"JAN WILLEM"
David & Margreet Evershed.
We found "Jan Willem" in Enkhuizen, in a hurricane, in 1989. We knew at once that he was the ship for us and wanted to buy him then, but we had not sold our own boat in England. We returned to England and I started to learn everything about tjalken and the Nederlandse binnenvaart. In 1990 we were told that he was again for sale. Now we had the money, so we agreed the sale over the telephone and one month later moved to Margreets parents house in Arnhem. The sale was completed in October 1990. We lived on board through a freezing winter that saw the IJsselmeer frozen solid. In April 1991 we left Enkhuizen and journeyed along the Vecht and Hollandse Ijssel to Dordrecht, then on to Terneuzen, through Belgium and France to Calais. We crossed the channel in May and reached our home in Falmouth, Cornwall in early June. "Jan Willem" sails well under fok and grootzeil, goes to windward surprisingly well, but does not like big waves, although I suspect that he is less scared of them than we are!
I have tried to find out more about our ship. The meetbrief ( AN 31, Antwerpen or Amsterdam?) tells me that he was built in Woerden by Vermeulen in 1893, named "De Jonge Jan Willem" and worked in Den Haag. In 1934, in Amsterdam, the name was changed to "Vertrouwen".
In 1954, in Rotterdam the name was changed to "Jantjes Vertrouwen".
In 1979, the name was changed again to "Vertrouwen".
1982 - 1990, the name was "Cassiopeia".
1990 removed from Dutch register and onto British register as "Jan Willem".
"Jan Willem", 18.37m x 3.99m, is a paviljoentjalk, built in Zuid Holland. This makes him a Zuidhollandse paviljoentjalk. The boeisel narrows at kop and kont and the berghout sweeps in a looping curve from end to end. I have been told that he is an IJseltjalk, mainly because of the general rounded appearance, but I do not know for sure.
PAVILJOENTJALK (IJSSELTJALK)
"JAN WILLEM"
1893 Meetbrief no An 31
From Meetbrief dated September 19th 1979
Built 1893, by Vermeulen, in Woerden Zuid Holland. Name of ship not given.
Displacement given, 35.136.
1901 First recorded Metingsmerk 160, Den Haag, 4/6/1901.
Ship name "De Jonge Jan Willem"
1927 Teboekstelling, 210 B Amst 1927.
1934 Second Metingsmerk 0517, Amsterdam, 20/11/1934. Ship name "Vertrouwen"
1944 Third Metingsmerk 12646, Amsterdam, 24/8/1944. Ship name "Vertrouwen"
1954 Documents #1, 2, change of name & bill of sale.
20/12/1954, change of name from "Vertrouwen" to "Jantjes Vertrouwen"
New owner, Maria Roimans, Verboomstraat 110b, Rotterdam.(note teboekstelling now given as 218 B Amst 1927 and this is the number stamped on the ship in 1991) Displacement given 50.965.
1979 Document #3,4,5, registration of new owner, radio telephone registration.
19/10/1979, new owner, M Noe, Ereprijs 106, 1273 XN, Huizen.
Ship name given as "Vertrouwen".
3/9/1979, radio licence issued to Fa. T. en M. Noe te Muiden.
(Ship was converted to charter at this time)
1981 8/7/1981, radio licence issued to E.M. Markus, G Scheltesstraat 48, 1785 CS, Den Helder.
1982 Documents #6,7, new owners, 5 persons.
4/11/1982, new owners Helmut Freitag, 7000 Stutgart 1, West Duitsland. (Etc-etc)
(Ship operated from Enkhuizen & Stavoren as charter ship).
Teboekstelling 218 B Amst 1927
Motor BMC Sealord.
Building year given as 1904/1905.
1987-88 From Helmut Freitag.
DAF 475 motor fitted 1987.
Paragon gearbox fitted 1988.
Complete ship zinc sprayed 1987
Fok new 1987
Grootzeil new 1988
1990 Document #8 new owners.
15/10/90 Ship bought by David and Margreet Evershed, from Helmut Freitag, ship lying Enkhuizen. Year of build given as 1893.
Ship name changed to "Jan Willem"
April 1991 ship sailed by owners to Falmouth, Cornwall, England.
1991 Documents #9,10,11. registration of new owners.
Schepen 50, 16/5/1991, new owners David Evershed and Margreet Bruininkweerd-Evershed.
Removal from register, 13/6/1991, building year given as 1904/5.
Schepen 38, 8/8/1991, ship name given as "Cassiopeia"
24
NEW BITS Measurements and framing
The heading "Far West Section" is a little misleading for this edition, as I am actually writing this in the Netherlands. I am staying in Arnhem, my wife's home town, for the Christmas period. Whilst here I hope to continue my research into the turn of the century Binnenvaart scene, make some new acquaintances and experience the pyrotechnic mayhem that is the Nederlandse new year! Already I have unearthed the answer to a problem that has been unresolved since last year. Whilst translating some details of Tjalk construction I came across the unit of measurement the "EL". The size of plates used for the bottom of a Tjalk were referred to as being 2 El wide and 3 El wide. My mother in law mentioned this unit in an entirely unrelated context. I of course seized upon it and sought more details. The EL is an old Dutch measurement which is basically the distance from the tip of ones fingers to the shoulder. This obviously varies from person to person but was standardised eventually as 68.8cm.
2
This is apparently the same as a biblical "cubit". One skipper that I spoke to said that when the metric system was introduced, the "new" metre was referred to as an El, but was now a genuine 100cm in length. To confuse matters further my old Dutch dictionary gives an alternative definition as an (English) yard, which, as we all know, is really 96cm! Confused? The plot thickens.
It is worth looking further into the whole issue of Dutch measurements. I learnt some time ago that all was not as it seemed. An Amsterdamse ton was unrelated to an English ton, a Last was about 2 English tons, a streep was a millimetre and also that a Dutch Zeemijl was only 0.99941 of an English sea mile. Continuing research has shown that within the Netherlands themselves the various measurements varied from area to area. When investigating old documents, the measurement of the Voet (foot) is often encountered. This frequently is found in the dimensions of scantlings. There are 12 Duimen (thumbs) to a Voet. The following table shows the provincial variations and it is vital to know the scale in use before making any quantitative judgements. It is very easy when working in a foreign language to seize on "known" words and take them at their (English) face value. Note that within the Netherlands almost a full centimetre per Voet difference exists between Amsterdam and Groninger. The estimation of the English foot is within a couple of mm's of todays accepted length however.
3
AMSTERDAMSE VOET 28.3cm
FRIESCHE .. . 28.4
DEVENTER ... 28.6
GRONINGER .. 29.2
ENGELSE .. .. 30.5
RIJNLANDSE .. 30.8
PRUISISCHE .. 31.4
PARIJSCHE .. .. 32.4
Source, Technisch Vademecum, 1927
4
The task of a researcher is never easy, often frustrating, but mostly, ultimately, rewarding. After 5 years of research I felt confident enough to write my treatise on the Tjalk. In the chapter on Skutsjes I make the statement that, "the only (Tjalken) to have counterweighted masts were built in Groningen and Friesland" (first rule of researching, never make any categoric statements!) I have just received details of the Roeftjalk "Siet op uw selven", recently sailed back to the UK by DBA member R Meinertzhagen. Amongst the information that he kindly sent me is a plan of the Roeftjalk "Elisabeth Wilhelm", built in 1904 by the D Boot shipyard in Alphen a d Rijn, Zuid Holland. The plans clearly show a counterweighted mast, passing up through the traditional Uitwip in the foredeck. Further research has now shown that this was not uncommon for the smaller Tjalken built in the Zuid Holland area. All I can do is reiterate that although particular distinct forms of ship were built in certain areas, in the end, each Tjalk built was as individual as the skipper who ordered it. This is what makes all our ships unique and keeps the researcher occupied. At this point, may I thank all of you who have sent me details of Tjalken and may not have received a reply. I relay do appreciate photos, plans, dimensions etc and would like to widen the net to include the AAk, Praam, Kraak and similar. At the same time I will be happy to try and answer any queries that you may have. The Klipper and Luxemotor, although included in my long term plans, will have to wait a little longer.
5
Referring to Bill and Laurel Coopers article entitled "Continental Barges at Sea". Several points are raised on which I would like to comment. I agree totally with the statements considering early Dutch built barges. Yes many, but by no means all, were built to withstand what was then the open Zuiderzee. Most of the Bol type ships and the smaller Tjalken were built from 5mm plate. Larger ships and those intended for the sea, such as the Koftjalk, were built from 8mm plate. Those ships that sailed regularly on the Zuiderzee and out into the Waddenzee had to be in possession of a "Zeebrief", this was issued only after a comprehensive official structural examination of the ship. In the case of Tjalken there were several features that separated a Zeetjalk from a more "normal" Tjalk. The distinguishing features of a true Zeetjalk were, amongst others, a greater beam, deeper hold and a greater shear giving a taller bow. Internally they were fitted with extra stringers just above the turn of the bilge and longitudinal iron or wooden beams amidships between the frames for stiffness.
The hatch boards were supported by three longitudinal beams rather than one. This all tends to show that concern for longitudinal, rather than lateral, strength was paramount. If long open sea passages are your goal, as opposed to a quick dash across the pond in settled weather, please make sure that the ship you pick was built for this and not just the rivers and canals. Many of the Tjalken that I have looked at and most of the Skutsjes, have a vast open living area from bow to stern, with no structural bulkheads. Presumably they have substantial hanging knees but it is hard to tell. In "Jan Willem" we have a watertight steel bulkhead just forward of the engine space and another just forward of the mast, which is itself supported by an internal steel step. The remaining space has a substantial wooden bulkhead separating the sleeping area from the saloon and in addition, knees of 5mm are fitted to frames spaced at 43cm. This gives us three separate living areas, which although a pain in bad weather, is often a good thing with guests of, shall we say,different habits, on board.
6
I have never been able to measure the degree by which "Jan Willem" "works" I can sense a movement in a head sea that "feels" forgiving rather than rigid, however in flex generating conditions I am generally too busy to conduct scientific research! Our mooring is a drying one and on a quiet night the various odd creaks and groans that occur on "lift off", not too mention the door that swings shut, are proof enough of movement. Generally speaking, I think when you consider the extra strengthening achieved by replacing hatch boards with a steel coach roof (so long as it is not too tall and too thin) most of our ships are strong enough for the conditions we generally throw at them.
Another point I wish to raise is that of riveting I am aware of the use of tallow as a caulking agent and there is reference to Koftjalken being constructed this way. In fact the Koftjalk is singled out as being an exception to general binnenschip building practice. The inference is that most binnenschips relied upon the frictional forces supplied by a good joint and close fitting clean smooth plates. If anyone knows more I would like to hear from them.
25
The Vecht
(ANWB Waterkaart, "Vechtplassen")
At 0900, on Wednesday March 27th, 1991, we left Enkhuizen to begin our journey back to Cornwall. We, being Margreet and myself, along with Tony, the son of a friend. We were travelling on board our tjalk "Jan Willem", which we had spent the previous winter renovating and preparing for the trip to England. We passed through the sluis, out into the Markermeer and headed south. There had been no shortage of advice from the other skippers of Enkhuizen and so bearing in mind the good local knowledge available, I headed for a nominal point in the centre of the meer, until the lighthouse on the little island of Marken came into view. Today Marken is not strictly speaking a true island as it is joined to the mainland by a causeway. "Look for the Horse of Marken," I had been told. As it appeared on the horizon it did indeed have the outline of a giant horse. After Marken I simply had to steer a reciprocal 180’, leaving the horse at 0’. When Pampus island came into sight we left it to starboard and repeated the process to follow a 180’ reciprocal towards the shore. Soon we found the buoyed channel leading into the harbour of Muiden. In the 10th century the Vecht was an important waterway and at Muiden, where the Vecht meets what was then the Zuider Zee, a toll-house collected dues from those wishing to venture inland. Eventually the humble toll-house grew into a full blown castle and in 1948 it was restored to its 16th century condition and opened to the public. After a first leg trip of 5 hours and approximately 24 miles we came to rest and moored alongside three skutsjes. After checking all was ship-shape we wandered into town, allowing Tony to lead the way, for although neither he nor ourselves had ever been to Muiden before, we knew that his unfailing talent would take us to a friendly cafe. Once again, and certainly not for the last time, we ended up in comfortable friendly surroundings..
The straight line, fast-track route from Amsterdam to the Rhine and thus the great rivers and Vlissinge, is the Amsterdam Rhine Canal, a wide no-nonsense commercial waterway opened in 1952. However, if you have time to spare and your ship is not too big, the original route south is the river Vecht. This is a truly beautiful little river. It has no vices, little current and no unwanted surprises. It jiggles, meanders and winds its way slowly from the Zeesluis at Muiden to Utrecht. There are many places to stop, both official with bollards and unofficial to trees that bear the rope marks of previous occupancy. "Jan Willem" with an air draft of 3.68m with the mast lowered, a total length of 18m and a beam of 3.99m, is to my biased mind exactly the right size for this waterway. Certainly the railway bridge at Weesp, with a clearance of 4.0m, tends to dissuade bigger craft from invading the Vecht.
