Plans & Dreams Vol. i

23 Ready-to-Build Boat designs

by Paul Gartside

with Essays & adVicE from Water Craft

Copyright © 2014 Paul Gartside Ltd.

All rights reserved. Except for use in review, no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without written permission from the publisher. Permission requests should be addressed to the publisher at the address below:

Paul Gartside Ltd.

PO Box 1575, Shelburne, Nova Scotia, Canada B0T 1W0

www.gartsideboats.com

Book design and layout by Rami Schandall / Visual Creative.

Proofreading by Stuart Ross.

Printed in Canada by Friesens Corporation.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Gartside, Paul.

Plans & dreams. Vol. 1, 23 ready-to-build boat designs / by Paul Gartside ; with essays and advice from Water Craft. -- 1st edition.

217 pages 22.86 cm x 30.1625 cm

Includes index.

ISBN 978-0-9938994-0-9

1. Boats and boating--Design and construction. 2. Boatbuilding--Amateurs’ manuals. I. Title. II. Title: Plans and dreams. Vol. 1, 23 ready-to-build boat designs. III. Title: 23 ready-to-build boat designs. IV. Title: Twenty-three ready-to-build boat designs. V. Title: Water craft.

VM321.G37 2014 623.82’02 QBI14-600149

All chapters have appeared in Water Craft Magazine.

First edition: November 2014.

v

Table of Contents

Introduction 1

Chapter 1. 16 ft. Sloop ‘Basher’ #161 5

Chapter 2. 12 ft. Double-Ended Rowboat #126 13

Chapter 3. 18 ft. Workboat #167 20

Chapter 4. 6 m Centreboard Lugger #166 28

Chapter 5. 12 ft. Outboard Skiff #169 38

Chapter 6. 18 ft. Centreboard Cutter #93 47

Chapter 7. 9 ft. Plywood Pram #172 56

Chapter 8. 16 ft. Double-Ended Sloop #165 61

Chapter 9. 13 ft. Double-Ended Motor Launch ‘Loopen’ #178 71

Chapter 10. 15 ft. Shelburne Picnic Dory #175 79

Chapter 11. 10 ft. Sailing Pram ‘Spitfire’ #177 88

Chapter 12. 17 ft. Coastal Rowing Boat #179 96

Chapter 13. 14 ft. Flat-Bottomed Outboard Skiff #180 105

Chapter 14. 18 ft. Double-Ended Cutter ‘Heathen’ #181 112

Chapter 15. 15 ft. River Fal Punt #31 122

Chapter 16. 5.5 m Gentleman’s Launch #183 131

Chapter 17. 19 ft. Double-Ended Day Sailer ‘Sjogin III’ #184 140

Chapter 18. 14 ft. Double-Ended Skiff ‘Dispatch’ #96 150

Chapter 19. 20 ft. Steam Canoe #185 158

Chapter 20. 12 ft. Catboat ‘CFA’ Design #186 167

Chapter 21. 17 ft. Outboard Skiff ‘Boson’ #190 176

Chapter 22. 5.2 m Centreboard Yawl #191 184

Chapter 23. 26 ft. Shoal Draft Cutter #193 194

Chapter 24. Mast Ironwork #101A 204

Index 215

1

The plans and essays contained in this volume first appeared in the magazine Water Craft, published by my old friend Pete Greenfield from his offices in the village of Gweek at the headwaters of the lovely Helford estuary in Cornwall on the southwest coast of England. Though Canada has been my home for the past thirty years, that is a part of the world that will always be important to me and one I revisit from time to time in these essays.

The genesis of the series was a pair of profound shocks that arrived almost simultaneously some five years ago. The first, alluded to in the opening essay, was the economic collapse of 2008 that hit the boatbuilding industry particularly hard and caused many of us to question whether the days of custom boatbuilding were gone for good.

The second, and for me the larger jolt, though one of far more welcome character, was the arrival of my daughter Nettie, a beam of sunshine amid the gathering financial clouds. Joyful as this news was, it became immediately clear that my established work patterns were now to be turned upside down; the long days in the boat shop were gone, if not for good, then at least for the foreseeable future, regardless of whether there were orders to be had. I needed to find productive activity that could be maintained at home within a schedule of nap times, feedings and large chunks of together time.

