On Board with Mark Corke

Antique and Clasic Boats

Here are just a few of the many boats at last weekend's Antique and Classic Boat Show in Salem, Massachusetts. I've been attending this show for the past 15 years or so as the head judge and it is pure joy to see these boats and meet the owners.

 There were cat boats, a pair of Elco flat top cruisers, and even a steam boat replete with an original 1894 steam engine, along with many others – all gorgeous. It was my intention to give you explicit details of the boats shown below but I lost my notes so you'll just have to make do with looking at the nice pictures, which you can click on to make larger and see more detail.

 

 

Living on a boat

 

A nice short film for all those that have ever thought of living on a boat.

 

Heading South - part 1

 

So the trip started off well enough, and it should have a been a straight forward delivery to the Chesapeake from Maine. Rita and I had set aside just over a week centered around the Memorial Day weekend, so I opined that eight days would be more than sufficient. Just before the off however it was discovered that the header tank on the Ford Lehmann engine was leaking and the neck on the filler would need to be repaired by a radiator shop. Yankee Marina and Boatyard in Yarmouth, Maine went above and beyond would be expected to get us on our way. Curt, the yard manager, drove the header tank to the radiator shop, waited while they repaired it then turned up on Saturday of Memorial Day weekend and personally refitted it. I can't say enough good things about this yard; perfect service. 

After the drama with the header tank, I thought our problems would be over, and it would be plain sailing from then on, but oh no. We were literally about to leave the dock, and I thought I'd double check the engine oil in my familiar fashion, pull the dipstick wipe off the oil with a paper towel, replace dipstick then pull out one more time for an accurate reading. A simple task that takes a few moments at best. On pulling the dipstick for the second reading, I was horrified to see that the bottom half of the dipstick was missing! I was in a panic, how could this have happened? Where was the missing bit of dipstick? Thinking that it had fallen off into the oil pan, I knew that we would not be going anywhere if that was the case. An errant piece of metal in the oil pan could lead to catastrophic engine failure. The engine could not be run until the piece was retrieved. I was thinking that I would have to pull the engine and drop the oil pan, a very expensive job which would scupper our plans of heading south anytime soon for sure.

I rushed to True Value and bought the strongest magnet on a stick that I could find. I thought that I could poke this down the dipstick hole and by some luck catch the wayward piece of the dipstick, but even if I did the chances of actually pulling it back through the dipstick tube were slim to none. I was doomed, and I knew it. Just as I was about to break out the whisky and slump on the salon cushion I had the thought that maybe the piece had snapped off and fell into the bilge. I have white clean oil pads under the engine, and if the piece of dipstick were there, I would have seen it. I fished about for a couple of minutes and then if by some divine miracle I heard a click and up from the depths came the magnetic stick with the piece on the end. What luck! How it broke off and fell into the bilge I will never know but I was thankful that I found it and doubly glad that I did not spend days pulling then engine apart only to find it afterward, that really would have pissed me off.

The errant piece of the dipstick and the cause of much angst and swearing. I might not look like it in the picture but I was happy, things could have been so much worse.

Due to our late start, we only made it as far as Kennebunkport, I wanted to fill up with diesel anyhow so we put in for the night thankful that at least we were on our way and heading south. I went for a walk in the rain and stopped by this nifty looking boatyard across from Seaglass, our boat. I  wanted to take other pictures, but all I got was this shot before my camera battery decided to die.

 

The forecast for the morning was not promising with rough seas and fog. In fact, we had lots of fog, this shot is on one of the better days! Instead of continuing our journey on the second day as planned we left Kennebunkport and turned back after half an hour when we realized that the visibility was about a hundred yards with five-foot seas from the south. This was very frustrating, but I always think it better to be safe than sorry. An added concern was that I had recently refinished the mast on the boat and although I had a shiny new 4G radome fitted this was not hooked up to the chartplotter. I never thought I would need it, how wrong I was!

A couple of days later we made it as far as Gloucester, Massachusetts where we had a fine night in the marina and met our friends Tom and Alice who invited us to dinner. A splendid run, the next day, across Massachusetts Bay saw us in Sandwich, a perfect jumping off point for the following day's run through the Cape Cod canal and out into Buzzards Bay. The current is swift, and this helped us along nicely, Seaglass making 12 knots over the ground at one point. Our good fortune did not last long, however, as the day wore on the weather deteriorated, the wind and rain came back with a vengeance.

 

The seas were right on our nose, and we were taking green water over the bow which slammed the windscreen making it hard to see, the wipers did their best but were not up to the task. In fact, it was so rough at one point that the fridge went walkabout and the cutlery drawer had to be taped up with masking tape to keep it in place. This is not my kind of boating at all! I had planned to make it to Westbrook in Connecticut but was worried about navigating the harbor entrance in the rough conditions so put into the Connecticut river instead where the entrance is wide, and it's safe and easy to enter. We secured a berth then went for showers and beers, that first one tasted so good, we'd earned it!

