THERE ARE SOME who believe you
can’t learn sailing from books; that the only worthwhile teacher is experience,
often bitter experience.
I don’t think this is entirely true, but I don’t waste my time arguing with them.
It was the irrepressible Will Rogers who opined: “There are three kinds of men:
The ones that learn by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of
them have to pee on the electric fence and find out for themselves.”
I believe that books provide the knowledge you need to experiment with your
boat in all kinds of weather conditions. Books tell you what your options are,
and how certain arrangements of sails and rudder worked for other people in
light air and heavy. Without books, our knowledge of sailing would be limited
to conversations with a few close associates, and we would never be able to
break free from their near-sighted biased experience.
In any case, as an author myself, I’m very much in favor of people buying books
to increase their knowledge of sailing and widen their skills. Reading is not a
waste of time, despite what others might tell you. Remembering something you
once read may make life easier for you one day. It might even save your
life. So go ahead, read a book, and let some other silly bugger pee on the
fence.
Today’s Thought
You can get help from teachers, but you are going to have to learn a lot by
yourself, sitting alone in a room.
— Theodore Geisel (“Dr. Seuss”)
Tailpiece
“Where did you get that black eye?”
“At a night club. I was struck by the beauty of the place.”
(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, for a new Mainly about
Boats column.)
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label books. Show all posts
August 25, 2016
February 16, 2015
Two for the grab-bag
SOMEONE ONCE
ASKED ME which two books I would grab in an emergency to read on a desert
island. I said I would take Swallows and Amazons and Four Winds of Adventure.
That was straight off the top of my head, of course, my very first instinct, because there are literally hundreds of boating books out there, and scores of them are excellent enough to be grabbed in an emergency.
Swallows and Amazons was the first of a phenomenally successful series of children’s sailing books by Arthur Ransome, written in the 1930s. It has never been out of print since. Like all the really good classical kids’ books, it appeals to adults, too. I love it dearly and it brings me great joy every time I re-read it.
Four Winds of Adventure, by Marcel Bardiaux, is a wonderful book about one of the greatest voyages in the history of small-boat sailing. Bardiaux built his wooden 30-foot cutter, Les 4 Vents, (The Four Winds) in France, in a workshop some 20 yards from a railway bridge being blown up by the retreating Germans in 1945.
He spent eight years sailing singlehanded across five oceans and rounded Cape Horn the wrong way in mid-winter. His book is an extraordinary chronicle of hardships overcome by a man who should really be known as the Superman of the Sea.
I remember seeing Bardiaux and his boat when I was a teenager, but I never spoke to him. He was a very modest man, and to this day he’s almost unheard of in English-speaking countries. He wrote in French, of course, but luckily the book has been well translated.
That was straight off the top of my head, of course, my very first instinct, because there are literally hundreds of boating books out there, and scores of them are excellent enough to be grabbed in an emergency.
Swallows and Amazons was the first of a phenomenally successful series of children’s sailing books by Arthur Ransome, written in the 1930s. It has never been out of print since. Like all the really good classical kids’ books, it appeals to adults, too. I love it dearly and it brings me great joy every time I re-read it.
Four Winds of Adventure, by Marcel Bardiaux, is a wonderful book about one of the greatest voyages in the history of small-boat sailing. Bardiaux built his wooden 30-foot cutter, Les 4 Vents, (The Four Winds) in France, in a workshop some 20 yards from a railway bridge being blown up by the retreating Germans in 1945.
He spent eight years sailing singlehanded across five oceans and rounded Cape Horn the wrong way in mid-winter. His book is an extraordinary chronicle of hardships overcome by a man who should really be known as the Superman of the Sea.
I remember seeing Bardiaux and his boat when I was a teenager, but I never spoke to him. He was a very modest man, and to this day he’s almost unheard of in English-speaking countries. He wrote in French, of course, but luckily the book has been well translated.
Today’s Thought
Literature is the art of writing
something that will be read twice.
— Cyril Connolly
Tailpiece “Dad, a boy at school said I look just like you.” “Great, what did you say?” “Nothing — he was bigger than me.”
Tailpiece “Dad, a boy at school said I look just like you.” “Great, what did you say?” “Nothing — he was bigger than me.”
(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats
column.)
June 10, 2014
It's under way, not underweigh
SOMEBODY ASKED ME the other day if I have a large library of
sailing books. I had to admit it isn’t very large, not the sort of library I’d
have if I lived in a posh manor house with paneled wooden walls and a butler on
tap to bring me my five o’clock beer.
Furthermore, most of my little collection is well thumbed (OK,
pretty shoddy) and largely comprises books picked up cheaply from library
sales, given to me for birthdays, and, very occasionally, awarded as a prize
for some sailing competition. The only ones that look smart and new are ones
that haven’t been opened because I wrote them myself and I already know what’s
inside.
Almost every time I approach the bookshelves, my eye falls fondly on a badly tattered copy of A Manual for Small Yachts, by Graham and Tew. It was the first book I ever stole, so it naturally holds great sentimental value for me. In passing I’ll give it a little pat, or open it to some page at random. Last time I picked it up it fell open at the last page of the glossary and there I read:
Almost every time I approach the bookshelves, my eye falls fondly on a badly tattered copy of A Manual for Small Yachts, by Graham and Tew. It was the first book I ever stole, so it naturally holds great sentimental value for me. In passing I’ll give it a little pat, or open it to some page at random. Last time I picked it up it fell open at the last page of the glossary and there I read:
“Way: a ship weighs her anchor but gets under way, but some of
you spell it underweigh, which is incorrect until enough people do it often
enough to make it right.”
