Boat Cabin Comforts

I had a friend, a seadog if ever there was one. He used to buy his boats as bare hulls and fit them out himself to suit his particular requirements. The start of any new project involved him sitting in the bare hull with a packet of cigarettes, a six pack of strong beer, a note-book and pencil. According to him, the cabin would be designed before the beer and cigarettes were finished. Time and quiet contemplation were required in order to achieve perfection.

I can’t say I used that technique on my boat but the wisdom of his approach wasn’t lost on me. Until August my efforts were directed towards making the cabin reasonably clean and comfortable for a short cruise. The purpose of the cruise was to spend time thinking about how best to make the available space suit my needs. Living on board would provide the experience required to make sound judgments about the next steps in the restoration of this vessel.

Provisioning the boat, cooking, sitting in the cabin on a rainy night, sleeping on board, all contributed to my understanding of what was, and what was not required. Just like my old friend, I came off the boat with some firm ideas. Perhaps I should point out here though that my Westerly Nomad makes this task relatively easy, the cabin roof runs right across the boat, there are no side-decks and the foredeck is very small. In effect, the cabin space on this 23 footer, is pretty much what you would expect to find on a 26ft sailing boat. So planning for comfort shouldn’t be a problem.

Here’s is what I have decided to do (and not do). Firstly, for aesthetic reasons, I had decided to put a few wooden beams along the cabin roof to help hide the interior GPS. By way of preparation I had painted the interior matt white. The plan was also to fit ceiling lights to the beams, hiding the wiring behind the wood. Well, that plan has changed. The cabin height is OK but life aboard tells me not to lower it. The use of matt white paint has largely achieved the aesthetic need to hide the GRP interior (the gloss white which had been used previously seemed to highlight the uneven texture of the GRP). As for lighting, well I have a strip of LED pin lights over the sink and cooking area opposite and they work very well. They give much more light than I expected and best of all they are discrete, you see the light but not the lights. So I’ll use the same system in the main cabin with pin lights all along the port and starboard roof and I’ll hide the wires, lights and curtain hooks behind a ‘pelmet’ suitably drilled to allow the light to fill the space. Less work, less expense and more efficient.

I recently read an excellent book by Ian Nicolson (Build Your Own Boat). It’s a book I would

recommend to anyone contemplating renovation. He makes a very convincing argument for not fitting a sea toilet. According to him, the old bucket and chuck it system is much safer than running the risk of sinking due to failed sea cocks. I couldn’t agree more. Take out the toilet and there are two holes in the hull that you don’t need. Last year two very good friends, experienced and well qualified professional sailors, had to call out the RNLI after water started to gush into the hull of their vessel in mid-Channel. Their boat was one of the most solid cared for boats I have ever seen. Even so, they almost became a lifeboat statistic thanks to failed sea-toilet fittings. So, my sea-toilet is coming out and the holes will be glassed in. The spare space will become a hanging locker. Unfortunately, the old bucket and chuck it system can’t be used on my boat either, well, not if I want to keep Susan as crew. So a small porta-potty – chemical loo will be installed.

About cabin heating; I have a stainless steel charcoal or driftwood burning Bengco stove on board. It was made by a company in Southampton, or maybe the Isle of Wight, probably now out of business. I was nervous about it. GRP can melt and burn can’t it? And, also I was worried about fumes. Before my trip I invested in a small cheap Carbon Monoxide alarm which I fitted to the bulkhead. Then one afternoon, in driving rain and 37 knot winds, I plucked up the courage to light the thing. It’s an ingenious contraption. You load charcoal or driftwood in the top and put a firelighter in the ash-tray at the bottom. It lit first time and threw out lots of dry heat. There were no fumes and no gas alerts and there was something charming about the wisps of smoke coming out of the chimney on a cold and wet afternoon, a promise of comfort inside. The stove is definitely staying. But the decorative plastic surround has to go.

Interestingly enough, the carbon monoxide detector did sound an alarm during the cruise. It was on the last day when we were motoring down the estuary, the cabin hatch was open and we had a following wind – the cause of the alarm? A build up of outboard motor exhaust gasses – wafted into the cabin by the breeze. Well, at least I know it works.

Finally, cooking; the boat has a locker for a gas bottle in the cockpit and a pipe to the galley area but no stove. I had thought of investing in a stainless steel two burner and connecting it to the pipe but I don’t know how old the pipe is (1960’s boats had a habit of exploding due to inadequate standards of installation). For a while I considered Meths burning stoves such as those produced by Origo. Unfortunately my memory of Meths burners is similar to that of Jerome K Jerome (Three men in a boat) who suggested that every meal cooked on one tastes of meths. I am of course willing to be proved wrong on this point and if anyone cares to send me a meths cooker I’ll be happy to road test it and report results.

