Henry, Sold.

Henry for sale 2, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Henry is now officially sold.
While I was on board last weekend cleaning the bilges out (and with the cabin looking like it had just been raided by the drugs squad) a charming couple asked if they could have a look inside. I had always imagined someone stepping onto Henry, seeing the interior in all its 1980's splendour, the lockers all neatly arranged, the cushions plumped up invitingly and being unable to resist her. As it turned out her new owners first saw her with the floorboards up, my tools all over the worktop and a bucket of murky water on the table.
But Henry's charm and style shone through, as within a couple of hours they had paid a deposit and were taking a trial run.
So that, as they say, is that.
All good things come to an end, but I am always sorry to say goodbye to a boat. Even though my Orkney Longliner will be moored next door but one to Henry I can't help feeling a twinge of regret that someone else will be enjoying cruising on her this summer.
As to this blog, I am not sure if her new owners will be carrying on with it. I, however, will be making my own contribution to the blogosphere at www.boatviews.co.uk .

Norman 23 For Sale

'Henry' Moored north of Bridge 66, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

The title of this post is an unashamed and blatant attempt to place this blog in a Google search for 'norman 23 for sale'.
Many of the keywords in this post will also be dedicated to the same objective. So, in case I haven't mentioned it before, Henry is a Norman 23, and she is for sale. Her details ( which also state that she is for sale) are listed with the brokerage at Bridgehouse Marina on the Lancaster Canal, where there is a mooring available for Henry. So that makes Henry a Norman 23 for sale with a mooring on the Lancaster Canal. The staff at Bridgehouse Marina all know that Henry is for sale too, and they can be contacted on 01995 603207. To discuss the sale.
I realise this is the most ridiculous twaddle, but including google keywords and being interesting at the same time is quite beyond me.

Bridgehouse Marina are on the web at http://www.bridgehousemarina.co.uk/

To see Henry's details, click here.

For a complete inventory and specification click here.

For Sale

Henry at Ford Green on the Lancaster Canal, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

If you would like to see a specification and inventory for Henry, please follow this link:

http://www.bayphotographic.co.uk/new_page_18.htm

January Sunshine.

Henry in the sunshine on a January afternoon., originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

'To shorten winter, borrow some money due in spring'
W.J.Vogel.
A bright afternoon in the middle of last January gave me the opportunity to take this picture of Henry basking in the sun. If I had taken my camera out of the car yesterday when I was at the marina, I could have either taken a photograph of the rain, or a puddle or possibly the rain falling on a puddle.
Which made the day less than perfect for the job I had to do yesterday. Which was...
Taking all of my personal gear off Henry.
Because I am selling her.
We have been offered a rather splendid seasonal pitch for our caravan at the marina, so rather than have a boat with four beds that we never sleep in, and a caravan that gives me backache, we are going to have a dayboat and the biggest and most comfortable caravan we can find.
Henry will be sold by the brokerage at http://www.bridgehousemarina.co.uk/ and the new owner will be able to take over both the mooring in the marina and this blog if they wish.
I did consider calling my new boat (which is an Orkney Longliner) 'Norman', so I could legitimately continue writing a blog called 'norman23', but in the end I decided against that, and I have called the Longliner 'Shrimp' after Henry Blogg's successor as coxswain of the Cromer lifeboat, Henry 'Shrimp' Davies.
I will shortly be launching a new blog at ' www.boatviews.co.uk '. But not until Henry is sold.
There is such a thing as a 'decent interval'.
And no, I haven't got a clue who W.J.Vogel is. I found him in quotepedia.