We cast off at 13.00 and made our way through the Zeesluis and under the lifting road bridge for our very first river trip aboard our own barge. After the big and relatively busy harbour of Enkhuizen and the big open spaces of the IJsselmeer and Markermeer, the narrow, almost still river, with its grassy banks and overhanging trees, was somehow unreal. I loved it. At little more than a tick over we chuckled along and marvelled at our surroundings. We had been told that the Vecht in spring was a marvel to behold. The weather was dry, mild and gentle. With all the trees in bud and spring flowers shooting up everywhere, it was truly magical. I had to get used to navigating on this rather narrow waterway and initially found myself wandering from one bank to the other as bank effect came into play, followed by the inevitable over-correction. I soon got used to it however and before long we came to our first "hazard", the railway bridge at Weesp. The chart said it had a clearance of 4.0m and I had carefully measured our air draft at 3.68m, so I knew in theory we had room to spare. In fact our highest point was the tip of the stern mounted vhf aerial and if this was knocked off, (it was springy anyway) we only measured 3.5m to the first immovable part of the ship. We soon learned that Dutch charts are amazingly detailed, accurate and reliable. The bridge looked low as we approached, but we passed under safely with the appropriate clearance. At Weesp you have the option of joining the Amsterdam Rhine Canal, but we had no intention of leaving this little gem and so we carried on into the middle of the town, where we encountered the Lange Vechtbrug, with a height of 2.0m, this was to be our first solo opening bridge. The bridge showed red lights and close to the bridge was a pole with a bell push on it, Tony gave it a prod with our barge pole and a light started to flash. There were mooring bollards on both sides of the river at this point, but there were some men in a little boat working on them and warning cries of "natte verf" alerted us to the fact that they were in fact painting the bollards for the coming season. It was good practice (and not too difficult in no wind and no stream conditions) to hold station and soon we saw red and green lights flashing together, followed by an open bridge and green lights. We felt rather grand passing through as the traffic stopped and people on bicycles waved. I had found that if I stood on the paviljoen roof, with my legs astride the tiller, I could lean on the horizontal, lowered mast and read the chart, which was tucked under the halyards lying along the mast. This gave good control and an unrivalled view of the world ahead. As I said, the Dutch charts are amazingly detailed, with every twist and turn accurately represented. So it came as no surprise, when we rounded the tight right hand hairpin at De Hoorn, to find yet another road bridge spanning the river, with a mere 2m clearance. There was no bell push for this one and so I made the recognised sound signal on our old brass horn and got zero response. I tried again and then Margreet discovered from the Almanac that this bridge opened to a time table. This was not the time. We found a large pole to tie up to and spent a fiddly half hour trying to prevent "Jan Willem" from swinging right around it and clouting the bank. Then, in a manner that I have now come to expect as typically Dutch, exactly on the appointed hour, the lights flashed, a bell rang, the road barriers lowered, the bridge lifted and green lights invited us to proceed. We carried on our unhurried way, hardly noticing Hinderdam as it slipped past. Another fairly tight bend at Nigtevecht, right beside another junction to the Amsterdam Rhine Canal, brought us from the Vecht to the Oude Vecht, according to the chart. The river didn’t seem to notice, it just kept rolling along. The ANWB waterkarten are real treasures compared to some other European countries charts, prominent features such as windmills are clearly shown and enable you to pinpoint your exact location to 20m or so. Our chart showed a windmill off to starboard, just before a bend and the tiny village of Overmeer. We decided that this would be our stopping place if at all possible. At 16.00 we nudged into the bank and tied up to a couple of strong trees. The water was deep enough for us to go right alongside without grounding and the tow-path was some half meter above the water, which meant it was some half meter below our side decks. It couldn’t have been more perfect. This then was the end of our first days voyaging, we had motored for some four hours under blue spring skies through postcard Dutch scenery, encountering no other traffic at all. The chart did not give a name to the actual spot that we were moored in. We christened it "Jan Willem" land!
Margreet had been busy whilst Tony and I navigated and steered and by the time we were snugged down she had a welcome hot supper for us. When all was eaten and the dishes done, it was obvious that Tony was "tuning in" to the local hostelry. I was a bit apprehensive at leaving "Jan Willem" unattended by a footpath, but reasoned that I would just have to get used to it. In the event all was safe. Predictably Tony found his way to a cafe, where we played pool with the locals and enjoyed a beer or two.
After a good rest we moved on again at 11.00. The weather was once again kind and we were all thoroughly enjoying the trip. Shortly after we had got under way, we came across an area called De Nes, this is a kind of oxbow backwater and contains houseboats of all shapes and sizes. From here you can take a detour down the Hilversums canal to the centre of Hilversum itself. We were headed onwards however, and eventually came to the first of two bridges at Vreeland. As we approached the first it was just closing, a small cabin cruiser having just passed through, we optimistically gave a hoot and the bridge reopened for us. Margreet thanked the lock-keeper, who responded with a grin and the ubiquitous clog on the end of a fishing line. We dropped the appropriate fee in the clog and chugged onwards. The second bridge is only a couple of hundred meters further along and so as we chugged slowly through the centre of Vreeland, in company with the cabin boat, the keeper pealed past us on his bike to open the bridge as we arrived. The next town after Vreeland is Loenen, it has two lifting bridges, ample mooring facilities and is a little gem of a place. Loenen and the towns to the south, along the banks of the Vecht, enjoyed something of a renaissance in the late 17th century. Prosperous merchants from Amsterdam decided that this was the "in" place to have a home and consequently many rather grand houses were built here. In contrast to the traditional Dutch style these seem to exhibit features and styles from all over Europe. We approached the first bridge to find that it was already opening to let another little cruiser through from the opposite direction. We gave way to the cruiser and then nipped on through. The system here is the same as in Vreeland, with one keeper operating both bridges and cycling between them. The second bridge has a lovely, grassy, tree lined mooring spot directly after it and it was here that we stopped for lunch. A quick trip into the town provided bread and croissants, but although Tony had spotted a likely looking hostelry, it was time to press on. It is only a very short hop to the next bridge at Mijnden and yet another junction with the Amsterdam Rhine Canal. Here the customary three blasts on the horn opened the bridge without much delay. The next bridge was at Breukelen. Yes, this little Dutch town gave its name to Brooklyn New York and although the American Brooklyn is famed for its rather grand bridge, the original version is somewhat smaller. However, the bridge keeper at Mijnden told us that the Breukelen bridge was closed for the weekend and that, as it was Easter weekend, no bridges would be opening until Tuesday. We decided to press on anyway and find a place to stop in Breukelen if necessary. The bridge did indeed look closed and we found a spot to moor in the middle of town, just behind a supermarket. Having stocked up our food supplies I went looking for a water tap. There is often one to be found by locks and bridges and I hoped to find one here. The first man I spoke to, leaning on the bridge railing, was in fact the bridge keeper. Yes, he had water and Yes, if we wanted to go on he would open the bridge for us. It seemed that luck was with us, previous experience showed that there were ample mooring opportunities on this gorgeous little river and with the weather being as it was, a rural spot was more attractive to us. We filled our water tank, slid under the bridge with a wave and a smile from the bridge keeper and on we went once more. Just after leaving Breuklen, a small canal branches off to port to give access to the huge waterspouts park of Loosdrechtse Plassen, however this is not really barge country and on we plodded. The Vecht now begins to approach the outskirts of Utrecht, but before this city is reached the river has one more jewel to offer. Maarsen grew up around the Vecht waterway and was initially independent of Utrecht, although now they have almost grown together. When the Amsterdam Rhine Canal passed through less than a couple of hundred yards from the Vecht itself, Maarsen simply expanded to encompass the new canal and in so doing created Maarsenbroek. As we approached the first of Maarsens two bridges, the Vechtbrug, we could see the superstructures of the huge barges ploughing there way along the Amsterdam Rhine Canal running parallel to us. Then, opening up on our port side, there was a lovely area of grass and parkland, with the Gemeente house as its centre piece. The photo opportunity was too good to miss and as a mooring for the coming long weekend it could scarcely be beaten. Once again it was easy to come alongside in deep water, but as they were so far apart we hammered steel stakes deep into the grassy bank. In fact as the two bridges were now firmly closed for Easter, there was no passing traffic at all and little chance of us coming unstuck. Margreet and myself were incredibly happy with our progress so far and whilst we celebrated with a bottle of wine, Tony set off on his customary search for camaraderie. In this he was spectacularly successful, finding his way into one of the towns brown cafés that respectable folk steer clear off (so I’m told) and not returning until the very early hours. We spent the Easter weekend relaxing, walking through the park and on the Sunday, Margreets sister Fenna paid us a visit from Den Haag. Later, I reconnoitred the next part of the river ready for our next stage of the journey. On Tuesday, bright and early, we negotiated the Vechtbrug, closely followed by the Termeerbrug and on to our appointment with the Amsterdam Rhine Canal. The Vecht carries on into the heart of Utrecht, but here it is very fiddly and a maze of low bridges. Our destination was much farther south and so reluctantly we left the tranquillity of the Vecht and like a cork out of a bottle, we popped out into the hurly burly of the Amsterdam Rhine Canal.
David Evershed
Jan Willem
26
SLIP-SLIDING AWAY
Way back before Christmas I took the decision to have "Jan Willem" hauled right out of the water this year for a good scrub and bottom thickness survey. I went to the boat yard at Port Falmouth that has an 80 ton cradle on rails and booked up for one week in early April. Having achieved that I booked two weeks holiday from work for the same period and got my surveyor to "pencil me in" for the same time. Satisfied that all was in order I sat back to enjoy my Christmas and look forward to the spring. Well Christmas came and went and slowly the trees began to gain their leaves once more. As Easter approached I accumulated all the equipment that I would need for the lay-up. Deck paint, gloss paint, black bituminous tar, rollers, sleeves, mini rollers, cheap use once and throw away Chinese brushes, metal primer etc etc. The long handled scrapers were dug out of the locker and the hand scrapers located at the bottom of the tool chest. I had a word with J.T. our local welder and steel boat-builder and he agreed to tackle any plating that might need doing. All was organised, not a stone left un-turned. Easter passed by and I was on my last day at work on a Sunday prior to being hauled out on the Monday. I got a phone call from Margreet. The boatyard manager had a problem with the boat already on the cradle. Could I get in to see him first thing in the morning? I had a foreboding of doom.
At this point I should point out that way back in November when I first organised the lay-up Margreet (who knows about such things) declared that astrologically speaking the timing was awful. Now at risk of going off at a tangent, astrologically we as humans go through peaks and troughs during the astronomical year, the peaks are times of good luck and easy passage and the troughs are times of not necessarily ill fortune but certainly adversity. The sort of times when you know that the piece of toast you just dropped not only fell marmalade side down but smeared itself down your trousers, table cloth and probably the cat as well before landing on the (new) carpet. These peaks and troughs are known as squares (bad news) and trines (good news). Many other factors such as position of the sun and moon all come into it but year in year out we are all faced with these cycles (allegedly). It just so happened that not only myself was on a square at this time but also Margreet. However the deed was done and the times booked. Ok it might be hard going but that was often the most rewarding time wasn’t it?
The next morning with a metaphorical cloud hanging over me I went round to the yard, determined to be positive and tear a strip of the stupid yard manager who could not organise a simple slipway. I arrived. I sat down. I drank my coffee. I agreed entirely that it was all an act of God and nobody's fault. Had the yard boss been on a customer psychology course or what?
The situation was simply that the boat occupying the cradle needed a certain depth of water to float off the cradle and although the neap tide was low it should have been enough. High pressure and northerly winds had depressed the water level just enough to scupper the plan. However the tides were making again and there was no reason to doubt that it would float off at the next tide and my arrival was only delayed by one day. Of course my surveyor had to be cancelled and could he please come the next day? No he couldn’t but he would try to be there the day after that. I drove away with the sun shining down on me and thinking that this "square" business was not that bad really, just niggly little problems that a strong heart could cope with.
Day 1
The next morning with a decidedly un-metaphoprical black cloud hanging over me I drove once more to the yard to check that the cradle was empty. It was. Great no problem there then. On returning to the boat I busied myself with getting things ready for the ten minute trip down to the boat-yard. Clear the decks, check the engine, make ready fenders and warps. All was ok except for the remorselessly rising wind interspersed with hail showers. By lunch time all was ready and the wind was howling in the rigging, and little white horses were rolling down the river at me. "Jan Willem" is berthed alongside an old ammunition lighter, this makes rival and departure easier in many ways as we can treat it just like a pontoon and don't need to lay bow and stern anchors to secure us in out mud berth. The lighter of course does need substantial fore and aft moorings and these spread out at an angle from the stern. When the wind is light and the tide is high these lines lay comfortably on the creek bed and we can slide easily over them. When the tide is low and the wind is high they pull tight as bow strings despite the weights attached to them and make our sternward exit very difficult The normal method is simply to "spring off" using our bow line and make a sternboard out into the creek, through the moorings and plastic boats and then off down the river. As I may have mentioned earlier, the tides were low and the wind was high. The first attempt saw the lines catch around a lee-board causing the stern to swing back in again, neatly popping out a window in the lighter with the rubbing band. Oh dear! Luckily we are very good friends with the owners of the lighter and anyway, a piece of wood blowing off their boat in a previous storm had broken one of our windows so all "square" there then. Normally I would not have tried to get out of our berth in those circumstances but now the slipway was waiting and time and tide as they say waits for no one. I decided to put Pete the owner of the lighter in our 14ft wooden tender and using the 12hp outboard, use it as a tug to pull the stern out and hold it until we had gathered sternway. This trick worked and casting off from Pete we made our way safely across the creek and down towards the boatyard. To reach the slip I would have to make a tight right angled turn with a marina full off plastic boats hard on my lee and a gale of wind up my backside. Discretion being the better part of valour I carried on past the turning into clearer water and then turning through 180’ we could make the turn against the wind. This all went smoothly and thankfully now in much more sheltered waters we gently eased our way into the cradle. Twenty minutes later we were high and dry.
We scrambled down to ground level and immediately started scraping and pressure washing as sea water barnacles, muscles, slime and weed all come off much easier when still wet. Three hours later we were done in more ways than one. We were wet, cold, stinking of fish, but happy. Stage one was complete!
It was not until we cleaned and dried ourselves and made supper that we began to realise that although the boat was fair and "square" on the cradle, the cradle itself was on a mildly sloping slipway about 10" I would guess. This is not enough to cause serious problems. Just little ones like the sinks not draining properly, cupboard doors swinging open and fruit rolling off the table. It was while we were congratulating ourselves on our good work so far and how we had missed the torrential rain intermingled with hail that had resumed its downpour that a more serious problem came to light. I noticed that the cockpit was filling up with rain water. "What, no drains?" I hear you cry. Of course drains, thumping great "north Atlantic winter" size drains, but the drains are at the forward end of the cockpit which under normal circumstances is the lower end and now with the 10’ slope the water would reach the engine hatch long before it reached the drains. To make matters worse, much of the water falling on the coach roaf and thus onto the side decks was gushing aft, pouring out of the scuppers on the way but still a goodly amount was happily gurgling into the cockpit. Using a bucket I rapidly bailed it all out and scurried back inside. This of course set the scene for the rest of the evening and also after a particularly hard shower, again at 2 am! Didn’t I just love that!
