drewstwos
Well-Known Member
Reflections 3
And in the beginning there was nothing but darkness…..
Very true on a nasty night at sea with only the binnacle light to keep you company, until the advent of all the toys such as Radar, radio, Sonar, etc.
This brings back to me the very first echo sounder I ever had. There it sat looking at me, its round face smiling. I had had to put the boat against the harbour wall where she could take the ground, and being wine glass hulled had to lean negligently against it. Then with drill in hand bored a hole as low down as I could. Dropping onto the sand I found the hole and fed yards of cable through it until the transducer was jammed against the hull. Back below to tighten the securing nut. All OK, and when the tide came in again I could switch it on. Its little face spun round and round and then a flickering green line appeared hovering on the numbers surrounding the face rather like a clock, though the numbers went way beyond 12. Of course I had then to remember that the transducer was 4ft above the keel. The boat drew 8 ft and I had had to put the transducer on the turn of the bilge so that it would point in a generally downward direction. But it worked and to me it was a miracle of technology. 1950’s that is.
I was out yesterday for the first good run of the year in the new to me acquisition. I had bought a fishfinder sounder, a black and white screen, but when I turned it on, how utterly amazing. Depth, water temperature, and scrolling across the screen was a picture of the ground below. I had read all the instructions of course; when all else fails read them, being sound advice on most matters mechanical.
Then fish….a shoal of them. One in particular was bigger than the rest, but I could see them clearly. Was this mother taking her children out for a swim in the park? Also how nice when coming back to the mooring an alarm beeped at 6 ft of water under the keel.
But as always, one tale leads on to another. The first D/F set some years later. This, and I now forget the make was a blue cube with a ferrite rod ariel across the top. Under this was a bearing scale. After identifying the station, a morse signal, you had then to turn the ferrite rod until the note was at its loudest, All very well in a calm sea, but not too easy in any sort of weather; and surely that is when it is needed most. Right, plot that on the chart, and do another, plot that,,, now you have a nice point of intersection , but is that really where you are? Not necessarily. So do another one. Now you have a triangle which could be some square miles in area, and you are somewhere in there. I thought it was great.
I was taking a catamaran singlehanded from Bangor to Douglas. It was going to be a night crossing, as work had interfered with pleasure as it almost invariably does.
However, in company with a rather nice Snow Goose who headed off east I turned between Anglesey and Puffin Island and out into the Irish Sea. Now, normally I get too much wind, and usually in the wrong direction, but on this occasion it gradually died away to a flat calm. Not really wanting to be in a major shipping lane as night was falling, remembering all the freighters ploughing their way to the Mersey. The outboard kicked into life and off we went. I could tie the wheel and it took a while for her to drift off course. Time enough to get a cup of something or a jam buttie.
It was one of those rare nights at sea. Sitting in the cockpit, I looked astern and saw a bright trail of phosphorescence kicked up by the prop stretching away aft. The breeze of our passing was warm. Nav lights shining brightly, and if memory serves, a big band number on the little battery radio. So soothing.
Midnight came and went, and still I felt so awake. At about 2 am I did feel sleepy, yawning, I shook myself and looked around to see if there were any other lights. Any would have been company. Not a thing in sight.. then I realised why. Fog. That insidious beast had crept up and swallowed me. DR and a compass was nearly all I had. Ah well., it’ll lift soon I said aloud, to bolster my now increasing worry. But of course it didn’t. Ah! The D/F set. Turned it on and got faint signals and even on that flat calm sea the beep was really difficult to track.
As above the resultant triangle was to say the least… large, but it put me some 15 miles to go to the island, I thought the signal would improve as I got nearer, but it didn’t. Still no wind and the fog persisted.
Time passed. What was that? A faint boom. Engine to idle… out of gear and drift, Yes,, a fog horn, but which one? Douglas.. Langness…maybe the Chicken Rock, and where was it coming from.
Another triangulation on the D.F. Better this time, but I was too far south west according to the triangle drawn on the chart. What’s the tide doing now, as I had no desire to be caught in the spring tide currents, with the overfalls off that coast. Hmm!! Not far off high water…thanks be for that. Slack water would be ideal for a very slow creep landwards. Honk, boom roar….. it was Langness, somewhere over the bow. Now a choice. Which way to go. Douglas or Port St Mary, The tide would soon ebb, and that runs south, so better to go that way. I had a pretty good bearing on the beacon there, so leaving it running I very cautiously edged in. Dratted fog! Will it never lift? I’m not royalty, so why is Mannin hiding the Island from me. That’s the old tale about Mannin, the guardian of the Island who wraps his beard around the Island to hide it if royalty approaches. There. Almost on top of it. The Carrick. Hard aport. Only yards now… Carefull. Ah,,, there’s the Alfred Pier. Hook on to a ladder. Finished with engine. Tie up and rest. Of course when I woke later in the morning, the sun was blistering out of a cloudless sky.
