Big Springs.

My dear friend and co-conspirator, boatbuilder in arms Mark is leaving me. Together we were the evil geniuses behind building that cabin, and he’s taught me literally everything I know about working with fine hardwoods, which is not a lot at all really. We’re a bit like a real life version of Pinky and the Brain in some respects- the lab rats you know, ‘What're we going to do tonight Brain? Same thing we do every night Pinky, make big bits of hardwood smaller’. He doesn’t want a divorce or anything, it’s just that he’s finally plumped on a long held idea of his and has decided to give it a whirl. So at the end of July after twelve years in the big smoke he’s off back to his native Scotland, which will leave me bludgeoning bits of wood with badly sharpened tools on my own.
This week saw us in the rare and surprising situation of both being off work simultaneously- with the predictable result that we both decided to get together and go down to Wendy with the express intention of working on the few remaining really nastily complex bits of exterior woodwork together, while we still could. Looming large in Marks mind was a repair to the main engine room skylight, which he started like, ten months ago. Me? Well, I’m just worried about everything as usual, and having a friend with me to fend off the awful feelings of regret at having parked Wendy in such an unsuitable mooring, with difficulty of access and no power blah blah blah (you’ve heard this before) was pretty much exactly what I needed.
There was a pressing need to finish off these woodwork bits and bobs so that our boat can finally be considered weathertight without the assistance of tarpaulins or stapled on bits of plastic. In three days you’d think we could do that wouldn’t you? Well, maybe you would, except for Marks multiple sets of head bending compound angles, my decision to make the two remaining sill pieces by laminating up three blocks of teak for each, the complexities of getting clean wood stock out of screwy and holey old reclaimed stuff (I reckon a good 60% wastage at least), the joys of window glazing, and so on, but by Wednesday a good deal of progress had been made, even if we were forced to cover the engine room skylight with tarp one more time before we left.

None of the preceding text goes any way whatsoever toward explaining this photograph:

Whoops.
Apart from providing a good illustration of why spirit levels aren't much use on boats, this week saw the arrival of big spring tides, which gave us the opportunity to float for more than about half an hour each tide. Over the months since we arrived at Littlehampton Wendy Ann had slowly worked her way closer and closer to the old wharf which we were tied up to, and recently she’d started to get too close, and was in danger of climbing and eating the rotten old timbers which comprise this wall. I decided to do something about it, and having got muddy setting the ropes on the starboard side at low tide we waited for that lovely big water to come in. At high water she pulled away from the wharfside no problems and sat proudly in the middle of the berth. We tied up the ropes tight and waited for the water to go away again, whereupon this photograph happened. Over the months our boat had carved out a Wendy Ann shaped hollow in the mud, tied up in her new position Wendy Ann decided she’d much rather go back into that hollow thankyou very much. So as the tide receded the starboard side ropes went tight and she took on this alarming looking list, which prompted a group of passing schoolchildren to call out “did you crash?” which I guess it looks like we did, I certainly feel that way sometimes. The boat is currently sitting on a hump of mud that she’d pushed out of her way in her previous position. Because of the recent equinox, the big tides are sustained for the rest of the week and I’m desperately hoping that a lot of the list will naturally disappear as she moves up and down in her new spot and hopefully pushes some of that mud out of her way and makes herself a new hollow. If not, I’ll have to think again, which will probably involve using a high volume water pump or worse, digging. Right now though I’m back at work, so have been unable to remain with my vessel to ensure success. Predictably enough I’ve not slept that well the last couple of nights, my dreams being filled with crazily leaning boats and snapped ropes, but Becky and I are to journey down there tonight to see just how much of that list still remains and if there’s anything more we can do about it, hopefully we’ll not end up sleeping on the walls.

Unfurling.

Since arrival at Littlehampton, and unless it’s a special occasion (like arriving) our vessels woodwork has mostly remained shrouded in a motley collection of roped down tarps. Not exactly the look I have worked and longed for. The reason for this rather pikey method of weatherproofing was simple; we never quite got the roof finished before our big launch did we?