 

 

The drawer taped shut and the fridge after we wedged it temporarily  back into place.

 

You need a compass

 

I was surveying a large motoryacht not long ago and found myself on the bridge, where there was a prodigious array of electronics but no compass. GPS is a great navigation tool, but it’s no substitute for a properly adjusted magnetic compass. A magnetic compass works independently, without electricity or another power source, so it can be relied upon at all times to determine the direction the boat is headed.

For a compass to be effective it has to be properly mounted and adjusted, which to some extent are dependent on each other. The compass should be mounted on a flat, level surface that’s as far as is practical from ferrous metal fittings (iron, steel), magnets (speakers, microphones), and electronics and other current-carrying devices, all which can interfere with accuracy.

The compass typically is mounted on the steering pedestal in the cockpit aboard sailboats and on the dash or console aboard powerboats. It should be in the helmsman’s direct line of sight so it’s easy to read when the navigator gives a course to steer.

To calculate the error, or deviation, in the compass it must be “swung,” whereby the boat is put on a known heading that’s checked against the compass reading. Typically this is done by lining up a set of transit marks and comparing the boat’s course to the indicated reading. Any error is corrected by adjusting the built-in magnets, which are attached to compensator rods.

A compass should be routinely checked, and bearing lines are perfect for this. John Rousmaniere devotes a lengthy chapter to compasses and compass adjustment in The Annapolis Book Of Seamanship. Of course, you can call in a professional compass adjuster to help with all of this.

A correctly adjusted compass points toward magnetic north, not true north. The difference between true and magnetic north varies depending on where you are on the planet; this is known as variation, which must be compensated for when plotting a position. Variation is shown in the compass rose on navigational charts and tells the navigator how many degrees to add or subtract (east or west of true north) to your bearing.

Once the compass has been swung and adjusted, there are likely to be errors that cannot be compensated for, so a deviation card is produced. If a compass is professionally adjusted, this card will be provided by the compass adjuster, but you can also work up your own. Deviation should be no more than a few degrees on each heading. Therefore both deviation and variation must either be accounted for when working out the plot on the chart or when communicating a compass course to steer to the helmsman.

A compass has a lubber line — two pins or some type of marking — that must be parallel to the centerline of the boat when the compass is mounted. As the boat turns, the compass continues to point at magnetic north, and the course is shown (relative to magnetic north) in reference to the lubber line.

Practice steering a compass course rather than following the chart plotter. You’ll have more situational awareness and less strain on your eyes. On a sailboat, steering by compass can keep you in tune with the wind. As the wind shifts you may be able to harden up or crack off a few degrees, rather than trying to follow that line on the plotter.

A properly installed and adjusted compass is a valuable navigation tool. Buy the best one your budget will allow and take good care of it — you’ll be rewarded with years of service.

Dealing with fog

 

This is story that I originally wrote for Soundings Magazine which I republish here. Part narative and part practical advice it just may help you should you get caught in fog this summer.

“Don’t worry,” I told my son Sam as we slipped the dock lines and headed out of Greenport Harbor at the eastern end of Long Island, New York. “It’s early, and the fog will have burnt off by the time we get to Orient Point.” I’d done this trip a bunch of times, both alone and with crew. It’s an easy sail from Greenport back to the marina in Clinton, Connecticut. Piece of cake, I told myself. “Should be there in a couple of hours, in time for a late lunch,” I said to Sam.

The sudden onset of fog, and the potential hazards it brings, can change the parameters of a float plan instantly.

Rounding the breakwater, the fog was thicker than I thought it would be. Mallard, our 26-foot wooden gaff cutter, was simply rigged, with no GPS or radar, but she did have an accurate depth sounder and log. Taking departure from the end of the breakwater, I carefully plotted our position using dead reckoning, measuring course steered and distance run in addition to taking into account leeway and an allowance for tidal set as best I could. A pencil mark on the chart every 15 minutes showed our progress. The fog was all-enveloping, and the limp sails, saturated with moisture, dripped relentlessly into the cockpit. I could barely make out the end of the bowsprit in the pea soup. Creeping along under power, we closed Orient Point, our jumping-off mark for crossing Long Island Sound.

The tide runs strongly around the point, and I knew that, once committed, there would be no turning back. I was weighing our options and at the same time trying to hide my concerns from Sam. Just then the fog lifted enough for me to get a plain view of the Long Island ferry that runs between Orient Point and New London, Connecticut. She was dead ahead. Just in the nick of time I pushed the tiller hard over, and we swooped to starboard, almost ramming the side of the ferry. A few moments longer, and Mallard’s bowsprit would have been turned to matchwood. The close shave made up my mind for me, and we carefully retraced our steps back to Greenport to await a change in the weather.