That hasn’t happened yet, but many people, including the worthy editor of a magazine that used to employ me as a copy editor, insist that a boat gets underway. Why that should be, I can’t imagine. One doesn’t hide undertable when an earthquake threatens. A daring pilot doesn’t underfly a bridge. No, a boat gets under way, separated by a proper honest space, and that’s that.
I have often quoted A Manual for Small Yachts in my long-running fight with that intractable editor, but to no avail. Nevertheless, I offer my sincerest thanks to Commander Graham and Mr. Tew. If I ever do win that fight I’ll have your lovely tattered little book rebound; and no expense spared, I promise.
That hasn’t happened yet, but many people, including the worthy editor of a magazine that used to employ me as a copy editor, insist that a boat gets underway. Why that should be, I can’t imagine. One doesn’t hide undertable when an earthquake threatens. A daring pilot doesn’t underfly a bridge. No, a boat gets under way, separated by a proper honest space, and that’s that.
I have often quoted A Manual for Small Yachts in my long-running fight with that intractable editor, but to no avail. Nevertheless, I offer my sincerest thanks to Commander Graham and Mr. Tew. If I ever do win that fight I’ll have your lovely tattered little book rebound; and no expense spared, I promise.
Today’s Thought
In a world where the time it
takes to travel (supersonic) or to bake a potato (microwave) or to process a
million calculations (microchip) shrinks inexorably, only three things have
remained constant and unrushed: the nine months it takes to have a baby, the
nine months it takes to untangle a credit-card dispute, and the nine months it
takes to publish a hardcover book.
— Andrew Tobias, Savvy,
May 80
Tailpiece
A new senator was irritated by poor service on the flight to Washington, DC.
“Do you know who I am?” he thundered.
“No, sir,” said the attendant, “but I’ll make enquiries and let you know.”
(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a
new Mainly about Boats column.)
A new senator was irritated by poor service on the flight to Washington, DC.
“Do you know who I am?” he thundered.
“No, sir,” said the attendant, “but I’ll make enquiries and let you know.”
March 18, 2014
Favorite sailing books
EVERY
NOW AND THEN somebody asks me to name my favorite sailing books. Well, there
are so many good sailing books available these days that I find it impossible
to nominate a short list. Hiscock and Ransome, Herreshoff and Day, Guzzwell and
Roth — they’re all wonderful, inspiring authors, and who can say which of their
books, together with many others like them, is better than any other?
However,
for sheer convenience I divide my favorite books into those written by Don
Casey — and all the others. Don has a rare knack for explaining with clarity
and simplicity how to fix anything on a boat. His English is a joy to read and
his sense of humor is delightful.
But
for sheer drama and adventure afloat I recommend two relatively unknown
authors, Frank Wightman and Marcel Bardiaux. Neither is alive today, but their
writing lives on with undiminished charm and elegance.
Wightman’s
The Wind is Free (Duell, Sloan and
Pearce, New York, 1949) is a classic story of a small, modest man consumed by a
burning desire to build his own boat and cross an ocean. Wonderful reading.
Bardiaux’s
Four Winds of Adventure (Adlard
Coles, London, 1961) is a staggering tale from another man who built his own
boat and overcame almost unbelievable difficulties sailing singlehanded across
five oceans. An absolute tour de force.
The
Wind is Free is readily available on
the used-book market but Bardiaux’s book, in English, is less so. I did find a copy for sale on Amazon.com,
though. If you can read French, there are many copies floating around on
Abebooks.com
Today’s Thought
Books for general reading
always smell badly. The odor of common people hangs about them.
—
Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche
Tailpiece
“Do you have any dogs going cheap?”
“No, sir, all our dogs go ‘Woof!’”
(Drop by every Monday,
Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)
January 16, 2014
Sailing stories for young readers
I
GREW UP ON THE Swallows and Amazons series of children’s sailing books. The author, Arthur Ransome, was a very
interesting character who wrote on a wide range of subjects. He was a
newspaperman, too, a foreign correspondent, at one stage of his career, and
Wikipedia has a lot to say about him. But these days he is still best
remembered for the books he wrote about the adventures of the Walker kids in
their little open sailing dinghy and their frequent rivals, a pair of particularly
capable sisters.
When
I grow up, I want to write sailing books for kids like Arthur Ransome did, but
meanwhile, about 20 years ago (and just for practice) I wrote a book called Danger, Dolphins & Ginger Beer
(Atheneum)
I
made the protagonist a 12-year-old girl, which was very appealing to my New
York agent, Julie Fallowfield. (Actually, she was my wife’s agent, but June
allowed me to borrow her). Julie had no trouble selling DD&GB to a
children’s imprint of Simon & Schuster, in New York. She also sold it to
the German publisher Carlsen, of Hamburg, who translated it into German and
called it Segelsommer mit Delphinen
(Summer Sail with Dolphins). You’ll
notice that they left out the ginger beer part. I don’t think Germans know
about ginger beer. They prefer the real stuff.
Anyway,
this exciting, fast-paced story about a family sailing around the world takes
place in the British Virgin Islands and it generated hundreds of fan letters
from young readers in American schools where it was used as an English
text-book. It’s now out of print, I’m sorry to say, but still available on the
used-book market. It’s also still available as an audio book from Good Old Boat magazine.
I
wrote two follow-ups to DD&GB: So Long, Foxtrot Charlie and Sally Steals an Elephant. They involve the same Sally Grant and her
two younger brothers. These books never sold in print form (which is incredible
considering how good they are) but both of
them are available as audio books from Good
Old Boat magazine.
All
three in this series are splendid books. I have to say this myself, because
nobody else is likely to. What is more
certain is that they help fill a large gap in boating books for middle-grade
readers.
Today’s Thought
You cannot write for children . . .
They’re much too complicated. You can only write books that are of interest to
them.
—
Maurice Sendak, Boston Globe, 4 Jan
87
Tailpiece
“How do you like your new
babysitter, Johnny?”
