watched the next band of rain cross the Cattewater, blotting out the familiar view.

It was a day to treasure – a day when there was more to sailing than the sailing, more images than could possibly be recorded.

On sailing a Folksong

/ Bill / 1 Comment

On tuning the boat

The Open 60s are in Les Sables d’Olonne undergoing final tuning for the Vendee Globe.

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I remember one day, in my early teens, sailing Falcon solo out of Fowey, around the Cannis Buoy off Gribben Head and back again – all of three miles.

A big adventure for me.

Falcon – early sixties, racing with my Dad and sister

That day, the wind was light, the sea calm, the sun shining – (it always shone on those days). It was the day I learnt what sailing was all about. I got to thinking about my being the connection between wind and sea. Take away the boat and here was I, sitting a few inches above the water, my feet below the waterline, moving steadily along the coast with just the wind to drive me. If I got the balance right, even for a few seconds, the equation would be sea + me + wind = performance Add Falcon back into the equation and it became:: sea + hull + tiller + me + sheets + sail + wind = performance Fantastic, I thought, the wind may change, the sea state will vary, but, with an adjustment of a sheet here, a quiet movement of the tiller there, I can ride the energy between them. What I was recognising in my rather slow way was that sailing is about sailing – any talk of a destination, or of racing, or of my voyage to the Cannis buoy and back was just an excuse to be out there moving across the sea. Many years later, when I heard someone say: “Life’s a journey, not a destination.” I thought: “Oh. . . just like sailing.”

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So . . . tuning – improving performance on the water. The general equation is: hull – tiller – person – sheets – sails (with some fiddly bits in between – or a lot of very sophisticated fiddly bits on an Open 60). Start with tuning the person. Well, this one learns a lot writing about sailing, learns more reading about it, but never learns as much as when he’s out there doing it – and he needs to take more exercise.

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Looking at the picture of Falcon, I remember Dad being very critical of it – he didn’t like the way we’d set the mainsail and spent some time working on it – adjusting and readjusting the set until he got it right. I now realise how much the picture affected him. He became very particular about setting that sail. I guess he used pictures to critique the boat and then . . . . oh, good grief! I’m turning into my dad!

On sailing a Folksong

/ Bill / 3 Comments

Towards Rame Head – April 2008

I value my independence.

One of the things that attracted me to Blue Mistress was that there is no class standard for Folksong 26s.

Folksongs were built for the home completion market. That means that more or less anything goes! For example, look at the modifications made to Harrier.

So, no glossy brochure, no book of instructions, no class regulations. I am having to work things out for myself. I learn as I go along.

Three years down the line, I have learnt a lot.

The boat is a reflection of my knowledge, skills and attitudes.

I am enjoying the ride and there’s plenty more to come. I look forward to it with pleasure.

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Some thirty three years ago, in New Zealand, I read an article that gave me a framework for learning that I have used ever since.

The writer suggested that when it comes to knowledge, skills and attitudes, 2% of those who undertake a particular craft, career or profession will actually master their element, 8% will be adept at it, 36% will be students of the subject and the remaining 54% will go along with it because they’re there.

Forget the numbers, what he was saying was that very, very, few people are on top of their work. There isn’t a lot of competition at this level.

The reason I mention this is that, in working on my boat, I am aware – sometimes embarrassingly so, of how much of a student I am and that some things might be better delegated to someone more adept – and some aspects, e.g. small details of rigging perhaps or some carpentry, to those who have mastered the job.

The main arguments for this are ‘time’ and ‘standard of finish.’

Two things are against it. Firstly, cost, and secondly, and more importantly, I won’t learn unless I do it myself.

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So how far might I take this ‘learning’? Will there ever be a time when I’m ‘good enough’?

These days it’s fashionable to talk about ‘continuous learning’.

Inevitably this has become organised.

In some professions/careers, the sheer joy of learning the new has been subjugated to a never-ending gathering of points/credits, gained by undertaking formal courses and accumulating audited records.

This gives a regulatory body the right to dictate what that learning should be. This may help to spread basic knowledge in, say, safety issues, that many people would not otherwise have noticed, but the energy required to comply with the regulations means that much of one’s time and energy is occupied in attaining this average level of knowledge. A ‘usual and customary’ way of working is engineered by those in authority.

