Ashton Boatman

I originally posted this in 2012, but it's still valid. Don't just sit there gongoogling, come and help. Even if you live a long way away there's stuff you can do.

More volunteers needed.

I've just been writing something for the WCBS committee about how we can develop online sales. At the moment, like most charity shops, we send a lot of stuff to the tip. You simply can't run a viable shop by keeping everything, and yet almost everything has a potential buyer somewhere. I've been experimenting with selling items thrown out by the shop on ebay, with a lot of success. The trouble is, I don't have the time to really pursue it. There is huge potential there to boost the WCBS income, get more boats restored and put into service for the community and reduce waste. The barrier to doing it, as usual, is finding a willing volunteer with the right combination of time, inclination and ability.

IT COULD BE YOU!!!!!

At the moment we're doing OK for volunteers on "Hazel",( Though, if you'd like to help, we can always do with more) but there are big areas of sales, publicity, engineering, and boat maintenance where we're really struggling. It's the self organising volunteers we really need. The ones who can just be given a few guidelines and left to get on with the job.
Any offers?

Let me know.

Hazel Sponsors Day.

"Hazel" sponsors are wonderful people. They sponsor "Hazel" for a day a year, at a rate of £28 a day. Some have raised considerably more additionally. Every year we arrange a day for them to gather. This usually involves a boat trip. Some have stuck with "Hazel" through the difficult years when it seemed like the boat would never get restored. Between them they raised most of the £31,000 now in the "Hazel" fund, which we'll soon be digging into as the grant funding is nearly spent.

This Sunday they're all invited to have a look at the boat, there will be food in the nearby pub, then a trip up the Huddersfield Narrow Canal to Mossley and back. It's only a fairly short trip, but trips on this canal tend to be rather adventurous. "Southam" has never been up there, so I hope she doesn't get stuck.

Tomorrow I have to arrange getting the boats up to Stalybridge and ready for the trip. We're probably taking 3 boats, "Southam" "Forget me Not" and "Lilith". Getting them up the 7 locks to Stalybridge is going to be a challenge. Those locks are always difficult.

It's going to be a busy weekend for me!

Why not sponsor "Hazel". Get involved with this amazing project. http://wcbs.org.uk/

Back from Shropshire.

It was Emuna's birthday yesterday so we went away for a couple of nights. She wanted to visit Stokesay Castle near Craven Arms in Shropshire, so I booked a couple of nights at the Castle View B&B nearby http://www.castleviewstokesay.co.uk/ This is run by a wonderful lady called Joyce Cook who made us feel very welcome. Emuna has been quite poorly lately so we had to pace ourselves, breaking up the day with lots of rests. The train down there was full of Scottish football fans heading for Cardiff for a match against Wales. We got seats,and they were well behaved, but the noise and general combination of alcohol and testosterone were a bit wearing. The late running of the train meant that we had to walk to Stokesay, only a mile, as we'd missed the bus. First we had fish and chips in Craven Arms, which was a rip off. I kept kidding Emuna that we were going to a campsite as we walked through the dark and rainy night.

The room was really comfortable. I got up early and explored a nearby wooded hill, Nortoncamp woods. http://www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=8026 I didn't know about the old hillfort and didn't get right up to it, but the woods were magnificent, though a little spoiled by the great gouges ripped through them for access by modern tree felling machinery.

After a really good breakfast we headed for Stokesay Castle. http://www.castlewales.com/stokesay.html Emuna had often seen this from the train as she travelled to and from Cardiff. She wanted a closer look, and it was no disappointment. More of a fortified manor than a castle, it has a bit of a mediaeval fantasy look about it and is surprisingly well preserved. We spent ages exploring the whole place, culminating in collecting windfalls from an apple tree in the moat. After also examining the simple stone church we returned to base for Emuna to have a rest. I walked to Craven Arms then made my way back by the more picturesque route along the river bank, inevitably getting my boots muddy.

Leaving my boots at the door I went up to our room. On the way I saw Joyce, who told me where to stop the 'bus for Ludlow. After a cup of tea we walked out to the unmarked bus stop and stood bravely on the verge as roaring artics battered us with their slipstreams. The bus runs but once an hour at best and carries hardly any passengers. At £2.50 each the return fare was reasonable, working out at about 25P a mile, but I often wonder if this is the best way to run rural public transport. Surely if they ran a minibus every 15 or 20 minutes then many more people would use it. The present arrangement engenders much timetable anxiety.

