The "Jackie" Concertina

The “Jackie” English is a 2 octave chromatic concertina I bought from Barleycorn Concertinas about 3 months ago. I have been playing it nearly every day since I bought it trying to establish a repertoire I can busk with this summer as well as my Northumbrian Small Pipes and Border Pipes. It is my first concertina I own, I did start off with a Hohner Anglo 20 button concertina in Bb but it was badly out of tune and the bellows leaked. I had some music notation of the Northumbrian Pipes with harmonies and I wanted to play this music on the concertina, I found the 20 button Anglo limiting on the harmony line so I decided to switch techniques and buy the English system instead. I later found out that the harmonies are equally difficult to play on the English as the fingering is not as easy as on the Anglo, but with practice it is ok; but I do believe by trying the two systems out that the Anglo is the easier of the two to get a basic harmonic accompaniment for a basic folk melody.
The Jackie has accordion reeds, but the action is good, light and strong, the springs are good and I think will last a long time. The fingering is ok except for a few notes in the bass nearest the finger straps that are hard to get at, but again with practise and by using different fingers one can reach them alright. It is bigger and heavier than the Hohner but that is to be expected and it is quite loud and I think it is a good choice for busking or playing with a group, and since I play a range of UK and European melodies I can get the different semitones that sometimes occur in the scale of foreign melodies.
I enjoy playing melodies in their right key, and not having to think too much about in which direction to pump air. I am trying to memorize new melodies and relearn my pipe melodies, so I am concentrating on UK fiddle tunes: reels, hornpipes, polkas etc. As well as some melodies from Sweden and Spain, I am getting these into my head and starting to play them from memory, and trying to play around with the melodies to make them ‘live’ and not just to play ‘dots on a page’. It is progressing nicely.

Harp and Concertina

WE visited a harpist near to our home today. She has busked over Europe and now makes her living by playing small festivals and doing a lot of weddings. She is a good player and when we meet we tend to play European melodies mainly from Sweden, Spain and France, but also some melodies from Turkey, Czech Republic, Belgium and Medieval, but strangely enough not British or Irish! I play the Northumbrian pipes and the Turkish Ney - an open-ended cane flute. We have been playing together for a few months now and are working on a CD and a repertoire to go playing this spring, do a few gigs and some busking.
Later that evening at home I played my English concertina, trying to play from memory the tunes I have been trying to memories since I bought it (about 3 months ago). With this instrument I play English fiddle music, a few Irish melodies, and Northumbrian and European melodies. The beauty with the concertina is that it has a range of 2 octaves and it is chromatic so most melodies are in range for me now. There is no transposing or worrying about the range, it is already tuned and it is ready to play, and I do frequently. I played for about an hour and a half, but I need more practise if I am to busk with it this year.
I got an e-mail from a fellow Border piper arranging a meeting next week over the border in Scotland that is good as I would like to play Border pipes now; it has been such a long time!

The Galician Gaita

Being at home and not busking I am able to practice Spanish melodies, or more to the point bagpipe melodies from Galicia, north western Spain. I began lessons on my last visit to Spain in December 2010, when I visited a cultural centre in Alcobendas, northern Madrid. There was a school of Galician and Asturian pipers and I sat and listened for 2 weeks and given a chance to learn some of the Galician melodies. But first one has to learn the fingering that is played on their Gaita (bagpipe). The Galician gaita uses an open-fingering technique as opposed to the Asturian closed fingering, but these definitions can be changed and not fixed; different and mixed finger techniques are used depending on the chanter and maker of the Gaita. I learned this open-fingering from the band leader who told me to buy a cheap recorder/block-flute and bring it to him, this I did at the next session. He made the 3rd hole from the bottom wider thus making it a sharper note, so playing an F sharp instead of an F natural this suited the scale of the Galician melodies. The one octave scale is as follows: (c#), D, E, F#, G, A, B, C#, D. semitones can be obtained and a 2nd octave can be reached by using a cross-fingering technique. I was presented with many examples of notation written in the key of D major (the popular root note for the gaita is C major). So with my modified block flute as a practice chanter, and a wad of photocopied bagpipe melodies I am determined to practice.

"You must be completely insane"

Another puncture yesterday (24.12.10) on the way to Carlisle, continued by bus into town; the city centre had the South Americans setting up their amplification, loud speakers and digital programming all for their pan pipes and drums. They had on American Indian costumes in sub-zero temperatures when they play they drown out everything in the centre of town, no one can perform there, the Christian Bible Basher has to pack up and go, all other buskers are blasted out. A fiddler who comes from Edinburgh retreated down a side street but I guess even the panpipes would reach him there, he has amplification too, a small amp with the bass turned full up and the treble down, it is a nice sound and he is a good player. The South Americans also have their amplification with an extra bass boost; it stops the terrible feedback that often accompanies outdoor amps, but I ask myself is all this technology needed for a few acoustic instruments that have worked very well for centuries in South America, a radio mic was attached to the singers cheek as he walked around the pavement singing to no one; his voice unheard and a deep booming voice from 1000 of pounds worth of equipment. I wonder if it pays them to do it. I slipped my way to my other haunt to find it occupied by the guitarist and his friend singing for beer money, I turned and went to the other edge of town to go into the bowls of Carlisle in the subway. It is a dirty and damp place but has a stream of shoppers coming to and from the centre. I played and was doing ok until a friend I knew stopped and we talked for 15 minutes after that I was cold then I became blue with cold. I spied a ray of sun at the other end and I sauntered over there to take advantage of the glimmer of sun. It helped for a while. A parade of school kids must have gotten out of some x-mass pantomime and for the next 10 minutes I could not hear myself play due to the screams and shouts as they took advantage of the subway’s acoustics. After that I played until I could not feel my fingers and I was jigging about so much I must have looked like a jack-in-the-box. I called it a day when a couple passing said “you must be completely insane”. I packed up and thawed out over a coffee, did some x-mass shopping then caught the bus back to my punctured bike and walked home. Merry X-mass one and all.