Day 2
The first thing to do was to once again empty the cockpit and that done take stock of the situation. The weather was cold, overcast and with sporadic heavy hail showers. Taking the hand scrapers we set to and cleaned all those niggly little areas that the larger scrapers missed. It was dry under the hull and I took the opportunity to examine the bottom as best I could. Nearly 2/3 was already double plated and as usual the Dutch yards had done an excellent job. There was no sign of pitting or corrosion anywhere and although of course the metal behind the plate might be rotten the visible areas were good. The remaining 1/3 of the hull was the original iron riveted plates and it was these that I looked at most closely. I was quite prepared to plate these if necessary. The last full out of the water survey was done (shock-horror) 9 years ago although I have examined the ship as best I can between tides on a regular basis. That previous survey showed a general thickness of between 4.5 and 6 mm on the original plates. Close examination showed no obvious horrors although I would have to wait for the surveyor and his ultra sonic machine to be certain. On the sides and ends of the ship there was a good deal of zinc deposited from the anodes that I religiously replace every other year. The large ones by the propeller last two years and so do the similar sized ones on the side of the engine bay and hull. On the stempost I use two of the smaller round anodes and these only last a year. Degradation of the anodes show that they are working as they are meant to. With a mixture of metals, an inboard engine, a 12v electrical system, and a generator powered 240v system, coupled with a salt water environment, there are bound to be some stray currents and localised galvanic cells. Having said that, I am fairly convinced that the bow anodes are in fact happily plating Petes lighter next door!
By the time that I had finished my examination it was raining hard again, but after a short break for coffee the sun peeped through again and in the afternoon I was able to touch up a few areas of paintwork and apply a good coat of creosote to the lee boards and rudder. By the evening it was pouring with rain again and once more the ritual of baling out the cockpit at regular intervals was called for.
Day 3
I didn’t get up to bail during the night and in the morning the water level was ominously close to the lip of the engine room hatch. It was of course still raining on and off and I couldn’t face actually looking into the engine bay to check for water. Either it was there or it wasn’t. I fiddled about between the showers doing odd jobs and waiting for the surveyor. At 11am I rang him and he said he was up to his neck in writing reports but he would try to come round in the afternoon. The weather cheered up and I managed to get some more paint onto the hull. The surveyor never arrived.
By the evening my demeanour was decidedly gloomy. Our original plan had seen us being slipped on Monday, surveyed on Tuesday, painted and or plated on Wednesday and Thursday and then back in the water on Friday to enjoy the rest of my two week holiday gently sailing around our patch of Cornwall. Now it was Thursday already and we had not even been surveyed. It took Margreet to break me out of my gloom and tell me to get on the phone and tell that spaced out hippy friend of a surveyor of yours that he was to be ready to start work at 9 o clock the next morning. In the event I got a promise of an 8.30 start. It didn’t even rain that night. Things were looking up.
Day 4
8.30 of course came and went but 8.45 saw the surveyor finally arrive and at the same time my painting partner Nathan turned up to help me with the job of tarring the bottom as the surveyor gave it the all clear. He quickly found that the existing areas of doubling were sound and so we were at last able to make a good start on tarring.
A few words on barge bottoms and tar. On the continent and in this country it is traditional to use tar on the bottom of barges. Most barges live in fresh water and are fairly easily pulled out of the water for a wash down. In Holland it is possible to get hauled out on a cradle, lifted out by crane, dry-docked, hauled out sideways onto chocks and as was more common in the past when barges were not used so much for leisure (cant think of the word) that is to say pulled over onto their side in able to clean and paint the bottom. Barges used in salt water and kept in the coastal regions of Britain are in a different environment to that originally planned for them. Of course the whole of the Zuiderzee (now the Ijsselmeer) was salt water up to the middle of this century and so was a greater part of the Schelde region. The old skippers figured that any sea growth accumulated from salt water would drop of and die in fresh water when the barge returned to the canals. Similarly, fresh water weed would suffer a similar fate in salt water. So back to our permanent salt water environment. When we first brought "Jan Willem" to England he had just been freshly tarred in Holland. By the time we arrived in Cornwall some marine growth had taken hold but nothing much. The end of that year did see some serious scraping however. Was perhaps anti=fouling paint the answer. Any "green" conditions aside I have always been concerned about the potential harmful effects of copper or tin based paints in the galvanic cocktail that I spoke of earlier. For the first few years I persevered with a lot of heavy scraping and scrubbing followed by coats of that lovely black tar. It looks good, it is easy to apply, goes "off" quickly, sticks to anything (and everything) and that smell. I reckon if it was sold in small quantities in clubs it would quickly become illegal! Three years ago I tried an experiment. I dried out high up on a sandy beach and scrubbed the hull right down. Then a coat of a plastic based barrier paint was applied followed by anti fouling paint. This lasted effectively for two years and showed no signs of doing any damage to the hull or fittings. On examination on the slipway this year, little of the anti fouling was left except the colour, and this was obviously not scaring off the barnacles, the flat parts of the bottom were covered in barnacles and muscles but under these there was a good thickness of black tar still in place. So, this years experiment is to have a minimum of three layers of International brand "Intertuf" bituminous black tar on the whole of the underwater area and up to the rubbing band. The whole of the flat part of the bottom and also the propeller brace and skeg will be anti fouled with two coats of International commercial anti fouling. The sides and bilge areas will be left as tar covered as these are easy to scrape off between tides on a sandy beach. How this all stands up to time is as yet unknown but I will monitor it and report back.
Meanwhile back at Day 4
The surveyor to my surprise and relief found a general thickness of 4.5 to 6 mm of thickness on all the original remaining plates. No more degradation had taken place in the last 9 years. He did however find substantial areas of thin metal on the bottom of the stempost where it widens out into the (cant think of the word) mostly found on ex sailing barges as it helps them to point higher to windward. We decided to replate this whole section. In some of the pits the metal was down to less than 2mm and since this is a hollow box section leading directly into the interior this was way too thin. Another unpleasant surprise was that an area about six inches wide and running the whole length of the ships side on both sides was showing signs of de lamination in the wrought iron plates. We examined very closely and finally decided that a doubler was needed from one end to the other and on both sides. This area showed all the typical signs of water line degradation found on virtually every metal ship, but it was a couple of inches above water level. The only logical explanation here is that the present unladen waterline of "Jan Willem" is lower than that seen at some time in the past. Another possibility is that the hull may well have been sunk and abandoned at some time. "Jan Willem" is well over 100 years old and a history of that length must have many untold tales.
The surveyor left. The welder arrived to look at the job. We coated everything including ourselves in tar and giggled insanely on the fumes. It started to rain again.
Day 5
Amazingly the day started dry and even more amazing stayed dry all day. I arranged with the yard boss to remain on the cradle for another week. There goes my holiday I thought. Off course it was the weekend and welders don't work at week ends so it was down to Nathan and myself to spray each other with tar and have a thoroughly good time. By mid afternoon we had given the whole hull its second coat and it was looking good.
Day 6
Sunday, lovely weather but of course no work was done.
Day 7
After a disturbed night of howling wind and pounding hail we once again were back into bailing out the cockpit. By 9am Nathan arrived closely followed by the welders who proceeded to moan continuously about the amounts of black tar they had to grind away before welding could begin. In fairness it must be said that this was old tar. We had in fact retained enough sense to not coat those areas that were to be plated. We managed to get a third and final coat of tar on the underwater areas and the welders worked on in rapidly deteriorating conditions risking drowning and electrocution to get the first plates tacked into place.
Day 8
Appaling weather. The forecast was for heavy rain and rapidly increasing wind of severe gale 9. I rang Nathan to tell him not to bother, we would not be painting in that weather. The welders didn’t turn up but I really never expected them to. Margreet and myself sat down, drank coffee and declared how lucky we were to be safe on the cradle, after all we could have been back in the water and running from a force 9 south westerly, or just as bad be at work, outside in the driving rain and wind. Yes we were truly lucky people. After this bout of morale boosting we worked out our plan "b" if yet another week went by and we were not finished. The slip was clear to May 1st so we could stay for another week but I would have to go back to work and Margreet would have to supervise the welders including the post of fire watcher. Margreet is well up to tasks such as these and so I proposed to sit down and write an account of our slip-way antics (which I am doing now) and Margreet went shopping. Before I commenced to sit down at my lap top pc however I rigged up an electric bilge pump in the corner of the cockpit. Now all I have to do is flick a switch occasionally and the cockpit empties without fuss or bother. Why didn't I think of that sooner?
Oh by the way, the surveyors invoice arrived.
Day 9
We awoke to strong winds and threatening skies. (Nothing new there then) Nathan and I anti fouled all the bottom of the ship and those parts of the sides that the now ceaselessly falling rain was not blowing against. The welders arrived and grumbled about the weather, the rain, the tar and why the kettle was not yet on. I satisfied there caffeine cravings and even rigged up a couple of tarpaulins to keep the little dears dry. Naturally enough by the time the covers were rigged it stopped raining. The sun broke through and the wind dried everything off. I ventured into the engine bay to bale out all the water that had accumulated in the hidden recesses. Because of the angle that we were at the engine bay bilge pump was in the highest and driest part of the bay and therefore of no use at all. The portable electric pump was of course now rigged up in the cockpit so it was down to an aching back and knees plus a bailer a bucket and a sponge. All this time I was constantly venturing back into the boat to see if the welders had managed to set it alight yet. All was well apart from the thick fumes and a smell like a bad day at the flat roofing works as the tar on the inside of the plates burnt off. I had just returned from one of these trips and got myself wedged into the engine bay again when JT the boss called me. "Sooty’s found a hole,---- hang on, what's that?-----oh yes , now Davy’s found one as well." This of course was good news as it vindicated the surveyors negative vibes and confirmed that the work was actually necessary. Funny then that I was not overjoyed to hear it. I extracted myself from the engines embrace and went to have a look. The first hole was only a small one and easily patched with a blob of weld before grinding off ready for plating over. The other hole was bigger and situated right over a frame. We cleaned out the hole until good metal was well in evidence and I then creeped into the corner of Margreets clothes cupboard, moved a ton and a half of "useful" women's stuff and proceeded to chisel out a hole in the panelling in the area of where the hole should be. Amazingly when the wood was cut free and the rockwool insulation pulled clear I could see daylight, I had actually got the right spot. A small plate was cut to size and while I held it in place on the inside JT tacked it into place from the outside. The whole area was again filled with weld and then ground back. Things were looking up. The evening weather forecast was predictably dire.
Day 10
It once again bucketed down in the night and I was sent to do pump duties in the small hours. It was now Thursday of the second week. Four more days of my "holiday" and then back to work on Monday. The welders worked away all morning finishing off the starboard side by lunch time and grinding and preparing the port side for its new plates. I was happy to get a good thick coat of tar on the new doublers and even happier when it stayed dry and I managed to get a second coat on at tea time. I was exhausted, high on tar fumes and getting toothache.
Day 11
The toothache got worse during the night keeping me awake which was just as well as I had to frequently attend to the cockpit pump. At 5am I turned on the pump which promptly blew its fuse. Because it was the same fuse that controlled the after cabin where I was sitting all the lights went out. I fetched a torch and replaced the fuse. Turned on the pump and the fuse promptly blew again leaving me in darkness. Outside to inspect the pump, which I should have done in the first place and of course it was jammed with assorted detritus from the cockpit well. I cleared it replaced the fuse again and drained the cockpit. Margreet assured me that my tooth was all right and that it was the gum that was at fault. Probably scurvy she sniffed because I didn't eat enough fruit. Anyway she gave me some "tea-tree" lozenges from her homoeopathic cabinet and when I awoke again in daylight all the pain was gone, just a dull ache that disappeared as the morning wore on. After a good fruity breakfast of course! The day dawned dry and stayed that way. By midday the welders had finished and after a tearful farewell over coffee and biscuits (fruit for me) they made there leave. I promptly slapped on a coat of tar to the still hot metal and by the time I had finished it was almost dry. After a little bit of glossing I hit it with another coat. The yard boss asked me when I was going back in. I said Sunday as that would give me the possibility of more painting on Saturday if the weather was good. (some hope!)
Day12
Sunny and warm. I could hardly believe it. By 8am I was already busy with a second coat of anti fouling , followed by an overall coat of black tar to the remaining areas of hull side below the rubbing band. Now all areas had got at least three thick coats of tar on them and in places even more. The weather remained good and against all my previous expectations I managed to apply a nice coat of dark red gloss topcoat to the hull above the rubbing band. I was well satisfied. "You're not off your square yet "warned Margreet.
Day 13
Up at 5am pumping the cockpit. Is this all getting a bit monotonous? Rain like nothing on earth, even for Cornwall this was going some. I squelched about in the rain tidying up all the bits and pieces that had accumulated over the last two weeks. With a certain sense of satisfaction despite the rain I happily chucked all the dead rollers brushes and tins into the skip. At 1300hrs there was a rapping on the hull signifying that the yard boss was removing the wedges and shores prior to "Jan Willem" re-entering his natural environment. Margreet and myself donned our sodden oilies once more and splashed out into the cockpit. The re-entry went smoothly and soon our trusty DAF 474 was happily chuckling away. We carefully extracted ourselves from the now submerged cradle and reversed out into the river. Despite the monsoon weather we were all happy to be away and on an even keel after two weeks of living on a ski-slope. We gently chucked back to our mooring and made fast. As the rain died away and the sun fitfully shone through, Sidney our pet seagull landed on the tiller with a "where the hell have you been, food-now" sort of squawk. What the hell, it was good to be back.