So, for the cruise I carried a Campingaz Camp Bistro – a small flat single burner that uses gas bottles the size of a can of spray paint. This, along with a portable barbeque used shore-side or over the side of the boat seemed to be all I needed. I like the idea of small canisters and I like the idea that they can be taken away from the stove when not required – so, for now at least the Campingaz cooker has earned her place as a permanent fixture.

Seems like I still have a lot to do.

US Readers can get Ian Nicolson's book - Build Your Own Boat here

Build Your Own Boat: Building and Fitting Out for Sail or Power

UK Readers can get Ian Nicolson's book - Build Your Own Boat here
Build Your Own Boat: Building and Fitting Out for Sail and Power

Seaward

A Short Cruise in France

July and August were pretty intensive months for renovating this old Westerly Nomad. I wanted to get her into a state where I could embark on a voyage – however small, and enjoy a degree of comfort. As a sailing vessel she would function well but the accommodation was, at best, a slum. No functioning toilet, no water, no cooker. First job was to clean paint and varnish to get a blank canvass at least. By mid august she began to feel habitable but hardly fit for a sea-going cruise.

I have two choices when I leave my home port – North takes me down the estuary to St Malo and the sea. South takes me to the head of the estuary and through a lock into the river. From there I can go to Dinan, a medieval town on the River Rance. If I lower the mast there I can cross Brittany via canal towards the Atlantic.

I didn’t intend to go quite so far, but a couple of weeks chugging along the canal getting to know this old boat seemed like an attractive proposition. At least on a canal there would be access to fresh water, electricity, toilets, showers, pretty villages, reasonable restaurants, butchers, bakers and pretty much anything else I needed. So, off came the mast and Susan (the boat) became a motor cruiser.

It was the best of times – and the worst of times. Before I left I tried to invent a word for it –

glamorous sailing, yachting or boating – glamoating or glamachting. A good friend hit the nail on the head I think – he came up with Gloating! So much for definitions and aspirations – the reality proved to be quite different.

The Rance estuary is truly beautiful, and they say a picture is worth a thousand words so here are some pics. 

We set off in warm sunshine on a rising tide, locked into the river and cruised southwards into the canal beyond Dinan. Locks on the canal are managed by professional lock keepers and are largely automated so there is little for a boat crew to do except hold the ropes while the boat is expertly raised or lowered to a new level. Lock-keeping must count as one of the best jobs in France, especially on this canal as there is no commercial traffic. As a lock keeper your cottage is going to be very pretty and set in a beautiful location. Best of all though, 90% of canal traffic comes through in August – take your annual vacation that month and you have little to do for the rest of the year. In August, students and artists take on jobs as temporary lock keepers and many locks become arts and crafts outlets for the summer.

Unfortunately the further south we went, the more weed we encountered. Flat bottomed canal and river boats manage to glide over or through this stuff, but Susan (with her triple keels) managed to pick up weed all along the route. Sometimes her speed was reduced to two knots even with the engine on full throttle.

We stayed a couple of days in the beautiful village of Evran and the temperature rose to 31 degrees C – only solution was to find a large oak tree and sit under it. The evenings were more bearable – cold beer and bank-side barbeques were a delight. But then, a local farmer decided to spray manure on his fields encouraging swarms of flies. We bought some window stickers that attract flies and kill them – but every time we opened a hatch a new plague would come in. I counted 20 flies in the cabin before bed time – and I probably missed some.

Two days later there was a violent electric storm, 37 knot winds and driving rain. The heat had gone and it was cold but at least it got rid of the flies. We continued up the canal, stopping at another beautiful village but the only shop was closed and that night we had to resort to warming up a tin of cassoulet and boiling a few potatoes – but with the charcoal burning stove heating the cabin we were warm and dry despite the howling wind and driving rain.

We managed five more miles the next day, arriving at St Domineuc – Which could be described as a one horse town – except, there is an excellent canal-side restaurant offering three course meals for 11E. It was while we were holed up in a canal-side bar that we came across Spike Heatley, an 82 year old professional bass player who had played with just about every jazz musician of the twentieth century. The drinks flowed and wild stories were told. He gave me a signed copy of his latest CD – if you like jazz you’ll love it.

The following day was devoted to ‘make, do and mend’. I was particularly concerned about the boat engine which seemed to run OK but had stopped pumping cooling water. I couldn’t fix it and didn’t want to ruin it by overheating – so a good friend drove out to collect us and the engine so we could take it to a mechanic.