Sweet Hesleyside

The day started with a flat tire on the way to Carlisle, I did think to walk back home a journey of 3 miles but I decided to get the bus into town and pick the bike up when I finished playing. This effort paid off as I had a good days busking by selling 2 CDs and getting an offer of playing a festival this summer at Cockermouth, Cumbria. It was still cold and people walked by not smiling too much, but there were a lot of people compared to other days. Last minute shopping before x-mass perhaps and a few people stopped and chatted, the odd drunk, and asking what sort of pipes they were? One elderly woman asked if I could play "Sweet Hesleyside" probably the most asked for melody, I had to prise the keys open as they had stuck fast with the cold probably due to the almond oil congealing. I was playing in the centre of town again and there is a noted difference in atmosphere as later I went back to my usual haunt down a small lane near to a church where a steady stream of people walk to and fro to their cars. The interest died off and the money became less, but the sun shone in my eyes and thawed my fingers out. Then I took the bus back to my wounded bike and walked home as the sun went down at 3.45pm, it became bitterly cold after that.

Entertainment for the Public

When I turned up yesterday to play in my usual place there was a young man playing guitar. He had a good voice and played the guitar with sensitivity. He sang modern pop songs and as young boy passed he joined in with the words. I thought this is what busking is all about...entertaining the general public. I play melodies from the 18th century and for many it is a dead art. in the 18th century the tunes I play were probably well know, played at festivities and perhaps the 'top of the tops' of their day, now they are forgotten liked by a select few who love traditional music. No one whistles the melodies I play although some old folk can recognise them (I would like to know from where they know them) but that not is to say they do not like the music. I am often surprised who does appreciate this music and instrument it is not only the traditional music lover, the passerby can be aged from 5 to 75 or older, male and female, often they are dressed in normal popular fashion from the big stores, but often I have been acknowledged by punks, skin-heads, crusties, mods and rockers etc. businessmen and homeless, junkies and musicians. They are not all interested in traditional music so what attracts them? For nearly 30 years I have busked and only on a few occasions have I been told that it sounds bad, so why do people like something yet do not generally listen to it? The people who dislike it are just as interesting as the people who like what I do, nevertheless more people like or else I would not be making a living from it!

Frozen Money

It never got above 0c today I was in two minds whether to go busking or not it was extremely cold, a beautiful day with sun but a fog over the fields and icy roads. I played from 1pm to 3pm and was not too cold due to the sun in my face, the people walked passed with not too much interest scared to fall on the slippy pavement. Some threw money in full momentum missing the case and landing on the floor when I had finished the tune I bent down to pick it up but it had frozen to the floor! I introduced a new tune to my repertoire “Sr. Charle’s Rant” a Peacock tune, one octave. It sounds different when played with the Northumbrian pipes compared to the Border pipes probably due to the closed chanter compared to the open ended chanter on the Border pipes. For a time the sun disappeared behind a building and it became numbingly cold and I noticed the difference when it reappeared. A nice cycle home with the sun in my eyes and it coming through the mist over the fields, I got home before the black ice formed on the roads.

A Cycle to the Artic

A frosty morning to go and check the boat, I pedaled 10 miles over icy back roads and when I got to the sea there were large blankets of ice flowing down with the ebbing tide, it reminded me of the ice fields of the Arctic on a much smaller scale! I parked the bike and gingerly waded out to the boat, underneath the water I could see the white of the ice still frozen to the gravel. I walked around the boat inspecting the hull and slipped, nearly ended up in the water as some submerged ice made the ground like glass. I climbed into the snow that lay in the cockpit and undid the lock, amazingly inside was ok, no leaks, only a small patch of snow inside, how did that get there? As I lifted the floorboards to see into the bilges I could hear the small pieces of ice scrapping the hull as the ebb took it along. The antifouling paint was scraped off in many parts of the hull down to the fibreglass itself, on the starboard side where the sun had got to it; on the port side where the sun could not reach the ice was over the hull half way up the boat with ‘veins’ cracked into the ice. I am not sure if the cracks were part of the ice or that the paint had cracked due to the cold. A line of ice showed where the water level had been. I made myself a coffee and noticed how neglected she looked, the weather was taking its toll on her and she badly needed some TLC. When spring comes she will get painted and a brushed up. The surrounding area looked beautiful, ice and snow covering the shore line, Scotland looking pink in the sun light, the few birds were searching for food, it would be nice to linger but I had a 10 mile cycle ride back home and it was already past 2pm and sun went down at 3.45pm.

Busking

Busking today was a cold affair, we had snow in the morning but the main roads kept clear. I cycled into Carlisle, a journey of 8 miles, went to my usual place but it was so quiet I headed into the centre and started to play. As long as I kept playing my fingers stayed warm but when I stopped I began to get cold. I played for about 4 hours and enjoyed it very much. I have enough one octave tunes in my head to play for 3 hours before I start to repeat them. I dislike repeating tunes. I did not see any other buskers, even the Romanian woman who sits and plays odd notes on her accordion was not there. I actually enjoyed the weather, it was clear and crisp, and the sun shone and altered my drones so much that there were to their full extent on the sliders. I played mainly Bewick and Peacock melodies from Northumbrian. The pipes kept in tune I was pleased with the sound and the playing. Sold no Cds though, everyone wanted to get home, no time for stopping and chatting, it was a rush to get home before it iced over. I cycled home with no problems.

DCA Article (Dinghy Cruising Association)

Today I received the new DCA Bulletin, and my latest article was inside! It is about my first sail on Sadaf, my 20ft Hurley Felicity. It has been shortened a little, but I am pleased with it, some nice photos of the area that have been contributed by other people. This is my 4th article to date. I hope to do more in the spring and possibility get further out along the coast.