A Ships Tail
The rudder on "Jan Willem" is a substantial piece of equipment, constructed from oak and measuring over 9ft from top to bottom, with the galvanized steel fittings and the internal metal dowels it weighs in at not far short of a ton. It needs to be strong, the forces on it, in all planes, when persuading all 40 tons of "Jan Willem" to change direction in varying conditions of wind and wave action, are, to say the least, considerable. I have had cause to write about this rudder on several occasions in the past. Some of you will be familiar with my subsequently successful efforts to cure the dreaded "clunk" in the night and how we fitted new gudgeons and pintles last year. You may also remember how I praised the collars fitted to the pintles to prevent them jumping out inadvertently. "Very seamanlike" I think I called them. I also described a piece of equipment called in Dutch a "roerlichter", literally a rudder-lifter, and mentioned my intention to make and fit one to "Jan Willem".
I did not get around to making the roerlichter and I did not fit new restraining collars to the new pintles. Why? Well let’s just say that along with a dozens of other tasks, they are still "on the list".
Where is all this heading?
Just read on.
This tale of a tail starts with "Jan Willem" anchored safely in Channels creek, at the mouth of the river Fal. I know the creek well and since it is a favourite anchorage and since it dries out for much of its area at low water springs, I have also built up a good knowledge of the bottom. The first 50 meters or so of it, the part that does not dry out, has a lot of kelp growing on it and I have seen many yachts drag their anchors here. Modern anchors don’t like seaweed very much, they are happier in sand mud and shingle. A fisherman’s anchor is fine however, as it penetrates the seaweed and gets a hold. After this weedy area the bottom is good soft, sticky, mud. It is excellent holding and most anchors are happy here provided the size suits the ship. This is where we mostly anchor, even at low tide there is usually enough water to get ashore in the dinghy. This is important, as it is from here that I can get to my work on the King Harry Ferry. We had been anchored in this spot for about a week I think and had not lifted the anchor to go sailing during that period. We has enjoyed several days of variable, light, winds and lovely Cornish sunshine. All was right with the world until-----CRUNCH!
"What the hell was that."
"Something’s hit us."
It was 2am and I rushed from my bed to the hatch to look outside. I looked out to see---nothing very much. Not only had nothing hit us, but seeing as we had only about one foot of water around us, nothing of any size could have got near us for at least an hour previously. The only thing was--- were we closer to the shore than we should have been?
I went outside and walked around the deck looking carefully all around. Then I jumped down into our ships’ boat that was tied alongside and peered around even more carefully. There really was nothing to see. Yes we were nearer the shore than we should have been and Yes there were some dark shapes that might be rocks under the water. I could do nothing until we floated again and then I would move us farther away from the shore. Secretly I was concerned that we might have sat on a boulder or rock and the CRUNCH might have been a plate buckling or a row of rivets letting go. In all honesty I didn’t think this was too likely, but at that time, in the cold and dark morning, your thoughts are always a little pessimistic. In the event we floated and it was obvious that the bilge was as dry as always. When I recovered the anchor I found that it was fouled by the chain. Usually, in any sort of half decent breeze, as the ship moves around the anchor, even if it subsequently lies at 180’ to its original position, the anchor will reset itself and nestle even deeper into the mud. In this case the light airs had allowed the ship to drift around the anchor without enough force being applied to reset it. The chain has taken a turn round one of the flukes and so it was acting as an anchor weight but not as an anchor. When the wind picked up a little from the west we had dragged quietly to the east. The mystery of how we came to be where we were was solved, but not the CRUNCH. I concluded that it must have been the dinghy getting hung up on the rubbing band and then dropping down with a CRUNCH.
Was I right? What do you think?
I went to work the next day and Margreet also went ashore. I don’t like leaving "Jan Willem" at anchor with nobody on board for too long, but my shift finished at 3pm and the weather was settled, although the forecast promised a south westerly gale for two days hence. Channels creek faces due south and so any wind over six or seven renders it untenable. At these times it is prudent to move farther up the river, or to move deeper into the creek itself, where it is possible to pull right up onto the beach and after dropping a stern anchor, tie up to the overhanging trees. This is a beautiful magical spot, totally sheltered from all wind except easterlies, the only snag being that you only float for two or three hours either side of high water. A small price to pay for a gorgeous location. I had decided to slide in to this spot until the gale passed and so it was with some relief that I arrived back at the creek at 3-15 pm ready to move "Jan Willem". I could see him afloat as I moved down through the trees to pick up my dinghy and row back out to him. On an impulse, I carried on walking around the head of the creek to check out the beach where I intended beaching him. I like to do this, as it is then possible to clear away any odd rocks or branches and make sure of a good safe berth. I checked that all was ok and made my way back towards my dinghy. I looked out towards "Jan Willem". Something was not quite right, but I could not place it. I hurried along the path and when I next got a good look I could see that the tiller was at a funny angle. Now I was really hurrying, as I reached the dinghy and leapt into it I could here a groaning noise from across the water. I rowed as fast as I could towards our ship and could now see that the rudder had actually fallen clear of the stern of "Jan Willem" and it was just the handgrip on the end of the tiller, caught against the stem of our wind charger, that was preventing it from dropping off all together. I reached our ship and frantically throwing the dinghy painter into the ships’ boat moored alongside, I leapt up into the cockpit. I grabbed the first rope that came to hand, in this case the leeboard halyard and managed to take a turn round the tiller just as the wind generator gave up the ghost and toppled overboard, followed by the tiller and rudder. The wind generator was quickly swallowed by the sea, but I still had tenuous link to the rudder. I hauled on the line that was still in my hand and made it fast. The heavy rudder made from dense oak was trying to follow the wind generator to the bottom of the creek, only the buoyancy of the tiller and the piece of rope was preventing it from achieving its’ aim. I had to think and act fast or things would become truly desperate.
I quickly found another length of rope and clambered back into the dinghy, the head of the rudder, where it was attached to the tiller, was within reach and I managed to get the second rope attached to this. Typically the wind was picking up and as the ship swung around the anchor, it would first drag the rudder with it and then try to run over it. With some difficulty I dragged it alongside the leeboard and secured it to the hook from the running backstay. By heaving on the backstay tackle I got the rudder head out of the water, with the tiller banging along the side of the hull. In our set-up, the tiller sits on a tenon in the rudder head, secured by a bolt and a strap on the end, this long bolt was now mangled and twisted so I took a hacksaw and cut it away completely. Now I could heave the tiller itself on board and put it out of harms way. The situation was at least, for the time being, marginally under control. Clearly the rudder could not stay were it was, as it would undoubtedly be damaged when we next settled on the bottom. Re-fitting it was, for the moment, out of the question, so I had to find a way of lifting it clear of the water. I experimented with the backstay tackle and found I could begin to lift it, but as more of it was lifted clear, the heavier it got. (relatively speaking) Eventually, using both backstay tackles, the topping lift and a handy-billy (you mean you don’t have one?) three quarters of the rudder was out of the water and lashed firmly in place.
Question one. What on earth had happened?
Question two. What do we do now?
Here is what had occurred. During that fateful night we had settled with the rudder foot on a rock, as the weight of the ship was taken up, the retaining pin that I had fitted instead of a collar had given up the unequal fight and snapped. This was the CRUNCH in the night. Due to the length of the pintles the rudder has lifted but not enough to drop off. In the morning when we re floated nothing would appear out of order. However, after we had moved away from the shore, the deeper, softer mud had allowed the ship to settle into the mud and the rudder to simply lift out of its gudgeons.
So, what to do next. Re-fit the rudder obviously, but how and what about the imminent gale? We could not move without a rudder. Heroic images of lashing together doors, planks and barge poles to make a jury rig looked a little silly in reality. Our faithful ships’ boat could easily tow us, but not accurately or safely in the fresh breeze that was already blowing. I reckoned that we had sufficient equipment on board to re-fit it, but not enough muscles. A phone call to Pete, who had previously fabricated the rudder fittings, explained the situation, he and Lyn would come by the next day for a spot of lunch and at the same time his muscles would come in handy. I tidied up the ship, made sure we were anchored safely and made plans. When she returned home, Margreet was not impressed. I had forgotten about the wind charger, but she was firm. "At low water we will go out in the dinghy and find it." We have had Charlie the Charger for almost 15 years now and he has always been faithful to us, in fair and often foul weather. Apart from the cost of a new one, we owed it to him to at least try to find him. Low water was at about one am. So, ringggg went the alarm clock, grunttttt went David and up we got. It was somewhat surreal, we paddled about in the dinghy, prodding with a boathook and peering with a torch, all in as much silence as we could. There were several other yachts anchored in the creek and at night every sound carries. I had visions of curtains being gently pulled back, muffled VHF calls to the coastguard and the next thing would be a blinding searchlight from the drugs squad, with SWAT teams descending from a helicopter and myself being told to "spread em." Thankfully this did not occur and miraculously, just as we were giving up, I spotted one of Charlie’s blades sticking out of the water. Joyfully I dragged him on board. (He has now been dried out and renovated) The next day I finished work at three and picked Pete and Lyn up at three thirty. Pete had brought a chain pulley with him, very useful! We looked at the problem and Petes engineers’ brain came up with a myriad of ideas, including sidling up to a moored freighter and using their cargo hoist to do the job. We finally agreed on my plan of using the mast lowering legs as an "A" frame, lashed to the after deck and braced and manipulated by the topping lift. The chain pulley would do the rest. After a bit of trial and error we got the thing rigged up and dragged the rudder back around to the stern. All was connected up and with a little shoving and pulling we had it almost in position. A quick check that all the gudgeon bearing sleeves were in place and smooth as silk the rudder lowered back into place. We quickly disassembled our jury rig, re-fitted the tiller, hoisted the anchor and moved farther into the creek, to the bolt hole I had selected earlier. A couple of lines to the trees, a stern anchor and we all could breath a sigh of relief.
Later that night.
CRUNCH
"Oh my God". I knew what that noise was before I reached the deck. Sure enough, the rudder was once again out of its gudgeons, despite a comprehensive lashing that I had put there to restrain it. There was nothing I could do in the middle of the night except lash it in place, at least it was still upright and in more or less the correct place. I had to work again the next day and we were safe and secure in our little bay, so the rudder would have to be a problem for another day. Two days later, on my day off, long suffering Pete once again succumbed to the offer of lunch and working together we had the rudder back in place in less than an hour. We lashed it, wedged it and talked sternly to it. The securing pin was replaced with a thicker stainless one that I had knocking about. The rudder stayed in place, the gale came through and we sat smugly in our idyllic hidey hole. On my next day off, Margreet and myself were cleaning the bottom of the ship and tidying up the anti fouling. All went smoothly and we stood back to take some pictures and admire our handiwork. As I watched, I saw the tiller lean sideways and the rudder pop off its fittings, no noise, no fuss, just stunned disbelief. This was becoming monotonous. I leapt back onboard and wedged, lashed and secured the rudder as best I could. The new stainless retaining pin had bent and snapped. I didn’t have the courage to call Pete again. That night the wind went round to the east. Our hidey hole became totally exposed. The wind howled, in hitting "Jan Willem" broadside, I put out more warps and tightened up the stern anchor. I stood there in the rain at two in the morning watching as the stern anchor dragged and we slowly slewed round. When we dried out we sat at an acute angle on the beach and living inside was interesting to say the least. I knew I would have to either leave that spot or re-set the stern anchor. To leave would mean a night departure amid a tangle of our own bow and stern lines and was not really on. Three in the morning saw me once again in the driving wind and rain, in the ships’ boat trying to retrieve and re-lay the anchor. This was achieved and in spite of the conditions I bizarrely quite enjoyed myself. However my life was becoming a blend of work, sleep, work, try to sleep, get up again, what day is it? where/who am I? Then fate took a turn for the better. I came home from work and looked at the rudder, the way it was wedged and lashed and the way it was currently sitting looked, well, promising. "I think we have a fifty/fifty chance of pulling of something rather cunning," I told Margreet. We levered, cajoled, bullied and threatened and in surprisingly little time the rudder had dropped back into place without the need for either a gantry or Pete’s muscles. We were thrilled, but, the tide was now dropping again and I could not bear the thought of a repeat performance. This time I did the lashing and wedging with grim determination. Talk about overkill. Now if it dropped off, it would take the back end of the ship with it! It stayed put.
I worked until nine thirty on Friday evening and Saturday was my day off, the tide was right to depart at five in the morning, just at first light. Sleep, who needs it? At four thirty I crawled out of my bunk to make a pot of tea and peered out the hatchway. It was just getting light, the only problem was a thick impenetrable fog. The weather was actually settled and fine, I knew the day would turn out hot and the fog would burn off, but the tide wouldn’t wait for that. I knew where I was and where I was going. What I didn’t really know was if there were any anchored boats in my way. I rather suspected there would be. The morning looked, felt and smelled glorious, one of those days when you feel so good to be living on board your own boat . There was only the slightest of airs and the fog coiled and shifted, revealing a glimpse of the shore for a moment and then obscuring it again. I jumped into the dinghy and pulled myself along the bow line to the tree it was attached to. I released it and repeated the process for the others. Climbing back on board I retrieved and coiled the lines and transferred the stern anchor warp to the bow. We gently swung around and out into our little bay. "Jan Willem’s" DAF 475 purred into life, shattering the stillness and extracting a disgusted Crawww! from an unseen heron. I had already removed the lashings etc. from the rudder and so I retrieved the anchor and very slowly motored out of the bay, guided mainly by the breeze on my face and the ripples on the water. We gingerly carried on until an opportune swirl of the fog revealed exactly where we were and also the various anchored boats that we had luckily avoided. Yes, I know that as a ship underway we should have sounded our horn, one prolonged blast every two minutes, but I don’t think that would have gone down too well at that time of the morning in a popular anchorage! With some relief I once again deployed the main anchor and shut down the engine. As the sun rose on another perfect Celtic Fringe day, I happily worked in the cockpit and built a substantial rudder block out of iroko, that once screwed into place would substantially and physically prevent the rudder from misbehaving.
From then on the summer was all plain sailing, apart from.....but then that is another story!
Just a thought
If you are thinking of going to sea or crossing the channel with a tjalk or aak that has a sternpost hung rudder, have a look and see what exactly retains it, you may be surprised. Could you re-fit it in mid channel? No? hmmmm. Worth a thought.
