For The Love of SAUNTRESS
A Book review by Annie Hill
Most of the sailing books that I read are what I would think of as ‛classics’ from the sailing world, and usually written before 1980. The main reason for this is that I am essentially a romantic, when it comes to sailing, and I don’t think that I’m in any way unique in suggesting that technology and, indeed, convenience, tend to get in the way of romance. As a convinced and committed junkie, I do of course appreciate and indeed require the convenience of junk rig to sail on my own and, perhaps paradoxically, I manage to find junks romantic – yes even modern, Westernised junks. However, ‛convenience’ is relative and while I am too wimpish to enjoy fighting sails on the foredeck, nevertheless, I remain unconvinced about the joys of wheelhouse sailing, or a solid bimini top to support solar panels to provide endless electricity. I think it’s occasionally no bad thing to get cold and wet; I have a peculiar preference for being able to look up at my sail without having to dodge around barriers and I enjoy sitting in the sun!
I am, I admit, only too aware that another spelling of R-o-m-a-n-ce is U-n-c-o-m-f-o-r-t-a-b-l-e and it’s always a fine line between being too romantic and being too comfortable. For myself, I draw the line at sailing gaff rig. I admire gaff rigged boats: indeed I love them and would be devastated if they vanished off the ocean. On the other hand, I’ve suffered enough with their whims and vices to be quite happy to leave them for other, better and more romantic sailors than I, to sail. But the beauty and appeal of a traditional gaff rig are beyond dispute, and so it was a real pleasure to be lent a contemporary (2014) book about a man who fell in love with a gaffer and empathised so fully with the rig, that instead of dragging the boat screaming and kicking into the twenty-first century, he gracefully allowed himself to become a sailor of the early decades of last century.
Throughout this book, his mentor was Claud Worth, whom Phil Bolger unforgettably celebrated as being ‛rarely outdated and never wrong’. Claud Worth wrote an early ‛text book’ for yachtsmen, Yacht Cruising (followed in due course by Yacht Navigation and Voyaging), in a time when gaff rig was the norm and Corinthian (ie, amateur) sailors were the minority. While Worth did sail with paid hands, in his early career he had sailed alone or with friends and apparently, when he did employ paid hands, on the larger yachts which followed Tern II, treated them with notable courtesy and respect.
Romance, courtesy, amateurism, respect. These are all very much virtues of the early days of yachting: a time before marinas; a time when the amateur yachtsmen measured himself against those who sailed for a living; a time when the average middle-class man made it a point of honour not to have manual skills and yet, quixotically took pride in maintaining and fitting out his own craft. And a wooden yacht, built a generation earlier, and before the days of modern goops, glues and coatings, required far more skill, knowledge and patience to maintain, than does the modern plastic sloop.
The first few paragraphs of the book are quoted on the dust jacket and I wanted to avoid it, but the truth is (and this is part of the magic with which Martin writes), that they sum up the book and the joys in store for the fortunate reader.
‛‟I wonder if you can help me.”
‛‟Maybe I could, or maybe I couldn’t,” was the very Welsh reply. ‟What is it that you are wanting?”
‛‟Would you happen to know of any boats for sale?”
‛It was a question the young man had asked many times before and always with the same result. Nothing suited …
‛‟What kind of boat is it you are looking for?” with barely concealed cupidity …
‛‟Something like that,” said the innocent, pointing out a dainty white cutter on her mooring …
‛‟Well,” said he ‟I believe she may just be for sale.” He may well have added – but this might just be imagining - ‟You had better be quick, she is not on the market yet.” An Irish horse dealer could not have done it better.’
It was love at first sight: a love affair that lasted for over forty years and in spite of the boat’s faults (cured over the years by many modifications and the many skills acquired by the skipper from patience, experience and a willingness to learn), in spite of requiring a major rebuild that took over 12 years, Martin never fell out of love with this little ship.
He took his joy round to the South coast, buoyed up by the optimism of ignorance and inexperience. With a seasick crew as unused to passage-making as himself, with the sketchiest of ideas about pilotage; with a boat that refused to stay in the increasing wind, and suffering from exhaustion, he was lucky to get there in once piece. But his guardian angel, looked after him and he eventually brought to in Mevagissy, under the impression that they were in Dartmouth. And then left! And continued until they finally located Dartmouth and were offered a tow in – the Stuart Turner being inadequate for the job.
The book is episodic, rather than chronological, so there is no explanation of how, why or when Sauntress found herself in Brentford Dock in London. However, this was the site of her restoration, and it becomes apparent that Martin is well able to handle traditional tools and has the eye of an artist.
At 28 feet long and with only 8 feet of beam, she was hardly capacious. Her pretty counter stern shortened her usable space and Martin was too much in love with her winsomeness to tolerate a cabin that gave anything more than sitting headroom. He accentuated her charm, during this extended refit, by rebuilding her cabin with the forward end rounded into a pleasing ellipse – all in teak. We never begrudged his Sauntress anything he could afford.
