Author: Chris Wells

There has been some interesting weather these last few weeks: rain-squalls from the north-west, west, south-west and south. The southerly winds, in particular, were truly fearsome, and on one night (early morning) I felt just a little concerned – not so much for the boatshed, as the shack. But I need not have worried; our shack has weathered serious storms for sixty years. No doubt the boatshed will acquire a similar invincibility, if only by association.

Despite the bleak conditions, I managed to get something accomplished each day – slowly, like the tortoise.

Frames for the western wall, vertical end timbers, and inner window frames are all in place. Various uprights are faired and ship-shape, as Dad would say. The time has come to try my hand at installing the native cypress weather-board.

This cypress is such a beautiful wood. I could go on about it – but instead have asked Sam to take a few photos of one floorboard, in detail. There are many such boards.

You can see in the picture gallery that we have three western windows. The central one is actually a ventilation opening, controlled by wooden shutters. It should be especially useful during summer afternoons, when a gentle breeze, or zephyr, springs up in the west. At the southern end of the Wall is the main window, which provides a passing glimpse of the sea, for inspiration. Not too large – it isn’t a picture window: our chief focus will be on the boat in hand. To the north is a vertical window, framing the  olive branches and sturdy trunk of a sheoak.

So, everything is looking good to my eye, after weeks of finicky workmanship. Next posting will describe the weatherboard cladding.

From: ‘American Small Sailing Craft’ by Howard I. Chapelle, First Edition 1961.

Generous friends gave me this heritage item. Solid, heavy, simple, efficient – a treasure. I no longer fear the task of extracting badly hammered nails from Ironbark, if/when the need arises.

 

Westerly gales throughout the week tested our new roof. As far as I can judge, it did not shift by even a hair’s breadth. I would have been disappointed to find any change, however insignificant.

The storms washed up a perfect Helmet (Tiger) Shell. You can see it here, perched on the cypress floorboards.

Sam has recorded the next job: installation of the joists. I have already cut them to size, and placed them in position on the Ironbark bearers. Over the next few days, weather permitting, I will fasten them with (very long) skewed nails.

It is worth noting that once a nail is hammered into Ironbark, it cannot be extracted: it is locked in for life. I have therefore adopted and adapted Dad’s boatbuilding maxim, roughly translated: check your measurements twice (or thrice), before ‘hammering’ once. I hope it will save me a lot of heartache.

The native cypress, when cut with a saw, gives off an exhilirating fragrance, somewhat akin to the smell of Western Red Cedar or Baltic Pine, but more subtle. It is a fraction softer than Oregon, cuts sweetly, and has to be predrilled. Working with such lovely wood is a pleasure, and a privilege.

Early in the morning the sea-birds were to-ing and fro-ing along the shore-line. A storm is brewing, and I spotted two pelicans high up, drifting northwards on a mission known only to themselves.  As you will recall, the late-Autumn winds here can be brisk; this will be the first Test for the galvanised iron roof. Long roofing screws hold it to the purlins; the purlins are skew-nailed into the roof beams, and doubly secured by the bolted soldiers; the roof beams are bolted to the Ironbark posts; the posts are sunk into deep holes, and held firm by the concrete. At the bottom of each post, a horizontal bar of iron further locks the Ironbark into the concrete.

I will report on the outcome.

Sam took these photos from the seaward side. Seen from the east, the Boatshed looks quite imposing, but when viewed from the western side, the  beach, it fits comfortably into its space next to the shack. The dune shrubs soften any sharp edges, and I believe the weatherboard cladding (native cypress) will enhance the sense of ‘belonging’. Of course, everything at Lot 16 Lady Bay must be a bit cramped; it is a tiny block.

I wanted to record here the passing of a long-standing friend, the author Gillian Mears, who died this week aged 51. Right from the early days she was a generous advocate for ‘My Father as Mariner’ – and more recently, a keen supporter of hand-carved wooden spoons, and the Lady Bay Boatshed. She was a lover of rivers, estuaries, lakes and the wide ocean.