BACK TO HOME PAGE
David & Margreet Evershed.
We found "Jan Willem" in Enkhuizen, in a hurricane, in 1989. We knew at once that he was the ship for us and wanted to buy him then, but we had not sold our own boat in England. We returned to England and I started to learn everything about tjalken and the Nederlandse binnenvaart. In 1990 we were told that he was again for sale. Now we had the money, so we agreed the sale over the telephone and one month later moved to Margreets parents house in Arnhem. The sale was completed in October 1990. We lived on board through a freezing winter that saw the IJsselmeer frozen solid. In April 1991 we left Enkhuizen and journeyed along the Vecht and Hollandse Ijssel to Dordrecht, then on to Terneuzen, through Belgium and France to Calais. We crossed the channel in May and reached our home in Falmouth, Cornwall in early June. "Jan Willem" sails well under fok and grootzeil, goes to windward surprisingly well, but does not like big waves, although I suspect that he is less scared of them than we are!
I have tried to find out more about our ship. The meetbrief ( AN 31, Antwerpen or Amsterdam?) tells me that he was built in Woerden by Vermeulen in 1893, named "De Jonge Jan Willem" and worked in Den Haag. In 1934, in Amsterdam, the name was changed to "Vertrouwen".
In 1954, in Rotterdam the name was changed to "Jantjes Vertrouwen".
In 1979, the name was changed again to "Vertrouwen".
1982 - 1990, the name was "Cassiopeia".
1990 removed from Dutch register and onto British register as "Jan Willem".
"Jan Willem", 18.37m x 3.99m, is a paviljoentjalk, built in Zuid Holland. This makes him a Zuidhollandse paviljoentjalk. The boeisel narrows at kop and kont and the berghout sweeps in a looping curve from end to end. I have been told that he is an IJseltjalk, mainly because of the general rounded appearance, but I do not know for sure.
PAVILJOENTJALK (IJSSELTJALK)
"JAN WILLEM"
1893 Meetbrief no An 31
From Meetbrief dated September 19th 1979
Built 1893, by Vermeulen, in Woerden Zuid Holland. Name of ship not given.
Displacement given, 35.136.
1901 First recorded Metingsmerk 160, Den Haag, 4/6/1901.
Ship name "De Jonge Jan Willem"
1927 Teboekstelling, 210 B Amst 1927.
1934 Second Metingsmerk 0517, Amsterdam, 20/11/1934. Ship name "Vertrouwen"
1944 Third Metingsmerk 12646, Amsterdam, 24/8/1944. Ship name "Vertrouwen"
1954 Documents #1, 2, change of name & bill of sale.
20/12/1954, change of name from "Vertrouwen" to "Jantjes Vertrouwen"
New owner, Maria Roimans, Verboomstraat 110b, Rotterdam.(note teboekstelling now given as 218 B Amst 1927 and this is the number stamped on the ship in 1991) Displacement given 50.965.
1979 Document #3,4,5, registration of new owner, radio telephone registration.
19/10/1979, new owner, M Noe, Ereprijs 106, 1273 XN, Huizen.
Ship name given as "Vertrouwen".
3/9/1979, radio licence issued to Fa. T. en M. Noe te Muiden.
(Ship was converted to charter at this time)
1981 8/7/1981, radio licence issued to E.M. Markus, G Scheltesstraat 48, 1785 CS, Den Helder.
1982 Documents #6,7, new owners, 5 persons.
4/11/1982, new owners Helmut Freitag, 7000 Stutgart 1, West Duitsland. (Etc-etc)
(Ship operated from Enkhuizen & Stavoren as charter ship).
Teboekstelling 218 B Amst 1927
Motor BMC Sealord.
Building year given as 1904/1905.
1987-88 From Helmut Freitag.
DAF 475 motor fitted 1987.
Paragon gearbox fitted 1988.
Complete ship zinc sprayed 1987
Fok new 1987
Grootzeil new 1988
1990 Document #8 new owners.
15/10/90 Ship bought by David and Margreet Evershed, from Helmut Freitag, ship lying Enkhuizen. Year of build given as 1893.
Ship name changed to "Jan Willem"
April 1991 ship sailed by owners to Falmouth, Cornwall, England.
1991 Documents #9,10,11. registration of new owners.
Schepen 50, 16/5/1991, new owners David Evershed and Margreet Bruininkweerd-Evershed.
Removal from register, 13/6/1991, building year given as 1904/5.
Schepen 38, 8/8/1991, ship name given as "Cassiopeia"
24
NEW BITS Measurements and framing
The heading "Far West Section" is a little misleading for this edition, as I am actually writing this in the Netherlands. I am staying in Arnhem, my wife's home town, for the Christmas period. Whilst here I hope to continue my research into the turn of the century Binnenvaart scene, make some new acquaintances and experience the pyrotechnic mayhem that is the Nederlandse new year! Already I have unearthed the answer to a problem that has been unresolved since last year. Whilst translating some details of Tjalk construction I came across the unit of measurement the "EL". The size of plates used for the bottom of a Tjalk were referred to as being 2 El wide and 3 El wide. My mother in law mentioned this unit in an entirely unrelated context. I of course seized upon it and sought more details. The EL is an old Dutch measurement which is basically the distance from the tip of ones fingers to the shoulder. This obviously varies from person to person but was standardised eventually as 68.8cm.
2
This is apparently the same as a biblical "cubit". One skipper that I spoke to said that when the metric system was introduced, the "new" metre was referred to as an El, but was now a genuine 100cm in length. To confuse matters further my old Dutch dictionary gives an alternative definition as an (English) yard, which, as we all know, is really 96cm! Confused? The plot thickens.
It is worth looking further into the whole issue of Dutch measurements. I learnt some time ago that all was not as it seemed. An Amsterdamse ton was unrelated to an English ton, a Last was about 2 English tons, a streep was a millimetre and also that a Dutch Zeemijl was only 0.99941 of an English sea mile. Continuing research has shown that within the Netherlands themselves the various measurements varied from area to area. When investigating old documents, the measurement of the Voet (foot) is often encountered. This frequently is found in the dimensions of scantlings. There are 12 Duimen (thumbs) to a Voet. The following table shows the provincial variations and it is vital to know the scale in use before making any quantitative judgements. It is very easy when working in a foreign language to seize on "known" words and take them at their (English) face value. Note that within the Netherlands almost a full centimetre per Voet difference exists between Amsterdam and Groninger. The estimation of the English foot is within a couple of mm's of todays accepted length however.
3
AMSTERDAMSE VOET 28.3cm
FRIESCHE .. . 28.4
DEVENTER ... 28.6
GRONINGER .. 29.2
ENGELSE .. .. 30.5
RIJNLANDSE .. 30.8
PRUISISCHE .. 31.4
PARIJSCHE .. .. 32.4
Source, Technisch Vademecum, 1927
4
The task of a researcher is never easy, often frustrating, but mostly, ultimately, rewarding. After 5 years of research I felt confident enough to write my treatise on the Tjalk. In the chapter on Skutsjes I make the statement that, "the only (Tjalken) to have counterweighted masts were built in Groningen and Friesland" (first rule of researching, never make any categoric statements!) I have just received details of the Roeftjalk "Siet op uw selven", recently sailed back to the UK by DBA member R Meinertzhagen. Amongst the information that he kindly sent me is a plan of the Roeftjalk "Elisabeth Wilhelm", built in 1904 by the D Boot shipyard in Alphen a d Rijn, Zuid Holland. The plans clearly show a counterweighted mast, passing up through the traditional Uitwip in the foredeck. Further research has now shown that this was not uncommon for the smaller Tjalken built in the Zuid Holland area. All I can do is reiterate that although particular distinct forms of ship were built in certain areas, in the end, each Tjalk built was as individual as the skipper who ordered it. This is what makes all our ships unique and keeps the researcher occupied. At this point, may I thank all of you who have sent me details of Tjalken and may not have received a reply. I relay do appreciate photos, plans, dimensions etc and would like to widen the net to include the AAk, Praam, Kraak and similar. At the same time I will be happy to try and answer any queries that you may have. The Klipper and Luxemotor, although included in my long term plans, will have to wait a little longer.
5
Referring to Bill and Laurel Coopers article entitled "Continental Barges at Sea". Several points are raised on which I would like to comment. I agree totally with the statements considering early Dutch built barges. Yes many, but by no means all, were built to withstand what was then the open Zuiderzee. Most of the Bol type ships and the smaller Tjalken were built from 5mm plate. Larger ships and those intended for the sea, such as the Koftjalk, were built from 8mm plate. Those ships that sailed regularly on the Zuiderzee and out into the Waddenzee had to be in possession of a "Zeebrief", this was issued only after a comprehensive official structural examination of the ship. In the case of Tjalken there were several features that separated a Zeetjalk from a more "normal" Tjalk. The distinguishing features of a true Zeetjalk were, amongst others, a greater beam, deeper hold and a greater shear giving a taller bow. Internally they were fitted with extra stringers just above the turn of the bilge and longitudinal iron or wooden beams amidships between the frames for stiffness.
The hatch boards were supported by three longitudinal beams rather than one. This all tends to show that concern for longitudinal, rather than lateral, strength was paramount. If long open sea passages are your goal, as opposed to a quick dash across the pond in settled weather, please make sure that the ship you pick was built for this and not just the rivers and canals. Many of the Tjalken that I have looked at and most of the Skutsjes, have a vast open living area from bow to stern, with no structural bulkheads. Presumably they have substantial hanging knees but it is hard to tell. In "Jan Willem" we have a watertight steel bulkhead just forward of the engine space and another just forward of the mast, which is itself supported by an internal steel step. The remaining space has a substantial wooden bulkhead separating the sleeping area from the saloon and in addition, knees of 5mm are fitted to frames spaced at 43cm. This gives us three separate living areas, which although a pain in bad weather, is often a good thing with guests of, shall we say,different habits, on board.
6
I have never been able to measure the degree by which "Jan Willem" "works" I can sense a movement in a head sea that "feels" forgiving rather than rigid, however in flex generating conditions I am generally too busy to conduct scientific research! Our mooring is a drying one and on a quiet night the various odd creaks and groans that occur on "lift off", not too mention the door that swings shut, are proof enough of movement. Generally speaking, I think when you consider the extra strengthening achieved by replacing hatch boards with a steel coach roof (so long as it is not too tall and too thin) most of our ships are strong enough for the conditions we generally throw at them.
Another point I wish to raise is that of riveting I am aware of the use of tallow as a caulking agent and there is reference to Koftjalken being constructed this way. In fact the Koftjalk is singled out as being an exception to general binnenschip building practice. The inference is that most binnenschips relied upon the frictional forces supplied by a good joint and close fitting clean smooth plates. If anyone knows more I would like to hear from them.
25
The Vecht
(ANWB Waterkaart, "Vechtplassen")
At 0900, on Wednesday March 27th, 1991, we left Enkhuizen to begin our journey back to Cornwall. We, being Margreet and myself, along with Tony, the son of a friend. We were travelling on board our tjalk "Jan Willem", which we had spent the previous winter renovating and preparing for the trip to England. We passed through the sluis, out into the Markermeer and headed south. There had been no shortage of advice from the other skippers of Enkhuizen and so bearing in mind the good local knowledge available, I headed for a nominal point in the centre of the meer, until the lighthouse on the little island of Marken came into view. Today Marken is not strictly speaking a true island as it is joined to the mainland by a causeway. "Look for the Horse of Marken," I had been told. As it appeared on the horizon it did indeed have the outline of a giant horse. After Marken I simply had to steer a reciprocal 180’, leaving the horse at 0’. When Pampus island came into sight we left it to starboard and repeated the process to follow a 180’ reciprocal towards the shore. Soon we found the buoyed channel leading into the harbour of Muiden. In the 10th century the Vecht was an important waterway and at Muiden, where the Vecht meets what was then the Zuider Zee, a toll-house collected dues from those wishing to venture inland. Eventually the humble toll-house grew into a full blown castle and in 1948 it was restored to its 16th century condition and opened to the public. After a first leg trip of 5 hours and approximately 24 miles we came to rest and moored alongside three skutsjes. After checking all was ship-shape we wandered into town, allowing Tony to lead the way, for although neither he nor ourselves had ever been to Muiden before, we knew that his unfailing talent would take us to a friendly cafe. Once again, and certainly not for the last time, we ended up in comfortable friendly surroundings..
The straight line, fast-track route from Amsterdam to the Rhine and thus the great rivers and Vlissinge, is the Amsterdam Rhine Canal, a wide no-nonsense commercial waterway opened in 1952. However, if you have time to spare and your ship is not too big, the original route south is the river Vecht. This is a truly beautiful little river. It has no vices, little current and no unwanted surprises. It jiggles, meanders and winds its way slowly from the Zeesluis at Muiden to Utrecht. There are many places to stop, both official with bollards and unofficial to trees that bear the rope marks of previous occupancy. "Jan Willem" with an air draft of 3.68m with the mast lowered, a total length of 18m and a beam of 3.99m, is to my biased mind exactly the right size for this waterway. Certainly the railway bridge at Weesp, with a clearance of 4.0m, tends to dissuade bigger craft from invading the Vecht.