It is slightly startling to realise that this is taking places in the 70s and that Sauntress doesn't hit the water again until the 80s. While everyone else is buying larger and larger (no maintenance!) fibreglass boats, Martin is stripping his wee ship down to a bare hull, forcing out her hogging, reinforcing her timbers and adding ballast. He used concrete, but that was acceptable: so did Claud Worth in Tern III. He refused to use plywood on the deck and instead made a sub-deck of pine, covered in a liquid rubber compound and with a teak deck laid over. none of your 6mm veneer here, but a genuine, laminated wooden construction of heavy teak long enough to last 40 years (and no doubt a lot longer). Teak decks are a vanity? Probably. But they give such lasting joy.
The Stewart Turner went; was replaced with a Coventry Victor, which in turn was succeeded by a modern Japanese diesel. In due course (spoiler alert!) this perfectly-functioning and efficient motor was also evicted, when Martin decided that the only way he would learn to sail the boat as she deserved, and as he wanted to, would be without an engine. Once that was gone be built a small, self draining foot-well also out of teak.
The interior was fitted out to take himself and another, and possibly a third person. From the photos, Martin appears fairly tall and he mentions making the bunks 6 ft 6 ins long: perhaps it’s hardly surprising he didn’t even think about going for standing headroom on his boat (which only draws 4ft 10 ins). Although he did sail single-handed, he usually took a friend to help; it’s unclear whether that is because he preferred to sail with company or simply that the boat was a lot easier with two people to handle the rig.
Sadly, there are no photographs of the interior – or even an accommodation plan – so we have to glean what she looks like from the text. It appears that aesthetics were as important inside as out: ‟varnished mahogany, in places inlaid with ebony”. There is an octagonal swinging table; a sideboard holds the barograph; and there is a charcoal heater. A lot of thought went into this refit.
Sauntress has a cutter rig, with the jib and foresail both on Wykeham-Martin furling gears, which means that they can be rolled up before being lowered and stowed. The main halyards are led back to the cockpit – a very rare thing on a gaffer and, in the fullness of time, she was fitted with a small topsail such as described by Claud Worth in Yacht Navigation and Voyaging.
That Sauntress had a certain magic becomes very clear. Not only was her owner besotted with her, but she tempted a number of people to spend considerable periods of time sailing her, even sailors who had their own boats. Martin, like many a small boat sailor before him (and he frequently mentions Maurice Griffiths), having based himself on the E Coast of England, became enchanted with that area of muddy creeks, shoals, sand flats and strong tides. By now, the Old Gaffers’ Association was well established, so that instead of receiving blank looks and sceptical comments, Martin was welcomed into a community of like-minded people. He sailed and raced in the area, making friends and constantly learning more and more about the art and sport of handling one’s boat under sail.
The following chapters are essentially highlights of cruises made over the years. T he writing is often allusive and you need sometimes to fill the gaps by guess work, which is actually one of the charms of the book. There are short digressions to Holland, accounts of a hard-fought, but light-hearted races with another boat, and, almost incidentally, the description of removing the engine and the decision to sail without. As confidence grows, the cruising range increases and the sight and delight of Sauntress is sufficient to attract new friends. Three years are spent based on Ireland’s west coast, where a serendipitous encounter, the result of uncooperative weather, leads to a long-standing and deep friendship. Martin benefits in many ways, not in the least becoming aware of his own Irish roots. A casual aside made me realise that Martin lent his darling to the friends who had often been loyal crew over the years: an act of generosity not many boat owners are capable of. Then the time came to leave, they left for ever. Martin is wise enough to know that sometimes, you can’t go back.
The west coast of Ireland is infamous for bad weather, although equally famous for its many and excellent harbours. It is not an easy place to sail to or to cruise, however, with no engine and the years there obviously honed Martin’s skills and confidence. The next adventure was to head south and he found another welcome in Galicia, in the north of Spain. This is also an iron-bound coast, but has excellent harbours. Sauntress again was made welcome and a mooring provided. Another gaffer of much the same size was sailed with great skill and, one gathers, competitiveness, by her owner. He was somewhat miffed at seeing another boat of similar size and vintage in his territory (and, it has to be said, a rather more graceful craft than his workmanlike vessel). He challenged her to a race – and won. And then again. But like many skippers, Martin was proud of his boat and embarrassed that he had let her down. He did his homework (and no doubt re-read Claud Worth), fitted running backstays to take the sag out of the foresail luff, adjusted his sheet leads, shifted some ballast and started winning.
Galicia became home; a new crew fell in love and joined Sauntress (I have to assume Martin is fluent in Spanish) and he became another fixture aboard. In the meantime, every summer, the two gaffers enjoyed their little regatta and Sauntress explored the Galician coast.
The book’s title tells it all. This is about a love affair: the adventures are small, there is little derring-do. On the other hand, reading carefully, you will learn seamanship and the pains and pleasures of sailing without an engine, alongside Martin. Like him, you appreciate what can be expected of the boat and realise that although she has her moods, ‛those moods are in fact telling the skipper he is doing something wrong, pinching her unduly, too much sail, not enough sail, ballasting wrong, sheet leads wrong, get it right and my goodness does she reward you.’ And the simple engineless boat is its own reward: ‛you are suddenly freed from the expense, the irritation, the breakdowns, the frustration, the need for marinas, for you are no longer a slave to dials, screen, buttons or all the paraphernalia that has come to be regarded as essential.’
‛ [you] are doing what you are supposed to do when you go to sea in a yacht.
‛Which is to enjoy yourself’.