The 'bus dropped us by the market place near the castle after slowly picking its way through narrow streets made for horse drawn traffic. The town is a labyrinth of narrow streets and old buildings, rather spoiled by the amount of motor traffic that forces its way through.

We were now hungry, so we explored the market stalls looking for fast food. Rejecting the inevitable burger stalls, we found upmarket food in the form of an organic Gloucester Old Spot pork pie for me and a salmon sandwich for Emuna. The stallholder had a good line in insulting patter. The Gloucester Old Spot is a rare breed of pig, now even rarer as I've eaten one of them!

The citizens of Ludlow are noticeably stylish and upmarket compared to other towns. It is a place that speaks of wealth.

Lunch consumed, we headed for the castle. I was drawn to a motorbike and sidecar attached to a trailer parked nearby, then repulsed from it when I noticed that the trailer was decorated with small golden swastikas. Wanting to be charitable, I wondered if the owner was a Buddhist.

We passed a gaggle of young men and overheard part of a conversation- "If she messes about you want to slap her" remarked one youth. "I can't do that, I'm not Irish" replied the other. "Domestic violence and racism in one conversation" remarked Emuna, continuing to lament the lack of progress in attitudes among young males.

Ludlow castle was interesting, a proper big semi-ruined military castle with amazing views from the battlements and towers, but not as friendly as Stokesay. It looks impressive from the river banks below though. 

Emuna wanted to explore some of the shops that she had seen, so we headed into town. It certainly has a thriving centre, full of small shops, unlike the sadly dying town centres that I am so familiar with in post industrial Lancashire. She needed a prescription, so we found a chemist, then decided to go for a coffee. I had noticed that the ancient and highly decorative Feathers Hotel

The Feathers Hotel may refer to:

,_Ludlow boasted a cafe bar, so I suggested we went in there.

We went in by the front door and I was surprised and a little daunted to find that we were in the reception area of a Brief Encounter era hotel. It had clearly escaped modernisation and, if I had the money, I'd love to stay there. we were directed into the bar, which is a little more modern. Emuna ordered coffee and I a pint of really flavoursome locally brewed real ale.

The only other customers were two businessmen, one in his 40s and the other twenty years his senior, sitting on sofas near the window. I instantly developed a distrust for them both and, earwigging their conversation, came to the conclusion that they were probably trying to con each other. About halfway through my pint they concluded their negotiation and the older one left. The younger one, smoothly dressed with a smart suit and neat moustache, went to the bar and flirted confidently with the barmaid as he paid for their drinks. When he left Emuna asked "Did you notice the psychopath"? I had indeed had him down as probably a charming psychopath.

The Psychopathy Checklist or Hare Psychopathy Checklist-Revised, now the Psychopathy Checklist—revised (PCL-R), is a psychological assessment tool used to assess the presence of psychopathy in individuals.^[1] It is a 20-item inventory of perceived personality traits and recorded behaviors, intended to be completed on the basis of a semi-structured interview along with a review of 'collateral information' such as official records.

The PCL was originally developed in the 1970s by Canadian psychologist Robert D. Hare for use in psychology experiments, based partly on Hare's work with male offenders and forensic inmates in Vancouver, and partly on an influential clinical profile by American psychiatrist Hervey M. Cleckley first published in 1941.

An individual's score may have important consequences for his or her future, and because the potential for harm if the test is used or administered incorrectly is considerable, Hare argues that the test should be considered valid only if administered by a suitably qualified and experienced clinician under scientifically controlled and licensed, standardized conditions.^[2][3] Hare receives royalties on licensed use of the test.^[4]

"He seems to tick some of the boxes" she said "and he has high cheekbones and his ring finger is longer than his middle finger, which some people claim to be associated with psychopathy". "Did you notice the superficial charm"?

