tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73217301621661039102024-03-16T23:45:02.260+00:00The Invisible workshopBenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.comBlogger313125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-38280679135124337412015-10-12T09:36:00.002+00:002015-10-15T18:45:52.223+00:00Another fishy tale
The heavy shorebreak ground out
a plodding hymn to monotony.
I walked along the beach my mind
flicking restlessly over various topics—the political conversation
that had dominated lunch and had taken the bite out of the paella,
the sailing of the Shtandart from Tarragona and with it my childish
pipe-dream of embarking (they were looking for crew to sail to
Monaco); the fickle nature of Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-23750815155836048392015-09-05T20:00:00.001+00:002015-09-05T20:11:23.438+00:00Thin water
The morning
came on gently and I watched it drowsily from my hammock. When at
last I eased my limbs from their swaddling and established that my
body was sound, I let my legs take me for a potter around the shore
of my petite isle. The water was warm and the fine sand underfoot
occasionally gave way to cooler black mud that sucked greedily at my
feet. Empty clam shells abounded and I ran my Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-38226496139208225812015-09-03T09:35:00.000+00:002015-09-03T09:35:29.359+00:00Metamorphosis
Sleeping in Onawind blue has
never been comfortable, though deep slumber has often been achieved
through a combination of fatigue, food and drink. On this trip I was
determined to get off the hard surfaces of thwarts and centreboard. I
recently had a few cosy nights—on an 4 day, 800km tour of Catalonia
on a 49cc moped—cocooned in a hammock in various copses and
woodlands, happy to let the Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-53093385383501615892015-08-31T18:57:00.001+00:002015-08-31T22:22:16.832+00:00A lambency of gaff in looms
Why go to Cadaqués, I reasoned,
one of the most beautiful Mediterranean towns: ex fishing village, a
player in the surrealist movement, known for the astonishing quality
of it's light; a technicolor clarity that contrasts exquisitely with
the impenetrable black slate of the coast—sky, rock and sea all
polished by the Tramontana wind. Why all this when I could go to a
fag-end town renowned Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-41246271561327715902015-08-05T10:23:00.000+00:002015-08-11T08:18:22.114+00:00The Grey Triggerfish (Balistes capriscus)
I like fish, I'm interested in
them both underwater and on my plate. I have a reasonable knowledge
based mainly on experience, shored up with solid facts from the
wikipedia and fishbase.org. I'm
always eager to learn about the sea and its inhabitants.
As
with the birds I have the local fish identified, the ten common or
garden species and the rarer ones. The ones that I know I might Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-7579115308074637492015-07-17T11:53:00.003+00:002015-07-17T12:05:13.531+00:00L'Ametlla. The morning after.
It's not easy to get a lie-in
when sleeping in a car, the heat, the mosquitos, the bright sunlight,
the noises off—in this case seagulls and outboards, not as noisy as
a Seagull outboard motors themselves, but nonetheless a racket.
I was moored by the crane ready
for an early haul out but as it still wanted three hours until 9
o'clock I went for a row. Which turned into a sail. Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-80933035438891007192015-07-14T14:37:00.000+00:002015-07-15T13:58:13.105+00:00L'Ametlla. The night
I hadn't made any sleeping
arrangements so when I was asked, in the final stages of dinner, the
simple reply was 'In the boat.'
It was late, gone midnight, and
groups, reluctant to call it a day, stood smoking and drinking on the
fish dock. It seemed wise to sort out my bed before the befuddlement
became too generalised. But then it also became clear that with the
bedding in the carBenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-18664036701934666182015-07-13T11:14:00.001+00:002015-07-14T08:29:38.415+00:00L'Ametlla. The evening.
Unsually for me I wasn't dehydrated after all those hours under the sun—there were three empty water bottles in the bottom of the boat—so I didn't feel the need to dash off for a beer as soon as I arrived. A swim and a shower were enough to refresh me. Ok, and a beer. Then I set off to the auditorium where we were to hear a talk by Anna Corbella.