Tender moments

Yacht tender, Leigh on sea., originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Took the opportunity, while visiting relatives in Leigh on sea over Christmas, to go for a walk along the cockle sheds in 'Old' Leigh. This dinghy made for a bit of foreground interest, but also reminded me of how much hard work it was to have a boat on a swinging mooring (as opposed to in a marina, tied to a pontoon).
After driving from home, through holiday traffic and being charged a ridiculous fee to park, launching a dinghy and rowing out to a mooring might seem to be the pleasant start to a day of boating happiness.
But only to those who have never had to launch a dinghy and row out to a mooring.
I have had dinghies stored vertically in racks, upside down on jetties, and horizontally in dinghy parks. I have had inflatable dinghies in the boot, GRP dinghies on the roofrack and wooden boats on trailers. And they have all, without exception, either tried to kill me, injure me or destroy my self esteem.
I dropped a 10 foot GRP dinghy on my head as I took it out of a rack in Bowness, slipped a disc while taking an allegedly lightweight marine ply pram dinghy off the roof of my car and broke two fingers while launching a boat from a trailer in Brightlingsea. My tender capsized as I stepped out of it and threw me into Alresford Creek, I once punctured an Avon inflatable on the tiniest nail in Western Europe and I have lost count of the number of times I have set off in front of a jetty full of ice cream eating daytrippers and had my outboard die on me after 20 yards, dropped an oar overboard or filled my boots with water as I step ungracefully aboard.
So, unsurprisingly, I now confine myself to stepping ashore in a marina with proper mooring posts, pontoons and a free car park.
I may be old and stupid.
But I know my limitations.

Winter Reflections

Winter at Bridgehouse Marina, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Took this today at the marina, while checking on Henry. Quite against the odds, given the way it has thrown it down with rain for a week, the sun came out so, after I had washed a leaf off the deck, emptied the dehumidifier, paid my account at the marina shop and sulked a bit after listening on the radio to Arsenal being turned over by Middlesborough, I took some photographs of the boats on the North side of the moorings as the sun set to the South West.
It is generally theorized that the best time of day to take photographs is the 'Golden Hour' as the sun rises and as it sets. In winter, this becomes the 'Occasional Golden Ten Minutes' as the transition from light to dark becomes quicker, and is more often than not accompanied by cloud.
Today, however, the sky was clear, the light was glowing and the reflections in the millpond still water were spectacular.
So, unsurprisingly, the batteries on my camera packed up after four shots.
I have always known that everyone gets what is coming to them.
And, clearly, I am no exception to my own theory.

Christmas wrapping

Wrapped up for the winter, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

The boat wrapping season is well under way at the marina, with a selection of cruisers of all sizes and shapes being mummified in billowing sheets of blue polytarp.
As the wind funnelled around the pontoons this afternoon the noise of flapping tarpaulin and quivering guy ropes filled the air, and I was reminded of how much I don't want to cover Henry up in a blue plastic overcoat for the next four months.
The problem with covers is not so much the giant rainwater puddles that gather in any concave area, or the way they can break free from even the most comprehensive lashings, but the extent to which they prevent air from circulating around the boat.
When I was young and fit, and I owned yachts, I used to cover them up every winter. But I had the double advantage of the boat being out of the water, so I could lash the cover underneath the hull, and the mast being supported on crutches, horizontally, above the cabin roof and cockpit to support the tarpaulins and provide a gap for air at the bow and stern.
My only concern with boats like my Debutante and the rather sleek Pandora that I kept in Brightlingsea in the 1990's was chafing from the cover. To avoid the cover rubbing and damaging the boat I used yards of pipe insulation and taped foam wherever it touched a vulnerable surface.
The only way a cabin cruiser can be covered while it is in the water is to wrap it up like a gift under a Christmas tree, with no air space around it, and a web of ropes stretched hopefully across the cabin roof. As the cover flaps in the wind, and strains for the freedom it will inevitably achieve, it can do untold damage to old gelcoat, and it can strip brightwork like Nitromors. The boat 'sweats', the canopy is worn thin and a weekend check visit turns into a wrestling match between the owner and 50 kilograms of wet blue polyethylene.
So, Henry will be spending this winter out in the open. The rain will fall on her, the wind will blow around her and the odd leaf may land on her unprotected decks. But at least I know that the air can get to her, no matter how cold it is.

