I mention this because I
watched with fascination a discussion on a boating bulletin board. A poster
wanted to know how best to cut through a small stainless-steel pin, one that
looked about 3/16-inch in diameter. “Get an abrasive wheel,” someone advised
him. “Or get a large bolt cutter with hardened steel jaws.”
“No, no, said another. Get a 4
1/2-inch angle grinder.”
I shoved my oar in: “Use a
hacksaw,” I said. “It’s simple. It’s easy.”
Big mistake. A quick rebuttal
followed: Cutting 416 stainless steel with a hacksaw would be incredibly
difficult, said a boat owner who appears to be speaking more from hearsay than
experience, and who has apparently invented a new grade of stainless steel. “Get
a cheap 4-inch angle grinder and some metal-cutting blades. And safety goggles,
of course.”
“No, no,” said the next poster
in line. “An angle grinder can cause a lot of collateral damage. Use bolt
cutters.”
“No, no,” came the follow-up. “Bolt
cutters will crush the pin and you may not be able to get it out of the hole.”
And so it went on. The
collective wisdom of the bulletin board ground away, taking longer than it
would have taken me to cut the damn pin with my little hacksaw.
I grew up in an era when boat
people used hand tools not only because they were cheaper and simpler but
because they would work on boats in mid-ocean as well as they would on boats
with umbilical cords plugged in to shore power. It is revealing to me that the
first reaction now is to rush out and buy a power tool.
I built a wooden one-design
racing dinghy with no power tools whatsoever. I had a beautifully made Stanley
hand drill, which I loved dearly, and still have. And I had screwdrivers, saws
and planes, files and sandpaper, and a large supply of elbow grease. I’m no
shipwright, nor even a good carpenter, but it gave me great pleasure and
satisfaction to work simply and quietly with my bare hands; so much pleasure,
in fact that I went on to build another three dinghies of the same design —
only for those I used just one power tool, an electric drill. I still have
that, too.
When I lived in San Diego, I
bought a wreck of an International Mirror dinghy that needed a lot of work. The
only place I had to work on it was in a garage I rented under an occupied
apartment. I rebuilt that boat with hand tools in almost complete silence so
that the occupants of the apartment wouldn’t hear me and have me thrown out. I
secretly sawed and sanded and repainted and glued and screwed while listening
to the noise of the television above, and they never found out.
The famous American
round-the-worlder Jean Gau, the Waldorf-Astoria chef, used a hacksaw to clear
his stainless-steel rigging after he lost his bolt cutter overboard when his
30-foot Tahiti ketch, Atom, was
dismasted while rounding the Cape of Good Hope.
My boyhood hero, Henry Wakelam,
built himself a small ocean-going yacht, a Thuella design by Harrison-Butler,
without any power tools at all. He was working out in the open, in the bush.
There is great pleasure to be
had in working slowly but effectively. There is deep satisfaction in developing
the skills and patience to work with hand planes knives, saws and (if you have
some toes left) the adze. The smell of curly new wood shavings thrills me
still, as does the lack of noise, that infernal, unnecessary noise. It’s sad
that too many people are now scared to do anything by hand, scared even to
contemplate cutting a thin rod of stainless steel with a hacksaw. I can only
hope this is a passing phase and that sailors will one day learn to use their
hands again, just as their ancestors did.
Today’s Thought
There is a period of life when we go back as we advance.
— Rousseau, Émile
Tailpiece
“Does your husband
always speak to himself like that when he’s alone?”
“Dunno.
I’ve never been with him when he’s alone.”
(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, for another
Mainly about Boats column.)