We left the bar and agreed to split up to do some shopping. I headed straight for the Oxfam bookshop for a browse. My eye landed on a book called "The Age of Absurdity, why modern life makes it hard to be happy". At £2.49 I picked it up. I also stocked up on old Ordnance Survey maps. I was really looking for a book on the Bishops Castle Railway, a fascinating and impecunious line that once ran from Craven Arms, so I visited a couple more bookshops, without success. In one I was told that there was a Bishops Castle Railway Society and I should contact them. http://www.bcrailway.co.uk/society.htm

Bus time was approaching, so I rang Emuna. She was lost, so I gave her directions back to the bus stop. On the bus I got out my new book. Emuna said she'd just seen it on a website and thought she ought to get a copy. I started reading and found it to be a fascinating, well researched and insightful analysis of why, in such a cornucopia of wealth, so many people are so bloody miserable.

After another rest back at the B&B we walked into Craven Arms for a meal at the Stokesay Inn. Another building that has hardly changed since the 1950s it was wonderfully nostalgic, but, though the waitress was an enthusiastic and likeable chatty teenage girl, the food was poor quality, meagre and overpriced.

This morning the plan was to walk into Craven Arms and have a look st the Land Of Lost Content before catching a train. http://www.virtual-shropshire.co.uk/visitor_guide/land_of_lost_content_guide.shtml We got diverted into a table top sale run by the old ladies of the methodist church (whatever will become of methodism when they all pass on, for there seem to be virtually no new recruits). We went in, bought a few items then sat down to tea and cake. Emuna was feling ill and just wanted to go home, so we headed for the station.

The train ( just 2 coaches, how ridiculous) was standing room only as it was packed with rather sombre Scots. They lost 2-1. We didn't get seats until Crewe.

It was a really enjoyable little holiday. We would have loved to stay longer. Now it's back to work on "Hazel" and getting ready for the "Hazel" sponsors day next Sunday. http://wcbs.org.uk/

Hello Again

Sorry I've been away for so long. I've just been struggling to get everything done as I am working all day on rebuilding "Hazel", then there's so much extra to squeeze into each evening. I've decided to try to do an update each Friday. There's now 3 of us working full time on "Hazel". Stuart is off to India at the end of the month so Martin Lowe has come to help finish the job. The hull is now completely replanked so it's mostly cabin building and fitting out to do. Martin is really good at these kind of jobs. He impressed us all today with the way that the new back cabin side fitted when we steamed it to shape. Originally the cabin sides were each formed of one piece of pitch pine about 1.5 inches thick. New good quality pitch pine is now very rare, but we bought a reclaimed pitch pine beam and cut it up with the chainmill. This wasn't quite wide enough to do it in one, so Martin has joined pieces together. When it's finished I doubt you'll be able to see the join.

We've got the sponsors day in a fortnight. They're coming to have a look at the boat, a buffet in the Bulls Head, then a trip up to Mossley on one of the boats. There's a rumour that "Spey" will be attending. Hazel sponsors are great people who have stuck with us for years while the boat's restoration was just a dream, each putting their contribution in each year until it grew into a useful fund. More sponsors are needed. It doesn't cost the Earth and your contributions will be much appreciated. Have a look at the website. http://wcbs.org.uk/?p=393

Stuart has been busy with what in his yachtie way he calls "flogging off" the sides. This means planing them down so that they are smooth. The side he's done certainly looks good.

Two steps Forward.......

We had a great day on Wednesday with me and Stuart driving up spikes we got 24 done, a record. Making a start for a repeat performance on Thursday, everything went wrong. First of all the big drill that we were using to drill spike holes broke. The auger was in the wood so I put the Makita cordless drill on it to extract it, and the auger snapped. Stuart gave it up as a bad job at this point, but I foolishly persisted, using a huge old drill that is really intended for jobs like cutting sterntube holes. It was hard to keep such a heavy drill straight and I succeeded in breaking the other auger.

We've now replaced the augers, but if you happen to have a heavy duty electric drill that you never use, we accept donations!

Just to add to the joy of January, when I got home from work on Friday I found that I'd given myself a bad back, so I'm relegated to blogging today!

The good news is that we should get the next phase of funding soon, so the "Hazel" project won't run out of money in March as I had feared. There's still a shortfall in funding though, so don't be shy about donating

Drilling and nailing.

We had a new volunteer called John working on the boat today. He helped me with spiking up the bottoms to the garboard strakes (the first side planks which fit to the bottom boards). John mostly did the drilling and I crawled under the boat to drive up the big 10mm square, 11 inch long steel spikes. Stuart cut scarph joints and Ryan worked on the stove that he's preparing for fitting in one of the containers. Despite it raining quite a lot the day went well. We got 16 spikes driven up.