A Return to Busking

I have been busking this past week on the streets of Carlisle. It has been a long while since I last busked but I never forget the melodies and I quickly regain my speed and lost titles come back to me as though they are waiting for me. I only have two places to play as my pipes are so quiet compared with the background noise that seems to be everywhere on the pedestrian walkways. Once a British man stopped to have a chat many years ago, he lived in France and was returning to his home in Carlisle, he remarked that compared to France the background noise was far greater in the UK. I find the general hum of noise quite bad too. when I started to play the pipes were heard in the centre of town, but now I cannot hear myself play, so I retreat down back alleyways and places where there are not many people or mechanical interference, this results in less money and less contact with people, but quality is important and I do not want to be playing when I cannot hear myself. Busking has changed for me over the years. I started playing full time in 2001 and I have continued playing while I am in Carlisle. It has improved my playing greatly and I sell my Cds to people who have an interest and who likes my playing.
I did not speak to many people this week, people where running from the cold. I only saw one other busker too, a young boy who was playing guitar. The cold effects the pipes too, the metal keys are not comfortable to play so I generally play the 1 octave melodies and leave the lower keyed notes to the warmer weather.

A New Look At Old Tunes

I have been relooking at some old tunes I have been playing for a number of years. I had not taking these tunes seriously before because I was playing a set of Border Pipes that were not easy to play so this did not inspire me to learn these tunes. These Border tunes were written with the Border Pipes in mind (whether they are traditionally accurate is debateable, due to them being written in the Key of A major with a sharpened 7th, and not the traditional flattened 7th). I got these melodies off a tutor for the "Half Long Pipes" by Cocks. The Half Long Bagpipes were the name I originally liked, but it has gone out of fashion with the pipers and the "Border Pipes" have become the norm. the Half Long Pipes were basically the same instrument except that the drone system was different, the Border Pipes had a drone system of A,a,a ('A/La' bass, two 'a/la'' tenors) whereas the Half Long Pipes had a A,e,a ('A' Bass, 'e' tenor, 'a' tenor) very much like the Northumbrian Small Pipes, both pipes were bellows blown, although a mouth blown version was used in the past.

These tunes were in the Cock's tutor book for the Half Long Bagpipes which I found in the Newcastle Library in the 80s. They are a bit faded and warn now, some of the ink has detached itself from the paper, but it is still readable and I am once again playing the melodies with a firmer intension of learning and memorizing these tunes.

I practise them on the practise chanter using the Scottish fingering style but with a very limited gracing. I used to study the Highland pipes but only briefly and it gave me an idea of the gracing involved, but I do not use it regimentally like the Highland players, I use it mainly when I think it fits. In the Cock's tutor there are grace notes used but very little.

Before I relooked at these tunes, I was playing a selection of melodies from the Bewick and Peacock manuscripts with their many variations, but these tunes are simpler, more basic and with very few variations. It was printed in the 1930s if memory serves me right (?) so it gives an idea of the repertoire used before they were broken tradition.

Some of the melodies I have been playing through have titles such as: Sandhill Corner, Sunderland Lasses, Follow Her Over the Border, Brave Willy Forster, A mile to Ride...

It takes me a while to memorize a tune, so I play it over and over for days, my practise chanter is an old style, it was given to me by my old Highland Pipe instructor, it is not in tune and I take the mouth piece off so I can blow it with the plastic reed in my mouth to reach the high notes and to try and keep it in tune, it works fine with a bit of puff.

A Glorious Spring Day

A Glorious spring day, the daffodils were out in abundance, the sun was shining, a cool breeze made cycling to the boat a pleasure. I was enjoying the country roads, dodging the flies and other insects that were trying to get under my eyelids and up my nose and into my mouth. I reached the boat and leisurely unpacked my things and undid the tarpaulin, a task all the more quicker now that the second tarpaulin had been stolen. I was preparing to sail today so I made the boat ready, but the tide was racing in and I had to climb on board long before I was ready and the rest of the preparation had to be done in a cramped and messy cockpit. I secured the tiller hoping that it would hold the rudder in place on her maiden voyage; I unfurled the main sail and secured it to the mast. I was trying a new system today instead of the normal way a Bermudan rig is set up with a mast and boom, I was dispensing with the boom altogether hoping to make the rig less heavy aft and therefore less dangerous. I did not know if this system would work it is not normally done, but I took confidence in seeing that a similar type of rig exists on boats that are sailed on the Persian Gulf and traditional Arabic Dhows still use them today. This system is called a ‘lanteen’ rig, it has a triangular sail that is connected to the mast and the free corner is connected to the mainsheet, as in the Bermudan rig style. Having no boom means there is no ‘shape’ to the sail, it flutters in the wind when not sheeted in. A boom helps the sail have a flattened shape, and makes it a highly effective power engine, catching the winds and making the most of them. Without a boom it is like a flag blowing in the wind the energy is dissipated until you pull in the mainsheet which tightens one corner and gives it s curved shape enabling wind to spill out easily. This makes the sail safer as more energy/wind is lost; having a boom makes the sail hold more wind making it more powerful and therefore easier to capsize with the inexperienced like myself.

As the tide was coming in I connected the pulleys and sheets and tidied everything as much as I could by throwing things from one corner to the other corner as I searched for missing items, the wind had picked up and black clouds where thrashing Scotland only a few miles away across the estuary. Sea fishermen had set up their gear on the shore opposite me, I could not sail now even if I wanted too, but it was a blessing as the wind picked up to a force 5 or 6 and we were bouncing around as the swells and wavelets, as a present from Scotland, came fast and furious. The wind swung me on the mooring chain, it came on strong and increased quickly, very soon there were white-tops hitting the shore shooting bursts of surf over the fishermen; the sun had gone and we were now a lee shore; it was a different scene from the beautiful weather when I had first arrived.

I still tried to put up the sail in the wind and found that if I pulled in the mainsheet from the beginning I stopped the ‘flag’ fluttering at its corner, this made it a lot safer as it was whipping around the cockpit like a Whirling Dervish, and the metal fixing was making it a lethal weapon. It took me a few tries of getting the mainsail up but when it was up it looked ok. I let go the chain that connected me to the mooring so I could put some distance for me to sail. I was not going to let go totally but have a length of rope connecting me to the mooring so I could get back when needed. All I wanted to do was to see how the mainsail performed in such winds and if I could tack without a boom.