The guy had it fixed the following day and so we returned to the boat with a plan to cruise home. The IPhone told us the trip would take 30 minutes by car. On a weed choked canal however, the return trip took four days – with Susan (the crew) leaning over the bow parting weeds as we crawled along – three metres forward, then one in reverse to allow the accumulated weed to fall from the keels – average speed – probably 2 knots. At one point I considered changing the boat name to – the ‘Africa Queen’.

The situation improved though as we spotted a familiar boat coming towards us – an English narrowboat, bought and restored last year by good friends Dave and Natalie. The encounter led to a bank-side picnic – prawns, pate and good rustic bread washed down with local cidre and white wine.

Two days before home the weather improved, the sun shone and we cleared the canal. Once again we were back onto the weed-free river. Our last night was spent in Dinan where the port facilities are outstanding and the quay side restaurants are excellent. There was a three course dinner of shellfish followed by Moules a la crème and dessert for 25E. The following morning we even found a restaurant offering a ‘full English breakfast’.

The last day, there was bright sunshine and, after all that rain, the air was clear and polished. There were kingfishers on the river and the boat seemed to be moving as she should with the gentlest of push from the engine. We cleared through the lock into the estuary at the top of a spring tide and worked our way back through blue salt water back to our home port, a short country walk from home.

The boat is dirty and full of gear that we need to take off her. She’s taken a couple of scratches too,and we need to put the mast back on her but the experience was well worth while. As time passes, the memory of the trip takes on a new perspective. The highlights become more significance than the downsides.

The trip needed to be made. You can think a lot about renovating a boat. You can make all sorts of plans but until you’ve actually lived on one, used the systems and tested your assumptions, you can’t be sure of what you are doing. This trip confirmed my some of my ideas and made me re-think others – more about that later.

Seaward

Westerly Nomad Wins a Prize

So the slab-reefing fittings are now on the boom but the lines haven’t yet been set up and the sails are still in the attic. The main cabin has four coats of paint on the walls and roof and five coats of Wood-skin on the woodwork so things are steadily getting better. If the sails were on she’d be good for day-sailing at least so I guess this is the next job. In the meantime though, I have made a small but unusual voyage.

There is a guy in the village who organises a kind of informal regatta each year. Saturday was the

chosen day this year and the event started at 10:00 am with boats assembling by the quay. Each boat had to be suitably dressed and all participants had to be in fancy dress. There were four cardinals in a RIB, the entire cast of a TinTin cartoon in an old gaff rigger, Spanish flamenco dancers on a thirty-five foot ketch, the Blues Brothers on a seven metre Jouette – there were mad monks, naughty nuns, doctors and nurses and – a condom!

Our boat? Well, we were the only British contingent and the event coincided with the Queen’s official birthday, so we were the Sex Pistols – complete with Bose Boom Box playing God Save the Queen – the punk version naturally.

There was a picnic on the water some way down the estuary and then a perfect return with wind and current in everyone’s favour. Back in the Port there were apperros’ in the local bar La Gargot, followed by prize-giving – we won a cup but I have no idea why, or what we had done to deserve it – people were a bit vague by this time.

Then there was a party in a huge tent made of sails, set up around a swimming pool where the water had been heated to 28 degrees C., and Curry was served by an Indian Rajah. I left, just after midnight full of curry, wine and bonhomie. I’m told the party finished around four in the morning.

Seaward

Knowing Your Boat Well

Season of mist and mellow fruitfulness – lines from a poem by Keats; it’s not quite autumn yet but still there is a hint of it in the air even though the weather remains beautiful at the moment.

This is the first time in my life that I have been able to wake up any morning and go sailing if I choose. Work always used to get in the way so now I’m taking every chance of getting on the water while I have the estuary to myself– and it is beautiful – even in the morning mist, even when there is no wind, even when there is nowhere in particular to go. Sometimes it’s good just to be out there drifting. Sometimes I just sit on the boat and think, sometimes I just sit.

Maybe the eighteen months of boat renovation added something to the pleasure I’m now getting from being on the water. Would sailing my own boat be as satisfying if I could have afforded to purchase a new one from the production line? Who knows? Different people have different tastes and drivers, some people I know seem to get great pleasure from owning the latest, biggest, most expensive toys and for them it seems that the ability to purchase these items is an essential component of the satisfaction they gain. 

The problem with this approach is that nothing stays new forever, and last year’s model can’t hit the spot. Either they change boats with astounding regularity or they have to accept that the good warm feeling of satisfaction in owning this boat will fade pretty quickly.

 

From my point of view, I don’t have the resources or the inclination to purchase new or sell-on regularly, I like to build a relationship with my boats and I tend to keep them a long time. Usually it takes quite a while to get to know a boat but this is the first boat I have renovated and in some respects, because of that, she is different. I got to know her quite intimately, every nut and screw, every inch of her gelcoat hull and every bit of rope and wire in her make-up. I have only sailed her five times to date but already she is an old friend.