As it turned out, the world did not end either for bankers or boatbuilders, despite the dire predictions. In the years since, the cycles of the economy and of life have continued to move in their predictable arcs. As the economy staggers to its feet, boats are being built again, and to my astonishment, on weekday mornings I watch a little girl in pigtails climb aboard the school bus with her backpack and books leaving me a good five, sometimes even six, straight hours of shop time—snow days excepted.

The design series with Water Craft continues too, having proved more fun than I could have anticipated. If building a boat is one of the most enjoyable things we get to do in this life, then building them on paper is perhaps the next best thing. It has advantages too; not only is it far less costly but we can cover a lot more ground, working through the intricacies of layout and construction, then sailing them off on imaginary voyages before moving on to the next one. Even though we might never get to try them for real, in many ways the planning is the most enjoyable part. As my friend and fellow compulsive boatbuilder Bill Hayward likes to say, “It’s all about the dream.”

Paul Gartside, April 2013 Shelburne, Nova Scotia

IntroductIon

17 ft. Coastal Rowing Boat

96

Length Overall 17 ft. 0 in. (5.18 m)

Beam 4 ft. 9in. (1.44 m)

Depth Amidships 1 ft. 4 in. (0.40 m)

Weight 150 lb. (68 kg)

This chapter’s plan comes in response to a request for more performance rowing boats—a stretch of the imaginary waters I am always happy to linger upon. This one is for the coastal rowers, a wonderfully evocative term that seems to have come into vogue in the U.K. lately. It is much more apt than the label “beach cruiser,” which we use in North America. Coastal rowing has a competitive element, I believe, but for me the interest in boats of this type lies in the potential they offer for adventure at minimal cost. Regardless, we are after the same thing: a light, fast, seaworthy rowing skiff that can be built without too much expense.

There is a purity to boating of this kind that I find very appealing. No engines or electrics, no marinas or yacht clubs. Where we are headed there is none of that, nor any need for it. Beyond the boat itself, a four-season tent, a few weeks’ supplies and a stretch of more or less wilderness coastline are the only requirements.

The kayakers believe they own this territory, and with some justification, I suppose. Still, to my mind, a light skiff is the superior vehicle. Greater carrying capacity equates to greater range. The ability to carry sail does the same by raising average speed. Comfort is greater; few who have spent all day wedged into a kayak will argue with that. (Nor is there much of a windbreak to be had by turning a kayak on its side.) The negatives are a heavier boat that’s less portable. That is a trade-off for sure, but one

that can be ameliorated to some extent with a little forward planning.

What can we do with a boat like this? The best coastal voyaging to be had in this hemisphere lies north rather than south. Partly, this is because the further south one goes, the more desirable waterfront has become, and the more affluent and, inevitably, the more restricted. It’s a depressing progression—the gradual preemption of the shoreline by the wealthy—but I doubt it will end any time soon. In some parts of Canada and the United States, marine trail systems have been developed with designated camp sites in an attempt to preserve access to our shorelines. While that is to be applauded, it is a far cry from the real thing. To find that we must get beyond the end of the road.

In the British Isles, I should think, the west coast of Scotland and Ireland offer the best prospects. When I lived on the west coast of Canada, we looked to northern British Columbia and Alaska. Alaska, in particular, held the greatest fascination and romance; there are few places along that vast coastline with any road access at all. Much of it remains the way the world was supposed to be.

Now I live on the east coast of the same continent, and while life is more complicated these days and there are times I wonder if I will ever get further than the islands on the other side of the harbour, I do have in my possession a roll of charts of the Labrador coast. I can tell you exactly where the road ends on this side of the continent, but what

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lies beyond it I have no idea. There is much amusement to be found in speculating, however—in scrutinizing those charts, stepping off imaginary daily runs, pondering the open crossings. How long would one need to see it all? It’s a pleasure very much akin to studying boat plans, a delightful distraction from the everyday…and, of course, if we stir the two together we have the most potent daydreaming cocktail of all.

I remember an occasion on the Yukon River some years ago. We had met a pair of young Swedish kayakers some days earlier, heading in the same direction as us, but now we weren’t sure whether they were ahead or behind. One day we asked after them in one of the villages we passed. “Oh yeah, they were through here,” the man in the store replied. “Said they were going to the Bering Sea.” Then he paused and added, “Kinda rolled right off their tongue.” I bet it did. Just imagine those two at home in Sweden poring over the maps, tracing their route, sounding out the exotic names, their friends all the while assuring them it would end in cannibalism on an ice floe. Everything they read as they gathered their gear and saved for the airfare would have added to the delicious tension. How could they reveal their destination without the excitement of those two words shining through? I’m sure it still does today, wherever they are. That’s the magic we are in pursuit of here.