“I hate her, Mom. If I was bigger I
would grab her and bite her on the back of her neck like Dad does.”
(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday,
Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)
January 7, 2014
Another day, another book
ONE
OF THE BEST BOOKS I’ve ever written on deep-sea cruising is called The Seaworthy Offshore Sailboat: A Guide to
Essential Features, Gear, and Handling (International Marine).
If I sound a bit boastful, it’s
because I loved writing this book. It touches on a feeling every sailor must
have experienced at one time or another: What would happen if I just kept
sailing over the horizon? Would my boat
be seaworthy enough? Would she stand up
to a storm — and would she look after me if I were disabled by seasickness or
an accident?
This book tells you, without pulling
any punches, if your present boat (or the one you’ve got your eye on) is ready
to take on the sea. And I have to say that my publisher, International Marine,
did a great job of layout and illustration.
Ø
Here’s an excerpt from a review by Tom Lochhaas, of About.com Sailing,
in which he discusses two “unique chapters:”
"Test Your Boat is a rating system
questionnaire that considers virtually every aspect of what makes a sailboat
safe and efficient for offshore cruising and passage-making. This chapter leads
you through 55 variables, each of which contributes to, or subtracts from, a
boat being seaworthy. A numerical score is assigned for each of a given boat’s
characteristics, and the sum is interpreted in terms of the boat’s overall
seaworthiness. This allows you to easily compare different boats or to see
where you can increase the seaworthiness of your own boat.
“Vigor's Black Box
Theory
of seamanship has been widely quoted by sailors, and here is his own explanation
of how it works. It’s a fascinating theory that seems borne out by experience,
involving a sort of karma of seamanship. The essence is that every boat has a
black box you can't see into that contains an unknown number of points. Every
time you do something right, whether it's consulting your chart in preparation
for entering an unfamiliar harbor or checking the tightness of screws in your
rigging before anticipated heavy weather, a point goes into the box. The more
safety-conscious you are, the more you practice good seamanship skills, the
more points accumulate. In an emergency or difficult situation, even when you
are doing everything correctly, you may need help, and at such times points are
cashed in. You don't have control over this invisible box, and the naïve may
call it luck, but these saved-up points might just save your life.”
Ø Another review, from Cruising World magazine:
"An invaluable resource.
[Vigor's] practical wisdom gives you the know-how and confidence to prepare
your boat for the sea. Here is the book that answers the sailor's fundamental
question — Can my boat take me offshore safely? — then shows how to make it
happen."
Today’s
Thought
A
Passage perillus makyth a Port pleasant.
— Anon (Motto inscribed on a harbor
wall on the Lake of Como)
Tailpiece
Some
puns are better than others, but jokes about German sausage are truly the
wurst.
(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday,
Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)
January 5, 2014
Another book to buy
THE
NEXT IN THE SERIES of books you really should buy (to make me rich and happy)
is Things I Wish I’d Known Before I
Started Sailing (Sheridan House)
— Peter Brodie, classics teacher, Foxcroft School, Middleburg, VA
“Well, on Friday nights it’s usually between 2 and 3 a.m.”
Probably
the best things about this book are the foreword, by that very talented boating
writer Don Casey, and the illustrations, by the renowned artist and whackiest
boating cartoonist I know, Tom Payne. With the help of those two, this book
managed to win a national literary prize of some prestige — the John Southam
Award for Excellence in Sailing Communication.
It’s
a whimsical reference book, aimed at sailboat owners of all kinds but
particularly those nearing retirement age, who will finally have the freedom to
indulge their sailing dreams. Each of its 200 short entries is packed with
solid practical advice and valuable tips, and they’re sorted out
alphabetically, so if you can still remember your ABC you should get along just
fine. Even if you can’t, you’re offered the opportunity to open the book at any
page and browse endlessly.
There’s
an appendix at the back that, even if I say so myself, is a fund of information
for sailors of all types, and also a handy list of books I wish someone had
told me to read before I started sailing. Not all as good as this one, of
course, but then not every author gets to win the John Southam Award. Just
sayin’. . .
Ø
Here’s a review from www.books.google.com
“Very interesting and useful information on all aspects of
sailing from anchoring to operating a self steering device!
“Very good book, that I would certainly suggest to anyone (like
myself) that is getting into sailing.”
Ø And another review from www.books.google.com
“Aimed at sailboat owners of all kinds, this reference book
contains 200 entries packed with solid practical advice and valuable tips. Each
entry is categorized alphabetically and prefaced by an arresting statement such
as "People always lie about how fast their boats are." The reference
format offers readers the opportunity to open the book at any page and browse
endlessly. Cartoons by Sail magazine
cartoonist Tom Payne enliven the text. A comprehensive appendix covers some 50
technical topics.”
Today’s Thought
What is important — what lasts — in
another language is not what is said but what is written. For the essence of an
age, we look to its poetry and its prose, not its talk shows.— Peter Brodie, classics teacher, Foxcroft School, Middleburg, VA
Tailpiece
“And you, madam, what’s your
husband’s average income?”“Well, on Friday nights it’s usually between 2 and 3 a.m.”
(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday,
Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)
December 31, 2013
On with the self-promotion
IN FOR A PENNY, in for a pound.
Having given you the background to my book, Small
Boat to Freedom, I thought I might as well continue the orgy of shameless
self-promotion, and spill the beans about how a few others got written.
— C. C. Colton, Lacon: Preface
“No, sir, you didn’t. He turned out to be no gentleman.”
This time it’s the turn of The Practical Mariner’s Book of
Knowledge, Second Expanded Edition (International Marine).
Even
after more than 20 years, this book is still one of my best sellers. It began
when a man I was teaching to sail in San Diego told me he was going to make a
fortune by writing a book of rules of thumb for housewives: rules about ironing
and cooking; rules about bringing up children; rules about keeping a slim
figure to keep hubby happy; and so on.
