Fisheye Shrimp.

Shrimp Fisheye, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Having bought myself a Nikkor 10.5mm f2.8 fisheye lens on Ebay in the week, I could hardly wait to clamp it on to my S5 and take some photos of the boat that made it look like a big white banana.
A strange compulsion, but a relatively harmless one. And frankly one that I have now exorcised from my psyche, so this may well be the first and the last photograph taken of an Orkney Longliner that makes it look like the new Orkney Clinically Obeseliner floating on a very small oval lake.
Meanwhile, a sturdy looking Colvic 20 has appeared at the marina on brokerage and is providing Shrimp with some competition in the 'my boat could ride out rough weather at sea better than yours' dialogue that I have never had with any of the nearby Freeman and Norman owners.
I like to think that the two boats acknowledged each other in a salty seadog 'ahoy there shipmate' kind of way as they passed, but then, I appear to live in a world where inanimate objects communicate with each other, boats look like bananas and seaworthiness means more than panoramic windows.
I don't know what any of that means either, but I'll have you know that I wrote it without the assistance of a single classified substance.

Shrimping in the Rain

Shrimp in the rain, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

The problem with an open boat in a rainstorm is not the actual getting wet. When it started heaving it down yesterday just as I was passing the entrance to Garstang Marina, I quickly donned a waterproof jacket (admittedly hoping for a brief summer shower rather than the prolonged monsoon that swept across the Fylde Plain from the Irish Sea) and carried on.
I've never been that troubled by rain. Even when instructed to put a hat on / put my hood up / get under this umbrella / take shelter in Topshop / run back to the car as if the alarm was going off, I have always just walked around as if rain was made of nothing more corrosive than...water. This has caused endless derision and complaint from those around me, but really, I can't see what all the fuss is about. Even if my clothes are not waterproof I am fairly sure that my skin is and, rather annoyingly for my mother, I learnt at the age of six that the common cold is not brought on by getting wet.
So I was happy enough inside my jacket plodding up the canal.
The reactions of people on other boats ranged from the 'Are you alright?' wave to the 'See how dry we are under this canopy' look and included an offer of an umbrella (declined, nicely) and the suggestion that I might take shelter under a bridge (easier said than done).
But none of this was even remotely as difficult as the actual reason I had to tie up to the towpath and sit inside the cuddy like a Hobbit for fifteen minutes.
Even at 3.2 mph (but with the wind blowing the rain in my face at an additional 10 mph) I couldn't see where I was going. It was like the day I rode my CX500 motorcycle from Manchester to Southend in a thunderstorm wearing an open face crash helmet. Only worse, because I'm not 26 any more and I now wear contact lenses.
So, in case it rains again this year, which seems likely given the extent to which it did last August, I am going to invest in some World War 1 flying goggles. I might grow a big moustache as well and go for the full Biggles look.
That should be enough to stop people offering me umbrellas.
And speeding advice.

Speed Dating

Ratcliffe Wharf, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Took my boat 'Shrimp' for a trip up the canal again today. It was gloriously hot and, as is surprisingly often the case on such a well used canal, remarkably quiet most of the way from Garstang to Ratcliffe Wharf.
As I travelled up the canal I came across a number of moored boats and, in accordance with BW's (and presumably their occupants') wishes, I slowed right down as I passed them, to 'tickover' speed. As I have such an addiction to gadgets, I have fitted Shrimp with a Navman Fishfinder which has a built in log, and which gives a speed readout on the screen. So I know that Shrimp is moving at 1.9mph (exactly) at tickover. I also know when I am travelling at 3mph (which I do most of the time), and what 4mph feels like.
Rather annoying then to have someone flapping his arms at me in alarm as I approached a moored boat at less than 3 mph, fully intending to slow to my 'tickover' speed as I passed. I asked him how fast he thought I was going but he was too busy telling his companions how reckless I was and buttoning up his oilskins as the wall of water that was my three inch wash slammed against the bank, to answer me.
Strangely enough, I had a similar experience in the car the other morning on my way to work, when a cyclist pulled into the middle of the road and waved his arms at me as I got near to him. Thinking he could see an accident or a broken down badger that was invisible to me I slowed down, only to discover that he was just taking the opportunity to make me slow down for the sake of it. Incredulous I gave him a wide berth and accelerated to my previous breakneck 40 mph.
I digress.
It struck me that we are getting a bit pathetic about boat speeds on the canal. For a start, there's the speed limit.
4 mph.
'A brisk walking pace' .
I wound Shrimp up to 4mph this afternoon and watched the bank flash past way faster than I am capable of walking at. I have to say that it was also way faster than I would normally travel at on a canal, so even my most 'inconsiderate anti social madcap' speed is well below the actual limit. Imagine the arm flapping that 4mph would produce.
But even if I do make a bit of wash (at 3.3 mph), so what? I'm not talking about three feet of breaking water topping the towpath, but more of a large ripple following me along. It might actually make other boats rock slightly, but I always thought boats were supposed to be able to withstand a certain amount of rocking.
When I had a boat on the Norfolk Broads in the early nineties, the speed limits were reduced from 7 mph to 6 mph following a study which demonstrated that bank erosion in sensitive areas was reduced significantly at the lower speed. I appreciate that canals are narrower and shallower and therefore the effects of boat speed are magnified but even so, are the margins of the canals of Britain being washed away by boats travelling at 4 mph?
I suspect that the limit is as much to do with reducing the risk of collision as anything else. After all, the packet boats that operated on the canal from 1833 to 1846 travelled the 55 miles from Kendal to Preston in ten hours. They were 76 feet long and pulled by galloping horses. And even my innumerate brain can see that is an average speed of 5.5 mph. Which means they must have travelled much faster than that at times.
I wouldn't dream of advocating tearing up and down the canal at full throttle, I'm not even suggesting that there is anything wrong with being considerate towards other canal users.
But, and this is what is really worrying me, if we are all going to start telling each other to slow down even when we're well within the speed limit, there won't be any need for speed cameras.
And I was so looking forward to seeing those on the towpath.