Dragging ourselves back to the task at hand, we must consider the requirements for minimum resistance in a low-speed powerboat, which is what a rowing boat is. The formula is simple, but contains conflicts that demand compromise. For maximum speed with a fixed horsepower (about 0.25 BHP sustained), we need the maximum length and the minimum weight, waterline beam and wetted surface. To that we must add the proper fore and aft distribution of volume for the chosen speed (4 knots tops). Other practical requirements are beam on the rowlocks of about 54" and a hull depth of about 16". Ergonomically, that just seems to work best and gives enough free-board for safety. Clearly length and weight are in conflict, and there is manoeuvrability to consider too. For a single rower, my sense is 15 ft. to 16 ft. overall is optimum; for two, 17 ft. to 19 ft. is about right.

I’m going with 17 ft. for this one, in hopes it will work well for either option. It may be a little more boat than needed for a single rower; we’ll have to build it to find out.

A semicircular section captures the required volume with the least surface in contact with the water; that’s the logic behind the gull-wing section. It must be a fine double-ender, with the right distribution of volume to match our speed, but beyond that we have an entirely free hand.

This will be a tender boat. Don’t say you haven’t been warned. But that’s what we want out in the swells. Too much stability gives the boat a quick motion that makes it hard to keep the oars in the water.

This 16 ft. double-ender is a predecessor of Design #179 and gives an idea of the character and potential of these fast, light skiffs. Photo credit: Paul Gartside.

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Everything is a lot smoother in an easy-rolling boat. Loaded, it won’t be nearly as tender as it looks, and the reserve in the flared topsides ensures there is no danger of capsize even with a big downwind rig.

The boat should be built as light as is humanly possible. Nothing brings home the link between weight and resistance like providing the power to overcome it oneself. Anything we can do to remove weight from the structure and the gear will be beneficial. Don’t believe that bunkum about the virtue of momentum: there will be more than enough by the time we’re done packing. The lightest hull would probably be two layers of red cedar on opposite diagonals, finishing about a 1/4" total, and I almost drew it that way. However, I do want this to be quick and simple to build. Even a little on the quick and dirty side is okay for a project like this. We mustn’t be afraid to use it. Strip and glass in the fashion of the canoe builders is a good fit here.

The ideal material for the strip planking is western red cedar, but any light softwood will do. Construction-yard spruce or pine is what I’d use here. I’ve shown a six-ounce glass cloth for the sheathing inside and out, to hold it all together. There is a good case to be made for using Dynel—it’s both lighter and stands abrasion better—but it’s more costly.

Strips for planking will be 5/16" x ¾" to finish around 1/4" by the time they are faired both sides. We need plenty of temporary moulds to support material this light—I have them just 17" apart. Use solid lumber for these, not plywood or particle board; that always seems to me the hard way to do it, not to mention its being expensive. Pieced up as shown, port and starboard components cut out together on the band saw, the job goes along quickly enough. The finished mould is easily adjusted with a spokeshave if things aren’t quite fair on set-up (much easier than shaving edge-grain plywood).

To avoid problems with the girth differential fore and aft, it would be best to start the strip planking as shown on sheet 4, allowing them to run off at the sheer line. It doesn’t look very pretty, but it will avoid too much edge-bend creeping in before the keel is reached. Once it is sheathed and painted, no one will be the wiser. The sawn gunwale at the sheer makes this simple to do. Remember to expand that piece for length on the loft floor before slotting it into the moulds.

Once the hull is sheathed inside, an extra layer of 3/16" cedar is glued to the vulnerable bottom panel as shown. It might get an oil finish for best footing. After that, the three pairs of laminated frames are made up and fitted. The flotation tanks are light plywood, bonded in with thickened epoxy, the joints carefully taped.

The movable thwart arrangement allows the boat to be set up for either one or two rowers. The forward thwart is fixed, while the aft one has a choice of two positions. It means three sets of rowlock sockets and foot-brace mounts, but the flexibility it adds will make this a much more useful boat. (Three fixed thwarts is the alternative

Cleaning up the interior of a strip-built skiff prior to sheathing with glass cloth. A hook scraper is used to remove the glue, followed by a spokeshave to smooth and fair. Photo credit: Paul Gartside.