Obviously I’ve been away lately as well, not in the sense of having gone on holiday to the bahamas, more like repeatedly bashing myself over the head in small private hell, at least I didn’t need to bother to pack my passport I suppose. Anyway- this minor nervous breakdown has thankfully passed, I hope you all enjoyed your choc-ices. Becky has been a really patient woman in gently steering me through the shoals of my latest little episode, as if various other aspects of our life changing forever weren’t enough she had to deal with me throwing a big wobbly too. Enough said, now we’re back on track for a bit of bloody progress, and not a moment too soon,. So. Here’s a bang up to date picture of the wheelhouse and cabin- Spot the difference folks.

No? oh well, it’s a bit of a cheat without a proper ‘before’ pic anyway. The portholes are now fully fitted with their little eyebrows made out of sheet bronze. The roof has been trimmed to shape, rounded over and fitted with edging strips, and the whole lot has been waterproofed by fibreglassing with epoxy resin and glassfibre cloth. The skylight is reassembled and in position. And the double glazed windows are now finally installed at the back of the cabin. The only significant hole where the rain can still get in is under that black plastic wrapper, where another set of five windows lie that still require some fairly proper woodwork to the frames before they too can be glazed and the whole assembly can be declared weathertight. Notwithstanding that sodding strip of black plastic, this is a grand moment. We can now sleep at night, or leave Wendy Ann without always having to completely wrap her up against the elements for the first time, it’s more or less a proper ship’s deckhouse at last.

This One's For Mark.

And it's helping 'cos it's got fuck all to do with boats.
Enjoy.

Intermission.

There will be a short break in posting while I try and figure out how to recover from a recent personal meltdown.

Go and buy a choc ice or something.

Things Ain’t What They Used to Be.

After weeks of going barking mad- also known as trying (and failing) to rest and enjoy the solitude and scenery- I’ve decided I just can’t take it anymore. It must be about time to get going properly again.
After a couple of unbelievably frustrating attempts at working inside the vessel, (never mind cat swinging, things were either too cramped with my tools, materials and domestics all jumbled into one space post launch, or else everything became extremely dusty immediately upon switching on any kind of large woodworking power tool whatsoever.) I came to realise that I had to regain some of the things I’m missing about our old home at Saxon Wharf, starting with having the space to work efficiently. My idea is to employ a kind of best-of-both-worlds approach if you like, blending the lovely views and idyllic peace of Littlehampton’s west bank with the frenetic pace, noise and creative stay up all night chaos of our old shipyard/workshop. I know, it’s a potentially odd mixture, but Wendy is a strange and unusual vessel, and one of her owners is definitely going to become a lot odder if he doesn’t make some real progress soon.

With this decided, but with no-one around to lend me a hand, I woke up on Saturday morning to discover it was bloody raining. This was not a good omen for my planned frustration busting exercise, so I just sort of stood there damply staring at the rain and feeling broken by circumstance again. Not good.
Two cups of decent coffee, one enormous poo, and a reluctantly devised back up ‘work inside after all’ plan later- it became apparent that either my prayers or my offering (in a bucket, naturally) had appeased the weather gods for it had miraculously ceased to precipitate! Or maybe it just stopped raining. Whatever. What happened next was this….



Yas. I grabbed the nearest vaguely sharp handsaw and three boxes of 80mm screws, and built the bastard son of our dearly departed Wendy house, this time smaller, and on deck. And I only made a tiny dent in the wood we’ve got stored on board.
That’s better, It’s going to be the new fit out workshop once its clad and covered, somewhere the big tools can live and that the big work can be done in- which will free up some important living space inside some of the vessel. It’s ugly, but I’m done with admiring the look of Wendy’s exterior and have a real need to crack on with sorting things out inside. Anyway- I’m trying my best to persuade myself that there’s some sort of Chinese Junk aesthetic at play here? Ok then, just junk. I don’t care- it’s not permanent, but I’m building it with the intention of it lasting as long as it needs to, I do NOT want to be tripping over stuff whilst I try to find things in six months time.

Then I fed the swans. I’m aware that my own experience of the boating life has not been exactly elysian thus far, but in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary gained over the last few years I’m willing to give it a go. And the sunsets are nice too, with all the gulls wheeling around and local fishermen phutting up and down the river while the neighbourhood hooligans throw bicycles off the wharf on the other side. Yep-it’s the Great British Seaside alright.
Next weekend… it’d be nice to have some company for spring tides, light progress, and with a bit of luck weather wise a barbeque of some description. Oh, and remember to behave and feed the swans like a good boat owner.