I
don’t know if he ever did write that book, but after he learned to sail I stole
his idea and wrote a book of rules about something I knew quite well because I
had a box full of clippings collected over the years from boating magazines:
hints and tips about how to do all sorts of nautical things better, quicker,
and/or cheaper. The result is a book
with a waterproof cover that modestly proclaims it contains 460 sea-tested
rules of thumb for almost every boating situation.
To
quote my publisher: “This is either the most useful book ever designed to
entertain, or the most entertaining book ever designed to be useful.” In
between the whimsy, however, this book contains the essence of centuries of
seafaring experience distilled into a concise reference for sailors and
powerboaters.
If
I may say so, it makes an appropriate gift for fellow mariners.
Here’s
a review by Bernadette Bernon, then editor of Cruising World magazine:
“John
knows well about earning points at sea to put in a black box of experiences,
for he has had more than most. His gift as a writer is in being able to
translate those experiences for the reader with intelligence, humor, and warmth
of spirit. This engaging collection is a testament to that gift, and to one of
the finest boating writers at work today.”
Happy New Year
I
WISH one and all the very happiest of New Years. Join me in lifting a glass to
health, peace, and prosperity for 2014!
Today’s
Thought
The
writer does the most, who gives his reader the most knowledge, and takes from him the least time.— C. C. Colton, Lacon: Preface
Tailpiece
“Gloria, did I see you sneak a
gentleman into your dorm last night?”“No, sir, you didn’t. He turned out to be no gentleman.”
(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday,
Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)
May 26, 2011
The benefit of books
OLD WOTSISNAME was holding forth the other day, to anyone who would stop and listen, on the subject of learning to sail. His theory is that you can’t learn sailing from books; that the only worthwhile teacher is experience, often bitter experience.
I don’t think this is entirely true, but I didn’t waste my time arguing with OW, who has never been known to change his opinion as the result of a reasoned conversation. I have always placed OW in the “electric fence” category of sailing pundits.
It was the irrepressible Will Rogers who opined: “There are three kinds of men: The ones that learn by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee on the electric fence and find out for themselves.”
I believe that books provide the knowledge you need to experiment with your boat in all kinds of weather conditions. Books tell you what your options are, and how certain arrangements of sails and rudder worked for other people in light air and heavy. Without books, our knowledge of sailing would be limited to conversations with a few close associates such as OW, and we would never be able to break free from their near-sighted biased experience.
In any case, as an author myself, I’m very much in favor of people buying books to increase their knowledge of sailing and widen their skills. Reading is not a waste of time, despite what OW might tell you. Remembering something you once read may make life easier for you one day. It might even save your life. So go ahead, read a book, and let some other silly bugger pee on the fence.
Today’s Thought
You can get help from teachers, but you are going to have to learn a lot by yourself, sitting alone in a room.
— Theodore Geisel (“Dr. Seuss”)
Negative impact
SOME TIME AGO I was bewailing the fact that owners of small boats get a raw deal from marinas because slips are billed by length, not displacement.
Now a reader called Matt Marsh has weighed in on the subject:
“Unfortunately, the negative impact of billing purely by length extends beyond simply making small-craft folk mad,” he says. “It forces designers and manufacturers to use much shorter, deeper, and beamier hulls than would be ideal. There are a lot of 10-ton, 35-foot powerboats that really should be 10 tons and 46 feet, but are crammed into a smaller, less efficient, and far less seaworthy package so they can fit in a 35-foot slip.
“The logic behind length-based billing is hard to deny — the marina has to build and maintain X feet of dock to handle an X-foot boat, however wide or heavy she may be — catamarans excepted of course, since you can double-bill them — but it leads to so many bad side-effects ...”
Boaters’ Rules of Thumb, #204
If you ever need a tow in an emergency you may find that few skippers of larger boats know how dangerous it is to tow your boat faster than her normal hull speed. If you think there’s a chance they might ignore your pleas to keep the speed down, the rule is to make fast the towline at your end so that it can be cast off at a moment’s notice from your position at the helm.
Tailpiece
“Where did you get that black eye?”
“At a night club. I was struck by the beauty of the place.”
(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, for a new Mainly about Boats column.)
I don’t think this is entirely true, but I didn’t waste my time arguing with OW, who has never been known to change his opinion as the result of a reasoned conversation. I have always placed OW in the “electric fence” category of sailing pundits.
It was the irrepressible Will Rogers who opined: “There are three kinds of men: The ones that learn by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee on the electric fence and find out for themselves.”
I believe that books provide the knowledge you need to experiment with your boat in all kinds of weather conditions. Books tell you what your options are, and how certain arrangements of sails and rudder worked for other people in light air and heavy. Without books, our knowledge of sailing would be limited to conversations with a few close associates such as OW, and we would never be able to break free from their near-sighted biased experience.
In any case, as an author myself, I’m very much in favor of people buying books to increase their knowledge of sailing and widen their skills. Reading is not a waste of time, despite what OW might tell you. Remembering something you once read may make life easier for you one day. It might even save your life. So go ahead, read a book, and let some other silly bugger pee on the fence.
Today’s Thought
You can get help from teachers, but you are going to have to learn a lot by yourself, sitting alone in a room.
— Theodore Geisel (“Dr. Seuss”)
Negative impact
SOME TIME AGO I was bewailing the fact that owners of small boats get a raw deal from marinas because slips are billed by length, not displacement.
Now a reader called Matt Marsh has weighed in on the subject:
“Unfortunately, the negative impact of billing purely by length extends beyond simply making small-craft folk mad,” he says. “It forces designers and manufacturers to use much shorter, deeper, and beamier hulls than would be ideal. There are a lot of 10-ton, 35-foot powerboats that really should be 10 tons and 46 feet, but are crammed into a smaller, less efficient, and far less seaworthy package so they can fit in a 35-foot slip.