I should also like to take this opportunity to point out that there are in fact 20 Freeman 26's in the marina. I counted them today. For some reason I am relieved that I forgot two boats when I was writing my previous post. It makes me feel so much more cool.

Identical Crisis

A pair of Freeman 26's in Bridgehouse Marina, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

No two boats in the marina, or anywhere else for that matter, are absolutely alike. By the time any boat has been delivered, launched and commissioned it will have been altered, added to or modified in some way by the new owners. By the time it is a few years old it will have had any amount of equipment screwed on to it and personal preferences applied to it, from the colour of the upholstery to the deck layout. All boats are different in some way from one another even before this process takes place. They have their own identity in a way that a showroom full of Fords can only dream about. Why else would boat owners expend so much time and effort on choosing names for them? There aren't too many Mondeos called 'Enchantress' outside the Chatsworth Estate, and I don't know anyone who has named a Honda after their favourite perrenial.
There are, (and I am a little ashamed that I can work this out from memory) 18 Freeman 26's at the marina. Apart from the handful that have hardtops, and the odd twin engine installation, they are all identical on paper. They all have blue canopies, all have chrome window frames, all have an enamelled 'Freeman Cruisers' badge in the cockpit. None of them has been painted (perish the thought) none of them has had a flying bridge fitted, and not one has been 'restored' inside with five litres of eggshell and a laminate floor. And yet, they are all different. Apart from the obvious, like names and curtains, there are two different bow shapes (pre 1968 boats have a cut away forefoot) four different types of masts and an infinite variety of bathing ladders, davits and lights. The older boats seem to sit higher in the water, the twin engined ones are (predictably) lower at the transom and the hardtops seem bigger all round. Their gelcoat exteriors may have left the factory at Wolvey the same colour, but a lifetime of polishes and cleaners has given them as many different shades of white as a Dulux colour chart. After forty years of different owners the only similarity in their electrical systems is the fact that they conduct electricity, and their classic four berth interiors are as varied as show gardens at the Chelsea Flower Show.
They may well steer and handle differently too, but I would have to own all 18 of them before I could be sure. I'm not particularly opposed to the idea of changing my boat from time to time, but I'm also not the Sultan of Brunei, so that's an experiment that will have to wait until my 7 numbers come up.

Inside Out

Norman 23 'Henry', originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

I like boats.
I happen to like my Ipod, red wine, Subarus, Jennifer Aniston, Norfolk, photography, Border Terriers and the Foo Fighters as well. But more than any of them (except you Jennifer in case you're reading this), I like boats.
There's just something about them, the way they bob around in the water, the shape of them, the reflections they make, the feeling of well being they create by being on board them... Boats are just great.
Even at this time of year, when they can turn into a complete liability in the time it takes for Isobel Lang to say 'a deep depression is moving in from the Irish Sea...', a boat is still a source of pleasure and an emotional asset. I disappear off to the boat in my mind about five times a minute on average. More frequently in meetings, a little less when I am obliged to listen, like when I am actually chairing them.
Liking the Foo Fighters is all well and good, but humming along to my own mental rendition of Long Road to Ruin is a poor second to thinking about whether I can justify having Navtex on a canal cruiser (actually, I can and I have) or what colour I should paint the waterline next year.
All of which is why, despite the expense, the hard work, the fact that using TBT antifouling paint in the 1970's has shortened my life by ten years and the vagaries of the BSC test, I still like boats. Lots.

In or Out?