We cast off at 13.00 and made our way through the Zeesluis and under the lifting road bridge for our very first river trip aboard our own barge. After the big and relatively busy harbour of Enkhuizen and the big open spaces of the IJsselmeer and Markermeer, the narrow, almost still river, with its grassy banks and overhanging trees, was somehow unreal. I loved it. At little more than a tick over we chuckled along and marvelled at our surroundings. We had been told that the Vecht in spring was a marvel to behold. The weather was dry, mild and gentle. With all the trees in bud and spring flowers shooting up everywhere, it was truly magical. I had to get used to navigating on this rather narrow waterway and initially found myself wandering from one bank to the other as bank effect came into play, followed by the inevitable over-correction. I soon got used to it however and before long we came to our first "hazard", the railway bridge at Weesp. The chart said it had a clearance of 4.0m and I had carefully measured our air draft at 3.68m, so I knew in theory we had room to spare. In fact our highest point was the tip of the stern mounted vhf aerial and if this was knocked off, (it was springy anyway) we only measured 3.5m to the first immovable part of the ship. We soon learned that Dutch charts are amazingly detailed, accurate and reliable. The bridge looked low as we approached, but we passed under safely with the appropriate clearance. At Weesp you have the option of joining the Amsterdam Rhine Canal, but we had no intention of leaving this little gem and so we carried on into the middle of the town, where we encountered the Lange Vechtbrug, with a height of 2.0m, this was to be our first solo opening bridge. The bridge showed red lights and close to the bridge was a pole with a bell push on it, Tony gave it a prod with our barge pole and a light started to flash. There were mooring bollards on both sides of the river at this point, but there were some men in a little boat working on them and warning cries of "natte verf" alerted us to the fact that they were in fact painting the bollards for the coming season. It was good practice (and not too difficult in no wind and no stream conditions) to hold station and soon we saw red and green lights flashing together, followed by an open bridge and green lights. We felt rather grand passing through as the traffic stopped and people on bicycles waved. I had found that if I stood on the paviljoen roof, with my legs astride the tiller, I could lean on the horizontal, lowered mast and read the chart, which was tucked under the halyards lying along the mast. This gave good control and an unrivalled view of the world ahead. As I said, the Dutch charts are amazingly detailed, with every twist and turn accurately represented. So it came as no surprise, when we rounded the tight right hand hairpin at De Hoorn, to find yet another road bridge spanning the river, with a mere 2m clearance. There was no bell push for this one and so I made the recognised sound signal on our old brass horn and got zero response. I tried again and then Margreet discovered from the Almanac that this bridge opened to a time table. This was not the time. We found a large pole to tie up to and spent a fiddly half hour trying to prevent "Jan Willem" from swinging right around it and clouting the bank. Then, in a manner that I have now come to expect as typically Dutch, exactly on the appointed hour, the lights flashed, a bell rang, the road barriers lowered, the bridge lifted and green lights invited us to proceed. We carried on our unhurried way, hardly noticing Hinderdam as it slipped past. Another fairly tight bend at Nigtevecht, right beside another junction to the Amsterdam Rhine Canal, brought us from the Vecht to the Oude Vecht, according to the chart. The river didn’t seem to notice, it just kept rolling along. The ANWB waterkarten are real treasures compared to some other European countries charts, prominent features such as windmills are clearly shown and enable you to pinpoint your exact location to 20m or so. Our chart showed a windmill off to starboard, just before a bend and the tiny village of Overmeer. We decided that this would be our stopping place if at all possible. At 16.00 we nudged into the bank and tied up to a couple of strong trees. The water was deep enough for us to go right alongside without grounding and the tow-path was some half meter above the water, which meant it was some half meter below our side decks. It couldn’t have been more perfect. This then was the end of our first days voyaging, we had motored for some four hours under blue spring skies through postcard Dutch scenery, encountering no other traffic at all. The chart did not give a name to the actual spot that we were moored in. We christened it "Jan Willem" land!
Margreet had been busy whilst Tony and I navigated and steered and by the time we were snugged down she had a welcome hot supper for us. When all was eaten and the dishes done, it was obvious that Tony was "tuning in" to the local hostelry. I was a bit apprehensive at leaving "Jan Willem" unattended by a footpath, but reasoned that I would just have to get used to it. In the event all was safe. Predictably Tony found his way to a cafe, where we played pool with the locals and enjoyed a beer or two.
After a good rest we moved on again at 11.00. The weather was once again kind and we were all thoroughly enjoying the trip. Shortly after we had got under way, we came across an area called De Nes, this is a kind of oxbow backwater and contains houseboats of all shapes and sizes. From here you can take a detour down the Hilversums canal to the centre of Hilversum itself. We were headed onwards however, and eventually came to the first of two bridges at Vreeland. As we approached the first it was just closing, a small cabin cruiser having just passed through, we optimistically gave a hoot and the bridge reopened for us. Margreet thanked the lock-keeper, who responded with a grin and the ubiquitous clog on the end of a fishing line. We dropped the appropriate fee in the clog and chugged onwards. The second bridge is only a couple of hundred meters further along and so as we chugged slowly through the centre of Vreeland, in company with the cabin boat, the keeper pealed past us on his bike to open the bridge as we arrived. The next town after Vreeland is Loenen, it has two lifting bridges, ample mooring facilities and is a little gem of a place. Loenen and the towns to the south, along the banks of the Vecht, enjoyed something of a renaissance in the late 17th century. Prosperous merchants from Amsterdam decided that this was the "in" place to have a home and consequently many rather grand houses were built here. In contrast to the traditional Dutch style these seem to exhibit features and styles from all over Europe. We approached the first bridge to find that it was already opening to let another little cruiser through from the opposite direction. We gave way to the cruiser and then nipped on through. The system here is the same as in Vreeland, with one keeper operating both bridges and cycling between them. The second bridge has a lovely, grassy, tree lined mooring spot directly after it and it was here that we stopped for lunch. A quick trip into the town provided bread and croissants, but although Tony had spotted a likely looking hostelry, it was time to press on. It is only a very short hop to the next bridge at Mijnden and yet another junction with the Amsterdam Rhine Canal. Here the customary three blasts on the horn opened the bridge without much delay. The next bridge was at Breukelen. Yes, this little Dutch town gave its name to Brooklyn New York and although the American Brooklyn is famed for its rather grand bridge, the original version is somewhat smaller. However, the bridge keeper at Mijnden told us that the Breukelen bridge was closed for the weekend and that, as it was Easter weekend, no bridges would be opening until Tuesday. We decided to press on anyway and find a place to stop in Breukelen if necessary. The bridge did indeed look closed and we found a spot to moor in the middle of town, just behind a supermarket. Having stocked up our food supplies I went looking for a water tap. There is often one to be found by locks and bridges and I hoped to find one here. The first man I spoke to, leaning on the bridge railing, was in fact the bridge keeper. Yes, he had water and Yes, if we wanted to go on he would open the bridge for us. It seemed that luck was with us, previous experience showed that there were ample mooring opportunities on this gorgeous little river and with the weather being as it was, a rural spot was more attractive to us. We filled our water tank, slid under the bridge with a wave and a smile from the bridge keeper and on we went once more. Just after leaving Breuklen, a small canal branches off to port to give access to the huge waterspouts park of Loosdrechtse Plassen, however this is not really barge country and on we plodded. The Vecht now begins to approach the outskirts of Utrecht, but before this city is reached the river has one more jewel to offer. Maarsen grew up around the Vecht waterway and was initially independent of Utrecht, although now they have almost grown together. When the Amsterdam Rhine Canal passed through less than a couple of hundred yards from the Vecht itself, Maarsen simply expanded to encompass the new canal and in so doing created Maarsenbroek. As we approached the first of Maarsens two bridges, the Vechtbrug, we could see the superstructures of the huge barges ploughing there way along the Amsterdam Rhine Canal running parallel to us. Then, opening up on our port side, there was a lovely area of grass and parkland, with the Gemeente house as its centre piece. The photo opportunity was too good to miss and as a mooring for the coming long weekend it could scarcely be beaten. Once again it was easy to come alongside in deep water, but as they were so far apart we hammered steel stakes deep into the grassy bank. In fact as the two bridges were now firmly closed for Easter, there was no passing traffic at all and little chance of us coming unstuck. Margreet and myself were incredibly happy with our progress so far and whilst we celebrated with a bottle of wine, Tony set off on his customary search for camaraderie. In this he was spectacularly successful, finding his way into one of the towns brown cafés that respectable folk steer clear off (so I’m told) and not returning until the very early hours. We spent the Easter weekend relaxing, walking through the park and on the Sunday, Margreets sister Fenna paid us a visit from Den Haag. Later, I reconnoitred the next part of the river ready for our next stage of the journey. On Tuesday, bright and early, we negotiated the Vechtbrug, closely followed by the Termeerbrug and on to our appointment with the Amsterdam Rhine Canal. The Vecht carries on into the heart of Utrecht, but here it is very fiddly and a maze of low bridges. Our destination was much farther south and so reluctantly we left the tranquillity of the Vecht and like a cork out of a bottle, we popped out into the hurly burly of the Amsterdam Rhine Canal.
David Evershed
Jan Willem
26
SLIP-SLIDING AWAY
Way back before Christmas I took the decision to have "Jan Willem" hauled right out of the water this year for a good scrub and bottom thickness survey. I went to the boat yard at Port Falmouth that has an 80 ton cradle on rails and booked up for one week in early April. Having achieved that I booked two weeks holiday from work for the same period and got my surveyor to "pencil me in" for the same time. Satisfied that all was in order I sat back to enjoy my Christmas and look forward to the spring. Well Christmas came and went and slowly the trees began to gain their leaves once more. As Easter approached I accumulated all the equipment that I would need for the lay-up. Deck paint, gloss paint, black bituminous tar, rollers, sleeves, mini rollers, cheap use once and throw away Chinese brushes, metal primer etc etc. The long handled scrapers were dug out of the locker and the hand scrapers located at the bottom of the tool chest. I had a word with J.T. our local welder and steel boat-builder and he agreed to tackle any plating that might need doing. All was organised, not a stone left un-turned. Easter passed by and I was on my last day at work on a Sunday prior to being hauled out on the Monday. I got a phone call from Margreet. The boatyard manager had a problem with the boat already on the cradle. Could I get in to see him first thing in the morning? I had a foreboding of doom.
At this point I should point out that way back in November when I first organised the lay-up Margreet (who knows about such things) declared that astrologically speaking the timing was awful. Now at risk of going off at a tangent, astrologically we as humans go through peaks and troughs during the astronomical year, the peaks are times of good luck and easy passage and the troughs are times of not necessarily ill fortune but certainly adversity. The sort of times when you know that the piece of toast you just dropped not only fell marmalade side down but smeared itself down your trousers, table cloth and probably the cat as well before landing on the (new) carpet. These peaks and troughs are known as squares (bad news) and trines (good news). Many other factors such as position of the sun and moon all come into it but year in year out we are all faced with these cycles (allegedly). It just so happened that not only myself was on a square at this time but also Margreet. However the deed was done and the times booked. Ok it might be hard going but that was often the most rewarding time wasn’t it?
The next morning with a metaphorical cloud hanging over me I went round to the yard, determined to be positive and tear a strip of the stupid yard manager who could not organise a simple slipway. I arrived. I sat down. I drank my coffee. I agreed entirely that it was all an act of God and nobody's fault. Had the yard boss been on a customer psychology course or what?
The situation was simply that the boat occupying the cradle needed a certain depth of water to float off the cradle and although the neap tide was low it should have been enough. High pressure and northerly winds had depressed the water level just enough to scupper the plan. However the tides were making again and there was no reason to doubt that it would float off at the next tide and my arrival was only delayed by one day. Of course my surveyor had to be cancelled and could he please come the next day? No he couldn’t but he would try to be there the day after that. I drove away with the sun shining down on me and thinking that this "square" business was not that bad really, just niggly little problems that a strong heart could cope with.
Day 1
The next morning with a decidedly un-metaphoprical black cloud hanging over me I drove once more to the yard to check that the cradle was empty. It was. Great no problem there then. On returning to the boat I busied myself with getting things ready for the ten minute trip down to the boat-yard. Clear the decks, check the engine, make ready fenders and warps. All was ok except for the remorselessly rising wind interspersed with hail showers. By lunch time all was ready and the wind was howling in the rigging, and little white horses were rolling down the river at me. "Jan Willem" is berthed alongside an old ammunition lighter, this makes rival and departure easier in many ways as we can treat it just like a pontoon and don't need to lay bow and stern anchors to secure us in out mud berth. The lighter of course does need substantial fore and aft moorings and these spread out at an angle from the stern. When the wind is light and the tide is high these lines lay comfortably on the creek bed and we can slide easily over them. When the tide is low and the wind is high they pull tight as bow strings despite the weights attached to them and make our sternward exit very difficult The normal method is simply to "spring off" using our bow line and make a sternboard out into the creek, through the moorings and plastic boats and then off down the river. As I may have mentioned earlier, the tides were low and the wind was high. The first attempt saw the lines catch around a lee-board causing the stern to swing back in again, neatly popping out a window in the lighter with the rubbing band. Oh dear! Luckily we are very good friends with the owners of the lighter and anyway, a piece of wood blowing off their boat in a previous storm had broken one of our windows so all "square" there then. Normally I would not have tried to get out of our berth in those circumstances but now the slipway was waiting and time and tide as they say waits for no one. I decided to put Pete the owner of the lighter in our 14ft wooden tender and using the 12hp outboard, use it as a tug to pull the stern out and hold it until we had gathered sternway. This trick worked and casting off from Pete we made our way safely across the creek and down towards the boatyard. To reach the slip I would have to make a tight right angled turn with a marina full off plastic boats hard on my lee and a gale of wind up my backside. Discretion being the better part of valour I carried on past the turning into clearer water and then turning through 180’ we could make the turn against the wind. This all went smoothly and thankfully now in much more sheltered waters we gently eased our way into the cradle. Twenty minutes later we were high and dry.
We scrambled down to ground level and immediately started scraping and pressure washing as sea water barnacles, muscles, slime and weed all come off much easier when still wet. Three hours later we were done in more ways than one. We were wet, cold, stinking of fish, but happy. Stage one was complete!
It was not until we cleaned and dried ourselves and made supper that we began to realise that although the boat was fair and "square" on the cradle, the cradle itself was on a mildly sloping slipway about 10" I would guess. This is not enough to cause serious problems. Just little ones like the sinks not draining properly, cupboard doors swinging open and fruit rolling off the table. It was while we were congratulating ourselves on our good work so far and how we had missed the torrential rain intermingled with hail that had resumed its downpour that a more serious problem came to light. I noticed that the cockpit was filling up with rain water. "What, no drains?" I hear you cry. Of course drains, thumping great "north Atlantic winter" size drains, but the drains are at the forward end of the cockpit which under normal circumstances is the lower end and now with the 10’ slope the water would reach the engine hatch long before it reached the drains. To make matters worse, much of the water falling on the coach roaf and thus onto the side decks was gushing aft, pouring out of the scuppers on the way but still a goodly amount was happily gurgling into the cockpit. Using a bucket I rapidly bailed it all out and scurried back inside. This of course set the scene for the rest of the evening and also after a particularly hard shower, again at 2 am! Didn’t I just love that!