“The logic behind length-based billing is hard to deny — the marina has to build and maintain X feet of dock to handle an X-foot boat, however wide or heavy she may be — catamarans excepted of course, since you can double-bill them — but it leads to so many bad side-effects ...”
Boaters’ Rules of Thumb, #204
If you ever need a tow in an emergency you may find that few skippers of larger boats know how dangerous it is to tow your boat faster than her normal hull speed. If you think there’s a chance they might ignore your pleas to keep the speed down, the rule is to make fast the towline at your end so that it can be cast off at a moment’s notice from your position at the helm.
Tailpiece
“Where did you get that black eye?”
“At a night club. I was struck by the beauty of the place.”
(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, for a new Mainly about Boats column.)
February 21, 2010
Some exceptional books
(See this space every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column by John Vigor.)
A LETTER FROM BOB, who sails a Sabre 28 on Lake Michigan, says:
Dear John,
As a past member of your Silent Fan Club (having been expunged from the roster by you last year) I feel empowered now to comment at will . . .
So, I was just reading the latest copy of Good Old Boat and pondering the article by Perry on Cruising Design and the nature of keels. It suddenly struck me that if I had to leave the house in an emergency and could only take two sailing books with me (in addition to other essential non-sailing items) which ones would I take? Now my modest sailing library is about 100 titles. Of them all, it just as suddenly occurred to me that if I had to dash to safety I would take Yacht Design According to Perry, and your book, Twenty Small Sailboats to Take You Anywhere.
That left me wondering — what two you would take?
► Well, Bob, first off, I’m not sure that being kicked out of the Silent Fan Club entitles you to comment at will. I know about the First Amendment and all that, but the club has rules, you know. I shall have to consult the chairman on this and ask for a ruling.
Meanwhile, because I am such a just and principled person, and being fair of mind as well as fair of visage, I will tell you what popped into my mind when I read your final question.
I would grab Swallows and Amazons and Four Winds of Adventure.
This is straight off the top of my head, of course, my very first instinct, because there are literally hundreds of boating books out there, and scores of them are excellent enough to be grabbed in an emergency.
Swallows and Amazons was the first of a phenomenally successful series of children’s sailing books by Arthur Ransome, written in the 1930s. It has never been out of print since. Like all the really good classical kids’ books, it appeals to adults, too. I love it dearly and it brings me great joy every time I re-read it.
Four Winds of Adventure, by Marcel Bardiaux, is a wonderful book about one of the greatest voyages in the history of small-boat sailing. Bardiaux built his wooden 30-foot cutter, Les 4 Vents, in France, in a workshop some 20 yards from a railway bridge being blown up by the retreating Germans in 1945.
He spent eight years sailing singlehanded across five oceans and rounded Cape Horn the wrong way in mid-winter. His book is an extraordinary chronicle of hardships overcome by a man who should really be known as the Superman of the Sea.
I remember seeing Bardiaux and his boat as a teenager, but I never spoke to him. He was a very modest man, and to this day he’s almost unheard of in English-speaking countries. He wrote in French, of course, but luckily the book has been well translated.
Today’s Thought
Literature is the art of writing something that will be read twice.
— Cyril Connolly
Boaters’ Rules of Thumb #17
Blistering. One in four sailboat hulls can be expected to blister in its lifetime. New boats are experiencing fewer problems with osmosis as our knowledge of blister prevention grows, but the basic rule is this: as soon as you notice blistering, seek expert advice. It will only get worse. Don’t panic, though. A slight case might need nothing more than sanding down and recoating. With better ways now available to fix the problem, we no longer regard blisters as a death sentence.
Tailpiece
“Dad, a boy at school said I look just like you.”
“Great, what did you say?”
“Nothing — he was bigger than me.”
A LETTER FROM BOB, who sails a Sabre 28 on Lake Michigan, says:
Dear John,
As a past member of your Silent Fan Club (having been expunged from the roster by you last year) I feel empowered now to comment at will . . .
So, I was just reading the latest copy of Good Old Boat and pondering the article by Perry on Cruising Design and the nature of keels. It suddenly struck me that if I had to leave the house in an emergency and could only take two sailing books with me (in addition to other essential non-sailing items) which ones would I take? Now my modest sailing library is about 100 titles. Of them all, it just as suddenly occurred to me that if I had to dash to safety I would take Yacht Design According to Perry, and your book, Twenty Small Sailboats to Take You Anywhere.
That left me wondering — what two you would take?
► Well, Bob, first off, I’m not sure that being kicked out of the Silent Fan Club entitles you to comment at will. I know about the First Amendment and all that, but the club has rules, you know. I shall have to consult the chairman on this and ask for a ruling.
Meanwhile, because I am such a just and principled person, and being fair of mind as well as fair of visage, I will tell you what popped into my mind when I read your final question.
I would grab Swallows and Amazons and Four Winds of Adventure.
This is straight off the top of my head, of course, my very first instinct, because there are literally hundreds of boating books out there, and scores of them are excellent enough to be grabbed in an emergency.
Swallows and Amazons was the first of a phenomenally successful series of children’s sailing books by Arthur Ransome, written in the 1930s. It has never been out of print since. Like all the really good classical kids’ books, it appeals to adults, too. I love it dearly and it brings me great joy every time I re-read it.
Four Winds of Adventure, by Marcel Bardiaux, is a wonderful book about one of the greatest voyages in the history of small-boat sailing. Bardiaux built his wooden 30-foot cutter, Les 4 Vents, in France, in a workshop some 20 yards from a railway bridge being blown up by the retreating Germans in 1945.