I let out the rope for about 15 meters and I drifted with the tide which by this time was starting to ebb, I was side on to the waves getting bounced around and soaked by its spray as it “slapped, slapped” against the hull causing surf to hit me as it was carried by the wind, also it had started to rain heavily that made the sail wet and heavy pulling the mast backwards. The wind was on my port side so when I pulled in the mainsheet the sail took effect and the boat immediately started to move forward, the boom-less sail worked fine, but now I was running out of rope and starting to pull on the mooring chain. Fearing that I should pull-up the mooring or break the rope I tried to release the mainsheet and let the sail flutter. The wind was now behind me pushing the sail against the mast and shrouds, this was “running” with the wind and although I was happy that it worked also, it was not what I wanted right at this moment! I had to release the main halyard and bring down the sail altogether, in doing so the tide brought me backwards and saved the mooring.

My second attempt was to try and reef the sail, what followed was a clumsy attempt of rapping the foot of the sail around itself then tying both ends to stop it unfurling I then took up the tension on the main halyard. I did not really know what I was doing as I never had expected these conditions on my first attempt but I thought to give it a go as it is in such conditions that one needs to reef. I tried out my attempt and the sail looked a sorry sight, baggy and limp, but when the tension was taken up on the mainsheet, she did its job and I could manage the sail more easily.

By this time the sea fishermen had gone home it was too wet and too windy even for them. I admitted I could not do anymore too and took shelter in the cabin and waited until we bounced on the sea bed and then fried out. I packed up in the ever dimming light and struggled with a lock that would not open on the cockpit locker. The wind never abated and it was an icy wind that made work slow and uncomfortable; as I tried to cover the boat with the tarpaulin it was blowing away like a kite. I finally got on my bike as it was dark and cycled 10 miles home, tired and cold and ready to do the same tomorrow hoping that it will be another glorious spring day.

A Useless Creative Day

I came back from town soaking wet thoroughly dejected and frustrated that I cannot get out and do things I wish to do, it being Saturday I was hoping to get out and do some busking, no chance I was soaking wet and freezing. I came back home and read the recent edition of the DCA bulletin I began to feel better from knowing that someone out there feels the same about certain things.

I began thinking about erecting the mast on Sadaf and how to approach it single handed, erecting a pulley system and what rope systems to use to hoist it. Also perhaps about putting two forestays for added support, one from wire and the other from rope, as I now believe the sails are too heavy for the mast. By looking on the internet and studying the sails on other Hurley Felicities I think my sails are from a larger boat and made from thicker material meaning that there is too much weight on the rigging and that when wet the weight will be greater. I have already reduced the length to make it fit the boom and mast but having more support makes it a little bit more secure for the strong winds.

After pondering these things for a while, I went for a walk by the river. The sun had come out and I wanted to see a bit of nature. A few projects had been buzzing around my brain over the past few months and I needed to divert my thoughts from them as I was making no progress.

One of the projects I am busy with is how to make myself a harp. I saw an ancient African harp (an ‘Adungu’ from Uganda) in the Anthological Museum in Madrid and I liked its form and simple construction. We Brits can often make engineering quite technical and me not being from an engineering background I am often lost in the jargon. I liked the simple construction of this ancient African harp and I was thinking to adopt its form and have a go at making it myself. I wanted to try out a simple version to see if it is possible at first and then later make a better one, so I had been thinking about types of building materials and structures, remembering my old wood working classes as school and reading up on instrument making on the internet and library. My brain was starting to smoke and the walk by the river was to let it cool down and to see what wood was lying around and if any were suitable for a possible sound-body. At this stage any material would do: plastic tubing, wooden or plastic boxes, tree trunks or branches, planking etc.

Another project is an idea to make things from the beach by using what has been washed up and turn it into something creative and useful. In a previous journey to Paris I had visited a shop that sold interior furniture from the East, mainly South East Asia and India. There were some smaller objects like lamp stands and lamp shades, picture frames and pictures. Like ‘Poirot’ I logged these items in the “little grey cells” for a time when they might come in handy. Having the boat and being beside the beach a lot, and seeing these Parisian crafts made from natural materials I thought to give a try. Spending so much time besides the sea has helped me formulate ideas and observed the materials I have to play with, as well as giving me a new direction it has helped me bring out a creative side that I thought had been lacking of late.

It is more “strings to my bow” (or should I say harp) if I can set these ideas into action, but I find progress slow, not moving forward is very frustrating.
Beside the river there is a lay-by and a part from being a resting place for weary motorists its other function is as a dumping ground for unwanted rubbish. Sure enough there were a lot of uncovered ‘social archaeology’ to see and I saw several tires discarded which I could possibly use for moorings if I weighted them with concrete, and lying close by was a length of chain that could be used as a mooring or anchor chain.

Next to the tires there was a nice sized piece of plastic tubing that would be great for the experimental sounding body of the harp. I crossed the road to walk by the river and I noticed some willow trees and protruding from the dead wood was a ‘V’ shaped limb that would be good for the harp’s arms, this could logged into the plastic tubing so creating the body and arms of the harp. Further along, amongst the debris that the swollen winter waters had washed up, there was a piece of planking that when cleaned would be ideal for the sound board for the harp. I could not have wished for more.

I was turning to go when I noticed a fallen willow tree that has half submerged in the water, from its trunk where lots of willow branches beginning to produce new shoots of palm for the Easter season, I thought about the project of mine to make lamp shades from natural materials and this thin fresh palm would be supple enough to weave around a wire frame.

I came home thinking how a totally useless day had created a constructive day, and opened up for me lots of possibilities for me to follow through.

Off Again

It is the time to be travelling again, the itchiness in the feet has made me don boots once more and head off for the hills...well in this case it is Spain for a bit of sun and relaxation. Ironically it has started to get warm here. I left the boat yesterday in glorious sunshine. I was underneath the boat trying to apply marine sealant to the join between the keel and the hull as I think she has started to let in a bit of water. I was flat on my back squeezed between the hull and the water, sand and stones. It is a fiddly job and I do not think it worked. The marine sealant is noted for sticking to anything and everything and it certainly stuck to my hands and hair, clothes and parts of the boat that I did not want it to stick too, but it would not stick to the parts I did. Anyways, time ran out and I had to leave her alone on the beach. I watched the incoming tide and I wanted to sail away in her and to see a distant shore, but the wind blew me home, and now it is blowing me to Spain. Forever on the move. I once wrote "Movement is Life" and I think it is still true, to move on is something positive and healthy otherwise we can become to obsessed and too narrow minded. It is time for a break.

