Thursday, August 11, 2011

Scotty (Dave) Can Hold Her, Captain

It's now a week since I headed home from the sunny Midlands to the equally sunny south coast where the Swanage Carnival has been wreaking it's annual shake-up of the usually sleepy little town. Not that Swanage is dead by any means. It has a vibrant musical life with two Blues Festivals, a Folk Festival, two Comedy festivals and numerous other entertainments year round. It's just that every year at the end of July and beginning of August the whole town and it's visiting tourists go batshit crazy and behave in a most un-English fashion. The whole thing is kicked off by a carnival procession involving any exhibitionist that cares to brave the Isle of Purbeck traffic and plonk themselves down in Swanage. So this year there were motorcyclists in fancy dress (a peculiar mixture of Ghost Rider lookalikes, people in cowboy gear, a white rabbit and Wallace & Grommit and not a helmet in sight.) Dune buggys (remember them?) where the nearest dunes (Stusland Bay)are protected by the vigilance of the National Trust, dunes buggys are not just frowned upon but would probably be the centre of a ceremonial pyre and danced around by naked National Trust folk painted to match their surroundings. Carnival floats representing many local organisations some exceedingly strange, town criers, folk dressed as pirates, the Flintstones and, last but far from least, a group of what looks like professional carnival performers from Luton, whose gayly coloured and incredible costumes would look amazing in bright sunlight but only achieve a kind of nervous giggle on the overcast Swanage Sunday that it is. Which is a shame because the full splendour of their garb would blossom in the kind of sunshine that the town has been bathed in for the last 3 weeks. Still this is England after all and too much gaiety is frowned on and has been since that warty bastard Cromwell inflicted his particularly dour brand of religion on us.
Just Add Sun - Some Hopes

Be that as it may I'm back in Swanage and waste no time in finding out about launching facilities, costs, tidal options and the general geography of the launch slip. Which all seems pretty tame stuff given that Dave is beavering away big time and has fabricated the stainless steel bracket to protect the bow and anchor and sent it off to be welded, removed and replaced the rubbing strake which, held only by a pop rivet, had pulled away from the hull. It is now fixed with a sturdy stainless bolt which probably means the rest of the boat will fall apart to leave one proud rubbing strake and the bolt behind. He's stripped, cleaned, oiled, WD40d the engine which to his surprise fired on the second pull of the cord, painted the trailer with Hammerite. Released the seized on trailer brakes including the tow bar brake mechanism which had also seized, sorted the anchor well and numerous other small and not-so-small tasks that required attention.

We've identified the engine as Yamaha 5hp air cooled single cylinder outboard built somewhere between 1973 & 1980 which means it's elderly, probably noisy and perhaps slightly unreliable but it'll do for now and we'll consider our options during the winter layup months when some other tasks will have to be addressed.
More anon.

In Which Our Heroes Meet For The First Time

The time has come to put plans into action, antifouling paint on bottoms,shoulders to wheels, noses to grindstones(ouch) etc. etc. Heading northwards with the fabulously expensive antifouling paint and an armed escort I arrived late on a Monday morning enthusiasm bursting from my elderly seams and raring to attack a list of jobs as long as the proverbial arm. Problem number one arose even before I reached Dave's house. I had forgotten my carefully crafted list of things to check on the boat. This seems par for the course for the pre-Alzheimer's generation so, undaunted and after a swift cup coffee we began to inspect Missy Moto and her mysterious contents.

The first thing I found on going below decks was a wine glass, glass mind you, not plastic, standing proudly on the table undisturbed by it's fifty mile trailer trip from Lydney. We both hope this augurs well for smooth sailing in the future. Further unloading revealed a veritable treasure trove of odds and sods the function of most of which was immediately obvious - life jackets, man-overboard kit, anchors(two), a gas cylinder (sitting on some foul smelling water in a dedicated spot in the aft port locker), a fuel tank (seen better days) and all the usual bits and pieces associated with boats and boating. The kitchen equipment, including various condiments of somewhat indeterminate age, was all taken out and the lockers, drawers, nooks and crannies were all vacuumed in a masculine sort of way i.e. not very well but, hey, it's the thought that counts init?
Meanwhile Dave is T-cutting the hull sections that are original gel coat and inspecting the lower parts of the hull which are due to be anti-fouled shortly. We have contacted John, who is on a short break in Gloucestershire reminding him a) that he hasn't yet set eyes on his third of the purchase and b) that we've drawn lots and he lost and has to T-cut the white bits and that he should get his arse up here and view the vessel. Like all of us John has other calls on his time and is feeling knackered after a glitch in his daily grind which has already delayed his departure but he promises to put in an appearance on Wednesday if only to see what his money's been spent on. Meanwhile Dave and I, having given a reasonable facsimile of two men hard at work finish our evening with a well-deserved Italian meal in the salubrious surrounds of Malvern. And so to bed.

Tuesday sees yet more scrubbing and scraping and general tidying up and at no point have we detected anything horrendous on this beautiful little boat. There are jobs to be done without a doubt but nothing insurmountable. Luckily Dave is a master at fabrication, mechanics and all that is practical so the reinforcement of the bow section which has had some struggles, presumably with a relentless tide or wave action, and is in need of attention before we moor in Swanage Bay, can be left in his expert hands. We end Tuesday with a barbecue and significant quantities of alcohol which ensures deep sleep.
Wednesday and the foul anti-fouling can be put off no longer. I don coveralls and not much else, latex gloves and attack the hull having masked down to the waterline. As always I initially load the brush with far too much liquid gold and splatter copious quantities over anything in close proximity but eventually get the hang of it and, surprisingly, the job progresses hitch free for the most part. There's a fresh breeze, no rain and intermittent cloud so perfect weather for the job. John & Penny arrive in the late morning and, after the guided tour, John gets stuck in to his white bit with determination and persistence.

Dave's Used Car Lot
There are now three motorhomes, a tiger-striped pick-up truck, a car and a boat on Dave's drive and it's looking more like a used car lot than a residential home. We had already been offered a price for a Land Rover that had been parked there temporarily on Tuesday so this opinion is not just fanciful. I finally finish the anti-fouling about mid-afternoon and Dave and I decide to try and figure the arcane business of rigging the junk rig but on the ground first before we attempt it on the water. Lucky we did because it proves more difficult than it looks which you'd hardly think possible but we're viewing the floating attempt with some trepidation. No doubt we'll survive! Having fiddled impressively with the rig, we roll it up again and somehow squeeze it into Ulrica, the green goddess, so I can transport it to Swanage in style and lighten Dave's not inconsiderable load when he tows the boat southwards. Everything is loaded up and all three of us are ready for an early start on Thursday morning - well as early a start as three sexagenarians are ever likely to make.
Titanic Impression - Dave As Kate Winslet
Thursday morning and all three of us head in our respective directions having gone about two thirds of the way towards the launch.
It's all looking frighteningly good. It can't last. Can it?





Pretty Tough, Ain't She