marine photography

Photography to inform, to record and as pure art

For love of a boat – Kalkan 2010

/ Bill / 1 Comment

The purpose of this series is to observe the small, traditional working boats that are still out there.

And to do so without being too sentimental – times change – the world moves on.  Most of the boats I am looking at will have disappeared within a generation.

However,  it’s not just the boats that are disappearing.  There is a human element to this.

Local skills that have evolved over many lifetimes are being lost in favour of shorter-term technical skills designed to serve a blander, more uniform world – one that demands quicker and quicker solutions. I am not knocking  technical skills – I am using their product as a write.  However, the fact is that within a remarkably short time (years? no . . . months) this laptop will have been superceded by a more technically advanced unit. I will never really get to grips with this one because it will not last long enough for me to master it. It’s the speed (and, often, shallowness) of this continuous innovation and change that is the problem.

For each one of us, trying to keep up with change puts a permanent pressure on the deeper human values that bind individuals, families and communities. We have to continually adjust. The pressure will always be there. It’s the failure to acknowledge it that’s the mistake.

~~~

For example, this boat moored in the harbour of Kalkan.

How many men did it take to build it – one, two? How many men fish from it – three? How many people will it feed? Not many.

It has a small engine, but the thole pin positions would indicate a time before the engine . . .

Four nets are ready to set . . .

In the early evening, two men come out to lay the nets – one to work it, one to man the oars . . .

Early the following morning, they come back to bring raise them again, bringing an extra crew member . . .

Now there is now one man to raise the net, one to clear and stow it, one to steady the boat with the oars . . .

~~~

I hope these men will forgive my intrusion on their work, but their’s is part of a story that runs deeper than my images show. Like many people, they live in an area where the local skills to build a boat, to work with it and to make a living for their family is becoming less viable.

Tourism is now sweeping along this coast, and with it an infrastructure of villas, apartments and restaurants plus the inevitable increase in living costs. Local craft is caught up in the need to satisfy a universal demand.

I appreciate the economic benefits of tourism. For many, it is a good thing. A lifestyle becomes affordable that was never there before. But deeper down there is surely a change of identity as local attitudes are reshaped to cope with the new commercial reality.

As far as fishing is concerned,  the tourist industry needs all the fish it can get to cater for the fickle tastes of  the visitors – but on such a scale that the viability of the smaller boat is compromised.

Now bigger boats with their enormous nets moor snugly in the same harbour – travelling further, catching more fish, more often.

This is a worldwide phenomenon – the number of places where small scale fishing is still viable is decreasing, and with it the boats and the skills of the boat-builders. It is not necessarily that people find it a dissatisfying occupation, it is because it is more and more difficult to make a living from it.

I wonder if the young man on the tiller will be available next year to help the gentleman (his grandfather?) . . . or will he like so many others be swallowed into the tourist industry?

If I’m sentimental, it’s because the character of those that built and worked them are reflected in their boats – together with the coast they serve. I remember admiring such men when I was a child. Perhaps they still exist here. They are certainly less in evidence. As I say, priorities have changed now and with them a whole set of attitudes.

The friendliness, hospitality and sheer goodwill of those we met in the Kalkan were outstanding. We really enjoyed our time there as we have in so many parts of the Mediterranean and Aegean.

I wish these men in their fine boat good fishing.

~~~

For the origins and full set of images in this series, here.

On sailing a Folksong – just checking

/ Bill / 1 Comment

This post is for fellow Folksong owners – knowing you would understand.

On the way to St Ives, we detoured to check on the boat.

Around 1230, it was raining hard – big drops with more to come.

All seemed secure, so we drove on – south west, meeting the heavy weather on the road, half of me wondering how things were on the mooring now.

From Steeple Point – waves

/ Bill / 3 Comments

Last Saturday, browsing through my favourite second-hand bookshop – Books by the Sea in Bude, I found a book on seamanship by John Russell – The Shell Book of Seamanship, published in 1974.

I already have another book of his – Yachtmaster Offshore, published in 1977 for the RYA  Seamanship Foundation and bought around that time.

Note the publishing dates – before a lot of things that have happened since.

I like his attitude.

From the blurb inside the dust cover: ” . . . ‘safety equipment’ is a misnomer. It is emergency or survival equipment. True safety comes from good seamanship which minimises the incidence of accidents and that is what this book is all about. Examples of true safety equipment . . . are the humble electric fuse, the lifeline and the harness . . . and the pound or two of slush that every one of us carries around for life in his skull.”

It is the slush, of course, that is the problem.