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arrangement, but this way we keep weight in the middle of the boat and, more important, maximize the beam at the rowlocks.)

Straight-blade oars are best. They’re simple to make, don’t catch as easily in rough conditions and, a crucial quality for our purposes, they can be stepped on in the scramble of beaching without the shedding of tears. The question of protection against wear at the rowlocks is a tricky one, and I don’t pretend to have the perfect answer. Grease of some kind (Vaseline, anhydrous lanoline, tallow—take your pick) is essential to reduce the friction of feathering the oars, but the tendency is for it to pick up sand that leads to wear. Hard leather is traditional, but I find it wears quickly once the sand gets to it. I’ve used a double wrap of vinyl floor covering with good success, though it’s none too nautical. A serving of nylon seine twine coated in epoxy is another good, low-friction method. Perhaps the hard, heat-shrink plastic the shell rowers use is the real answer.

Buttons or collars on the oars are more or less essential to reduce wrist load for prolonged rowing, and these should be adjustable to suit both position and rower. Small adjustments make a difference if we are going to be able to row all day, so it’s worth experimenting. A little lead poured into a hole in the oar handle as a counterweight can sometimes make a difference that’s felt at the end of the day.

Of course, the best way of reducing rowing fatigue is to use the sail, and I’ve given this one a generous spread. It will be tacked to the windward gunwale and boomed out with an oar, the handle slipped into the sheet bowline, the blade wedged against the opposite gunwale. On a windy day it will go like a rocket (a good boat name, come to think of it). Don’t be tempted to add a board, unless you want to spoil a good boat.

Two final thoughts on manhandling boat and gear. We will be lucky to get this one under 150 lb. without load, which is getting into

hernia country if you are alone. The simple two-wheel dollies that the kayakers use is a piece of gear worth emulating. We have large air tanks fore and aft where the disassembled dolly components can be stowed. Just be sure the wheels are rated for the combined weight of boat and gear. For road transport, life is much simpler if the boat is on top rather than behind on a trailer. The trick will be to load it without a back strain. Sheet 2 shows a quick sketch of an idea that might work. I haven’t tried it, but the smiling stick figure seems confident enough.

If you build her, do let me know where she takes you. I’d love to hear. Who knows, perhaps one day we will run into each other on the shores of Ungava Bay. Rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it?

A simple downwind rig earns its keep when the wind is favourable. Photo credit: Barbara Burnside.

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lines plan

#17917 ft. Coastal Rowing Boat

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table of offsets

Plans & Dreams

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construction

#17917 ft. Coastal Rowing Boat

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building set-up

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downwind rig

#181

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18 ft. Double-Ended Cutter ‘Heathen’

Consider the winter of 878. As 877 ended, and the New Year turned, it seemed inevitable that Britain would fall to the Danes. They were the dominant sea power, having pillaged the coastline and raided into the interior for years. In the past decade they had been arriving in ever-larger numbers, intent, it seemed, on colonization. By the end of 877 they held north and east England and were pushing west across southern England, scattering the Saxons before them. The bookies’ odds that winter made dismal reading.

But such are the twists of fate and history that, by the end of May, the tide had turned completely. Alfred had rallied the tribes of Wessex and halted the Danish advance in the Wiltshire countryside. The aptly named Guthrum the Unlucky was holed up in the fortress of Chippenham, suing for peace and submitting to conversion to Christianity, poor fellow.

It is interesting to speculate that had not the Saxons been as deter-mined (or lucky), our shared heritage might look quite different. Not necessarily worse, but certainly different. With such thoughts in mind, this plan goes out to reader Wally Raithel, somewhere on the great southern continent, for his kind note and a shared interest in small-keel cutters. Although Wally’s tastes run more to the plumb-stem / transom-sterned models, I hope he’ll find a double-ender with

a Scandinavian flavour a worthwhile variation on the theme. But for the fates, our preconceived notions of what a boat should be might be quite different. We might all think a symmetrical double-ender the only proper shape—even Australians—though I admit that does seem a stretch.

The lines of this little boat carry motifs that go back at least 1,000 years: a full double-ended hull, the turn of the bilge halfway up the topsides, the curve of the stem reflected in the head of the sternpost (a vestige, surely, of the dragon heads of the Great Heathen Army) and, above it all, a big loose-footed gaff sail to send us bowling along in search of adventure and plunder. It’s an aesthetic that hangs together so well it has stood the test of the generations and endless imitation. Whatever else might be said of those pagan pirates, they were artistic buggers.