Short Narrowboat

Short Narrowboat, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

...or a narrow shortboat. This charming little boat turned up at the marina on Saturday night. I can't recall seeing her on the canal before but I was so taken with her that I almost missed the final of 'Britain's Got Talent' trying to photograph her. Which is a bit like saying that I almost missed the opportunity to set fire to my ears by taking her photograph.
(Who am I trying to kid? I thought Signature were robbed and the blonde with the electric violin looked so nice I didn't care whether she could play the thing or not.)
Anyway, regarding the boat. As the owner of the smallest boat in the marina, I am fast becoming an enthusiast of miniaturisation. The Government are doing everything they can (but not quite enough) to get me to drive a Nissan Micra, my new phone has a video camera, the Internet, my email account and the weather forecast on it and it fits in my shirt pocket, and while I used to be hauled around the streets of SW15 by a Labrador the size of Basingstoke, I now go all unnecessary over my Mum's Border Terrier.
So if I had the resources (which I don't) to buy a steel narrowboat to drift my way to retirement on, this is exactly the sort of boat I should be buying.
I'm tempted to say that 'size isn't everything', but increasingly, it seems that it is.

Shrimp near Forton

Shrimp moored on the towpath., originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

I took Shrimp on her maiden voyage up the canal today. She steered beautifully straight, all of the electrical circuits I have installed over the winter worked as they should and the engine purred like a sewing machine. (Its a Honda. Say no more.)
The sun was shining, the water was calm and I was greeted cheerfully by everyone I passed.
Which made all the time and money (six months and just over three grand) I have spent on her completely worthwhile.

Shrimp in the water

Shrimp in the water 2, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Finally launched my boat 'Shrimp' on Monday, after many months of prepping her for the BSC test, painting her underwater sections with Epoxy and antifouling, installing electrics and polishing her gelcoat.
Completely misjudged the waterline, haven't taken a photograph for a month, and I am now known as 'Dulux' at work as a result of my Monday morning paint spattered look , but it all seemed worth it when I saw 'Shrimp' on the water.
Now all I need is some time to enjoy her.

Shrimp Undercover

Shrimp Undercover, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

My Orkney Longliner 'Shrimp' in the boat shed at the marina. Covered over with tarpaulins to ward off the dive bombing runs of the swallows that have recently taken up residence in the shed as they do every year.
Shrimp now has a boat safety certificate, three coats of epoxy paint on the underwater hull, a serviced engine and an electrical system.
Very soon she will have two coats of antifouling and be immersed in the Lancaster Canal. At which point I will find out if the water line I arbitarily drew on her is on, under or way out of the water.
Frankly, if its not in the right place its a bit late.