~~~

Chapter 3 is entitled ‘The Sea’ and deals with waves.

Coincidentally, my photos of the weekend included waves and I have put some together with John Russell’s text to see how they fit.

The weather was governed by high pressure.

The sky was blue, with occasional light cloud.

Such wind that there was was north westerly as the Cornish flag on Chapel Rock shows.

The sea was flat – you would not expect any waves other than the residual swell from weather far out in the Atlantic.

And this is what we had – the chance to look at individual waves washing ashore.

~~~

“When the wind stops blowing or changes direction, the sea it caused continues to travel on as a swell . . . Without the energy of the wind to sustain them the waves of a swell gradually decrease in height, but their period and length continue to increase, although at a diminishing rate: thus they become less obvious but move faster as they travel away from the original area.”

“. . . When the wave enters water less deep than half the wave length it begins to feel the interference of the sea bed. Its length decreases without alteration in its period, so it goes more slowly, while its height, after an initial slight decrease, begins to increase rapidly with decreasing depth. This causes the swell to become shorter and steeper . . .”

“When the depth of water falls to one-tenth of the deep-water wave length the increase in height becomes very marked, the progressive deceleration causes crowding with steepening and narrowing of the crests, retardation of the troughs steepens the wave fronts more than their backs and the wave is ready to break at the least provocation. At a depth equal to one-twenty-fifth of the deep-water wave length the relationship between length and period disappears, the wave speed becomes dependent on depth alone and it breaks.”

“For a given speed the energy of a breaking wave depends on how much solid water, as opposed to air and water, it contains, but with sea water at a ton a cubic metre even a modest, well-aerated crest produces  a clout equivalent to collision with a small car.”

“It seldom happens that the fronts of advancing waves are parallel to the bottom contours, so one side reaches the critical depth and begins to slow down before the rest with a result similar to optical refraction. Refraction causes the swells to swing round and align themselves with the bottom contours.”

“Waves frequently cross and even when they travel in the same direction their different characteristics blend to give results that do not appear in either system alone. When the difference in length is pronounced, as commonly occurs when  a sea is meeting or being overtaken by an old swell, the two component waves retain their identities. But when waves of only slightly different period and length combine they produce groups of noticeably higher waves interspersed at intervals with groups of remarkably lower ones as the component waves move in and out of phase,”

~~~

It is worth concentrating on the extracts above. Even if not written in customary blog language, they are a very good description of an often ill-described phenomenon.

You might ask why a book on seamanship should include a section on waves. Well . . . that’s where the ‘slush’ comes in.

“

On sailing a Folksong – spinnaker preparation

/ Bill / 2 Comments

I went aboard during the slack tide to do a few jobs – strengthen the mooring lines, make it easier to drop the pick-up line and also the anti-chafe plastic piping on the stern lines had slipped and need re-securing. I ran the engine and remembered how much it needs a service.  And there was very little water in the boat – one pull on the hand-pump was enough.

~~~

When I bought Blue Mistress, I inherited a spinnaker that had seen better days and, having written it off, I have been content to sail without one. However, I have recently acquired a nearly-new spinnaker from a Folkboat –  (North Sails), so am now looking at ways of setting it.

The idea is to prepare the ground for doing it single-handed and then, for the first few times have a crew, to test out the the theory.

By sewing tags onto the spinnaker bag at the forward ‘angles’, I can tie it to either side of the pushpit forward of the stanchions. It will be held open by the line to the forestay and fixed at the base to the bow roller. The bungee cord can be tightened or loosened to control the size of the opening and keep the sail in the bag until needed.

Having worked that out and found the halyard was not long enough to feed back to the cockpit, which could be a problem –  (and dropped the bag back into the dinghy to bring home for sewing), I looked at the pole.

I wanted to decide on lengths – length of sheet/guy and downhaul.

By shackling a block forward, and feeding the downhaul back to the cockpit, I can control it from there.

The sheet/guy can be fed to the second track aft of the main sheet track and brought round the winch to the usual cleat, (Blue Mistress does not have self-tailing winches – doesn’t seem to need them).

I know it’s possible to do this single-handed because it happens on Fram.

In theory, given a good day and light winds, I could probably manage this sail – but, hey, that’s theory and I have a way to go yet. (All suggestions gratefully received).

~~~

By the time I came to leave, the flood tide was well under way and it carried the dinghy back to the slipway.