Spiking Up.

We now begin the long slow task of spiking up the bottoms to the garboard strakes. About 400 holes to be drilled from the top of the garboard through the 9" width of that plank and through the 3" thickness of the bottom boards. A big 10mm square spike then has to be driven up from underneath (an excellent job for anyone wanting to increase their arm muscles) to pop out at the top edge of the plank where it will be bent over. That bottom is not going to fall off!

Comment from: ashtonboatman [Member]

Just a note on boat jargon. Sorry, I forget that not all readers speak boat. The garboard strake is the first plank of the sides of the boat. This is attached to the flat bottom of a narrow boat by big iron nails or spikes driven up through pre-drilled holes through the bottom boards and through the width of the plank. It's hard work.

Martin Cox, Clamps and Crooks

Martin Cox was an excellent boatbuilder and excellent person. It must have been about 1978 that I first met him. He was working as an HGV driver and about once a month drove a tankerload of wine to somewhere near Ellesmere Port where Gill Wright and I were living aboard Lilith. Martin would park up for the night near the museum and come to talk about boats and all things boat related.
I don’t recall if Martin actually had a boat at that time, but he had already done some boatbuilding. For many years he owned the small Ricky motor Grus, which was also known as Almighty, a name given to it when owned by the Salvation Army. The number one motor Benevolence was largely rebuilt by Martin, as was the BCN tug Christopher James. For about the last 15 years he followed an alternative career as an Alexander Technique teacher. When the funding for Hazel looked like it might be on the cards I tracked down Martin via the internet to see if he might be interested in working on her rebuild. He was very interested in the whole project, but with a partner and child living in Bristol wasn’t able to move away to work on it. He asked me to keep him informed and he might come and give us a hand some time.
I put Martin on the newsletter list to keep him up to date but heard nothing until this August when I got a ‘phone call from Colin Bowles who has owned Sweden for many years. He told me that Martin was in hospital with a terminal illness and had some big boatyard clamps rusting away in his back garden that he would like to give to the WCBS.
Martin actually passed away just a few weeks later. It was in November that I got a call from Hattie, his partner, to say that I could collect the clamps and possibly some other tools. We eventually arranged this for November 18th.
In the same part of the world I had arranged to collect some crooks. You may imagine that I would have no problem finding crooks in Greater Manchester, but these are special ones. They are slabs of oak that has grown to just the right curve to make knees for Hazel. I was buying them from a little sawmill called Boatbuilding Timber Supplies near Usk in South Wales.

Having arranged to have the van for a couple of days, I hired a car transporter trailer from Fletchers Trailers in Ashton and headed South on a Thursday afternoon. My first port of call was Ed Sveikutis’ old farmhouse at Knypersley, Staffordshire. Ed is a first class blacksmith. When I first met him he had a forge in the Etruria Industrial Museum beside the Trent & Mersey Canal. Over the years he’s made a few bits and pieces for our boats. He later moved to little industrial unit in Biddulph. When I tried to contact him about making spikes for Hazel I found his ‘phone number dead. A search on tinternet brought up only reports about him losing his little forge to a huge new Sainsburys store. Nevertheless, I managed to find him, retreated to a shed at the back of his hobbitland house, and he made the spikes for Hazel. Most of these were delivered in August, but he had a few more for me to collect. Along with the spikes, Ed gave me a copy of Inland Waterways of Britain by L. A. Edwards. We discussed the sad decline of craftsmanship, always a pre-occupation of Eds, and I climbed into the van, carefully manoeuvred the wide trailer through narrow gateways, then made for the M6.
By the time I reached Bristol it was dark and it was rush hour. I needed to find somewhere nice to park up for the night, but had no idea where. It was not really possible to stop and consult a map without causing traffic mayhem. Seeing a sign pointing to Clifton I decided to follow it. I surmised that there could be a car park for visitors wishing to view Brunel’s famous suspension bridge. There was not, and I soon found myself driving up to the toll booth to cross that fine structure. With 50p in the slot, the barrier lifted and I carefully drew the trailer along the narrow wooden road across the Avon Gorge. On the far side I found a quiet little road heading downhill towards the river through broadleaved woodland. I parked the van here and, making sure everything was locked, set off on foot to look for food.
My route took me back over the suspension bridge. On foot I could appreciate its slender grandeur, soaring high above the deep gorge, its high towers like something that the Romans might have been proud of, but its wrought iron chains speaking of the fiery industry of Victorian times. On the approaches are notices about the Samaritans, for sadly it’s a favourite spot for suicides. There is a tale that, when it was first built, ladies in crinolines would sometimes survive a leap from the bridge as their skirts acted as parachutes.

