Ive spent the last few days learning to loft... in the loft. Rather than tie up 50 sq ft of floor space while I learn slowly and painfully (on the knees) to loft full size I put up a board and tried it 1/4 scale. Im glad I did. Making mistakes has never been so comfortable. Ive been using Roger Koanycias book on lofting as my guide. Ill do a thorough review when Ive finished building the boat - the proof of the lofting, after all, is in the floating. However of all the books Ive tried to read about lofting this is the clearest and best illustrated. Rather than take you through the process one painful step at a time Ill post a short video. It was actually much more enjoyable than it looks.
Scamp Camp #3 at the Northwest School of Wooden Boatbuilding is nearly completed as of this writing. Another six newly completed Scamps will be splashing soon! Check out the story and photos here. If you missed this Scamp Camp, dont worry, more are coming. The next one will be in August.
Without a doubt, the hit of this years festival has to be James McMullens "Bar Tender" dinghy.
I caught a glimpse of James towing his keg laden dinghy on the way into the festival on Thursday, then gladly accepted a brew after we had set up, but it wasnt until now that I had a chance to fully appreciate it in all its glory. Beauty, brilliance, utility, usefulness, hops, barley. Its got it all. Well done James!
Sept 11, EWMM day 3. I unzipped my arctic mummy bag just enough to get an arm out. I unzipped the rain fly of my tent just enough to poke my head out. I exhaled and saw my breath. Then I reversed the entire process.
But alas, Nature calls. Fortunately this campsite had restrooms. Better take advantage of them (who knows when the next opportunity will be?)
On the way back, it was clear we could do with a campfire on this cold morning. Steve was up so we started one and made some breakfast. The team soon gathered.
The plan for today was to transit to the north end of Priest Lake for overnight beach camping (about 15 miles) with the option to continue into remote Upper Priest Lake for an additional overnight or day trip (an additional 5-7 miles).
But, Dan warned, the weather forecast called for conditions much like the ones that kicked our butts yesterday. After some discussion, we decided to make for the north shore of Bartoo Island instead, stopping at Kalispell Island for lunch along the way.
We broke camp, loaded the boats, and departed. Steve opted to join Dennis aboard his Scram Pram. There was no wind at all when we left, so we motored at first. As we entered the main part of the lake a gentle breeze appeared and we killed the motors.
Ellie was doing very well in the light breeze, slowly but gradually pulling ahead of the group. I soon found myself all alone, in one of those rare Zen-like moments when there is absolutely no man-made sound. Only the delicate gurgle of the water trickling past the hull, the slightest whisper of the gentle breeze, and the barely perceptible creak of Ellies wooden masts against her leather partners. I tried to remember the last time I was truly "away from it all", or if that was even possible?
Up ahead was Kalispell Island. My handheld VHF radio crackled to life, bringing my moment of Zen to an abrupt end. It was Dan, asking me to look for a patch of beach suitable for our lunch stop. The first patch I saw was rocky and too small, but just past it was a longer beach, complete with a picnic table. I beached Ellie there and waited for the rest of the group to arrive.
By this time Id grown quite fond of these sandy beaches! Kalispell had an abundance of firewood so we gathered a bit and loaded it into Dans plastic kayak, knowing it would be another cold night at Bartoo. Soon after, we departed for another lazy sail to Bartoo, a largely uninhabited island with primitive campsites - no potable water or toilets are available. The wind gradually weakened, and finally stopped altogether, forcing us to motor the rest of the way.
We set up camp in a long line near the beach, and then began cooking dinner. The wind finally started to blow, gradually growing stronger and stronger as the evening wore on. Then I saw Steve walking towards me.
“I just talked to a camper who came over from the other side of the island.", said Steve. "He said they saw a bear."
“Grizzly or black?”, I asked.
“They weren’t sure.”
Later that evening, just before crawling into my tent, I carefully packed away my food, eliminating anything with a scent.
At 2:30 am, I awoke with a start. Someone in camp was frantically blasting an air horn. Oh shit.
There must be a bear in the camp! What should I do? Stay in my tent where Im safe? Safe?? Behind a thin layer of rip-stop nylon? I could see the flickering of flashlight beams glowing outside my tent, and could hear some alarmed voices, but I couldnt make out what they were saying. I heard the air horn blast again. Two short bursts followed by one long one. I laid there, listening carefully. The voices were more calm now, sounding like normal conversation. I listened for a long time. There were no more horn blasts and all the conversations went away. I peeked out of my tent flap. Nobody there - theyd all gone back to sleep, and so did I.
Next morning, I learned what had happened. The wind had grown strong enough to break Ellie loose from the beach and she had drifted over to Denniss Scram Pram, rubbing against her hull. Dan, anchored a short distance offshore, had discovered this during the night and sounded the alarm to alert us to move the boats apart. The two boats exchanged a little paint and suffered some minor scratches.
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