That trip happened many years ago, and when I think of it, it still raises the hair on the back of my neck — and reminds me of how disorienting fog can be. I’ve had some sort of sailboat for more than 40 years. Thinking back, it would be fair to say that I’ve been frightened more often by fog than I have of rough weather. Dealing with fog demands respect and the highest levels of seamanship. Mess up, and things

can go bad quickly. Fog is disorienting, and you can find yourself disbelieving the compass. Chart plotters and radar are a comfort and a big help, but they are not a panacea for navigating perfectly in thick weather. There is a tendency to blindly follow a line on the plotter when you can’t see much of what’s in front of you. Bu there might be a small boat or other object in your path that does not show up on radar. A keen forward watch would catch it. There is a very good chance you will get caught in fog at some

Good seamanship requires that you be proactive and at the same time react in a calm and efficient manner to changing conditions. Here are some important points that should help you stay out of trouble when the fog closes in.

Prepare for the unexpected

I keep collision flares handy and will often stuff one into my oilskin pocket so it can be set off at a moment’s notice. The bright white pyrotechnics are pretty good at burning off the fog around the boat. Don’t think twice about setting one off if you’re concerned that another boat might not have seen you. A skipper’s senses and reflexes may be tested when vessels and objects emerge suddenly from a bank of fog.

Slow down

One of the biggest concerns is running into something — another boat, a floating object, the beach, even a breakwater if your navigation is at all off. Slowing gives you time to think and react. Charging along at 20 knots is never safe in thick weather. If you run up a sandbar at that speed you’ll likely do serious damage to the boat, and you won’t get off without expensive help. Nudge the same bit of sand at 3 knots, and you’ll probably incur superficial damage, with a good chance that you can free the boat yourself.

Use sound signals

Few recreational boaters use the correct sound signals in fog. For a power-driven vessel underway and making way, that means one prolonged blast every minute. A vessel under sail sounds one long blast, followed by two short blasts. (Note that even if you have the sails hoisted, a sailboat is classified as a power vessel when the engine is running.) On a still, foggy day, sound travels a long way over water, so even if you think no one else is around, you should sound your horn. I strongly urge you to get a proper foghorn. Those aerosol types may mean that you comply with the letter of the law, but they soon run out of puff.

Don’t be a slave to the screen

Chart plotters and radar are powerful tools, but you should think of them as aids to navigation. Don’t stay glued to the screen. Electronics can be a great comfort, but trust your instincts and remember that there may be other boats in the vicinity that are using the same buoy you are as a waypoint. Electronically guided collisions are fairly frequent, and keep in mind that not all boats show up on radar.

Get familiar with your electronics

Spend time operating the radar and chart plotter so it becomes second nature. This is especially true of radar. You don’t want to reach for the instruction book when you need your wits about you. Practice in good weather so you can compare what you actually see with what is shown on the screen.

Don’t lock yourself in

When it’s damp and cold outside, it’s tempting to stay in the warm pilothouse. Go outside from time to time to look around and listen. Sailors have an edge here, as they likely will already be in the cockpit.

Use your ears

If you’re close inshore and under power, turn off the engine and listen. You might hear other boats or breaking surf that easily could be missed otherwise.

Make sure you can be seen

Many small boats have a poor radar signature and may not be visible to larger vessels. Hoist a radar reflector in the rigging and turn on your navigation lights. The lights obviously won’t make you show up on radar any better, but they are often the first thing you’ll see when you come across another vessel in the fog.

Don’t be afraid to wait or turn back

Listen to the weather forecast. If you are in a harbor, it may pay to stay there until the fog lifts. That’s what I should have done instead of heading out from Greenport. There is no shame in turning back — it’s just prudent seamanship. Be flexible and don’t adhere to a rigid schedule.

Good seamanship requires that you be proactive and at the same time react in a calm and efficient manner to changing conditions. Here are some important points that should help you stay out of trouble when the fog closes in.

Stitch and Glue Boatbuilding

I have long held the belief that a great way to get started in boat building is not with a complicated project but with one that can be completed in a reasonable amount of time, and for reasonable cost. Stitch and glue boatbuiilding is where ply panels are temporarily held together with copper wire and then the joints are covered with epoxy and fiberglass cloth. In the old days this used to be polyester resin but this resin did not bond well tdone the ply and was apt to fail.

 I've built a fair few stitch and glue boats in my time and it is a fairly fast and rewarding wa y to construct a boat. The kits from CLC are cut with a CNC router and thus almost guaranteed to go together well without errors, almost like building a large plastic model airplane kit of the type that I'm sure you pu together as a lad or ladess.