Hah! Cracked it... Got a pic onto the post.
And in the beginning there was nothing but darkness…..
Very true on a nasty night at sea with only the binnacle light to keep you company, until the advent of all the toys such as Radar, radio, Sonar, etc.
This brings back to me the very first echo sounder I ever had. There it sat looking at me, its round face smiling. I had had to put the boat against the harbour wall where she could take the ground, and being wine glass hulled had to lean negligently against it. Then with drill in hand bored a hole as low down as I could. Dropping onto the sand I found the hole and fed yards of cable through it until the transducer was jammed against the hull. Back below to tighten the securing nut. All OK, and when the tide came in again I could switch it on. Its little face spun round and round and then a flickering green line appeared hovering on the numbers surrounding the face rather like a clock, though the numbers went way beyond 12. Of course I had then to remember that the transducer was 4ft above the keel. The boat drew 8 ft and I had had to put the transducer on the turn of the bilge so that it would point in a generally downward direction. But it worked and to me it was a miracle of technology. 1950’s that is.
I was out yesterday for the first good run of the year in the new to me acquisition. I had bought a fishfinder sounder, a black and white screen, but when I turned it on, how utterly amazing. Depth, water temperature, and scrolling across the screen was a picture of the ground below. I had read all the instructions of course; when all else fails read them, being sound advice on most matters mechanical.
Then fish….a shoal of them. One in particular was bigger than the rest, but I could see them clearly. Was this mother taking her children out for a swim in the park? Also how nice when coming back to the mooring an alarm beeped at 6 ft of water under the keel.
But as always, one tale leads on to another. The first D/F set some years later. This, and I now forget the make was a blue cube with a ferrite rod ariel across the top. Under this was a bearing scale. After identifying the station, a morse signal, you had then to turn the ferrite rod until the note was at its loudest, All very well in a calm sea, but not too easy in any sort of weather; and surely that is when it is needed most. Right, plot that on the chart, and do another, plot that,,, now you have a nice point of intersection , but is that really where you are? Not necessarily. So do another one. Now you have a triangle which could be some square miles in area, and you are somewhere in there. I thought it was great.
I was taking a catamaran singlehanded from Bangor to Douglas. It was going to be a night crossing, as work had interfered with pleasure as it almost invariably does.
However, in company with a rather nice Snow Goose who headed off east I turned between Anglesey and Puffin Island and out into the Irish Sea. Now, normally I get too much wind, and usually in the wrong direction, but on this occasion it gradually died away to a flat calm. Not really wanting to be in a major shipping lane as night was falling, remembering all the freighters ploughing their way to the Mersey. The outboard kicked into life and off we went. I could tie the wheel and it took a while for her to drift off course. Time enough to get a cup of something or a jam buttie.
It was one of those rare nights at sea. Sitting in the cockpit, I looked astern and saw a bright trail of phosphorescence kicked up by the prop stretching away aft. The breeze of our passing was warm. Nav lights shining brightly, and if memory serves, a big band number on the little battery radio. So soothing.
Midnight came and went, and still I felt so awake. At about 2 am I did feel sleepy, yawning, I shook myself and looked around to see if there were any other lights. Any would have been company. Not a thing in sight.. then I realised why. Fog. That insidious beast had crept up and swallowed me. DR and a compass was nearly all I had. Ah well., it’ll lift soon I said aloud, to bolster my now increasing worry. But of course it didn’t. Ah! The D/F set. Turned it on and got faint signals and even on that flat calm sea the beep was really difficult to track.
As above the resultant triangle was to say the least… large, but it put me some 15 miles to go to the island, I thought the signal would improve as I got nearer, but it didn’t. Still no wind and the fog persisted.
Time passed. What was that? A faint boom. Engine to idle… out of gear and drift, Yes,, a fog horn, but which one? Douglas.. Langness…maybe the Chicken Rock, and where was it coming from.
Another triangulation on the D.F. Better this time, but I was too far south west according to the triangle drawn on the chart. What’s the tide doing now, as I had no desire to be caught in the spring tide currents, with the overfalls off that coast. Hmm!! Not far off high water…thanks be for that. Slack water would be ideal for a very slow creep landwards. Honk, boom roar….. it was Langness, somewhere over the bow. Now a choice. Which way to go. Douglas or Port St Mary, The tide would soon ebb, and that runs south, so better to go that way. I had a pretty good bearing on the beacon there, so leaving it running I very cautiously edged in. Dratted fog! Will it never lift? I’m not royalty, so why is Mannin hiding the Island from me. That’s the old tale about Mannin, the guardian of the Island who wraps his beard around the Island to hide it if royalty approaches. There. Almost on top of it. The Carrick. Hard aport. Only yards now… Carefull. Ah,,, there’s the Alfred Pier. Hook on to a ladder. Finished with engine. Tie up and rest. Of course when I woke later in the morning, the sun was blistering out of a cloudless sky.
Hah! Cracked it... Got a pic onto the post.
