Author: Chris Wells

Winter storms are sweeping in, and there has been a massive shifting of sand. You can see (below) how the Full Moon tides and big waves are eroding the dunes on the western side: sand is dragged seawards, and the edge of the reef retreats accordingly.

For the moment we have a much wider beach.

The old Rapid Bay jetty to the south continues to disintegrate. I am out and about, salvaging what I can.  My companions – the Pacific Gulls – drift overhead, intent on their own version of salvaging. It is their livelihood.

If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost: that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them.
Thoreau

I keep Dad’s dream in mind as I do my beach-combing. He built his own castle in the air – his ‘envisioning’ of the Tancook Whaler. Indeed,  he went further, by copying the relevant offsets – the heights, breadths and diagonals – onto a large piece of cardboard.  The original Tancook Whaler is 41 feet long:  too long for the Lady Bay budget, which is very short. But his sons have maintained the dream – and that is why we collect these great lengths of timber. They are gifts from the ocean.

It seems fitting that the old jetty, tethered so long to dry land, will sooner of later enjoy  a hard-earned freedom….sailing  across Yankalilla Bay by way of the Tancook Whaler: if you like, our deep-water inheritance….

More of that later.

I have  been trying my hand at making a Lute Rose. My aim is to reach an acceptable level of competence before  tackling the soundboard.

The Rose is a circular decoration in the soundboard, cut with a thin knife or scalpel. One or other decoration has no bearing on the quality of sound;  it is simply a tradition.

This is a tricky and challenging business. Fortunately, I have my friend Tim Guster as Consultant. I visit his workshop from time to time, in search of advice or encouragement or comfort -as the case may be.

Tim is a master craftsman and luthier. You can see his work here:

http://www.timguster.com/

I came away from my last visit armed with scraps of King William Pine and European Spruce. Both woods are suitable for soundboards; Spruce is the traditional material.

At the moment, however, I am experimenting with a scrap of Huon Pine, planed and scraped to one millimetre thickness. After the basic decoration is completed, I will use a tiny chisel to create the relief surface.

Not so easy.

I am hoping that practice does, indeed, make perfect – assuming, of course, the practice involves correct technique. Otherwise, I will be merely acquiring yet another bad habit….

 

The Luthier Planes (below), made of ebony, are a generous and  thoughtful gift from my nieces and nephews. They were manufactured by a famous Chinese company, Mujingpang, and are of excellent quality.

Each plane has a particular function, defined by its shape.

The one with an almost vertical blade can be used on tricky grains, or to refine thicknesses. There are planes for flat, convex and concave surfaces – and finally, a plane with a blade as wide as the body or stock, for getting into edges and corners.

Ebony is an extremely hard and resilient wood. I have no doubt the planes, although tiny (about two inches long) will outlast me – and  maintain their working lives for many generations….

Perfect Autumn day. Photos by Sam. The tracks in the sand belong to a White-faced Heron. At the southern end of the bay there is a flock of ten or so – but up by the estuary we might see a solitary bird patrolling the river bank. Perhaps the northern end is reserved for eccentrics, and those of hermetic inclination….

I was out and about early today, with a  fine rain soaking my hat, my shoes and everything in between. I usually walk southwards in the mornings, and northwards in the afternoons: that seems to be the comfortable thing to do, and has therefore become my Way.

Crested Terns were huddled on the edge of the reef, their beaks  pointing into a northwesterly breeze. A solitary Heron poked about in the rock pools….and I encountered a long-time friend: the resident Black Oystercatcher, who visited a few years back, liked what he saw, and stayed  on. I think he is a bachelor. He wanders among the rocks with his head down, now and then  uttering a plaintive little note, and scarcely bothering to move aside when I approach.

High up, a handsome Pacific Gull sailed across, from south to north. These birds, as they fly, keep a weather-eye out for unconsidered trifles – and yet,
they always give the impression of being on a mission; of heading for somewhere in particular, and with a particular purpose in mind. They are a bird of mystery, and mastery, and long distances….

Yesterday afternoon Sam and I strolled to the Estuary, a quarter of a mile  north of our  Bay, to see what was what. Sam was armed with his tiny phone camera, and he did an excellent job in capturing the delicate lights and colours of autumn. I think of Autumn as the season of pastels:  colour becomes less intense; contours shift and merge. The river itself changes course from day to day, as water trapped upstream starts flowing into the ocean.

We noted a single Pacific Gull, a single Silver Gull, both perched on the western side of the sandbar: not too close together, not too far apart. It looked to be a companionable – a shared – solitude.

Koshigoe
Shiko Munakata (1903 – 1975)

Note  the wading birds, the fish, the dwelling or shrine – and beyond all, Mt Fuji.

A month or so ago I was thinking that installation of the Endclasp would be  a relatively easy matter – but alas, I discover it is by no means easy….at least, not easy for a novice.

I have so far developed three different templates, in the hope of coming up with a pattern that does the job.

One pattern does, indeed, look to be acceptable. In the gallery you can see an ‘experimental’ length of cypress, maybe 1.2 mm thick, bent around the ‘stern’ end of the lute. If that works out, I will use the same pattern on my Plan A cypress, and  hope for the best.

There is no particular endlcasp formula I know of, unless it be patience, or stubbornness – or both.

Perhaps: make haste slowly.

One of the satisfying things about wooden Boatsheds – and wooden Boats – is that they require annual maintenance….assuming they haven’t been  covered with a toxic sealant such as epoxy.

Winter, of course,  is the best season for attending to the running repairs on boats; the best season for dreaming great maritime dreams.

I usually  tackle the odds and ends of Boatshed maintenance in Autumn, when it is a pleasure to be working outside. The hands seem to create their own rhythm, while heart and mind are free to wander along any path they choose.

Each day of this autumn I have been sanding back the cladding, bit by bit – and thereafter applying our special linseed oil mixture, based on the secret recipe that Dad developed for Shearwater.

The Boatshed gradually emerges from its weathered  ‘chrysalis’, and reveals what was always there: a beautiful golden colour reflecting the mellow sunlight of autumn….

Yamabi: Izu Mountains 

Like the vastness of space, like a universe unlimited, untold, unattainable, and inscrutable- that is the woodcut….

The woodcut, unconcerned with good and evil, with ideas, with differences, tells us that it consists of truth alone….

Shiko Munakata (1903 – 1975)

It was a blustery day, so Sam and I decided to follow the track running northwards behind the sand-dunes. Wild creatures often shelter on this eastern side  – but today there was no escaping the  January winds, which can blow from one or other quarter with sudden ferocity.

We decided to cut through the dunes onto the beach, pausing to inspect an ancient Bearded Heath (Leucopogon parviflorus) of impressive size: an Elder.  Each year we come this way,  in search of seeds for the Boatshed nursery.

So far I haven’t  been able to raise ‘offspring’  from either cuttings or seeds; I will keep trying…

As you can see from the photos, the beach was deserted: not a soul to be seen –  north, west, south….not even a gull or tern. The tide was far out, and tiny wavelets showed their flecks of white against the sea-blue.

Always a welcome and healing sight.

Thereafter we turned south along the edge of  the Bay (where Silver Mist, Morning Mist, Whimbrel and Gannet began and completed their countless voyages); past the familiar rocks and pools with their special names – and back to the shelter of our old Shack and the Lady Bay Boatshed.

January gales have been especially ferocious this year, but these two structures continue to stand firm. They have solid foundations.

Afterthought:  do gulls and terns have souls? I remember Dad declaring that dogs have souls – so why not seabirds?

I feel sure that they have tiny souls, great souls.