IMOCA 60 sailing is at the other Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-38681867367927000322015-07-10T09:53:00.000+00:002015-07-10T13:27:53.849+00:00L'Ametlla. The afternoon.
The breezed had stiffen to a
point where it actually cooled rather than just shifting heat around
as it had during the morning. Much revived by coffee and on a wave of
post prandial optimism I raised the sails thinking that I could sail
off the quay and down the narrow avenue between moored craft without
being backwinded or becoming fouled on stern lines. Due to a
judicious and rapid raising of Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-19606028465546176162015-07-10T09:47:00.002+00:002015-07-10T13:28:21.326+00:00L'Ametlla. Photos
My good friend Joan Sol has sent me some fantastic photos of Onawind Blue as she sailed south to l'Ampolla on a light breeze with her mizzen staysail set and drawing.
The centreboard is half raised as she's sailing broad. Many thanks to Joan for documenting the event so beautifully, you can see more of his photos here.
Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-20400204326317722982015-07-07T09:15:00.001+00:002015-07-07T09:15:31.050+00:00L'Ametlla de Mar. The morning.
I've been invited to the lateen sailing day at L'Ametlla de Mar every year for the past five and have always regarded my failure to attend as evidence of the insipid nature of my sailing credentials. What sailor with salt in their veins would let such an opportunity go by, five consecutive times.
But even so I still didn't get there in time for Friday evening's cooking contest in which Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-2801745420003990272015-07-03T09:59:00.002+00:002015-07-08T20:25:17.023+00:00With Zeewoelf to Ibiza
48 hours wasn't much notice but I
was especially keen to make the journey as it coincided exactly with
the dates of Onawind Blue's voyage to Ibiza in June 2009. I made some
calls and packed a quick kit bag and was ready and waiting, with sun
cream and sailor's knife, at the given time.
The boat, Zeewoelf, was forged in
the North sea fishery. Tied up in a tidy marina on the Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-26849310528421682372015-06-09T11:05:00.005+00:002015-06-09T11:57:38.283+00:00Back on the road
It took a while, a
hypersensitivity to dust slowing things down, but at last Onawind
Blue was ready for the water. I'd photographed all her deck gear
before she was stripped to ensure that I could replace everything
just so. However, those photos had disappeared from my mobile phone
and I had to rely on memory, the very thing that I had outsourced to
the sodding jellybone.
the Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-12686389843358183192015-05-25T09:53:00.002+00:002015-05-25T13:22:03.959+00:00Festival of the Sea
El Carlos Barral from Calafell
Onawind Blue wasn't quite ready for the traditional sail festival at Cambrils. This was a pity as there was to be a section devoted to home-built boats (there are now five amateur-built, ply and epoxy craft on this coast) but it was also a blessing as a force 6 blew hard and I would almost certainly have found myself in difficulties.
I arrived at nine, Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-84866684659897343962015-05-11T16:23:00.005+00:002015-05-11T16:23:55.547+00:00Boats and the sea, recently
After Onawind Blue's little solo
adventure, off on the undertow and down the beach, I've slowly been
scraping away at her paintwork. It's more than two years since she
had any maintenance and her decks have bubbled and flaked.