Day 2
The first thing to do was to once again empty the cockpit and that done take stock of the situation. The weather was cold, overcast and with sporadic heavy hail showers. Taking the hand scrapers we set to and cleaned all those niggly little areas that the larger scrapers missed. It was dry under the hull and I took the opportunity to examine the bottom as best I could. Nearly 2/3 was already double plated and as usual the Dutch yards had done an excellent job. There was no sign of pitting or corrosion anywhere and although of course the metal behind the plate might be rotten the visible areas were good. The remaining 1/3 of the hull was the original iron riveted plates and it was these that I looked at most closely. I was quite prepared to plate these if necessary. The last full out of the water survey was done (shock-horror) 9 years ago although I have examined the ship as best I can between tides on a regular basis. That previous survey showed a general thickness of between 4.5 and 6 mm on the original plates. Close examination showed no obvious horrors although I would have to wait for the surveyor and his ultra sonic machine to be certain. On the sides and ends of the ship there was a good deal of zinc deposited from the anodes that I religiously replace every other year. The large ones by the propeller last two years and so do the similar sized ones on the side of the engine bay and hull. On the stempost I use two of the smaller round anodes and these only last a year. Degradation of the anodes show that they are working as they are meant to. With a mixture of metals, an inboard engine, a 12v electrical system, and a generator powered 240v system, coupled with a salt water environment, there are bound to be some stray currents and localised galvanic cells. Having said that, I am fairly convinced that the bow anodes are in fact happily plating Petes lighter next door!
By the time that I had finished my examination it was raining hard again, but after a short break for coffee the sun peeped through again and in the afternoon I was able to touch up a few areas of paintwork and apply a good coat of creosote to the lee boards and rudder. By the evening it was pouring with rain again and once more the ritual of baling out the cockpit at regular intervals was called for.
Day 3
I didn’t get up to bail during the night and in the morning the water level was ominously close to the lip of the engine room hatch. It was of course still raining on and off and I couldn’t face actually looking into the engine bay to check for water. Either it was there or it wasn’t. I fiddled about between the showers doing odd jobs and waiting for the surveyor. At 11am I rang him and he said he was up to his neck in writing reports but he would try to come round in the afternoon. The weather cheered up and I managed to get some more paint onto the hull. The surveyor never arrived.
By the evening my demeanour was decidedly gloomy. Our original plan had seen us being slipped on Monday, surveyed on Tuesday, painted and or plated on Wednesday and Thursday and then back in the water on Friday to enjoy the rest of my two week holiday gently sailing around our patch of Cornwall. Now it was Thursday already and we had not even been surveyed. It took Margreet to break me out of my gloom and tell me to get on the phone and tell that spaced out hippy friend of a surveyor of yours that he was to be ready to start work at 9 o clock the next morning. In the event I got a promise of an 8.30 start. It didn’t even rain that night. Things were looking up.
Day 4
8.30 of course came and went but 8.45 saw the surveyor finally arrive and at the same time my painting partner Nathan turned up to help me with the job of tarring the bottom as the surveyor gave it the all clear. He quickly found that the existing areas of doubling were sound and so we were at last able to make a good start on tarring.
A few words on barge bottoms and tar. On the continent and in this country it is traditional to use tar on the bottom of barges. Most barges live in fresh water and are fairly easily pulled out of the water for a wash down. In Holland it is possible to get hauled out on a cradle, lifted out by crane, dry-docked, hauled out sideways onto chocks and as was more common in the past when barges were not used so much for leisure (cant think of the word) that is to say pulled over onto their side in able to clean and paint the bottom. Barges used in salt water and kept in the coastal regions of Britain are in a different environment to that originally planned for them. Of course the whole of the Zuiderzee (now the Ijsselmeer) was salt water up to the middle of this century and so was a greater part of the Schelde region. The old skippers figured that any sea growth accumulated from salt water would drop of and die in fresh water when the barge returned to the canals. Similarly, fresh water weed would suffer a similar fate in salt water. So back to our permanent salt water environment. When we first brought "Jan Willem" to England he had just been freshly tarred in Holland. By the time we arrived in Cornwall some marine growth had taken hold but nothing much. The end of that year did see some serious scraping however. Was perhaps anti=fouling paint the answer. Any "green" conditions aside I have always been concerned about the potential harmful effects of copper or tin based paints in the galvanic cocktail that I spoke of earlier. For the first few years I persevered with a lot of heavy scraping and scrubbing followed by coats of that lovely black tar. It looks good, it is easy to apply, goes "off" quickly, sticks to anything (and everything) and that smell. I reckon if it was sold in small quantities in clubs it would quickly become illegal! Three years ago I tried an experiment. I dried out high up on a sandy beach and scrubbed the hull right down. Then a coat of a plastic based barrier paint was applied followed by anti fouling paint. This lasted effectively for two years and showed no signs of doing any damage to the hull or fittings. On examination on the slipway this year, little of the anti fouling was left except the colour, and this was obviously not scaring off the barnacles, the flat parts of the bottom were covered in barnacles and muscles but under these there was a good thickness of black tar still in place. So, this years experiment is to have a minimum of three layers of International brand "Intertuf" bituminous black tar on the whole of the underwater area and up to the rubbing band. The whole of the flat part of the bottom and also the propeller brace and skeg will be anti fouled with two coats of International commercial anti fouling. The sides and bilge areas will be left as tar covered as these are easy to scrape off between tides on a sandy beach. How this all stands up to time is as yet unknown but I will monitor it and report back.
Meanwhile back at Day 4
The surveyor to my surprise and relief found a general thickness of 4.5 to 6 mm of thickness on all the original remaining plates. No more degradation had taken place in the last 9 years. He did however find substantial areas of thin metal on the bottom of the stempost where it widens out into the (cant think of the word) mostly found on ex sailing barges as it helps them to point higher to windward. We decided to replate this whole section. In some of the pits the metal was down to less than 2mm and since this is a hollow box section leading directly into the interior this was way too thin. Another unpleasant surprise was that an area about six inches wide and running the whole length of the ships side on both sides was showing signs of de lamination in the wrought iron plates. We examined very closely and finally decided that a doubler was needed from one end to the other and on both sides. This area showed all the typical signs of water line degradation found on virtually every metal ship, but it was a couple of inches above water level. The only logical explanation here is that the present unladen waterline of "Jan Willem" is lower than that seen at some time in the past. Another possibility is that the hull may well have been sunk and abandoned at some time. "Jan Willem" is well over 100 years old and a history of that length must have many untold tales.
The surveyor left. The welder arrived to look at the job. We coated everything including ourselves in tar and giggled insanely on the fumes. It started to rain again.
Day 5
Amazingly the day started dry and even more amazing stayed dry all day. I arranged with the yard boss to remain on the cradle for another week. There goes my holiday I thought. Off course it was the weekend and welders don't work at week ends so it was down to Nathan and myself to spray each other with tar and have a thoroughly good time. By mid afternoon we had given the whole hull its second coat and it was looking good.
Day 6
Sunday, lovely weather but of course no work was done.
Day 7
After a disturbed night of howling wind and pounding hail we once again were back into bailing out the cockpit. By 9am Nathan arrived closely followed by the welders who proceeded to moan continuously about the amounts of black tar they had to grind away before welding could begin. In fairness it must be said that this was old tar. We had in fact retained enough sense to not coat those areas that were to be plated. We managed to get a third and final coat of tar on the underwater areas and the welders worked on in rapidly deteriorating conditions risking drowning and electrocution to get the first plates tacked into place.
Day 8
Appaling weather. The forecast was for heavy rain and rapidly increasing wind of severe gale 9. I rang Nathan to tell him not to bother, we would not be painting in that weather. The welders didn’t turn up but I really never expected them to. Margreet and myself sat down, drank coffee and declared how lucky we were to be safe on the cradle, after all we could have been back in the water and running from a force 9 south westerly, or just as bad be at work, outside in the driving rain and wind. Yes we were truly lucky people. After this bout of morale boosting we worked out our plan "b" if yet another week went by and we were not finished. The slip was clear to May 1st so we could stay for another week but I would have to go back to work and Margreet would have to supervise the welders including the post of fire watcher. Margreet is well up to tasks such as these and so I proposed to sit down and write an account of our slip-way antics (which I am doing now) and Margreet went shopping. Before I commenced to sit down at my lap top pc however I rigged up an electric bilge pump in the corner of the cockpit. Now all I have to do is flick a switch occasionally and the cockpit empties without fuss or bother. Why didn't I think of that sooner?
Oh by the way, the surveyors invoice arrived.
Day 9
We awoke to strong winds and threatening skies. (Nothing new there then) Nathan and I anti fouled all the bottom of the ship and those parts of the sides that the now ceaselessly falling rain was not blowing against. The welders arrived and grumbled about the weather, the rain, the tar and why the kettle was not yet on. I satisfied there caffeine cravings and even rigged up a couple of tarpaulins to keep the little dears dry. Naturally enough by the time the covers were rigged it stopped raining. The sun broke through and the wind dried everything off. I ventured into the engine bay to bale out all the water that had accumulated in the hidden recesses. Because of the angle that we were at the engine bay bilge pump was in the highest and driest part of the bay and therefore of no use at all. The portable electric pump was of course now rigged up in the cockpit so it was down to an aching back and knees plus a bailer a bucket and a sponge. All this time I was constantly venturing back into the boat to see if the welders had managed to set it alight yet. All was well apart from the thick fumes and a smell like a bad day at the flat roofing works as the tar on the inside of the plates burnt off. I had just returned from one of these trips and got myself wedged into the engine bay again when JT the boss called me. "Sooty’s found a hole,---- hang on, what's that?-----oh yes , now Davy’s found one as well." This of course was good news as it vindicated the surveyors negative vibes and confirmed that the work was actually necessary. Funny then that I was not overjoyed to hear it. I extracted myself from the engines embrace and went to have a look. The first hole was only a small one and easily patched with a blob of weld before grinding off ready for plating over. The other hole was bigger and situated right over a frame. We cleaned out the hole until good metal was well in evidence and I then creeped into the corner of Margreets clothes cupboard, moved a ton and a half of "useful" women's stuff and proceeded to chisel out a hole in the panelling in the area of where the hole should be. Amazingly when the wood was cut free and the rockwool insulation pulled clear I could see daylight, I had actually got the right spot. A small plate was cut to size and while I held it in place on the inside JT tacked it into place from the outside. The whole area was again filled with weld and then ground back. Things were looking up. The evening weather forecast was predictably dire.
Day 10
It once again bucketed down in the night and I was sent to do pump duties in the small hours. It was now Thursday of the second week. Four more days of my "holiday" and then back to work on Monday. The welders worked away all morning finishing off the starboard side by lunch time and grinding and preparing the port side for its new plates. I was happy to get a good thick coat of tar on the new doublers and even happier when it stayed dry and I managed to get a second coat on at tea time. I was exhausted, high on tar fumes and getting toothache.
Day 11
The toothache got worse during the night keeping me awake which was just as well as I had to frequently attend to the cockpit pump. At 5am I turned on the pump which promptly blew its fuse. Because it was the same fuse that controlled the after cabin where I was sitting all the lights went out. I fetched a torch and replaced the fuse. Turned on the pump and the fuse promptly blew again leaving me in darkness. Outside to inspect the pump, which I should have done in the first place and of course it was jammed with assorted detritus from the cockpit well. I cleared it replaced the fuse again and drained the cockpit. Margreet assured me that my tooth was all right and that it was the gum that was at fault. Probably scurvy she sniffed because I didn't eat enough fruit. Anyway she gave me some "tea-tree" lozenges from her homoeopathic cabinet and when I awoke again in daylight all the pain was gone, just a dull ache that disappeared as the morning wore on. After a good fruity breakfast of course! The day dawned dry and stayed that way. By midday the welders had finished and after a tearful farewell over coffee and biscuits (fruit for me) they made there leave. I promptly slapped on a coat of tar to the still hot metal and by the time I had finished it was almost dry. After a little bit of glossing I hit it with another coat. The yard boss asked me when I was going back in. I said Sunday as that would give me the possibility of more painting on Saturday if the weather was good. (some hope!)
Day12
Sunny and warm. I could hardly believe it. By 8am I was already busy with a second coat of anti fouling , followed by an overall coat of black tar to the remaining areas of hull side below the rubbing band. Now all areas had got at least three thick coats of tar on them and in places even more. The weather remained good and against all my previous expectations I managed to apply a nice coat of dark red gloss topcoat to the hull above the rubbing band. I was well satisfied. "You're not off your square yet "warned Margreet.
Day 13
Up at 5am pumping the cockpit. Is this all getting a bit monotonous? Rain like nothing on earth, even for Cornwall this was going some. I squelched about in the rain tidying up all the bits and pieces that had accumulated over the last two weeks. With a certain sense of satisfaction despite the rain I happily chucked all the dead rollers brushes and tins into the skip. At 1300hrs there was a rapping on the hull signifying that the yard boss was removing the wedges and shores prior to "Jan Willem" re-entering his natural environment. Margreet and myself donned our sodden oilies once more and splashed out into the cockpit. The re-entry went smoothly and soon our trusty DAF 474 was happily chuckling away. We carefully extracted ourselves from the now submerged cradle and reversed out into the river. Despite the monsoon weather we were all happy to be away and on an even keel after two weeks of living on a ski-slope. We gently chucked back to our mooring and made fast. As the rain died away and the sun fitfully shone through, Sidney our pet seagull landed on the tiller with a "where the hell have you been, food-now" sort of squawk. What the hell, it was good to be back.