Cruising The Lancaster Canal

Cruising Narrowboat, Lancaster Canal, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Even though the weather can't make its mind up (not quite four seasons in one day, but bright sunshine, hail, rain, then sunshine again in the space of an hour today) I have been making progress with 'Shrimp'.
Thanks to the 'Shippodrome' at the marina I have had a week of working on her in the dry, relative warmth of the great indoors and I have managed to...er... wire up the navigation lights and polish the hull a bit.
Why is it that doing anything to a boat takes so long? I might have hoped to have been ringing up the BSS inspector by now and asking him to come and run his rulebook over 'Shrimp', but at this rate I may as well leave it until the autumn when he isn't so busy.
It's not that I waste time socialising (in fact my unsocial nature is legendary) or that I have to keep going home for tools and materials. The marina shop has more than enough cable, bus bars and bulbs to facilitate my needs, and as I am shortly going to have my salary paid directly to their account each month, I don't even have to worry about paying for things.
But nonetheless, progress, as they say in Terminal 5, is a little slow.
I have to go back again tomorrow and finish off the wiring and then I can start painting the underwater hull in epoxy primer. Four times. Then twice with antifoul. Then there's the small but significant issue of compliance. That might take a while...
Fortunately, I rather enjoy all this sort of thing. I would far rather be in a big cold shed working out how to fit a fire extinguisher to an Orkney Longliner than queueing for the ski lift in Val d'Isere.
Perhaps that's why it all takes so long.

Flood tide

Cruiser at Reedham Ferry, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Looking closely at this photo you can see that the cruiser in it is not, in fact, swinging at anchor, but is tied to a quay. The quay is underwater, as are the mooring posts it is tied to fore and aft, the wall behind the quay and the sign inviting moorers to sample the delights of the Ferry Boat Inn on the River Yare in Norfolk. The same 13 year record tide that caused this also flooded me out of my holiday bungalow in Brundall.
I spent today siting my new caravan at the marina, which is a bit like saying I have just moored my new narrowboat in a car park, except I haven't got a narrowboat.
(Glad I cleared that up).
While I was doing so, I was reminded of the fuss that some of the insurance companies I telephoned for a quote, made about the pitch I was going to site it on.
'How far is it above the river?'
'Is there a history of flooding in the area?'
'How close to the nearest tidal river is it?'
And who could blame them after last summer? The sight of floating caravans anchored by their awnings in the flood plain of the Severn must have given many brokers the jitters in a way that a spate of thefts from secure storage sites can only dream about.
Thankfully canals don't flood like rivers, but, in an attempt to ward off the onset of a ridiculous premium I have decided to look into the possibility of fitting my caravan with a self inflating lifebelt made from an old Avon dinghy left over from my East Coast sailing days.
It might not look pretty but I could save a fortune.
Quite apart from the insurance, I could do away with the Orkney and take the caravan for a ride down the canal.
I know this sounds like cobblers, but I seem to remember a boatyard (Topcraft on Oulton Broad?) on the Norfolk Broads took a cruser hull and adapted it to accomodate a caravan so hirers could enjoy the rivers from the comfort of their own Sprite Musketeer.
I don't know if it proved popular or not, but true to the optimism that only comes with old age, I am sure I could make a success of it.

Small Boats

Dinghies at Old Leigh, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

As Mies van der Rohe once observed 'less is more', and never was that more true than in boat ownership. Although my avaricious instincts have always pointed me towards a bigger boat, with more berths/facilities/engines/masts/equipment I have often found that enjoying the experience of being on the water is not necessarily a function of waterline length (or price).
The smallest boat I ever owned was the Optimist dinghy that I learned to sail in. The biggest was a 62 foot narrowboat and although the Optimist didn't have a woodburning stove, a bath or a DVD player, it was loads of fun, cost nothing to own and I spent much more time using it than I did painting it, mending it and polishing it (unlike the narrowboat).
I have just sold my cruiser 'Henry' on the Lancaster Canal with the purpose, for once, of downsizing. My new boat is a 16 foot Orkney Longliner. No berths, one engine, two oars.
Which just might be one of my better decisions.
Only time will tell, but predictably I have already started to 'desimplify' the Orkney, by installing an electrical system, polishing the hull, making a cover for the fuel tank...

So even if less is indeed more, small may not be simple. But as Mies van der Rohe also said, 'A chair is a very difficult object. A skyscraper is almost easier. That is why Chippendale is famous.'