I was looking for a chip shop, but Clifton turned out to be far too upmarket for such an establishment. There were bistros galore, but my funds would not run to that. I bought a couple of pork pies from a posh co-op foodstore and picked my way downhill between grand old terraces, munching my pies as I went.
From the bridge I had seen that it was low tide. The river was virtually dry, with expanses of mud glinting in the streetlights. A little way upstream I had seen a lock, entrance to the floating harbour ( so named not because it floats but because ships can float in it at any state of the tide) and I thought I would go and have a look.
My meandering route through alleyways and down steeply sloping back roads brought me to a busy traffic island at Hotwells. Once upon a time this was the terminus of a railway that ran through the Gorge alongside the river from the Avonmouth direction. Long ago its route was converted into the A4 road, but still some blocked up single track tunnels through rocky outcrops can be seen.
I crossed the bridge over the harbour entrance. I was looking for a place where I could park for the night as I liked the idea of being near water. I crossed another small bridge to get to the lock, and even thought about parking on the lockside. I then thought about what a nuisance it would be to be woken by a bored policeman in the early hours and discounted the idea. I wondered if it might be possible to park facing the sea in nearby Portishead, and decided to return to the van to drive over there and have a look.
Portishead was a disappointment. As I entered the town I came to a roundabout. To the left was the town centre, to the right the industrial park, and straight ahead “The Haven”. Straight ahead seemed most promising, so I headed for “The Haven”, only to discover that it was the name for a posh housing estate with red brick roads. With some difficulty, and to the consternation of other road users, I turned round my little rig in one of the side turnings and headed back towards Bristol, parking up a little further down the little road next to a viewing point and interpretation board. I spent an hour or two enjoying planning an itinerary for Hazel, using the book that Ed had given me as a guide.
The front seat of the van is remarkably comfortable, so I slept well and awoke to a bright morning in a jumble of coats and sleeping bags. The flask that I had made before leaving home was still hot enough to drink, then I got up and enjoyed my breakfast standing by the interpretation board looking across the gorge.
I had told Hattie that I would arrive between 9 and 10 AM, so I set out about 8.30 with only a vague idea of the location of her house. My route took me alongside the Floating Harbour, with a fine view of the Great Britain across the water. This time I found myself in the milling traffic of the morning peak and had to keep my wits about me to haul the wide trailer along the maddeningly crowded urban tarmac without incident. I found myself in St Pauls, of which I knew only its reputation for riots connected with local dissent over the siting of a new supermarket. There were indeed very prominent No Tesco Here signs plastered on buildings, but rather than a dangerous concrete jungle, it appeared to be a very friendly place. Much more welcoming than the conspicuous affluence of Clifton, it had a post revolutionary utopian air, rather like Clifford Harper’s early drawings.
Navigating with the aid of friendly pedestrians I entered an area of tall terraced houses separated by narrow streets of parked cars. I became very aware of the fact that the trailer was somewhat wider than the van. In places The gaps were so narrow that I had to inch through with an anxious eye on each mirror. I began to wonder if I would find myself stuck at an impossible gap at the end of a long road with nowhere to turn.