A Ships Tail
The rudder on "Jan Willem" is a substantial piece of equipment, constructed from oak and measuring over 9ft from top to bottom, with the galvanized steel fittings and the internal metal dowels it weighs in at not far short of a ton. It needs to be strong, the forces on it, in all planes, when persuading all 40 tons of "Jan Willem" to change direction in varying conditions of wind and wave action, are, to say the least, considerable. I have had cause to write about this rudder on several occasions in the past. Some of you will be familiar with my subsequently successful efforts to cure the dreaded "clunk" in the night and how we fitted new gudgeons and pintles last year. You may also remember how I praised the collars fitted to the pintles to prevent them jumping out inadvertently. "Very seamanlike" I think I called them. I also described a piece of equipment called in Dutch a "roerlichter", literally a rudder-lifter, and mentioned my intention to make and fit one to "Jan Willem".
I did not get around to making the roerlichter and I did not fit new restraining collars to the new pintles. Why? Well let’s just say that along with a dozens of other tasks, they are still "on the list".
Where is all this heading?
Just read on.
This tale of a tail starts with "Jan Willem" anchored safely in Channels creek, at the mouth of the river Fal. I know the creek well and since it is a favourite anchorage and since it dries out for much of its area at low water springs, I have also built up a good knowledge of the bottom. The first 50 meters or so of it, the part that does not dry out, has a lot of kelp growing on it and I have seen many yachts drag their anchors here. Modern anchors don’t like seaweed very much, they are happier in sand mud and shingle. A fisherman’s anchor is fine however, as it penetrates the seaweed and gets a hold. After this weedy area the bottom is good soft, sticky, mud. It is excellent holding and most anchors are happy here provided the size suits the ship. This is where we mostly anchor, even at low tide there is usually enough water to get ashore in the dinghy. This is important, as it is from here that I can get to my work on the King Harry Ferry. We had been anchored in this spot for about a week I think and had not lifted the anchor to go sailing during that period. We has enjoyed several days of variable, light, winds and lovely Cornish sunshine. All was right with the world until-----CRUNCH!
"What the hell was that."
"Something’s hit us."
It was 2am and I rushed from my bed to the hatch to look outside. I looked out to see---nothing very much. Not only had nothing hit us, but seeing as we had only about one foot of water around us, nothing of any size could have got near us for at least an hour previously. The only thing was--- were we closer to the shore than we should have been?
I went outside and walked around the deck looking carefully all around. Then I jumped down into our ships’ boat that was tied alongside and peered around even more carefully. There really was nothing to see. Yes we were nearer the shore than we should have been and Yes there were some dark shapes that might be rocks under the water. I could do nothing until we floated again and then I would move us farther away from the shore. Secretly I was concerned that we might have sat on a boulder or rock and the CRUNCH might have been a plate buckling or a row of rivets letting go. In all honesty I didn’t think this was too likely, but at that time, in the cold and dark morning, your thoughts are always a little pessimistic. In the event we floated and it was obvious that the bilge was as dry as always. When I recovered the anchor I found that it was fouled by the chain. Usually, in any sort of half decent breeze, as the ship moves around the anchor, even if it subsequently lies at 180’ to its original position, the anchor will reset itself and nestle even deeper into the mud. In this case the light airs had allowed the ship to drift around the anchor without enough force being applied to reset it. The chain has taken a turn round one of the flukes and so it was acting as an anchor weight but not as an anchor. When the wind picked up a little from the west we had dragged quietly to the east. The mystery of how we came to be where we were was solved, but not the CRUNCH. I concluded that it must have been the dinghy getting hung up on the rubbing band and then dropping down with a CRUNCH.
Was I right? What do you think?
I went to work the next day and Margreet also went ashore. I don’t like leaving "Jan Willem" at anchor with nobody on board for too long, but my shift finished at 3pm and the weather was settled, although the forecast promised a south westerly gale for two days hence. Channels creek faces due south and so any wind over six or seven renders it untenable. At these times it is prudent to move farther up the river, or to move deeper into the creek itself, where it is possible to pull right up onto the beach and after dropping a stern anchor, tie up to the overhanging trees. This is a beautiful magical spot, totally sheltered from all wind except easterlies, the only snag being that you only float for two or three hours either side of high water. A small price to pay for a gorgeous location. I had decided to slide in to this spot until the gale passed and so it was with some relief that I arrived back at the creek at 3-15 pm ready to move "Jan Willem". I could see him afloat as I moved down through the trees to pick up my dinghy and row back out to him. On an impulse, I carried on walking around the head of the creek to check out the beach where I intended beaching him. I like to do this, as it is then possible to clear away any odd rocks or branches and make sure of a good safe berth. I checked that all was ok and made my way back towards my dinghy. I looked out towards "Jan Willem". Something was not quite right, but I could not place it. I hurried along the path and when I next got a good look I could see that the tiller was at a funny angle. Now I was really hurrying, as I reached the dinghy and leapt into it I could here a groaning noise from across the water. I rowed as fast as I could towards our ship and could now see that the rudder had actually fallen clear of the stern of "Jan Willem" and it was just the handgrip on the end of the tiller, caught against the stem of our wind charger, that was preventing it from dropping off all together. I reached our ship and frantically throwing the dinghy painter into the ships’ boat moored alongside, I leapt up into the cockpit. I grabbed the first rope that came to hand, in this case the leeboard halyard and managed to take a turn round the tiller just as the wind generator gave up the ghost and toppled overboard, followed by the tiller and rudder. The wind generator was quickly swallowed by the sea, but I still had tenuous link to the rudder. I hauled on the line that was still in my hand and made it fast. The heavy rudder made from dense oak was trying to follow the wind generator to the bottom of the creek, only the buoyancy of the tiller and the piece of rope was preventing it from achieving its’ aim. I had to think and act fast or things would become truly desperate.
I quickly found another length of rope and clambered back into the dinghy, the head of the rudder, where it was attached to the tiller, was within reach and I managed to get the second rope attached to this. Typically the wind was picking up and as the ship swung around the anchor, it would first drag the rudder with it and then try to run over it. With some difficulty I dragged it alongside the leeboard and secured it to the hook from the running backstay. By heaving on the backstay tackle I got the rudder head out of the water, with the tiller banging along the side of the hull. In our set-up, the tiller sits on a tenon in the rudder head, secured by a bolt and a strap on the end, this long bolt was now mangled and twisted so I took a hacksaw and cut it away completely. Now I could heave the tiller itself on board and put it out of harms way. The situation was at least, for the time being, marginally under control. Clearly the rudder could not stay were it was, as it would undoubtedly be damaged when we next settled on the bottom. Re-fitting it was, for the moment, out of the question, so I had to find a way of lifting it clear of the water. I experimented with the backstay tackle and found I could begin to lift it, but as more of it was lifted clear, the heavier it got. (relatively speaking) Eventually, using both backstay tackles, the topping lift and a handy-billy (you mean you don’t have one?) three quarters of the rudder was out of the water and lashed firmly in place.
Question one. What on earth had happened?
Question two. What do we do now?
Here is what had occurred. During that fateful night we had settled with the rudder foot on a rock, as the weight of the ship was taken up, the retaining pin that I had fitted instead of a collar had given up the unequal fight and snapped. This was the CRUNCH in the night. Due to the length of the pintles the rudder has lifted but not enough to drop off. In the morning when we re floated nothing would appear out of order. However, after we had moved away from the shore, the deeper, softer mud had allowed the ship to settle into the mud and the rudder to simply lift out of its gudgeons.
So, what to do next. Re-fit the rudder obviously, but how and what about the imminent gale? We could not move without a rudder. Heroic images of lashing together doors, planks and barge poles to make a jury rig looked a little silly in reality. Our faithful ships’ boat could easily tow us, but not accurately or safely in the fresh breeze that was already blowing. I reckoned that we had sufficient equipment on board to re-fit it, but not enough muscles. A phone call to Pete, who had previously fabricated the rudder fittings, explained the situation, he and Lyn would come by the next day for a spot of lunch and at the same time his muscles would come in handy. I tidied up the ship, made sure we were anchored safely and made plans. When she returned home, Margreet was not impressed. I had forgotten about the wind charger, but she was firm. "At low water we will go out in the dinghy and find it." We have had Charlie the Charger for almost 15 years now and he has always been faithful to us, in fair and often foul weather. Apart from the cost of a new one, we owed it to him to at least try to find him. Low water was at about one am. So, ringggg went the alarm clock, grunttttt went David and up we got. It was somewhat surreal, we paddled about in the dinghy, prodding with a boathook and peering with a torch, all in as much silence as we could. There were several other yachts anchored in the creek and at night every sound carries. I had visions of curtains being gently pulled back, muffled VHF calls to the coastguard and the next thing would be a blinding searchlight from the drugs squad, with SWAT teams descending from a helicopter and myself being told to "spread em." Thankfully this did not occur and miraculously, just as we were giving up, I spotted one of Charlie’s blades sticking out of the water. Joyfully I dragged him on board. (He has now been dried out and renovated) The next day I finished work at three and picked Pete and Lyn up at three thirty. Pete had brought a chain pulley with him, very useful! We looked at the problem and Petes engineers’ brain came up with a myriad of ideas, including sidling up to a moored freighter and using their cargo hoist to do the job. We finally agreed on my plan of using the mast lowering legs as an "A" frame, lashed to the after deck and braced and manipulated by the topping lift. The chain pulley would do the rest. After a bit of trial and error we got the thing rigged up and dragged the rudder back around to the stern. All was connected up and with a little shoving and pulling we had it almost in position. A quick check that all the gudgeon bearing sleeves were in place and smooth as silk the rudder lowered back into place. We quickly disassembled our jury rig, re-fitted the tiller, hoisted the anchor and moved farther into the creek, to the bolt hole I had selected earlier. A couple of lines to the trees, a stern anchor and we all could breath a sigh of relief.
Later that night.
CRUNCH
"Oh my God". I knew what that noise was before I reached the deck. Sure enough, the rudder was once again out of its gudgeons, despite a comprehensive lashing that I had put there to restrain it. There was nothing I could do in the middle of the night except lash it in place, at least it was still upright and in more or less the correct place. I had to work again the next day and we were safe and secure in our little bay, so the rudder would have to be a problem for another day. Two days later, on my day off, long suffering Pete once again succumbed to the offer of lunch and working together we had the rudder back in place in less than an hour. We lashed it, wedged it and talked sternly to it. The securing pin was replaced with a thicker stainless one that I had knocking about. The rudder stayed in place, the gale came through and we sat smugly in our idyllic hidey hole. On my next day off, Margreet and myself were cleaning the bottom of the ship and tidying up the anti fouling. All went smoothly and we stood back to take some pictures and admire our handiwork. As I watched, I saw the tiller lean sideways and the rudder pop off its fittings, no noise, no fuss, just stunned disbelief. This was becoming monotonous. I leapt back onboard and wedged, lashed and secured the rudder as best I could. The new stainless retaining pin had bent and snapped. I didn’t have the courage to call Pete again. That night the wind went round to the east. Our hidey hole became totally exposed. The wind howled, in hitting "Jan Willem" broadside, I put out more warps and tightened up the stern anchor. I stood there in the rain at two in the morning watching as the stern anchor dragged and we slowly slewed round. When we dried out we sat at an acute angle on the beach and living inside was interesting to say the least. I knew I would have to either leave that spot or re-set the stern anchor. To leave would mean a night departure amid a tangle of our own bow and stern lines and was not really on. Three in the morning saw me once again in the driving wind and rain, in the ships’ boat trying to retrieve and re-lay the anchor. This was achieved and in spite of the conditions I bizarrely quite enjoyed myself. However my life was becoming a blend of work, sleep, work, try to sleep, get up again, what day is it? where/who am I? Then fate took a turn for the better. I came home from work and looked at the rudder, the way it was wedged and lashed and the way it was currently sitting looked, well, promising. "I think we have a fifty/fifty chance of pulling of something rather cunning," I told Margreet. We levered, cajoled, bullied and threatened and in surprisingly little time the rudder had dropped back into place without the need for either a gantry or Pete’s muscles. We were thrilled, but, the tide was now dropping again and I could not bear the thought of a repeat performance. This time I did the lashing and wedging with grim determination. Talk about overkill. Now if it dropped off, it would take the back end of the ship with it! It stayed put.
I worked until nine thirty on Friday evening and Saturday was my day off, the tide was right to depart at five in the morning, just at first light. Sleep, who needs it? At four thirty I crawled out of my bunk to make a pot of tea and peered out the hatchway. It was just getting light, the only problem was a thick impenetrable fog. The weather was actually settled and fine, I knew the day would turn out hot and the fog would burn off, but the tide wouldn’t wait for that. I knew where I was and where I was going. What I didn’t really know was if there were any anchored boats in my way. I rather suspected there would be. The morning looked, felt and smelled glorious, one of those days when you feel so good to be living on board your own boat . There was only the slightest of airs and the fog coiled and shifted, revealing a glimpse of the shore for a moment and then obscuring it again. I jumped into the dinghy and pulled myself along the bow line to the tree it was attached to. I released it and repeated the process for the others. Climbing back on board I retrieved and coiled the lines and transferred the stern anchor warp to the bow. We gently swung around and out into our little bay. "Jan Willem’s" DAF 475 purred into life, shattering the stillness and extracting a disgusted Crawww! from an unseen heron. I had already removed the lashings etc. from the rudder and so I retrieved the anchor and very slowly motored out of the bay, guided mainly by the breeze on my face and the ripples on the water. We gingerly carried on until an opportune swirl of the fog revealed exactly where we were and also the various anchored boats that we had luckily avoided. Yes, I know that as a ship underway we should have sounded our horn, one prolonged blast every two minutes, but I don’t think that would have gone down too well at that time of the morning in a popular anchorage! With some relief I once again deployed the main anchor and shut down the engine. As the sun rose on another perfect Celtic Fringe day, I happily worked in the cockpit and built a substantial rudder block out of iroko, that once screwed into place would substantially and physically prevent the rudder from misbehaving.
From then on the summer was all plain sailing, apart from.....but then that is another story!
Just a thought
If you are thinking of going to sea or crossing the channel with a tjalk or aak that has a sternpost hung rudder, have a look and see what exactly retains it, you may be surprised. Could you re-fit it in mid channel? No? hmmmm. Worth a thought.
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