To Anchor Oneself

It’s only an anchor how complicated is an anchor? But laying an anchor took me about 6 hours of total concentration today! Laying an anchor consists of tying the end of the warp securely to the end of the anchor and throwing it over board when the time comes to lay it, making sure that the free end of the warp is connected to the bow of the boat, simple. The problems come with imagining how it all should be on the day when I am alone in the cockpit.

Before the invention of the outboard motor anchors were a very important part of the sailing manual, with different styles and different usages. In the ‘seamanship’ books of days gone by (and even good present day books) anchoring was an art and a skill. Anchoring was essential for stopping a boat, positioning the boat, and mooring. Kowing what anchors to use at different sea-states with different sea bottoms was important, as well as knowing what sizes, thickness and lengths of warps to use. Today it is less important, I know of a fellow sailor securing his grapnel anchor to the deck of his boat and leaving it there, never to be used. Motors make life easier (if they work when needed) and a helmsman can motor up to a mooring and position his boat relatively easily. But I did not want to use a motor except in emergencies so I wanted to use the anchors as I learn how they might be used.

I arrived at the boat when the tide was out, after uncovering the tarp that covers the cockpit, getting into the cabin and having a coffee (an essential part of the operation) and changing into something more appropriate it was time to unlock the hatches and look at the mess I had left it in on the previous occasion. Sailors are supposed to be neat and “ship shape” but in fact a lot of sailors are quite disorganized, I am one of them. Warps, lines, sheets, pieces of string and rope, what ever you wish to call them, all lay in a tangled mess at the bottom of the hatch. I picked up the lump of tangled lines and tried to unravel it, not an easy task at the best of times but when there is 30 meters to one piece of rope and 3 ropes to one mess it can take an IQ of 3000 to fathom it out. Since I have an IQ of 2 and ¾ (on the best of days) it took me some time to find the end and pass it through the many varied conglomerates of knots. In fact I am sure I invented a few good knots with my knotted problem and it did not help having the same coloured rope for all 3 pieces. I will now try and buy different coloured types of rope so to make identification easier.

You often see on films sailors neatly rolling up a 30+ meter length of rope over ones elbow and hand without the least bit of fuss then tying it securely and releasing it with out it tangling. It never happens to me, I forget which end I am supposed to let it out and the whole thing gets tangled and knotted. I did have an anchor system that worked quite well before but I had recently bought a new warp to make the length longer as the longer the warp the more chance of it holding on the sea bed, the shorter it is the more likely it will lift and drag and that could be very dangerous in a fast tide race.

I have 2 anchors; one came with the boat when I bought her. It is a grapnel anchor not a lot of use for the type of sea bed in my area as it does not dig in very well to the shingle and sandy bottom, but I intend to use it as a ‘break’ to slow the boat down and to turn the bow so it points into the wind and up stream/tide. My plan is to throw the grapnel over board and let the boat drift backwards with the tide, as the grapnel tries to dig in it will pull the bow up and keep her in that position until I am ready to use the other anchor. The grapnel will generally not hold as its ‘legs’ construction is not as good as other anchors but it will drag and stall and will slow the boat up enough to prepare for the real stopping anchor the ‘Bruce’ anchor.

This ‘Bruce’ anchor, so the sellers website information tells me, is used to anchor deep-sea oilrigs to the seabed and its holding power is immense. My little boat must be more problematic as an oilrig as the Bruce slips and slides at first but it does dig in and take hold eventually. And here is one of the problems: I have to estimate when to throw the grapnel (to slow the boat down) and when to throw the Bruce allowing for a slight slipping before it takes hold, I have also to allow for tidal flow that will direct the boat as it ebbs. Ideally after dropping both anchors I need to position the boat very near to the mooring buoy so I can take hold of it and fasten the mooring chain to the bow. If all fails and I miss the position of the buoy I will have to wait until the sea gets shallow enough to jump over board and position the bow of the boat to where the buoy is, so it is important that the anchors hold. If I have positioned wrong and can not manually secure the buoy to the boat I will have to let the boat dry out and try again when the tide returns.

So getting back to my knotted problem. The length of warp is important because the longer the warp the more holding power it has, the warp will stretch and this will help to hold the boat and to let the anchor dig into the sea bed. After sorting the mess of ropes out I lay them on the sand and look at them. Which one to use for which anchor? They are all different lengths and are all different thickness. Having a strong piece of warp is useless if the other warp is weaker. After some trial and error I choose a thick 15-meter warp for the Bruce, but it is not long enough as the required length for my boat and anchor weight (7.5kg) is 30 metres or more. So I have to connect one of two thinner warps to the thicker, both of them being 30 meters in length. At the end of the thicker I have a ‘D bolt’ and this I thread the end of the thinner warp, but I would like it double stranded so the warp does not fray and break so easily so I try and retry to make the bowline knot secure, but it is not doing as it should and I do not know enough sailors knots to make the join work. I was imagining letting out the warp to its full length and then the weaker snaps, as it is not think enough to hold the boat, of course it might be strong enough as it has a breaking strain of over 80kg. But with out trying it I have no idea.
After these musings I double the thinner warp over and pass it through the ‘D bolt’ this is certainly strong enough but makes the full length of the warp 35 meters not 45 which would be a lot better.

After a little more pondering I say enough is enough and turn my attention to the remaining Grapnel anchor and the other 30-meter rope. This is less of a problem, as it is not meant to hold anything for long.
So I thought I had 2 anchors ready to use so now to the problem of how to secure them to the bow of the boat. Easy I hear you say but how do I release the anchors at the bow of the boat when I am in the stern of the boat taking charge of the tiller, main sail and foresheet? I needed to work/control everything from the cockpit and not to go forward with a flapping foresail and the boat being out of control in the mercy of a out going tide; as a single handed sailor I have to do everything and everything is best done from the cockpit.