He spent eight years sailing singlehanded across five oceans and rounded Cape Horn the wrong way in mid-winter. His book is an extraordinary chronicle of hardships overcome by a man who should really be known as the Superman of the Sea.
I remember seeing Bardiaux and his boat as a teenager, but I never spoke to him. He was a very modest man, and to this day he’s almost unheard of in English-speaking countries. He wrote in French, of course, but luckily the book has been well translated.
Today’s Thought
Literature is the art of writing something that will be read twice.
— Cyril Connolly
Boaters’ Rules of Thumb #17
Blistering. One in four sailboat hulls can be expected to blister in its lifetime. New boats are experiencing fewer problems with osmosis as our knowledge of blister prevention grows, but the basic rule is this: as soon as you notice blistering, seek expert advice. It will only get worse. Don’t panic, though. A slight case might need nothing more than sanding down and recoating. With better ways now available to fix the problem, we no longer regard blisters as a death sentence.
Tailpiece
“Dad, a boy at school said I look just like you.”
“Great, what did you say?”
“Nothing — he was bigger than me.”
January 27, 2009
A manual for life
I WAS FOSSICKING around in a used-book store the other when I came across a copy of A Manual for Small Yachts, by R. D. Graham and J. E. H. Tew. It was a 1946 copy, beautifully and miraculously preserved after all those years. I was greatly tempted to buy it because I have that very same edition at home, right down to the purple cover. But my copy is tattered and ravaged from the passage of time. I love it dearly, nevertheless, because, as far as I can remember, it’s the first book I ever stole.
I was 14 years old when I smuggled it off the sloop Albatross, then owned by Harry Pegram, one of the landed gentry from the wine country near Cape Town. It was inscribed “To the Boatswain of the Albatross. From the Skipper, 12/1/47. Thanks a lot.” I never knew who the Boatswain was, and he must have been gone for several years before I came on the scene. I think I replaced him as crew, though, after which the good old Albatross sailed without a proper bosun.
Now, all these decades later, we’re both showing signs of age, the book and I — honorable scars of usage and experience, I like to think. I don’t care what the book looks like now, and I realize it’s worth nothing to anyone else, but we’ve grown up together, we’re like family, that book and I. I have pored over it countless times and it has taught me many useful things you won’t find in modern books on the subject of sailing.
I do have other books, of course, some obscure, some fascinating, some given to me by famous sailors like Bernard Moitessier long before he became famous. And I have clippings from magazines with articles by people like that superb seaman and writer, Miles Smeeton, whose words of wisdom all too often (like Thomas Gray’s flowers) were destined to blush unseen and waste their sweetness on the desert air.
Most of my little collection is well thumbed (OK, pretty shoddy) and largely comprises books picked up cheaply from library sales, given to me for birthdays, and, very occasionally, awarded as a prize for some sailing competition. The only ones that look smart and new are ones that haven’t been opened because I wrote them myself and I already know what’s inside.
Almost every time I approach the bookshelves, my eye falls fondly on A Manual for Small Yachts and in passing I’ll give it a little pat, or open it to some page at random. Last time I picked it up it fell open at the last page of the glossary and there I read: “Way: a ship weighs her anchor but gets under way, but some of you spell it underweigh, which is incorrect until enough people do it often enough to make it right.”
That hasn’t happened yet, but many people, including the worthy editor of a magazine that employs me as a copy editor, insist that a boat gets underway. Why that should be, I can’t imagine. One doesn’t hide undertable when an earthquake threatens. A daring pilot doesn’t underfly a bridge. No, a boat gets under way, separated by a proper honest space, and that’s that.
I shall quote A Manual for Small Yachts in my long-running fight with my intractable editor. Thank you for your assistance Commander Graham. Thank you Mr. Tew. If I ever win that fight I’ll have your lovely little book rebound.
Today’s Thought
When I am dead
I hope it may be said
“His sins were scarlet,
“But his books were read.”
—Hilaire Belloc
Tailpiece
A new senator was irritated by poor service on the flight to Washington, DC.
“Do you know who I am?” he thundered.
“No, sir,” said the attendant, “but I’ll make enquiries and let you know.”
I was 14 years old when I smuggled it off the sloop Albatross, then owned by Harry Pegram, one of the landed gentry from the wine country near Cape Town. It was inscribed “To the Boatswain of the Albatross. From the Skipper, 12/1/47. Thanks a lot.” I never knew who the Boatswain was, and he must have been gone for several years before I came on the scene. I think I replaced him as crew, though, after which the good old Albatross sailed without a proper bosun.
Now, all these decades later, we’re both showing signs of age, the book and I — honorable scars of usage and experience, I like to think. I don’t care what the book looks like now, and I realize it’s worth nothing to anyone else, but we’ve grown up together, we’re like family, that book and I. I have pored over it countless times and it has taught me many useful things you won’t find in modern books on the subject of sailing.
I do have other books, of course, some obscure, some fascinating, some given to me by famous sailors like Bernard Moitessier long before he became famous. And I have clippings from magazines with articles by people like that superb seaman and writer, Miles Smeeton, whose words of wisdom all too often (like Thomas Gray’s flowers) were destined to blush unseen and waste their sweetness on the desert air.
Most of my little collection is well thumbed (OK, pretty shoddy) and largely comprises books picked up cheaply from library sales, given to me for birthdays, and, very occasionally, awarded as a prize for some sailing competition. The only ones that look smart and new are ones that haven’t been opened because I wrote them myself and I already know what’s inside.
Almost every time I approach the bookshelves, my eye falls fondly on A Manual for Small Yachts and in passing I’ll give it a little pat, or open it to some page at random. Last time I picked it up it fell open at the last page of the glossary and there I read: “Way: a ship weighs her anchor but gets under way, but some of you spell it underweigh, which is incorrect until enough people do it often enough to make it right.”