When it comes to matters of aesthetics, I’m very taken with the literary critic Elaine Scarry’s definition; it comes closest, I think, to capturing the true effect these things have on us. Paraphrasing (as one must who has ever tried to read her): “The eye sees and the hand is moved to replicate—over and over and over. That’s what beauty is.”

For several years in the 1960s, there was a small ship’s lifeboat lying on the mud of the Truro River that had very much that effect on me. It was about the size of Heathen, much smaller than the regular 26 ft.

Length on Deck 18 ft. 0 in. (5.49 m)

Length Waterline 16 ft. 6 in. (5.03 m)

Beam 7 ft. 4 in. (2.22 m)

Draft 3 ft. 6 in. (1.06 m)

Displacement 4,100 lb. (1864 kg)

Sail Area 262 sq. ft. (24.3 sq m)

Chapter 14

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ship’s boat. I would pass it on the walk home from school and never without feeling its tug, regardless of the state of the tide and the angle at which it lay. There was something about the symmetry of that hull and the nicely lined clinker planking that was very appealing. The thought of what one might do with such a hull was a much-needed tonic in those difficult days. For a while it had me scouring the govern-ment Small Craft Disposals in the back of the Exchange and Mart and pouring over John Lewis’s little book Small Craft Conversion. I count it a lucky escape that I never found one to bid on, for I have yet to meet anyone who has made a successful sailing conversion of a lifeboat hull. Still, in making these drawings I can feel its presence again. All it really needed was some hollow in the garboards, the draft to make it sail and the depth for a proper cabin. A berth, a stove, a bilge pump and some good ground tackle and we’d be long gone, the unpleasantness of school life a distant memory. Still works for me some days.

I’ve drawn this one for carvel planking, but clinker will work just as well. There is a whole sheet detailing the set-up options for steam-bent frames, which will be used in either case, and since this is a good example in which to look in detail at bent frames, we’ll jump in there.

There are two requirements for successful steam-bending of frames: the right material and the right technique. Wood species vary enormously in their willingness to bend when heated. In the temperate zones, the best bending qualities are found in the elms, ashes and oaks. Since non-durable species should be avoided in the hull structure of boats, that leaves oak as the only acceptable choice. English oak (quercus robur) will be used by builders in Europe, white oak (quercus alba) by those in North America. Avoid red oak (quercus ruba) in the New World: it lacks the rot resistance of white oak. Similarly, in Europe, turkey oak (quercus cerris) is a magnificent tree but the wood is of little value. For Wally, down under, I believe spotted gum is the species to use, but I’d defer to experienced builders in those parts.

As we have noted before in these essays, American oak is superior to English as a bending material by a long way. That alone accounts

for the differences in frame size and spacing between English and American construction rules. Lloyd’s rules from England give smaller, rectangular section frames at close spacing, while the American builder’s rules call for larger square-section frames at much wider spacing. It would be difficult, for example, to build to Herreshoff’s rules using English oak.

So the first thing is to be sure we are not trying to do the impossible and that our wood species was considered in the selection of frame scantlings. Next we must look for good bending stock. Clear, straight-grained material is essential and it should be air-dried…but not too much. For white oak, a moisture content of about 20% is as low as I’d like to see it. For English oak, the butts of young coppice-grown trees are best, having grown straight and fast for the light, and here a much higher moisture content is desirable; I’d like to feel the moisture in

Frame-bending day on a small sailboat. The set-up here is an example of option B on sheet 4, where frames are bent outside the ribbands. For the single-handed builder, this is much the simplest option. Photo credit: Paul Gartside.

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the sawdust as the frames are ripped out—half-green is okay by me. It will be a lot drier once it has been steamed and cooled; the process itself seems to drive much of the moisture out. Moisture is important because it conducts heat into the centre of the frame. It is the heat that does the work of softening the lignin in the cell walls and making the wood pliable. Dry wood is a great insulator and doesn’t allow the heat to get below the surface, so while the outside becomes cooked and brittle, the interior remains hard and stiff.

Our frames are rectangular in section, and in milling them we should aim to orient the grain as much as possible so that the annual rings lie at right angles to the direction of bend—in other words, make them parallel to the hull planking. They will bend better that way than the reverse. In a stack of slash-sawn boards, it will be impossible to get all framing stock cut this way, and that’s okay because it is really only

about half the frames that will be asked to make severe bends; the rest will go easily regardless of grain orientation.