This contraption, which looks more like the outcome of a Scrapheap Challenge, is the boat lift at the marina. The last time it embraced my boat was about a year ago when Henry was hoisted out and wheeled into the shed so that we could re-antifoul her.
Opinion (including my own) varies about how frequently a GRP cruiser should be lifted out, and for how long. When I had the Beneteau on Windermere I took her out of the water every winter, as much to comply with the insurance as anything else, but I know several people who keep their boats on the lake for two years at a time. When I bought Henry, her previous owner, Mike, told me that she was lifted out every few years, but that she had not been on dry land for four years.
I am sure that the osmosis doom mongers would say that anything less than six months out of every twelve on dry land is asking for trouble, but I have become fairly sanguine about the possibility of an old GRP hull having the odd blister or two. In fairness, GRP canal cruisers tend not to sink from osmosis, and in any event, it has been suggested to me that every GRP boat has suffered a certain amount of 'wicking' and as long as the blisters are smaller than dinner plates there is nothing to worry about.
Incidentally this was from someone who was trying to sell me a boat at the time, so no vested interest there then.
My own apparently casual approach to the whole issue is supported by the surveyor's report on Henry, which despite her lack of time out of the water since 1980, described the underwater hull sections as being 'in excellent condition'.
And that, since I greatly enjoy using her all year round, is good enough for me.

Freemans at Bridgehouse Marina

Freemans at Bridgehouse Marina, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

I recall my father showing me the difference between a Freeman 22 and a later 23 one day while we were on holiday on the Norfolk Broads. He pointed out the step in the side deck of the 22 and the 'square shoulders' of the 23 superstructure, along with the different shapes of the front windows. I was delighted to have, at long last, found a subject that I both liked and understood, unlike the nonsense that constituted the conventional school curriculum in the 1960's.
Sadly, my new knowledge had little currency in the playground at Fairways Junior School, and I soon found it had even less with potential girlfriends, so I quickly learnt to become a closet boat anorak. The bloodline of a Seamaster 813 or a Freeman 24 might have been fascinating to me, but it made for a very one sided conversation, and even as a gormless teenager I knew this was neither aspirational nor cool.
All of this was brought back to me this morning at the marina as I was on board looking for my 'winter' fenders. I heard a family walking past, but instead of the usual 'No, no Tyrone, stop throwing stones at the nice ducks...' I heard a Dad telling his young son all about the boats in the marina.
For a moment I was tempted to rush out and tell them not to try using boat recognition as an ice breaker on the dancefloor, but my need to find the fenders, (and my dislike of being told to keep my opinions to myself) prevailed.
In any case, life is a voyage of discovery even for us Anoraks.

The Dry Season.

Henry, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Last year, at around this time, I decided to buy a dehumidifier for Henry. I have husbanded enough boats through previous winters to know that damp air will do more harm than cold air and that heating a winterized boat without dehumidifiying it promotes mould and condensation. So off to my local Ebay, to buy a small electric dehumidifier. Two types are on sale. Ridiculously expensive ones that claim to accomodate low temperatures by recycling the heat from the exchanger, and ordinary domestic ones that do the same job down to 15 degrees celcius, but which have limited effect in colder air. £20 later I was the owner of a small domestic dehumidifier, and a modest further sum bought me a low wattage greenhouse heater to stir the air up and raise the temperature so that the moisture can be extracted more efficiently. A pair of plug in timers and a couple of electricity cards, and Henry was a dry as a bone all last winter. In fact, you could feel the dryness of the air in the cabin as you opened the doors.
Same again this year I expect. A bit of a faff about, but well worth it, as I will be able to leave the seat cushions in place, and the whole boat fully in commission, ready to go at any time. Just in case the sun comes out.

Season's End

Boats at Bridgehouse Marina on the Lancaster Canal, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

The trees at the marina have begun their annual display of russet and gold and the leaves have started to fall and blow around the paths and jetties. As a photographer I can appreciate the colours, the quality of the light and the textures in autumn, but as a boat owner, and more specifically the owner of a boat whose gelcoat is 27 years old, I dread it in almost equal measure. I spent an exhausting weekend in May this year polishing the cabin and roof with 'Fiber (sic) glass Polish and Restorer' in an attempt to protect the gelcoat, but even so I view each leaf as a potential stain, every twig as a possible obstruction in a drainage channel.
Every time I visit the boat, my first job is to wash the debris off the decks and upperworks. If I knew a little more about trees I could identify the leaves that are my mortal enemies and those that are just a nuisance, but I remember the Nature Table at primary school as a place of unfathomable mystery, and my Reader's Digest guide to The Trees of Britain has no useful appendix called 'Leaves that will leave a mark on your Norman 23'. So they all have to be washed off. Every time.
Winter? I can hardly wait.