I found myself on Hattie’s street almost by chance, then accidentally turned off it, only to realise that I was actually passing her back garden. A car was coming the other way and there was absolutely nowhere to pass. A rare parking space became apparent and I drove the van into it, stopping centimetres from the bumper of the next car with the trailer still blocking the road. As I started to fumble with the trailer lock the car began to hoot. Before I had fully released the trailer from the van, its smartly dressed lady driver came over to politely inform me that I was blocking the road. It did occur to me that she was also blocking the road (and could have pulled over with far less difficulty), but instead I explained the manoevre that I was attempting to clear her way. I released the trailer, swung it round and backed it in by hand to sit behind the van and clear the way for the polite lady. There was just enough room for the trailer, but it was blocking some lines painted on the road with a notice saying “Keep Clear”.
It was bang on 9 AM, so I rang Hattie to explain where I was. I was a little apprehensive about meeting Hattie. I had known Martin for over 30 years and had a high regard for him, both as a boatbuilder and as a person, but we had only met a handful of times. This often happens with friendships on the cut. I had totally lost touch for a long time and knew nothing of Hattie, or Rueben, their son. I am very aware of the phenomenon of circling vultures after the death of someone with items of value, and had no wish to be seen in this light.
Hattie emerged from the rickety back garden gate and greeted me with a smile, which put me at ease. She knew the man who had painted “Keep Clear” on the road to make space for his electric wheelchair and knocked on his door. There was no reply so, with no alternative parking places, we decided to simply keep an eye on the situation. She led me up some steps into the little back garden. A huge beech tree had recently been felled, letting light into what must previously have been a rather shady patch. She showed me the huge old clamps, seized with rust, lying in a corner of the lawn, and asked if I would also be interested in the various bags of nails and spikes that were with them. Having just spent thousands on spikes for Hazel and still not sure if we had enough of some categories, I answered in the affirmative. She went to make coffee as I started to carry the clamps and bags of spikes out to the van.
Over coffee we talked boats. Hattie asked if I knew anything of the wooden boats that she used to live aboard. Irritatingly, as I recount this, I can’t remember the name of one of them. It was a wooden butty which, unusually, had been shortened by taking a section out of the middle and fitting the two ends back together. No mean feat! The other was the small ricky motor Isis, also known as Jimmy. I remember this boat being on the Bridgewater briefly in the 1990s but have heard nothing since. Another past owner contacted us about it a few years ago but we could find no trace, so the chances are that she has become firewood.
Hattie led me up two stories to a spare bedroom that was piled high with old fashioned toolboxes. She started opening them one by one and asking about which tools would be most useful. We selected a range of useful items, but it was obviously a little difficult for Hattie as she juggled between wanting to send the tools to a place where they would be useful and wanting to keep things that connected her to Martin. After a while she went downstairs to make more coffee and left me sorting through a box of augers. It felt very odd to be rooting through Martins tools.
I remembered that I hadn't checked the van for a while. I went down to have a look and found the old man who had marked the road standing in his doorway looking confused. “I can't get out” he kept repeating in a high hoarse whisper that was barely audible. Luckily another parking space was now available and I manhandled the trailer out into the road and back a carslength to slot it into this new vacancy before another vehicle filled it.
After another cup of coffee, Hattie and I carried the boxes of tools that we had selected down to the van. I hooked up the trailer again and carefully negotiated the narrow streets of Montpelier.
I decided to head out of Bristol down he old A4 through the Avon gorge rather than by the motorway. As I drove along I noted the remains of the old Hotwells branch, then followed the still active commuter line out to Avonmouth and Severn Beach. Feeling hungry, I turned off the main road at the beckoning of a sign that said “Fish & Chips 80 yards”. The distance quoted was inaccurate, and, after at least 200 yards I parked up and paid £1.50 for the worst bag of chips I have ever tasted. Vowing never to go there again ( I probably wouldn't anyway) I returned to the main road. Passing Avonmouth Docks I remembered a conversation with John Gould. He told me that, as part of his campaign to keep the Kennet and Avon open he once loaded a pair of boats (presumably Colin & Iris) with grain at Avonmouth and had the unnerving experience of waves coming over the butty's stern and flooding the cabin as he headed upriver towards Bristol.
Following the meandering road across low lying ground, part agricultural, part industrial, I eventually came to Severn Beach, then reached the roundabout that marked the way on to the Severn Bridge. After driving across a vast expanse of tarmac I reached the toll booth, paid my dues, and set off across the great bridge. Big sister of Brunels pioneering structure that I had crossed the previous day, it spans not only the Severn Estuary but also the mouth of the Wye. On the Welsh side of the river I left the motorway and, after skirting Chepstow, set off along a B road through arcadian countryside. This brought me to the town of Usk, but I had a problem. I remembered that Boatbuilding Timber Supplies was on a road out of the other side of Usk, but I wasn’t sure which road. I plumped for another B road which meanders towards Abergavenny.
I was pretty sure to begin with that I was on the right road, but after a couple of miles my confidence dwindled. I decided to turn round, but had to find a suitable place. Eventually I diverged up a tiny lane, then turned round by backing into a farmyard. When I had nearly got back to Usk I pulled into a gateway and rang Gavin who runs the sawmill. He said he had seen me drive past, just before I went up the side road. I had been so busy looking for somewhere to turn round that I missed the sawmill. I turned again and soon I was carefully backing the trailer between stacks of timber towards Gavin’s crane.
The log that I was interested in was sawn into 4” thick slabs. One by one Gavin lifted them with his crane, a hiab mounted on a bare lorry chassis, so that I could examine them and select the ones that I wanted. The three that I wanted were then swung forward, with the crane at its full reach, and placed carefully on the trailer. With the load tightened down with ratchet straps and a wad of cash handed over, I carefully drew the heavy trailer out of the yard. Gavin took photos for his website as I left http://www.btswales.co.uk/ but they don't seem to have appeared yet.
I thought I would head home the pretty way, and check out another sawmill on the way. I had been told of a sawmill at Whitney on Wye, so I turned left on to the road towards Abergavenny, then carried on into Brecknock, driving between high dark mountains, then into the gentle Wye Valley which goes in a great loop via Hereford before it reaches Chepstow. Going via the book town of Hay on Wye I carried on along a winding road, then crossed the river on a timber decked toll bridge, the piers of the old railway bridge standing parallel to my left. I had been racing the lowering sun as it was now past 4 PM, and soon it would be finishing time at the sawmill. Whitney on Wye seemed to be off to the left somewhere according to the map, so I looked for left turns. I didn’t have to look far, as a tarmacced lane running uphill announced itself as the entrance to Whitney sawmills.
I parked up and walked towards a forklift truck that was loading some sticked timber into a drying shed. The driver got out and greeted me. We discussed different kinds of timber, prices, availability etc and gave me permission to go and look at the logs that they had in stock. It was certainly an impressive place, though the prices are slightly higher than sawmills that I’ve dealt with before.
Curiosity satisfied, I set out again into the fading light, driving North across country. Leominster, Ludlow, Craven Arms and Church Stretton, then on to the Shrewsbury ring road and sheared off to cross the Shroppie at Market Drayton. Via Newcastle under Lyne and Congleton then a little bit of the M60 I got back to Ashton and, after checking the boats at Portland Basin, arrived home, where Emuna had a meal ready for me.
Next day I took the trailerload of wood to Knowl St where Ryan , Stuart and I unloaded and stacked it before I returned the trailer to its owners.