Just the two of us on this trot at the end of February – Blue Mistress and Charisma.

On Sailing a Folksong – annual mooring lift

/ Bill

The row out to the boat was shrouded in the morning mist – the top of the tide increasing the deep silence over still water.

Others were busy too. It was the annual mooring shift to allow the Cattewater Harbour Commission to lift and reset the moorings – a valuable service that gives peace of mind but requires some swift work to oblige.

The buoys are stripped of their usual tangle of lines and shackles, most of which have been there all year. As a result the pins are usually well and truly fast.

In Blue Mistress’ case this is not altogether true. We lost a pin due to a poorly moused shackle earlier last autumn, so there is one new, easily removed shackle. In fact all three of the shackles on our stern buoy (above) were relatively easy to remove but the two on the bow buoy were jammed. It required a very large spanner, another one jammed in the shackle to hold it still and two of us to lean on it.  Thanks to Freya’s skipper for his foresight and help – I promise to buy a bigger spanner next time!

~~~

When I looked up the fog had lifted and the rowers were out.

It seemed to good an opportunity to miss, so I motored down to the end of Mountbatten Pier in the sunshine, catching “Sweet As” returning from an early morning fishing trip.

The emphasis then came on lorries parked for the weekend – here below the mark (DirFRWG),

and here in gentle salute on the Cattewater Wharf.

On sailing a Folksong – Sunday morning log

/ Bill / 1 Comment

I was expected in Exeter this afternoon but checking the boat after the snow, the frosts and the rain of the past two weeks was a priority, so I seized the moment this morning.

The drive to Plymouth is about an hour and I got there about 10:15. By the time I had pumped up the dinghy, talked to the man who was going fishing in his ocean kayak and taken some photos, it was about 10:45 when I finally arrived aboard.

There is debris in the river from the heavy weather. In general, it floats past, but occasionally snags boats that are moored on the trots.

The mooring lines were as I had left them two weeks ago. There were no loose halyards. The sail cover was still firmly in place – it is too short and I have promised myself I will get one the right length one day. In the meantime, the boom end is covered by a square of canvas.

She looked neat in the morning sun.

The ten minute row demanded a small celebration.

Then start the engine (it fired first time!) and a look around before getting on with the several jobs I had planned:

The seagulls were enjoying the sunshine;

the fine house on the Cattewater shore was still overwhelmed by her industrial neighbours;

the boatyard on the opposite shore was the usual marvellous jumble of work-in-progress;

and the rowers were taking advantage of the weather.

A good day for a sail. Pity I had to return so soon.

On sailing a Folksong – a Sunday sail in winter

/ Bill / 1 Comment

1030, Sunday 13th December

My first sail since the end of October.

Blue Mistress has ridden the storms reasonably well.

The forehatch has sprung a small leak. The sail bags are wet.

We have lost not one but two shackle pins on the stern lines.

Poor mousing on my part – (yes, I did use wire), and not helped by the vastly increased run-off of water from Dartmoor into the Plym.

~~~

The wind was easterly this morning and gusting. I left the Sound through the eastern entrance and sailed happily south – course 180 degrees (M), until Dodman Point opened up  in the west.

I turned for home about 1330.

There were one or two boats sailing and a number of small fishing boats. Mostly I had the sea to myself.

Looking towards Devon in the east to Great Mew Stone and the entrance to the Yealm

and towards Cornwall in the west – Rame Head with Kingsand and Cawsand on the right of the picture.

~~~

The wind decided to back towards north which was exactly wrong for re-entering the Sound.

I was concentrating on clearing the eastern end of the Breakwater, when four dolphins appeared from nowhere . . .

They were intent on play, appearing randomly around the boat, racing passed or lazily rolling under the keel.

As they levelled with the cockpit, I could have touched them.

Delighted, excited and entranced, the tiller in one hand, the camera in the other, I took lots of images – mostly of freshly disturbed water.

They lead me on – (note the rapidly approaching conical mark on the end of the Breakwater), and, when I looked up, I had missed the entrance and had to tack very quickly.

My new friends immediately disappeared, and I was reminded of the Sirens of Greek Mythology.

“OK, guys, joke over.”

250 yards on, I tacked back and there they were again.

They escorted me to the entrance to the Sound, before swimming off – no doubt chuckling all the way back to sea!

~~~

I was asked last week why I hadn’t taken my boat out of the water for the winter.

There’s your answer.