Henry fends for herself.

Norman 23 'Henry' at Bridgehouse Marina, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Taken with my new wide angle lens on Saturday, this shot makes Henry look rather sporty and powerful. A bit like an E Type with four beds and a cocktail cabinet. It is true that Malcolm Sayer's original design had a bit more than 9.9hp to power it, but even so, Henry seems to get up enough speed just at the wrong moment to need the marine equivalent of ventilated disc brakes - a good set of fenders.
I spent a few happy hours on Saturday paddling around in my waders (any excuse) and refixing her bow fender. I say 're' fixing it because I originally fitted it a couple of weeks ago, looked back at my handiwork as I packed my tools away and realised that it was both crooked and too low.
But not any more. Henry is now completely protected against the possibility of a front end collision as long as the object is no more than 30cm high, and is suspended obligingly above the surface of the water.
So, no good for an out of control steel narrowboat, or an unexpected coral reef but perfect for a duck coming in to land or a leaping perch.
Perhaps I should just watch where I am going.

'Amfora' heading towards Garstang.

Freeman 26 'Amfora' Lancaster Canal, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

I took a couple of pictures of other people's boats last weekend, and had the pleasant task of giving the owners a print of the photographs this afternoon at the marina. After their initial, and completely understandable, hesitation, while I reassured them that I was not going to start asking for money like a door to door aerial photograph salesman, they all seemed genuinely pleased. I explained that it is surprisingly difficult to take a photograph of your own boat in motion, as you tend, by definition to be on board when it is moving. I always try to be anyway. I suppose I was hoping that one day somebody might take a photo of me as I go past, an ambition I have yet to achieve.
I once suggested to Mrs. Kirk that she could photograph me if I set her adrift with a camera in a rowing boat on Windermere while I sailed my Beneteau 'Annapolis' up and down, but she was shockingly unenthusiastic about the idea for some reason.
A friend at the marina took a photograph of me on the canal in 'Henry' a couple of weeks ago, but he was driving his own boat at the time and since he hasn't mentioned it, I suspect the result may have suffered from the inevitable division of attention that was involved. In any event, I haven't asked...
So if you see a fat bloke (although I have just joined a gym, so it is only a matter of time before I am size zero) pointing a camera at your boat, smile and wave. You may well get to see the result.

Multitasking

Heading North on the Lancaster Canal, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

This is the view through Henry's windscreen as I headed North from Garstang yesterday morning. I took the picture while I was driving the boat, and this amazing feat of Norman 23 control was only possible by virtue of Henry's new steering characteristics. If I had tried this a few weeks ago the boat would have doubtless struck the moored boat, the bridge and grounded itself in the nearest field the instant I reached for the camera. But yesterday I could even take my eye off the canal for long enough to change the shooting menu on the camera to Program.
Clearly, taking photographs while you drive, even at 3 mph, is not recommended, and I am sure that Brussells will soon issue an edict banning such a dangerous activity on the grounds of Health and Safety.
In the meantime I am just enjoying the sensation of steering a boat without having to concentrate like a Tornado pilot.