Like oil on the sea, the usual and customary spreads out, permeates everything and dampens down the very element that makes the endeavour worth undertaking in the first place. Where is the opening for the student, where is the stimulus for the adept, where is the space for the master?

These days more than ever, to master your craft requires stepping out of the fog, questioning the usual and customary, rejecting the accepted formula unless you have proved it for yourself. The usual and customary is just another waymark on a chart – it’s not the destination. To excel, you have to forge your own direction – establish your own standards.

Thirty years ago, that meant a long apprenticeship, working your way step-by-step, accumulating skills and knowledge at a pace that worked for you.

We now have the technical ability to speed the process up and our general expectations are high. It is easy to fool ourselves into believing we can do things when we are far from ready. In relaity, we learn at a human rate. Hands-on skills still have to be learnt step-by-step and getting to ‘good enough’ can be a rough ride.

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Enough of that.

Next post on OSAF, I am going to start looking at ways of tuning the boat.

You can’t sail in a vacuum

/ Bill

In my last post, I said that the afternoon’s sail took me away from the generally depressing news.

Sailing is an excellent way to clear the mind, but I don’t think I can ignore the current situation. It is easy to be blinkered but there is a responsibility to, at the very least, acknowledge what is going on around us.

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Last winter, I produced an e-book for my children, nephews and nieces about the what, the why and the how of Blue Mistress.

It had occurred to me that, although they have their own lives to lead now, one day, one of them might ask ‘what was Dad/Uncle Bill thinking when he bought the boat?’ – and I won’t be there to tell them.

The exercise was good because it focussed my attention and made me answer some questions I might otherwise have ignored. ‘Just for the sake of it,’ is a good answer, but is not always the whole answer.

The first part deals with the what and the how, the second half is more about the why.

I produced it in PowerPoint because I was interested in how text and images might be placed together to hold the attention when viewed on a monitor screen. It has worked well on most pages. The problem now is that by the time the next generation become really interested in the past, the software will be well out-of-date. I want to convert it into a more suitable format but that appears easier said than done at the moment.

It is essentially a personal record which might be of passing interest to another Folksong owner.

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What has this got to do with the current financial crisis?

Back in January, I was writing something I hoped would be picked up by my children – (accepting how much children appreciate what their parents tell them:-)):

“So technology has opened possibilities for all of us that were merely dreams only a few years ago.

But there is a downside. In the excitement of the new and the rush to embrace the next generation of a particular technology – whatever that may be, there is a danger of us getting used to living in a virtual world – one in which men and women take second place, and in which, if we are not careful, we may lose the natural human skills that make the technology worth having in the first place. (“You can’t behave this or that way, because the technology won’t allow it.”)

I believe that there is a danger of losing the physical, hands-on learning of ‘craft’.

Using your hands in actual practice teaches you to understand the tools, the materials, the tasks, the situations in a way that virtual reality can mimic but not touch. It’s about developing a deeper understanding of your own competence and how you fit into the dynamics of the situation. It’s about recognising from first-hand experience all the other skills you need to possess in order to deliver the current one. It’s about making mistakes and learning from them.

My point is that technology should be used in the service of humanity, and we should not allow humanity to become the subject of technology. The border between the two is becoming particularly elusive in the first decade of the twenty first century.”

I didn’t know then how soon, or spectacularly, that danger would be realised. It’s not the technology, it’s the way people use it.

In the financial world, the speed with which information can be spread through that world got out of synch with the ‘human touch’ that was needed to evaluate and control the information. The problem grew exponentially.

The consequence is not just a crisis in financial markets and a subsequent recession, but may well be an over-reaction of regulatory bodies in areas far removed from the financial world – encouraged by these events to come out of the woodwork and make hay. Consider the knock-on effects from 9/11. I hope I’m wrong.

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So now I’ve acknowledged the crisis, what can I do about it. Well, I can’t solve it, but I can retrench and concentrate on what I’m good at.

I will keep this blog going, and, as we face the recession together, notice, and where appropriate highlight, the situation of those working in maritime industries where we coincide, and continue to highlight what I see, enjoy and learn – ( and fail to learn), from the viewpoint of a Folksong owner.

The ‘For love of a boat’ series is already noting the reduction in the local fishing industry around Europe, shown in the loss of well-designed, carefully constructed boats that may never reappear in any form.