I had my old system of fastening the end warp to the mooring post at the bow and bringing the warp back to the stern cockpit by the side of the hull and letting the anchor sit on the cockpit floor. This worked fine, as soon as I threw the anchor over board the line paid out and held fast to the bow bollard. But now I would have 2 longer lengths of warp sitting on the floor of the cockpit and visions of ‘a tangled mess’ crossed my eyes and my legs getting caught up in it as the boat drifting towards the harbour wall (!) So I tried doubling and redoubling the length of warp from the bow to the stern and laying it along side the hull. This was fine but when I tested it by releasing the rope at the stern and pulling the anchor forward to simulate the boat moving backwards the line at the bow would not pay out, it was fixed to the ‘mooring post’ at the bow and this meant that it would remain only 1 length of the boats length and not the required 30 meters.

This experiment seems very simple but when I am moving 2 anchors weighing about 10kg back and forwards over 30 meters and retrying experiments that do not work it is began to get tiring. I thought to abandon the whole experiment and to fix a roller to the bow and roll up the warp after it had been paid out to keep the warp nice and tidy, this I could do from the cockpit, but my erecting of a make shift pulley did not work out so well and to roll up the warp was very time consuming and in the end it ended up a tangled mess once more.

The system I had of having the length of warp alongside of the boat worked well all I needed was a secure/fast releasing method at the bow. This is found in the ‘arms’ at the end of the bow mooring post. By looping the warp around the bollard’s front arm and holding it in place by the tension from the stern (secured to the stern post) I was able to triple the warp length along side the boat. When I threw the anchor over board the tension (as the boat went backwards) released the warp from the bollards arm, as it paid out I released the warp again from the stern post and let it pay out again. This worked fine.

My final experiment was to revisit the problem of the warps and connecting the 15 meters to the 30 meters so it holds and does not chaff and can be connected quickly with bad weather.
Having a small boat there is not a lot of room on deck, so having a lot of warp lying around is dangerous. I had the thicker warp secured to the bow mooring post and letting loose the free-end with the ‘D bolt’ attached to it so I could attach the extra thinner warp if/when it is needed. As time is precious when at the bow with the sea, wind, and foresail trying to knock you over board all one wants to do is get the task over and done with as quick as possible.
I tried having a single strand and the full 30 meters, then I doubled the warp to have 15 meters, but there was still a risk of getting it all tangled and a mess. In the end the 2 and ¾ I.Q. must have ignited as I decided to put another ‘D bolt’ on to the end of the thinner warp and double it over to make it a double stranded knot. If it is needed I would simple attach one ‘D bolt’ to the other D Bolt with no knots needed. Another version was to do away with the ‘D bolts’ totally and use have knot on knot.

As the light was fading I quickly threw all the warps, lines, sheets, and rope in the cockpit’s hatches as I had found them and thought to sort them out another day.

The Inner World of Migration

The new becomes routine. The unfamiliar becomes unnoticeable after a while, but once in a while an event occurs that makes me look at the familiar with a new vision and I wonder and I am thankful for the beauty of it.

I cycle to the sea two or three times a week in all weathers. We have had a very severe winter more so this year than previous years. As I cycle along the small country potholed roads week after week I forget to notice what is around me my mind is on other things and other people. I must think that journey boring as I do not notice it, yet if I had been incarcerated in a small 4 walled cell it must be like heaven to see what I see in those 3 days of cycling, I had forgotten to appreciate it. The winter cold makes me cycle hard and all I notice is how my sweat freezes and how the wind bites into my skin. But recently I have begun to notice the different bird life. At first it was the birds of prey, the Buzzards taking advantage of the air currents and floating effortlessly above the fields looking for prey, or just enjoying the gift of flight as they seem to be enjoying their experience hovering and gliding majestically without effort using what is natural to them and what is free to them. I have seen other birds of prey: a Kestrel had in its talons a small animal as it flew over my head heading for the next field to devour it; a Sparrow Hawk had what looked like a pigeon’s wing hanging down from its claws nearly as big as its own body. The birds of prey are easy to spot; they take my attention and demand acknowledgment.

More recently I have noticed smaller less unfamiliar types of bird doing beautiful and unpredictable things. Yesterday I saw a large flock of Black Birds in a farmer’s field all on the ground taking advantage of the worms as the tractor disturbed the ground. As the tractor approached the seated dinner party the front section of the flock rose in the air and flew obediently and in order to the back of the flock and continued to take advantage of the farmer’s fare but not as fresh and plenty as the front row. As the tractor came closer the next section of birds rose and migrated behind them, it was a constant movement a wave effect of rising and falling, a mass of blackness swaying with fluidity. It was beautiful, poetic, mesmerising and very natural; it was mechanical yet organic and although it seemed like it was programmed and fixed I knew it could reform and change, dissolve and fragment at any moment. I cycled on thinking of this apparition when I noticed a Buzzard perched on a fence post it slowly took flight and glided away from me unconcerned as though it was bored.

A while later I came to the hill where I normally get off my bike as my brakes cannot hold the descent and taking the bottom corner at full speed is not so wise due to the ever widening potholes that seem to get bigger each week due to the tractors that plough that country lane. By getting off and walking down the hill I noticed a tree trunk, the sun shone on its south facing bark but on the reverse side there was an exposed piece of trunk, bare except for a row of beautifully formed toadstools one above the other. It was so unexpected and lovely, the sun shone and I was taken by their colour and form. I felt happy to see it, not to own it or to cut it, possess it or to eat it, just to come across it and then leave it; leave it I did and continued around the bend. The road I have named ‘potholed alley’ for obvious reasons and after the recent snow and ice we have just had the small crevasses make the journey one of “find the asphalt”.