That hasn’t happened yet, but many people, including the worthy editor of a magazine that employs me as a copy editor, insist that a boat gets underway. Why that should be, I can’t imagine. One doesn’t hide undertable when an earthquake threatens. A daring pilot doesn’t underfly a bridge. No, a boat gets under way, separated by a proper honest space, and that’s that.
I shall quote A Manual for Small Yachts in my long-running fight with my intractable editor. Thank you for your assistance Commander Graham. Thank you Mr. Tew. If I ever win that fight I’ll have your lovely little book rebound.
Today’s Thought
When I am dead
I hope it may be said
“His sins were scarlet,
“But his books were read.”
—Hilaire Belloc
Tailpiece
A new senator was irritated by poor service on the flight to Washington, DC.
“Do you know who I am?” he thundered.
“No, sir,” said the attendant, “but I’ll make enquiries and let you know.”
December 30, 2008
Oprah, lies, and me
ONCE AGAIN, Ms. Oprah has been turned into Ms. Suckah. This time it was Herman Rosenblat who left Oprah with egg on her face. He wrote a book called Angel at the Fence, a poignant tale of a Jewish girl who threw him apples and bread over the fence of a Nazi concentration camp. Oprah invited Rosenblat and his wife to her show twice, and called his book the “single greatest love story … we’ve ever told on the air.”
Well, as it turns out, the story is bunk. It was a hoax, and Oprah fell for it. This isn’t the first time she has been caught in this way, but I can’t bring myself to feel sorry for her. We have a comfortable arrangement, Oprah and I. She ignores me and I ignore her.
This ignoring business started last year after I wrote a book—a wonderful book and a true book, I might add—about the fascinating South Atlantic island of St. Helena, and its famous prisoner, Napoleon Bonaparte. I thought to myself, now all I need is to get this marvelous book mentioned on Oprah’s show and I’ll make a million. I can retire and never have to write another goddam book in my life. (You won’t credit the amount of actual work it takes to write a book.)
So I e-mailed Oprah, thinking she would want to seize this wonderful opportunity to make me rich, and she ignored me. Never heard a word from her. Never managed to sell the blasted book, either. God, publishers are so stupid. Anyway, without in any way feeling bitter and twisted, I ignored Oprah right back. And serve her right, I said.
But now it occurs to me that the way to get publicity from Oprah is to spin a web of deceit, to tell her the most monstrous lies about yourself and your book, specially if love and sex are involved. That’s how Ms. Oprah turns into Ms. Suckah.
So, okay, now cross my heart and may I die if I should dare to tell a lie, but there are certain facts about my St. Helena book, Walking with Napoleon, that were previously suppressed in the interests of common decency. I have now decided to reveal them. Among them was the fact (are you paying attention, Oprah?) that I am the illegitimate son of Marilyn Monroe and John F. Kennedy.
Shortly after birth I was farmed out to a surrogate grandmother in Alabama, some kind of relation of President Clinton’s, I believe. She kept me locked up in a cellar and fed me hominy grits through a crack in the door until I was 11, when I managed to escape and join the Ku Klux Klan. I rose through the ranks, thanks to my skill in arranging the early demise of certain people in novel and interesting ways, but by the time I was 20 I was a lawyer for the Mafia in Chicago, where I met the most gorgeous and entirely voluptuous pole dancer who slipped me free cocktails at my table until I was 26, when I married her and we had a baby called Barack. I shall say no more. The FBI has advised me to keep my big trap shut and is spreading a decoy tale about some black guy from Kenya who conveniently disappeared. Yeah, right.
Nevertheless, the facts speak for themselves. They appear, at face value anyhow, to be just the kind of facts Oprah likes to publicize in that dear, sweet, naive way of hers. I look forward to the early discontinuation of our relationship of mutual ignoration. I am enormously excited at the prospect of being summoned to the Oprah show and never having to put another finger to the bloody keyboard for the rest of my life.
Today’s Thought
A good portion of speaking well consists in knowing how to lie. —Erasmus, Philetymus et Pseudocheus.
Tailpiece
The little wren of tender mind
To every other bird is kind.
It ne’er to mischief bends its will …
(So good. So dull. It makes me ill.)
Well, as it turns out, the story is bunk. It was a hoax, and Oprah fell for it. This isn’t the first time she has been caught in this way, but I can’t bring myself to feel sorry for her. We have a comfortable arrangement, Oprah and I. She ignores me and I ignore her.
This ignoring business started last year after I wrote a book—a wonderful book and a true book, I might add—about the fascinating South Atlantic island of St. Helena, and its famous prisoner, Napoleon Bonaparte. I thought to myself, now all I need is to get this marvelous book mentioned on Oprah’s show and I’ll make a million. I can retire and never have to write another goddam book in my life. (You won’t credit the amount of actual work it takes to write a book.)
So I e-mailed Oprah, thinking she would want to seize this wonderful opportunity to make me rich, and she ignored me. Never heard a word from her. Never managed to sell the blasted book, either. God, publishers are so stupid. Anyway, without in any way feeling bitter and twisted, I ignored Oprah right back. And serve her right, I said.
But now it occurs to me that the way to get publicity from Oprah is to spin a web of deceit, to tell her the most monstrous lies about yourself and your book, specially if love and sex are involved. That’s how Ms. Oprah turns into Ms. Suckah.
So, okay, now cross my heart and may I die if I should dare to tell a lie, but there are certain facts about my St. Helena book, Walking with Napoleon, that were previously suppressed in the interests of common decency. I have now decided to reveal them. Among them was the fact (are you paying attention, Oprah?) that I am the illegitimate son of Marilyn Monroe and John F. Kennedy.