Visible Overheads

The Marina, in the afternoon sun, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Over the course of my boating 'career' I have owned or a great many examples of different categories and types. Power and sail, inboard and outboard, narrowboat and widebeam, steel and GRP, planing and displacement, expensive and, er...very expensive.
Despite this variety, I have always considered two central characteristics to be absolutely crucial.
Dry inside (as opposed to wet), and standing headroom (rather than the eponymous 'sitting' variety.
Henry is dry as a bone inside. The bilges have dust in them, and the space under the cockpit floor could be used for dehydrating herring (if that floats your bag).
Some of my boats have been less obliging in this area. Stargazer had a leak over the guest bunk in the aft cabin that dripped persistently for five years, through two major refits, six tubes of silicone and two mothers in law.
Annapolis let water in through the main hatch, but only in a northerly wind, and I had a Chris Craft that filled to the brim with rain water when I left it under a tree for three months in Bowness.
But I got them all dry in the end.
Headroom, however, is a different matter. I am not that tall, my growth hormones stopped working about an inch and a half short of the magic 'six foot', but I have a very tricky spine that complains with all its might if I have to stoop. The inch difference between the headroom inside a Freeman and that in a Norman can ruin my weekend more effectively than ten pints and a dodgy curry, so the fact that Henry has a hardtop over the cockpit is a blessing. I can stand up comfortably next to the wheel, move around without ducking for bolt heads and more importantly, get on board without having to dive through a triangular opening between two canopy bars like a pub team goalkeeper whose team is losing 12-nil in extra time.
I know that I can't fold it flat on a sunny day and lounge around in open topped luxury, but that is a small price to pay, especially in the most rain soaked summer since 1735.

Time travel.

The Marina from the Bridge, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

An available mooring on the Lancaster Canal is a rarity indeed. The Lancaster is one of the most traffic intense stretches of canal in the UK. Much of that traffic is made up of GRP cruisers, both wide and narrow beam, but it is increasingly being supplemented by steel narrowboats, some of which are locally based, others visiting from the 'main' system, via the Millenium Link. All of which need moorings, either permanently or as visitors. The three main commercial marinas (Moon's Bridge, Bridgehouse and Garstang) are as full as a marina can be. They don't even have a waiting list as there is no point in operating one. The smaller marinas like Pendle Marine and Nu Way at Carnforth never seem to have any space, new marinas being built at present, like Barton are filling up with boats before they have filled up with water, and the BW waiting list is difficult to negotiate, (although anecdotal evidence suggests that a proactive approach can be productive).
Since it is very difficult to find any sort of mooring on the canal, and it is almost impossible in the marinas, the mooring that 'comes with' a boat tends to be where it is kept. So a Bridgehouse Marina boat tends to remain a Bridgehouse Marina boat through many owners, a Moons Bridge boat tends to...etc.
So if, like me, you are happy with the marina you are using at present, you will probably buy another boat which is already there, and keep it in the same place.
Which means that, in theory, I have already seen the next boat I am going to own.
Which is a bit like seeing into the future.
No, actually, I haven't got anything better to do.

A place in the sun.

www.norman23.co.uk, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Just back from a few days on the boat. An idyllic time, plugging up and down the canal, taking it easy and preparing myself for a return to work next week. This summer may well have been rubbish weather wise, but it has been as good as I have ever known in every other sense. And a few sunny days on the canal this week were very much the icing on the cake. The sounds of wildlife, the dappled light reflecting on the deckhead, cheerful greetings from other boaters, and fishermen on the bank...
I may have fumbled and bumbled my way through the last 51 years, but I know that life rarely gets any better than this.

Cathouse Bridge

Cathouse Bridge / Morning Walker, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Taken on a calm morning earlier this year, this picture is but a distant memory. Driving Henry down the canal in the wind last week was rather like sailing a Mirror Dinghy with the centreboard up.
I recall that particular feeling from my youth as a cadet at the Essex Yacht Club. Returning to the jetty at the end of a race, we would lift the centreboard up completely so that we could sail straight up the slipway and step ashore without getting our feet wet. Guaranteed to impress female cadets if you got it right (probably) but a complete disaster if you lifted too late (always surprising how quickly a sailing dinghy will stop if the keel hits the end of the slipway) or too early (sideslip ruins your aim completely and crashing into the sea wall was never good for your image).
I might have improved Henry's steering recently, but controlling a flat bottomed canal cruiser in a confined space when it is blowing a gale is more a matter of luck than judgement.
That's my excuse anyway.
And I would like to take this opportunity to apologise to the helmsman of the big green narrowboat I met at Bridge 73 on Tuesday.
You're right. I should be able to make my boat stay still in the water while I wait.
All I need is a centreboard and lots of ballast.