Rip them out with as much extra length as possible and then set up a stop on the bench and plane the corners off. We want a good round or chamfer on the inside edges and just a couple of light plane strokes off the outer corners. Take great care to plane with the grain, so as not to leave any torn grain (which can start a splinter as the strain of bending comes on). Go through them and identify the best of the bunch. We’ll use those up first on the worst bends.

Before looking at bending technique, we should consider the set-up options. Sheet 4 shows the choices. On the right is the classic British set-up in which the keel is laid on stocks, the moulds mounted on top and the ribbands sprung around them, simulating as closely as

Method of bending frame heels.

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possible the run of the planking. The frames are then bent inside the ribbands. The advantages are that the hull doesn’t have to be turned over for fitting out, and it is easier to keep an eye on the appearance of crucial lines such as the sheer and the line of topside planking—at least in theory. In small workshops, it is often difficult to stand back far enough to get a good look.

On the left of sheet 4 is the alternative upside-down set-up in which the frames are bent outside the ribbands. To my mind, this has rather more advantages and would be my choice. Set-up is quicker and easier; the permanent stringers—beam shelf and bilge stringer—go in early and serve as ribbands for bending the frames. Framing is easier for single-handers, because right way up requires a helper inside the boat to work the frames down into position. The risk of leaving unsightly clamp marks in the hot frame is also reduced, as the clamps bear on the hidden outside surface. And, finally, fairing of the frames before planking is possible and lining out of planking much easier with no ribbands in the way.

Either way we decide to do it, it’s time to start bending frames. We’ll begin amidships and work aft, alternating port and starboard to keep stresses even. To avoid overloading the ribbands, I would bend every other frame, then come back and fill in. The tricky part on a hull like this is to get the tight curve in the frame heels down at the garboard, where it is hard to get leverage. It can be quite a struggle to make that tight turn, and many is the boat that bears the scars of the fight below its floorboards, particularly aft in the tuck.

The trick is to pre-bend the frame heels on a shoe as they come out of the steam box. There is a sketch that illustrates this on sheet 4. The frame will straighten again as it comes off the shoe, but the memory will remain and it will pull in easily to a fair curve when it is clamped on the boat. Depending on where the tightest bend radius is, it may be necessary to lop off the last few inches of the frame on the way to the boat.

Frame heels are boxed into the keel and backbone members, and these

boxes should be cut before framing starts. The frames will swell in the steam box and won’t fit, but that’s okay, we’ll just let them sit in the plank rabbet for now and come back and fit them when they are cold. They want to be a good tight fit, bedded in paint and screw-fastened. I once saw a Scots-built Six Metre in which the frame heels were boxed in with a half dovetail for extra strength. With our ballast ratio, that’s entirely unnecessary, though just for the sake of walking with the gods it might be fun to try it.

If breakages occur, as they will from time to time, just cut off the broken end and use the frame up on the easier bends in the forward half of the boat. It only counts as a breakage if the frame can’t be used. As we work away from the middle of the boat, the frames will have to be twisted to bear properly on the ribbands. A good way to make them lie naturally to the bevel is to stretch the longest edge before clamping onto the boat. So, going aft, it will be the forward edge of the frame that needs stretching; do this by working the hot frame as it comes out of the box, bending it by hand or over your knee so that it is curved in the fore and aft direction. A variation on this that works well sometimes is to deliberately saw a curve into some of the framing stock. Very often the butt of oaks will have a natural sweep that can be made use of.

We’ll have to leave it there for now…the workshop a haze of steam and blue woodsmoke. The great thing about bent frames is that they are quick to do; a couple of days of steaming will have them all bent, then another couple fitting and fairing and we will be on to planking.

Ahead of us, the spur that keeps things moving, is the prospect of that first sail along the coast, foot on tiller, the big topsail pulling like a mule, a copy of The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for entertainment. And that’s about as pleasant an image as I can conjure for you from the confines of the office on a hot August afternoon.

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lines plan

#18118 ft. Double-Ended Cutter ‘Heathen’

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table of offsets

Plans & Dreams

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construction

#18118 ft. Double-Ended Cutter ‘Heathen’

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building set-up

Plans & Dreams

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general arrangement

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sail plan