Shortly after birth I was farmed out to a surrogate grandmother in Alabama, some kind of relation of President Clinton’s, I believe. She kept me locked up in a cellar and fed me hominy grits through a crack in the door until I was 11, when I managed to escape and join the Ku Klux Klan. I rose through the ranks, thanks to my skill in arranging the early demise of certain people in novel and interesting ways, but by the time I was 20 I was a lawyer for the Mafia in Chicago, where I met the most gorgeous and entirely voluptuous pole dancer who slipped me free cocktails at my table until I was 26, when I married her and we had a baby called Barack. I shall say no more. The FBI has advised me to keep my big trap shut and is spreading a decoy tale about some black guy from Kenya who conveniently disappeared. Yeah, right.
Nevertheless, the facts speak for themselves. They appear, at face value anyhow, to be just the kind of facts Oprah likes to publicize in that dear, sweet, naive way of hers. I look forward to the early discontinuation of our relationship of mutual ignoration. I am enormously excited at the prospect of being summoned to the Oprah show and never having to put another finger to the bloody keyboard for the rest of my life.
Today’s Thought
A good portion of speaking well consists in knowing how to lie. —Erasmus, Philetymus et Pseudocheus.
Tailpiece
The little wren of tender mind
To every other bird is kind.
It ne’er to mischief bends its will …
(So good. So dull. It makes me ill.)
November 11, 2008
Boycott libraries
AS IF things weren’t bad enough already, librarians are getting in on the act. My local newspaper recently published an article by two local librarians who ask: “Is the economic downturn changing your lifestyle?”
Their answer to this drastic state of affairs is to urge people to visit the library. “You can escape to an exotic place through books,” they say, “a delicious break from the daily news.”
Non-librarians might notice a tiny flaw in the logic here. Hiding from the economic downturn is not going to change things for the better, surely? Well of course not. Not if you give it a moment’s thought.
But never mind that. What interests me more than their lack of logic is their lack of concern for us writers, the very people who provide the raw material that fills their libraries.
I mean, you take us boating writers. How do those librarians (hiss!) think we’re going to survive the hard times if people read our books in libraries instead of buying them, as any honest decent person should?
It’s cheating to borrow boating books from the library. We boating writers get nothing from that. We get precious little from books that are sold to nice people (less than 10 percent of the cover price, mostly) but we get absolutely nothing from the people who are seduced into entering libraries. They can suck the marrow from our brain bones without adding a cent to their credit-card debt. I mean, is that fair?
I’ve spent years learning how to write sentences that don’t end in prepositions. I’ve spent a lifetime learning how to sail nicely. I’ve studied which boats are best for crossing oceans and I have qualifications that would almost make a naval architect or a professional captain green with envy. I know hydrodynamics and aerodynamics and which sailboats are babe magnets.
And I write all this good stuff down in books with the aim of selling it to needy people. You have to agree that’s providing information and entertainment to the public and earning an honorable living for me.
Or it would be, if the librarians (hiss!) weren’t white-anting me and giving away all my knowledge for nothing.
They look so harmless, even appealing, as they sit there in their knitted sweaters and sensible shoes, reading fairy tales to groups of ankle-biters whose minds they hope to warp and indoctrinate by luring them into libraries at a very young age. But if you look into their steely eyes you’ll see hate; hate for writers; especial hate for boating writers.
“Don’t buy books,” they tell the kids. “Just come here and read them for free. We’ve got all the Vigor books. You don’t need to subsidize the likes of him.”
Pretty soon, the likes of me will die out. There will be no more writers. We’ll be flipping hamburgers instead of writing. There will be no more books. There will be no more libraries. And, praise the lord, there will be no more cruel librarians (hiss!).
Their answer to this drastic state of affairs is to urge people to visit the library. “You can escape to an exotic place through books,” they say, “a delicious break from the daily news.”
Non-librarians might notice a tiny flaw in the logic here. Hiding from the economic downturn is not going to change things for the better, surely? Well of course not. Not if you give it a moment’s thought.
But never mind that. What interests me more than their lack of logic is their lack of concern for us writers, the very people who provide the raw material that fills their libraries.
I mean, you take us boating writers. How do those librarians (hiss!) think we’re going to survive the hard times if people read our books in libraries instead of buying them, as any honest decent person should?
It’s cheating to borrow boating books from the library. We boating writers get nothing from that. We get precious little from books that are sold to nice people (less than 10 percent of the cover price, mostly) but we get absolutely nothing from the people who are seduced into entering libraries. They can suck the marrow from our brain bones without adding a cent to their credit-card debt. I mean, is that fair?
I’ve spent years learning how to write sentences that don’t end in prepositions. I’ve spent a lifetime learning how to sail nicely. I’ve studied which boats are best for crossing oceans and I have qualifications that would almost make a naval architect or a professional captain green with envy. I know hydrodynamics and aerodynamics and which sailboats are babe magnets.
And I write all this good stuff down in books with the aim of selling it to needy people. You have to agree that’s providing information and entertainment to the public and earning an honorable living for me.
Or it would be, if the librarians (hiss!) weren’t white-anting me and giving away all my knowledge for nothing.
They look so harmless, even appealing, as they sit there in their knitted sweaters and sensible shoes, reading fairy tales to groups of ankle-biters whose minds they hope to warp and indoctrinate by luring them into libraries at a very young age. But if you look into their steely eyes you’ll see hate; hate for writers; especial hate for boating writers.
“Don’t buy books,” they tell the kids. “Just come here and read them for free. We’ve got all the Vigor books. You don’t need to subsidize the likes of him.”
Pretty soon, the likes of me will die out. There will be no more writers. We’ll be flipping hamburgers instead of writing. There will be no more books. There will be no more libraries. And, praise the lord, there will be no more cruel librarians (hiss!).
* * *
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