Before the village of Easton there are fields on either side of me I saw in one of these fields a large flock of Canadian Geese, the faded green field was a mass of dark browns and greys. I got off my bike and took out my camera to video the congregation, it reminded me as if they were waiting for their leader to give a speech at the annual ‘Canadian Geese Rally’ that is held in the dirtiest field at the north east corner of wintery England. Then I heard a sound of a small aeroplane coming towards me, the area is quite flat and it holds a few old aerodromes from the 2nd World War, as it turned away from that Geese filled field there came a mass cry and a beating of wings as the whole flock took flight. The Canadian Geese rose into the air on mass and criss-crossed each other away from me and then towards me, a mass of black shapes splitting into smaller flocks and then moving away from one another, splitting and dividing, then reforming again, chaotic yet repetitive. I had seen flocks of Starlings nesting before and it reminded me of them as they swirl and manoeuvre around the skies, but these were a lot larger and a lot noisier. The plane had also startled other Canadian Geese from other fields and these flew over from behind me and they were heading towards the others. They were regrouping, multiplying, and safety in numbers perhaps. They did not seem as though they were enjoying themselves, they were not like the Buzzard who loved to fly for the sheer glory of it; these bleating long necked birds were confused and were looking for a leader to reunite them to a quieter patch of ground; but they did not find it and they were still flying in circles when I left, they seemed to prefer fields a long way off from where I was.

The day was not boring nor was it lost in my own selfish importance; I took nourishment in its detail, in the fragments of not rushing, and I noticed other worlds at play and realised my life was as important as other lives even if I was think it is not. We do what we do without programming it, we think we make choices but we are regimental as the migrating geese or the relay of black birds or the sprouting of fungi, how arrogant to think we are any different.

The Sailing season is getting near. Taking boats from their sheltered areas, taking advantage of the warmer weather (if it ever comes) to put them back into the water. This winter has been particularly bad for us Brits and it is not over yet. People who had put their yachts in marinas have seen them smashed due to floods, tide surges and ice. I am not so rich and my small boat sits on the shingle of a beach, no protective walls for her! She has weathered the storms quite well I am pleased to say. The sea neutralizes most things and when the rivers burst their banks they flooded towns and villages but the sea absorbed the extra intake of water in its daily ebb and flow. When the winds threw the seas against the shore my boat got smashed around but was still able to rest when the tide drew shallow. When the cold weather froze the sea and I found her perched on top of a mini ice berg, the next day she was still floating even though her keel was badly scratched; the ice scoured her bottom like sandpaper the ice had rubbed away the protective gel that covered her metal parts. Salt water is very corrosive and in a few weeks there were signs of the rust starting to form on the bolts that kept the keel fixed to the hull.

They say having a boat or sailing is akin to being married, I think it is true. To remedy this particular problem I got on my hands and knees and tenderly and lovingly anti-fouled her where it mattered the most. When I had finished the new paint was vivid red as opposed to the duller pink colour that told of months being submerged in the sea. Love is something we do without really minding even though to others it seems crazy, it might have seemed crazy to any onlookers as I laid down in the wet sand and salt water, felt the icy winds blow on my back and hands, stones pushing into my ribs, paint dripping onto my hair and skin. All for what? When I had finished and stood back it looked like she was bleeding, the red paint was sliding down the keels. I had wounded her. I had saved her. Each time I leave the boat I miss her; I want her to have a good time, to be happy and content, is this love? Or is the boat showing I can love? Is it reflecting love back to me, showing me that I have love, caring, compassion within me? It is important to find ones environment, to experience this love in your own personal private environment. Environment is important for love to grow. In your own natural environment you can explore yourself with love, it seems effortless, easy, you feel happy and content there is no trying. Being away from one’s own environment is hard, it is destructive, and it is an illness. Sometimes I think society is sick, ill at heart.

So what type of environment do you live in?

Having this small boat has made me realize many things about who I am. It is a learning curve, a steep one. Recently I had the decision to buy a motor for the boat, there was a struggle within me of "how I want to live, how I want this environment to be like" I did not want to have or use a motor, after all the sails are my motor, but for safety I bought a small motor to push me to shore if the wind dropped. It is an electric motor and now I am thinking how to power the batteries that will power the motor! It never ends this constant buying to create our environment. I am looking into solar powered battery chargers to let my need for natural energy poke it’s head through and to live alongside the mechanical. I want to charge the batteries with solar energy and by doing so I am choosing ‘the style’ of charge for my life style, to get the environment I want. It is a compromise and like all good marriages that last we have to learn to compromise.

I have been interested in solar, wind and sea power since I was quite young. My parents used to drive us to the sea at weekends and we used to pass a small windmill in a garden by the road that was used for generating electricity. Now I am planning to use solar energy to power my small electric motor so I can be safe on the sea so I can have the environment I am happy in, so I can work in, and love in. The path maybe a long one but I am sure I will get there in the end. I sincerely hope you find it too.

Heat of Competition

The cold weather has kept me indoors for a few months so I have not been busking, but last Saturday I put on my thermal underwear and headed out to the streets. It was a depressing time, the weather did not help much the sun not creeping over the 1970s monstrosity that is the Civic Centre building. People were not in the mood either; they hurried past not caring not listening and not thinking music. It could not be said for the kids though, they were in good voices as they chanted insults and clattered their skateboards down the small subway drowning out the pipes and peoples voices.
I gave up after a few hours in low spirits and took refuge in our noisy library, I sat myself down in front of the internet for an hour to see what the outside work had to say.

Later on in the centre of town I saw other musicians playing: a man sitting next to his amplifier playing highly rhythmical blues music on his acoustic guitar and harmonica, very catchy and up-beat music it even attracted a small group of skateboard kids – how hip can you get? I liked his playing but I dislike amplifiers, the world has become too noisy, you need amplification to be heard, but by doing so you just pump up the volume so people have to be noisy to be heard over you, it is a cycle of noise. When I started playing the Northumbrian Pipes the world was a quieter place, I used to play in the centre of town just like Mr Blues, but now I cannot as I am too quiet and I cannot hear what I play! “Get an amplifier” people say, no I will not. So I look for alternative areas where to play that push me on to the peripheries. Busking is a periphery type of activity at the best of times, but it seems I am on the periphery of the peripheries (if there is such a periphery!).