Seaward

Don't You Just Hate Midweek?

I couldn’t help taking the opportunity to send younger friends and ex colleagues a few pics from my first ‘voyage’ on ‘Susan’, the Westerly Nomad I have worked on to save from dereliction over the past two years. It wasn’t so much the triumph of getting afloat at last; it was the joy of being able to do it mid week – when most other people have their heads down and their noses to the grindstone. I gave up the corporate world a couple of years ago, reducing my income but gaining time – and now it has paid off – I have a boat and I have time to sail.

There is an added bonus too – this September is one of good weather and, with everyone back at work and children back in their schools, I have this beautiful estuary to myself.

So, where have I been and how does this boat sail? Well, I haven’t been far. In and out of the pontoon about six times to perfect the technique and then a trip across the estuary to the beautiful village of Mordreuc (translates as village of the Druids), and a longer sail down the estuary to the even more beautiful village of St Sulliac (listed as one of the ten most beautiful villages in France). The wind on this longer trip was gusty from the North East and the boat performed as predicted.

The weather helm is hardly noticeable in light airs and easily manageable in gusts. She leans easily on the wind and leeway is less than I expected. She will not win any races and she is slow and heavy – qualities I like. In return for her weight and lack of speed, I have easy motion and very predictable behaviour. The cabin roof, stretched right to her beam, provides an excellent clear wide space for deck work and, on a good reach, she pretty much steers herself. An excellent boat for a single-hander but with plenty of room for family and friends.

On the return trip with the wind behind us, we sailed goose-winged for several miles and on one brief occasion we actually attained 5.1 knots over the ground.

Now there is still plenty of work to do in the cabin but that can wait until the weather deteriorates. While the sun still shines I’ll be sailing –  especially MIDWEEK!

Seaward

Restored Westerly Nomad Launch and Maiden Voyage

After almost two years of work - This old Westerly Nomad is now back on the water - not looking spanking new but more like a well looked after classic vintage yacht - a 'Grand Dame' of a certain age. So here is a visual record of the event.


Pictures and production by Susan Greenwood

Music - traditional folk blues song performed by me

Thanks --- to everyone who had a hand in helping bring the project to this stage

Seaward

Launching an Old Westerly Nomad

So, we launched Susan of the Seas at about 10 am on Wednesday. Rather than immerse the boat trailer the yard decided to use the boat lift to carry her onto the shore on a rising tide. I had no tender so I climbed aboard at the outset and rode the trailer down to the beach. Once there she was plonked on the mud and we waited apprehensively, for the tide. Steve a good sold practical friend came with me and he was an ideal choice of companion. Whereas I am always pleasantly surprised when any practical task works out well, Steve has confidence in his practical skills. He expects his actions to have positive outcomes.

As the tide rose we set about connecting fuel lines, coiling ropes, making sure the boathook was to hand and generally making her fit for sea. Once the prop was immersed Steve set about trying to get the engine started – a 6hp four stroke Mariner outboard. As with all outboards they are easier to start when you know their preferences for throttle, and choke settings. We didn’t get her going at the first attempt and in truth initially she showed no signs of life at all. After a rest and more throttle/choke adjustments (she likes half throttle and full choke even on a hot day) she burst surprisingly into life. A few minutes later the boat lifted off the mud and we were free, inching our way down the narrow channel towards deeper water. I checked the bilges, they were dry and that is how they stayed.

The five mile trip up the estuary to out home port was completed within an hour under engine and a pretty limp headsail which contributed little to speed given the lightness of the breeze.

Susan was waiting at the port to direct us to the pontoon allocated to us and once moored, we hoisted the Breton courtesy flag, dressed the ship, and christened her with a glass of champagne making sure there was a drop for Neptune but not so much to upset Bacchus.

The day was hot and sultry – too hot to sit in the cockpit and so we strolled along to La Cale restaurant close by and had Moules Frites washed down with ice cold Rose wine, a pleasant and pretty uneventful way to end the two year story of bringing this old boat back to life.

Of course the job isn’t completed and may never be. Maybe that is the way with old boats. At the moment however, she is a floating slum – the cabin is filthy, covered in powdered GRP, woodshavings, and spider webs. It is full of empty beer bottles, tins of paint, used sandpaper, fenders and old rope. So there is the next project – to turn her into a boat I would like to live on.

With regard to this blog, well there is still plenty to do and therefore plenty to write about. Hopefully though, I’ll be able to record a few adventures in between more stories of sanding, painting and general DIY.

Seaward