|
Bayside Boatshop |
|
|
by Ross Lillistone - Esk, Queensland - Australia
The Treasure |
 |
The time was 2am, and the shallow water sweeping
past Mike Rowe’s shins was transparent silver
in the intense moonlight. For miles in every direction,
he could see the exposed sand banks and the mangrove
trees in almost full colour, such was the brightness
of the moon.
As he stood, amazed at the speed of the water flow
now that the tide had turned, Mike saw dark flashes
in the water as the predators commenced their next
tidal duties. The predatory fish were smaller than
a person’s foot, but they were only the advance
guard – Mike knew well that as the water deepened,
so would the size of the hunters increase. Crocodiles
concerned him a bit, so he had remained well clear
of the fringing mangrove thickets and frequently glanced
around him as he stood on the open flats.
Mike and his friend Ian had motored into this estuary
just after the top of the tide at 8pm of the previous
night – had they waited longer, their path would
have been blocked by the oyster rocks further out,
which formed a barrier to this isolated place. Having
located their target, the pair anchored the little
cat-yawl using lines from both the bow and the stern.
Positioned securely, they prepared their standard
late-night drink and passed a few hours in contemplative
discussion.
Normally, their talk would have wandered far and
wide over a range of subjects. But tonight they found
that they were concentrating solely on the slim and
purposeful rowing boat that tugged at the end of the
painter running from where it was belayed to a cleat
on the stern quarter of the cat-yawl.
For Mike Rowe, the construction of this rowing boat
had been a highlight. He had been building full-time
for six years when Ian had approached him with a serious
commission. What made the proposal so satisfying was
that it combined the benefits of building a type of
boat he believed in strongly - for a life-long friend.
The plans for the rowing boat came from the board
of the late William Atkin. Mike had grown up in a
house full of boat books, and the ones which delighted
him most were the old “Motor Boating’s
Ideal Series”. The series (which dated back
to the early part of the twentieth century) contained
the work of many designers and writers, but by far
the majority of the books Mike saw were filled with
the work of William Atkin, and subsequently that of
his son, John.
William Atkin came across as being a gentle person,
and his written word carried a mixture of salty wholesomeness
that Mike had not seen equalled. In many ways, Mike
preferred the design work of William’s son John
– but when it came to evocative writing, nothing
gave him such a feeling of security and fulfilment
as the words of William Atkin. (If you haven’t
done so already, get hold of a copy of, “Of
Yachts and Men” by William Atkin – a wonderful
book for both dreamers and realists).
Mike had built the boat in what he believed was the
quickest and best way – by carrying out a proper
lofting, laying down the lines full-size on sheets
of white-painted plywood nailed to the floor, and
then constructing the boat over a strongback and station
mould.
The rowing boat he built for Ian had been a straightforward
piece of building, without any gimmicks. A solid sheet
of 12mm plywood (scarphed-up from standard length
sheets on the bench) made up the bottom. The topside
planking went on in three strakes per side –
6mm plywood glued up in clinker (or lapstrake) fashion.
Gunwales were laminated on while the boat was still
on the mould, and then she was turned over for installation
of frames, thwarts, breasthook, quarter-knees and
inwales. A thoroughly wholesome boat.
For those who have never tried rowing in a suitably
shaped craft, the process can be a revelation. Instead
of rowing being the frustrating chore it is when using
a misshapen abomination such as a planing tinnie or
an inflatable, rowing a properly designed rowboat
is like a magic carpet ride. Attention must be paid
to such things as the placement and design of the
oarlocks, position of the seats in relation to the
oarlocks, and positioning of foot braces. But get
those simple things correct, in a properly designed
boat, and you are in for some real pleasure.
As the six-metre tide raced into the inlet, Mike
made his way back to where his cat-yawl, now starting
to lift and bump on the sandy bottom, lay moored.
Ian was already awake and was working at lashing the
treasure to an arrangement of ropes which were in
turn attached to the Atkin rowing boat. The “treasure”
was, in fact, a lump of cast iron which had once graced
the decks of a sugar barge as a set of bollards. Many
decades had passed since the old barge had been abandoned
to rot in this isolated creek. All that now remained
were a few worm-eaten timers standing black in the
moonlight; and the old set of bollards.
Six metre (twenty foot) tides work very effectively
as a lifting device, and it wasn’t long before
the rowing boat was floating mid-stream with the cast
iron bollards hanging below her, unseen in the tropical
water. The trip home was made under power, with the
treasure ship towing nicely behind the mothership;
an armada in modern times. A late breakfast was prepared
afloat and, of course, the crew made sure that the
treasure was handed over to the relevant authorities…
Simple are the delights of messing about in small
boats. How better can one enjoy the pleasures of planning,
building, using and maintaining, objects of practical
art? The fact that the activities are cheap, health
inducing, quiet, non-polluting and pleasurable to
the senses, is a fantastic bonus.
More columns by Ross Lillistone:
|