A few meters from Mr Blues there was a young chap playing an accordion, luckily he was not amplified nor was he blending in with the Mississippi Blues rhythms either! I stood in the middle of the these two frequencies trying to get a stereo balance and thinking how great it is to introduce to the general public of Carlisle Contemporary music! I try not to make generalizations but last year Carlisle had a swarm of accordion players descend on the town centre, these players played cheap Russian accordions and played them in a Eastern European style, but the problem was they did not play a melody, they improvised notes. They had their stools and their packed lunches they all spoke to one another in their lunch breaks. It seemed like they were learning the instrument trying to play a fragment of melody with one hand and the bass notes with the other but getting bored half way through and then deciding to play something else in a different key and rhythmic structure. To be honest I did not notice these musicians from their musicality I noticed them as they were in all the places where I usually stand and more besides. It was like a family of accordion players had sprouted and were filling the air with discordant fragrances. I luckily found an ‘un-accordionated’ spot somewhere on the periphery but after a few weeks people started telling me of the noise that was emanating from the centre of town and how these accordionists were not making any music or money!
After a few months they disappeared, gone with out trace, one day they were not there any longer and no one ever saw them again until that Saturday when I saw one next to Mr Blues. Later on I saw the young accordionist in a different spot away from the centre still trying to play the '1st lesson in the Accordionist’s handbook'! The only other guy I saw that day was a guitarist, a singer songwriter playing to himself at the other end of town. The day did not pick up for me I got hassle off the homeless people and came away wishing I was a banker or from another disreputable profession.

Dreams of the Sea

I have been dreaming the past few nights about kayaking. I have absorbed myself with sailing in the past year, buying a boat and learning to sail, equipping her for short journeys; so I have neglected kayaking, and like a jealous lover She is angry and she keeps me awake at night with her love and need of attention. I was never ´introduced´ to kayaking by anyone, I bought my sea-kayak before i ever sat in one. I fell in love with the idea of kayaking, it was my transport, instead of the road my traveling companion was the boat, and the motorways of the world the tide. I am not a river person, although I love all types of water, my affection is for the sea as it is a real lover - dangerous, forever changing, supportive, constant, beautiful and unpredictable. I spent the winter of 2005 searching for my kayak and when I bought her I paddled her the first day in the small river next to my house. I capsized of course and trapped her between the two banks of the river as she was too long to turn, the water flooded into the cockpit and I had to jump out in freezing water and pull her around before she snapped in two. The next journey was from that same river down to the sea. I thought it would take a few hours but it took me all through the night and by 5am I had reached the sea and saw the dawn greet me and I slept by the incoming tide. In the years that i have kayaked I seen many dawns, and many beautiful places that I would not have seen otherwise, kayaking is a window to the world and a new atlas to open. So it is time I started kayaking again and revisit those times that were alone but not lonely.

(The music to this video was played by myself and friends, myself on mandolin)

To Say Goodbye

It is not easy to say goodbye, I have done it a lot. You leave! You depart from what is known and comfortable. You leave friends, family, love, belonging. You go out in to the uncertain and the new, you leave yourself open to winds that can blow you anywhere, this why I do it is it not? I can only stay so long, then I need to go, to see the new and experience that wind. I wish I could stay longer to say "OK this is where I will make a stand and relax a bit", but I have to move, it is not my final resting place. It is a feeling, not a desire. It is inherent at least with in me. I did not create it or wish it. I am curious. I never feel I fit in somewhere and I am always searching for that next view around the corner. So, to go is not always a bad thing, it clears out the old and the used, and it lets the new in and the freshness to start again, to say "cut" and to "paste" later on, to let the time heal and the space balm the hurt. When I cross the door again, the same door I left months ago, then all is new, fresh and ready to start again.
But parting is hard, I have never gotten used to it, I always hurt when I say Goodbye.

Busking Through life

I have been busy the past few days editing past photos and videos and putting them on to utube, editing my Myspace pages and now creating this blog. What for? some people I know do not understand this activity. I guess it is to meet others, like minded people. Recently I applied for a job and realized I have very little to put on my CV in the way of work! But, I am busy all the time, I realized what i do it can not be documented in the normal conventional ways, yet it should be documented to show what I do to others, as we are not Islands, are we?
By doing these www.sites I am dissecting myself, sorting out myself, compartmentalizing who I am and having to think about who I am and what I am. One of the worst questions to ask me is "What do you do?" I never know what to say! What do I do? I am busy, very busy. This question was asked the Dalai Lama once and he replied "I am taking care of myself".
When I left school at 16 I knew what I wanted to be, but in the late 1970s life was not so open as it is now. I wanted to play music, but in 1979, UK jobs - professional music jobs, were not recognized, it was a small business then. So I started to join bands and make my own music. I started to busk and I found I could make a little money.
Later on I started playing the Northumbrian Small Pipes, a bellows blown bagpipe from the NE of England, I joined more bands and I got good at my craft. In the 90s I did it full time and I started to do concerts and to sell my CDs. But in my mind it was never a ´job´ as in my ´1970s culture´ it was nver a proper job!
Then, busking was "begging", to a lot of people, and often I was called a beggar back then. Now the times and attitudes have changed.
now I consider what I do a job! I sell my Cds and I live by it, occasionally I do concerts and Festivals, it is not great money, and each week it is different but it is a job and it is enjoyable.
If you want to see my playing the Northumbrian Small Pipes check out the utube web site at http://www.youtube.com/user/kevnsp

To Begin or not to Begin

I always say to start means that you will finish, so i have begin this blog...

Life seems very compartmentalized at the moment I think this is to do with environments and transport. I do not drive I never have done and I have no interest in it, so I take public transport or I cycle every where. I do this because of choice and in the West we are obsessed by choice. In the USA I did not go very far unless someone took me to places, I did not drive and the public transport around Florida was limited. but in the UK we have a public transport system of sorts. But i prefer to cycle and i cycle often quite far sometimes to get to places. This structures life, it divides your day in to sections and now it is dividing weeks into sections. One day it is to the sea, the other day to the city, the next day back to the sea etc. Or I travel abroad and then I 'stop' my life and begin another life, one that is not my choosing as I change environments again and I become someone else again. Life has always been like that for me always moving from place to place.