Boat on the River Urr

The River Urr in Kippford, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

A few days in Scotland with my camera gave me the chance to visit a number of new venues. And take lots of photographs of the same stuff that I shoot every weekend at home. Boats, water, mountains, piers, beaches, the sky, boats, clouds, and boats.
This particular boat was part of the scene in Kippford (or Scaur) near Dalbeattie when I arrived there on Monday morning. I wasn't sure if she was an Osborne or had been built locally, but as I set up the tripod and clamped the camera to it, a boiler suited bloke came past, and with a surprisingly strong Essex accent said ' You'll have to hurry up and take that before it sinks'.
Always completely incapable of the quick retort, I mumbled something about waiting until low tide and trying again but then noticed the way her waterline disappeared halfway down her length and knew that he was right. She was sinking before my eyes.
Why are so many boats so completely neglected? Why do people buy them and then leave them to their fate? Who can afford to invest thousands of pounds in something and then let it go to wrack and ruin? Is it any of my business?
Probably not, but for what its worth, I was able to take this photo before the boat sank, using a Fuji S2 Pro and a Tokina 12-24 lens with a circular polariser. The camera was set to continuous shooting with a three frame bracket and the image was processed with Photomatix, output as an 8 bit file and then finished off in Photoshop.

Tranquillity.

Tranquillity moored., originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

There are at least eight boats registered with British Waterways with the name 'Tranquillity'. This is one of them, a Norman 23 that I owned a couple of years ago, and the first boat I kept at Bridgehouse Marina on the Lancaster Canal. She was also my first motor cruiser in a while, after having owned yachts for ten years or so.
I remember the day I took this photograph with remarkable clarity (given my inability to remember my own name sometimes).
The canal was mirror flat calm. I had moored about a mile north of Garstang and spent the afternoon fishing, reading the newspaper and listening to the radio. I had forgotten about everything that a few hours before had seemed so important. Work, money, relatives, ill health, cutting the lawn, the onset of senility and decrepit old age all faded into insignificance. It was the sort of day that makes all the downsides of boat ownership like antifouling and mooring fees seem immaterial.
Looking at this photograph brings it all back to me again, so vividly I could still be sitting in the cockpit waiting for the sun to dip below my imaginary yardarm and watching the tip of my float.
In my little world that is what photography and boating are all about.
Tranquillity.

Google Earth

Garstang Basin, Lancaster Canal, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

On a wet and cold Sunday evening over Christmas I discovered an excellent way of convincing myself that taking photographs is not just a pointless waste of digital memory.
Google Earth, that invaluable resource of badly lined up satellite photographs, now has images taken on the ground, marked by a blue dot, or a camera symbol. Clicking the marker opens the image, hosted by Panoramio.
These images are uploaded by individual photographers, having been reviewed and approved by Google.
On discovering this I uploaded a set of pictures to Panoramio, including this one of Garstang Basin, 'mapped' and tagged them and waited for a few weeks for the review and approval process (which seems a bit hit and miss).
Rather pleasingly, this, and several of my other submissions, were approved and now adorn the satellite images.
Almost certainly anorak vanity, but it keeps me out of the pub.

Winter in the Marina

Winter in the Marina, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

An attempt to capture the 'golden hour' at the marina this afternoon while I was cleaning my boat 'Henry'. I shot this pair of Freeman 26's (and the bathing platform of a Norman 266) at about 4.30, just as the sun was disappearing. The light levels were too low in the foreground for Photomatix to process the RAW file, so I gave up and used CS2 to convert it. I pulled the curve around a bit to make the most of the way the light strikes across the image and altered the saturation and white balance.
The result is just about what I was aiming for. To be honest, its not exactly a sensational image, but it has boats in it, and taking it was more fun than washing a cruiser in an Arctic gale with cold water.

Well, maybe just the one...

Stalham hire yard, originally uploaded by Bay Photographic.

Taken in Richardsons hire yard in Stalham on the Norfolk Broads in the lull between a series of passing showers which had not only threatened the well being of my Nikon 8700, but also ruined the reflections on the oily water in the mooring basin. To be fair, the water in Richardsons isn't that oily these days but I remember it 40 years ago when trailing an unwary hand over the edge of a rowing dinghy was enough to make me reek of diesel for hours, much to my mother's horror.
I have had a long standing and meaningful relationship with the Broads which started in Brundall in 1964 in a boat called 'Silvery Wings'. It was last renewed in 2006, in a bungalow on Riverside Road which did a remarkable impression of 'Silvery Wings' when the tide came up the River Yare twice without ebbing in between.
Interestingly, the photograph I took of the bungalow the following morning has been selling rather well on Fotolia recently.
I wonder why.

Welcome to Boat Views

Very shortly, I will be using this blogspace to post photos of boats from my image collection.
But not just yet.
I still have unfinished business at www.norman23.co.uk