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| Day 112 |
27 July 2000 |
| Gove |
| "Sailorising" |
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There is no let up in the wind today so Duyfken stays tied up to
the safety of the buoy and we let it all blow past us. It is
another day out of our passage time to Pennefather River, but
the day is certainly not wasted. Gary sees to that.
After breakfast the crew sends down the main topsail for repairs
and maintenance. The yard (the wooden spar the top of the sail
is laced to) is designed to lower easily to the deck on ships of
this era. No metal fittings hold any of Duyfken's rig in place.
It is all held together with hemp rope and seizings (bindings)
of light line, so the only tool required for the job is a knife
to cut the seizings on the halyard, after which the yard and
sail can be lowered away.
Once on deck the sail is unbent (untied) from the yard and
spread out to work on. Gary and John get to work with scrapers
removing the flaking varnish from the yard so it can be oiled,
while the rest of the crew take up palms and needles and double
up the stitching holding the boltrope (the rope stitched around
the perimeter of the sail for strength) to the sail. Gary has
announced 'Job and finish', which means the crew can knock off
once the job is done. Needles glint in the sun as they pass
through rope and canvass. Varnish shavings blow about the deck
and pile up in the scuppers. Work progresses apace.
Once the stitching is done and any necessary repairs to the sail
are finished we all set to work with tar-pots and brushes to tar
the boltrope. Gary has made up a mixture of pine-tar, linseed
oil and various other secret ingredients. It stains the hemp a
beautiful golden- brown and smells delightfully nautical, but
its purpose is to preserve the rope against rot.
The gaskets (ropes which have been braided into ties for
securing the sail when furling) have been removed from the yard,
so it's a good time to give them a drink of tar also, to keep
the rot away. If a gasket rots it can be highly dangerous. To
get a tight furl on a topsail requires passing the gaskets
around and around the yard and sail, then hauling back on them
as hard as you can. If a gasket were to part as the furler
hauled on them it would be easy to lose balance and fall back
into space with the impetus. A lick of tar will keep them in
good condition much longer.
At 1500 the job is done. The freshly oiled yard lies across the
rail gleaming in the sun and the sail is flaked out along the
starboard side of the deck ready to bend back on (secure to the
yard again) in the morning. Vapours of linseed oil and pine
resin drift on the wind evoking an era of seafaring that has all
but disappeared. I imagine the original Duyfken smelling exactly
like this, yet it feels like my memory, rather than my
imagination, being stimulated. Strange, that the sense of smell
can so powerfully arouse nostalgia for an age that existed
before the nose was ever born.
We eat our evening meal in the tiller flat. This is the space
immediately below the steering position on the main-deck. The
big oak tiller comes through the transom (the flat, planked part
of the hull right aft) and sweeps in an arc overhead, or about
head-height when sitting. There is no standing room in the
tiller flat, but it is a particularly pleasant place to sit. The
two gun-port doors are opened up for ventilation, and we sit
nearly at water level looking out over Gove harbour with the
waves lapping just beneath our two small picture windows.
Once the dinner things have been cleared away musical
instruments start appearing. Gary tunes his mandolin, Greg
unrolls a canvas bag of tin whistles, and Robbie hands me a
guitar. Duyfken's timbers resonate with all kinds of songs, not
to mention lots of partly remembered fragments, until well into
the night. The wonderful thing about sea-songs is that they
sound better if each singer participates in a different key.
The wind seems to be abating. I hope we can fuel up and depart
tomorrow for the Pennefather River.
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Peter Manthorpe
Master
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