Folksong

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.

On sailing a Folksong

/ Bill / 1 Comment

An afternoon’s sail

On Friday afternoon, I sailed away from the mooring – a first for me.

Moored fore and aft in a trot line, with boats either side, this is restricted water – only wind on the beam or quarter will suffice. The forecast was north west 3-4 but it was more north east 2 on this stretch of the river at that moment, the tide was slackening and it seemed easy enough for me to chance it.

I chose the No.1 jib alone and inevitably the wind began to die as I inched my way along the line of boats. I had the engine ticking over but didn’t need it until the wind died completely as I prepared to raise the mainsail – and then only briefly as the tide began to take the boat.

The wind strengthened just enough and then it was dinghy sailing – tacking back and forth across the Cattewater in the flooky wind until there was a clear course passed Queen Anne’s Battery. It headed me again adjacent to the entrance to Sutton Harbour and took Blue Mistress close enough to the end of Mount Batten Pier (and the fisherman), before we could ease off into the Sound.

Then it was ‘dodge the warships’, followed by a long, glorious, close-hauled stretch in the sunshine with the promised northwest 3-4 blowing true and steady – across Plymouth Sound, out through the Western Channel,

to seaward of the Draystone Ledge buoy with Penlee Point in the background and

on to my waymark due of south of Rame Head – (in the image, we have some way to go).

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Time to work with the Autohelm, make several sail adjustments, reflect on why I didn’t choose the genoa to start with, work out that there are ways to leave the mooring under sail in most winds (but I would need the practice), check my gps against compass bearings, keep a lookout and get away from the continuing flow of depressing news.

On the way back there was a time when, from Jennycliff to Cawsand and from the Breakwater to Plymouth Hoe, Blue Mistress was the only boat moving. Not totally surprising as it was getting late and the tide was strongly against us.

I picked the wrong side of the trot to approach, and went round the boats again to pick up the mooring with a fierce following tide, running along the line of boats slow enough to find out how much stern throttle would be needed to stop the boat in the water to give me time to pick up the aft warp. I have said this before: these are the times when I really appreciate the long keel.

I picked up the mooring a few hours older, slightly wiser, very happy – and late for tea.

On sailing a Folksong

/ Bill

Leeway

I’ve just watched the videos on the Avida website prior to the Vendee Globe on 9th November. Great pictures.

Now for the contrast  –  yesterday I took Blue Mistress out into the Sound.

24 hour forecast: Northwest 4 or 5, backing west 3 or less. Slight or moderate. Showers in west. Good.

It had backed to south of west 3 or less by the time we got there – so it was the genoa and a gentle 2-3 knot sail across the Sound towards Cawsand, then out through the Western Channel, a broad reach along the outside of the Breakwater and back in through the Eastern Channel – (one mackerel later).  This whole trip would be a ten minute stroll for an Open 60. It took me the whole afternoon.

Plymouth Breakwater – west – looking into the sun, early yesterday afternoon

One of the delights of sailing a long keeled boat is the minimal leeway compared to other boats. In a steady light breeze, not enough to produce any significant heeling, we chuckled through the water. On the first leg, using crab pot buoys as markers and a cottage in Cawsand as guide, we easily cleared the marks upwind, while two newer boats that had set off after us dropped to leeward – and behind.

Now, Blue Mistress is no racing boat, and it not my intention to race her, but I reckon that, on some points of sailing, she could go faster – if only I wasn’t holding her back.

So, in later posts, I hope to tackle this – starting with rudder design.

Plymouth Breakwater – east – late in the afternoon

On sailing a Folksong

/ Bill

Shackles

Like last year, Blue Mistress will probably stay in the water through the winter.

She is moored fore and aft in a line of boats, (trot moorings).

Most of the boats will be hauled out in the next month, so Blue Mistress will face the winter storms with a line of buoys stretching out behind.

On Saturday, in the sunshine, I checked the mooring.

The  stern warps are on the left of the picture, the bow rope of the boat behind is on the right.

The top two shackles hold the mooring warps, the bottom shackle the trot rope – (the rope that holds the buoys in line when there is no boat on the mooring).

So far so good – but I used a nylon cable tie to mouse the middle shackle when I originally attached it. It seemed a quick and easy solution and plenty of other people do this.

However, the cable tie has rubbed against the other shackles and broken. The pin is loose and will fall out as the various shackles, eyes and ropes constantly work against each other.

How do I know? Because I used cable ties on all three shackles and twice this summer I have come back to the boat to find a warp detached from the buoy. (That’s one of those moments when you hope no one else has noticed but know for sure that someone will have :-D, and it’s also one of those moments when you’re pleased to have put two warps out).

The two other shackles were remoused with mouse wire. I had not got round to changing this one. After an entertaining few minutes leaning over the side of the dinghy trying to thread wire through a moving pin hole, I have now.

For the origin of this series: here.