Getting everything in place.

Over the last couple of weeks Stuart has been busy cutting and planing planks whilst I've been working on the sternpost. The stempost is now up and I could get the sternpost fitted today, but I've noticed that Janet, our neighbour, has just hung a line full of washing out in the sun. As I will have to heat some chalico on the stove to fit the post and the wind is blowing in her direction I think I'll put it off until tomorrow.

We've a new volunteer, a retired sheet metal worker called John. He's been grinding the knobbles off the knees, which are now back from being shotblasted.

For several weeks "Hazel" has been looking very bare. Her new bottom is in place and the moulds are up to give a skeletal trace of her shape, but she has no sides and only the apparition of a cabin propped up on sticks to remind us of the boat that she was, and shall be again.

Soon we'll be putting the knees back in place, then steaming the bottom strakes or garboards to shape, and so a new boat will rise from the crumbly rottenness of the old, new wood, but the same shape and the same spirit.

Talking of wood, we don't have quite enough of it. To make up for the shortfall I've found some oak trees that are to be felled in Cumbria. I will be able to plank them with the chainmill, but transporting them is proving to be a problem. They never completed the famous Taunton & Carlisle Canal. In fact, the nearest the canal system ever got to Appleby where the trees are was Kendal. Now that waterway is truncated by the M6 at Tewitfield, and anyway, our boats are all 10' too long to access it. There'es really no choice but to use lorries, and they're expensive. So, if you happen to have a lorry long enough to carry 30' lengths of timber, give me a ring on 07931 952 037.