You need to take your time but once you do you'll end up with a craft which you can be proud of and you're almost guaranteed success. This is more a woodworking project than a boat building project and as such you are likely to have all that you need in the garage toolkit already, any supplementary tools can be bought at reasonable cost.  

This is the first in a series of videos which are available on the CLC site which explain in some detail how you build the stitch and glue boat. 

 

Gone From My Sight

I know that I have been somewhat missing in action from the blog recently but I do have a good excuse I  had to go over to the UK to attend to my mother’s funeral and sort out some of her personal affairs.

My mother was always a very neat, tidy, and orderly person and died almost to the hour on her 93^rd birthday, at Christmas. Despite her age was very fit and alert right up until the very end, indeed, I spoke to her the day before she died.

 

At her funeral I had the honor of reading Gone From My Sight by Henry Van Dyke. It was a favorite of hers, a beautiful poem which will strike a chord with anyone who as any sort of connection with the sea and boats.

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,
spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts
for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until; at length, she hangs like a speck
of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone."

Gone where?

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,
hull and spar as she was when she left my side.
And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me -- not in her.

And, just at the moment when someone says, "There, she is gone,"
there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices
ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"

And that is dying...

Dinghy for Grand Banks

I think Charlie Doane and I must be on the same wavelength or something. Just as I sat down to write about dinghies I heard a ping and into my inbox popped a notification that on Wavetrain, Charlie’s blog, he had written about the veritable dinghy.

Like Charlie I favor the roll up type of dinghy. Seaglass has an ample lazarette in the cockpit sole, which swallows all sorts of stuff; fenders, spare parts, hoses, cleaning supplies, and yes, the dinghy as I dislike hanging the dinghy off the back on davits.

I’ve had and used a bunch of dinghies over the years, from small Avon’s with soft floors that always left you with wet feet, to high tech center console RIB’s that have served as tenders to large expensive yachts. I like a hard dinghy if possible, because if well designed they are a delight to row, thus providing good exercise and at the same time eschewing the need for an outboard. Some years ago I built an Eastport pram kit from Chesapeake Light Craft, which I still have. It’s a handsome craft to be sure and always seems to stand out above the run of the mill inflatable cousins when tied to the dock outside some waterside restaurant. The down side is that I don’t have space to stow the pram aboard Seaglass so it’s rarely used these days.

A dinghy is necessity for me as I spend a lot of time at anchor, so getting ashore at regular intervals to walk the dogs is but one of the duties that the dinghy is called upon to perform. The new 10-foot Zodiac that I now have is an inflatable RIB, in that it has a rigid double blow-up floor. This floor keeps feet out of any bilge water and thus shoes, if worn, remain dry and the rigid bottom allows the boat to plane easily when anything larger than a 9-hp motor is strapped to the plywood transom. It’s a great boat, which blows up easily with either a manual or an electric pump. Deflating it is easy to but it is somewhat awkward and unwieldy to handle when in its limp state. Thankfully the large, opening, lazarette on the Grand Banks swallows it whole with ease, even if I’ve never actually managed to get the boat back into the bag that it came in.

Charlie also made mention of a folding rib in his post and I do in fact have one of these early folding RIBs. The bottom section is in three sections made from glass fiber, with Hypalon tubes glued to the outside edge in the same way as a solid RIB is constructed. The boat is pretty nifty and can be rowed, used with an outboard, or sailed. In fact I still have the brand new unused rig that came with the boat. I’ve not tried it but it should be fun as instead of leeboard there is a proper dagger board and trunk. In fact I have it up for sale at $600 if anyone’s interested. It’s in Virginia stored indoors. Email or call me with any questions.

 

Christmas present idea

 

 

This is awesome. If someone wants to get me one for Christmas I won't mind a bit! A tad on the expensive side perhaps, but hey, I can always hope.

 

Timber size chart

 

Buy much lumber and you will soon realize that the size you pay for and the size that you actually get are different. Buy rough cut lumber and the sizes will be what you order, in other words a 12 x 1 board will be to that dimension. But buy timber that has been planed and the sizes will be those that I have included in the above chart. For instance notice that the 4 x 4 post actually ends up as three and half inches square. That's because you pay for the wood that ends up as chips on the floor of the machine shop where the wood was converted from rough to planed.

Which brings us nicely to the cost of timber. Now I know that the cost of timber is very high especially exotic woods like teak and mahogany but for the most part, with the exception of places like Home Depot, wood is sold by the cubic foot. Go to any "proper" timber yard and ask for their stock list which is different from the price list. The stock list is the list of timber that they most usually keep in stock and sell. The price varies all the time, a bit like fish in that regard, so always call around to get the best price.