The Littlehampton Rest Home for Lost Tugs.

We made it. The Pilot and Harbourmaster boarded us while we lay at anchor about a mile off the harbour entrance (where the above pic was taken), and Storebror delivered Wendy Ann 2 to Littlehampton at spring high water on Wednesday 11th March. Becky, Mark and Pete were all at the berth to take ropes and pull us in. There were no problems, but you’ll have to wait for all the action pictures.

Clearly, I’m a little overdue in reporting this fact, various friends and family members are already aware of this rather old news. This is largely because I chose to remain on board and keep an eye on our treasure while she settled into her new home- when the tide goes out, Wendy sits down on the mud and is left high and dry- so amongst other things ropes needed adjusting. And everything has changed- so much that I dithered over whether to title this blog entry ‘The End’.
Certainly I’ve recently gone through a bit of a personal apocalypse, from a couple of weeks before the launch where I felt I could accomplish anything; to now, when a sense of powerlessness prevails. All the recent internet chat about engines, which although I know is well intentioned, only serves to add to my current frustration- here’s why.
The first ten days at our new home were a literal return to the dark ages; unforeseen problems with obtaining shore power meant that when the sun went down, that was it. Candlepower was all I had. No toilet on board meant long walks to find the local public loos, followed a few days later by constipation, resignation and the use of a bucket. Becky thinks I’m obsessed with poo, maybe I am (a bit)- but there’s something satisfying and poetic about having a dump on your own boat, and anyway I have a suspicion that the bucket bit at least is an experience common to many liveaboarders at some point in their life on their vessel.
After a week of coming home to darkness after work, Jan kindly lent me the small emergency petrol generator that Storebror keeps on board, and I lugged it on board Wendy Ann before starting it up, plugging in a bunch of lights and a stereo, and rejoicing. This took some time. The next day I enjoyed discovering which power tools it’ll run.
So the only engines we'll be getting for now will be for a generator, however, even that will be a huge investment for us.
The financial times that Becky and I are currently enduring are seriously not pretty, the launch and all the final mad dash that led up to it was Expensive to say the least. I ran out of gas earlier in the week, and was too scared of bouncing loan payments to buy any more for a couple of days. Therefore I didn’t eat (in the dark), I just went to bed. We need our wallets to recover a little before embarking on the next step, so for now I’m commanded by employers and partner to rest, relax and enjoy the scenery. Something I’m almost managing.

Flying Solo.

Certain logistical facts regarding Wendy being back in the water are proving to be a bit of a culture shock. Some of these are probably blindingly obvious to the knowing outsider. But in our haste to transform our vessel from a gracefully shaped lump of metal in a huge shed to her proper status as an actual floating boat in the big wide world we overlooked a lot, so a few basic lessons are being learned in a hurry. Jan kindly allowed me to climb the first mountain last weekend by granting me the use of Storebror’s RIB tender. I’ve driven it before, but only twice- and then briefly, and only under the watchful tuition of my employer. So my heart was in my mouth last Friday as the sun was setting and I found myself lowering the small boat into the water from the tug’s HIAB crane. After carefully making all the checks I could think of I started the recently serviced outboard motor, cast off, and opened the throttle extremely gingerly. I crawled across the river Itchen to a waiting Tim, and two fine steel vessels.
Over the course of the weekend I made three more short trips, one of which involved collecting Becky (!) and with each I learned something new, and I’m filled with the newly acquired knowledge that this pocket rocket must be treated with the utmost care and respect.

Thanks to Tim, and Jan, for providing me with some valuable insights in order that so far, I’ve not had to learn the hard way, mind you- there’s a first time for everything.


Other news this week is that the weather forecast is looking encouraging for taking Ms Ann round to Littlehampton on Wednesday. Not only am I nervous as all hell, but I’ve an awful lot of preparation to do, not to the boat itself, she’s as ready as she’ll ever be- but I’ve crews to organise, both for the actual trip, and to receive us on arrival, pilots and small workboats to arrange, and a myriad of other details, not one of which can be overlooked.

We live in interesting times indeed.