Structurally she's sound although she spent too long on a trailer
supported by a pair of rollers, the pressure points have left cracks
on her sole but the wood is Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-75677259183956654182015-04-10T19:52:00.001+00:002015-04-18T07:10:51.328+00:00This Thing of Darkness
Robert Fitzroy
I found the book of this title
by Harry Thompson (2005) captivating. Until now I'd been familiar
with the history of Fitzroy's voyages from many sources including
Alan Moorehead's Darwin and the Beagle. This had given a clear
account of the second voyage, with Darwin, and good pictorial
evidence, but its text and characters remained somewhat dry and fixed
in the past, as I Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-17450429154896908072015-04-02T17:01:00.000+00:002015-04-04T17:35:21.921+00:00Eggs Benjamin
Not a shipboard meal and a treat
even on Fiddler's Green, eggs Benjamin is my version of eggs
Benedict. The name change may smack of narcissism
but honestly, in the world of food nomenclature can get you into hot
water. Just to clarify the territory on which I'm about to tread,
eggs Benedict feature a toasted English muffin topped with a thick
slice of warm ham, a poached egg and hollandaiseBenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-88908477573362277632015-03-25T19:28:00.001+00:002015-03-27T21:54:11.626+00:00O B's solo adventure
I'd been in bed for two days, my
teeth chattering, under a sweaty bedsheet topped with a pile of heavy
blankets. The wind had moaned incessantly round the eaves and
whistled in the phone lines. The power had been out and the rain had
come in evil horizontal flurries. The crash of waves had reached my
bed night and day. I wouldn't usually let weather like this hammer
down without closer Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-50602639268249508492015-03-03T15:22:00.001+00:002015-03-03T17:28:53.018+00:00Old saws and chestnuts
The tenon saw is a right handy
tool when it's sharp, and fairly useless when dull. The ways of the
world are such that it's easier, less time consuming and relatively
cheaper, simply to purchase a new saw when the old one becomes blunt,
than to learn how to sharpen the teeth and buy the necessary honing tools—at
least that's what they tell me at the local hardware outlet.
It's not Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-82535461535260694692015-03-01T18:55:00.000+00:002015-03-01T20:55:44.946+00:00I saw a plane
Walking from the car to feed a
parking meter I was lured by a siren song issuing from the gloom
behind a half open door. I should have tied myself to the meter but I
was already lost to the prospect of treasure and soon I was standing
in a dark room piled high with promising pieces of interesting old
tat. There was no one about and so I began to rummage. Passing over a
dutch oven, a Tilly Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-68638262680468249492015-02-26T10:11:00.000+00:002015-02-26T10:14:01.221+00:00I saw a horse
Sanded spars are not photogenic.
All the old layers of varnish are gone and the masts are somewhat
thinner for it, they may well rattle in the decks. Any weight I may
have removed has been added to the boom, to which I've scarfed an 8cm
extension. It was always a short boom, thin too, and made from a
scuzzy length of baton that once belonged to a stage set. I've glued
clean trim to the Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-76626625928370334282015-02-03T10:37:00.000+00:002015-02-05T10:10:55.965+00:00All tied up
'You can never have enough of them,' boatbuilders like to say. I wouldn't disagree, I'd love to have
plenty of clamps but if ever I've had a spare 20 euros it seems
to end up on a haul of household basics. No, I've never prioritized
clamp buying.
Any workshop will only have as
many clamps as it can store, I have a small cupboard, if I tried to
imitate some of the projects I see where Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-6519764080405165062015-01-24T13:50:00.001+00:002015-01-24T13:50:55.122+00:00Mechanical Advantage
Though much
conspires against it, solo sailing is still my aim. No longer the
muscled, younger man of my earlier sailing days I need some help on
the beach moving Onawnd Blue to the water and back, particularly when
there is some urgency to get her out of the waves. Passers-by are
undependable, difficult to control if once they get their minds fixed
on the idea of moving the boat, and Benhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-4676378199289192892013-09-06T12:12:00.001+00:002013-09-10T15:26:35.532+00:00Goodbye to Ella
It's not always easy having
relations to stay but Onawind Blue's cousin Ella was the perfect
guest. Pretty, undemanding and grateful of the fresh water clean out
and other attention she received at The Invisible Workshop.
The time for her to leave came
about all too soon and unfortunately I hadn't had the chance to take
her out on my own. (Though the doctors would say that solo sailingBenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7321730162166103910.post-79671967882376504212013-09-06T12:00:00.002+00:002013-09-06T12:00:40.660+00:00Ella detailsBenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13168004187604887107noreply@blogger.com0