footnotes

Family Island Regatta - Una regata de balandres tradicionals a les Bahames

2012-01-30T12:59:00.000+01:00

(Note; The following text is in Catalan, translated from a piece I originally wrote in English and which can also be found in this blog. Very little is available on the Bahamas that is written in Catalan and I hope it is of interest to Catala-parlants.)

Vam passar l'hivern de 2004-05 navegant entre les illes de les Bahames a bord del nostre veler Hirondelle. La tercera setmana d'abril estàvem ancorats en una llacuna a l'extrem nord de l’Illa Long. Havíem d'estar a Florida a finals de maig i, si volíem fer el viatge de tornada sense presses, ja era hora d'anar. La ruta més fàcil era tornar sobre els nostres passos a través de les illes de Exuma incloent una parada a George Town. Hi havia dues raons per a tornar a George Town a l'Illa de Gran Exuma. Podríem reomplir les provisions, però, més important encara, podríem assistir a la 52 ª Family Island Regatta, una regata d'embarcacions tradicionals. La regata és l'esdeveniment esportiu i social més important de les Bahames. Diversos amics ens havien dit que a vegades els visitants se'ls permetria tripular en las balandres de cursa durant la regata.

Era un divendres, quan vam arribar de tornada a George Town i de seguida ens vam adonar que el nombre de vaixells de creuer estrangers era molt menor en comparació amb la nostra anterior visita. No obstant això més d'un centenar de vaixells estaven ancorats al llarg de Elizabeth Harbour, al gran port natural de George Town. A principis de l'any hi havia hagut més de quatre-cents vaixells de creuer, la majoria nord-americans i canadencs. Seria molt difícil omplir Elizabeth Harbour, ja que es una milla d'ample i gairebé cinc milles de llarg. A l'abril, però, la majoria dels creuers estrangers s'havien anat al Carib o tornaven als Estats Units. A George Town hi havia la calma abans de la tempesta i els estrangers que s'havien quedat sabien que una gran festa estava a punt d'esclatar. A la mateixa tarda vam veure un mailboat - com els vaixells de càrrega i de passatge que naveguen entre les illes es diuen - arribar des de Nassau. La seva coberta de càrrega estava ple de balandres de regata.

Vam passar el cap de setmana a descans i en la càrrega dels subministraments comestibles. Durant las nits ancorem a l'altre banda del Elizabeth Harbour, a costat de l’Illa Stocking. Mentrestant, George Town s'omplia de visitants, la majoria bahameses d'altres illes de l'arxipèlag. En el passeig marítim davant del port i al llarg de la carretera al costat del moll del govern es va construir una mena de barri de barraques que consistia de bars i llocs de menjar improvisats. Els carrers estaven plens de gent passejant, alguns amb cerveses o altres begudes a la mà. Música ressonava des de diversos sistemes de so d'alta potència. Moltes persones estaven renovant velles amistats i altres estaven fent-ne de noves. La festa al carrer era més com el carnaval de Rio que de la Copa del Rei a Palma. Més mailboats carregades amb més balandres i visitants van arribar durant tot el cap de setmana. Diverses balandres de les comunitats properes al Exumas i l'Illa Long van arribar remolcats per vaixells de motor.

El dilluns al matí vam ancorar prop de la Cala Kidd, l'ancoratge a la part davantera de George Town. La major part dels balandres de regata estaven ancorats en la pròpia cala. Des de la cabina de Hirondelle vam veure l'activitat de las tripulacions prepararen las balandres per la regata. Una de las balandres de la Classe C, las més petits de la regata, estava al costat de una balandra més gran de la Classe B. El màstil de l'embarcació petita es va aixecar amb l'ajuda del màstil de la balandre gran. Quan el pal s'havia col.locat la tripulació va tractar d'atreure l'atenció dels vaixells de motor que passaven. La tripulació volia un remolc, però els navegants que passaven pensaven que la tripulació estava sent amable. La Chris em va suggerir d'anar amb el nostre bot de rem i oferir la meva ajuda a la tripulació. No estava segur si podia remolcar un bot de regata tan pesat i vaig dubtar abans de anar ajudar-los. Un tripulant em va llançar una línia tot i que es va sorprendre que no tenia motor en el meu bot. Va ser una tirada fàcil. Quan ens acostàvem a la vora la tripulació va llançar un àncora de popa i vaig porta una altra cable de la proa a terra. Cap problema. Abans de tornar els vaig preguntar si necessitaven mes tripulació per a les carreres. Es van negar la meva ajuda, però em van suggerir de preguntar per altres balandres. La regata havia de començar l'endemà amb la Classe Escolar. Teníem la intenció de tornar l'endemà.

Dia Un - Una oportunitat perduda

Per allunyar-se del soroll de George Town, ara en la manera de festa complet, vam passar la nit ancorat a costat de L'Illa Stocking, però el dimarts al matí vam tornar a Cala Kidd. Aquell matí, la Chris gairebé va tenir l'oportunitat de participar en la regata. Les regles permeten bots en la Classe Escolar navegar amb un o dos adults abord. Estàvem veient las tripulacions preparen els seus vaixells i sortint cap el camp de regata quan un vaixell del comitè de regates se'ns va acostar i un oficial ens va preguntar si volíem navega a bord un dels bots. La Chris si va posar i em vaig quedar a bord amb les nostres dues filles. No obstant això, uns minuts després va tornar. Els oficials de regata havien trobat a algú altre. Va ser molt decebedor ja que la Chris i jo estàvem molt interessats navegar en una balandre. L'ambient de l'esdeveniment, de regata i de la festa, era molt vivificant. Ens agrada la vela i las balandres bahameses tenen un cert encant, són únics i emocionant. Després de dinar tots quatre vam fer una passejada pel poble i cap a la gran festa. Hi havia més gent que el dia anterior. I, un altra mailboat va arribar amb una altra càrrega de balandres.

La intenció dels fundadors de la Family Island Regatta era oferir, francament, un incentiu financer per mantenir les capacitats de construcció de vaixells i de la nàutica de els mariners bahameses. Un grup d'homes de negocis nord-americans estaven preocupats que els vaixells de vela de treball de les Bahames estaven en el punt de desaparèixer darrere d'un núvol de fum del motor. Aquells homes de negocis va organitzar la Out Island Squadron, un grup partidari, el any 1953 per recollir un fons de premis dels navegants estrangers, en la seva majoria nord-americans que coneixien i estimaven les Bahames. Originalment, la regata estava coneguda com la Out Island Regatta. Fins i tot, encara que el guanyador d'una carrera pot reclamar els drets de fanfarronejar la perspectiva d'una mica de diners manté l'interès de tots. La tradició dels incentius en efectiu continua en l'actualitat en forma de subsidis governamentals per la regata. Els propietaris de vaixells i las tripulacions tenen algunes dispersions en efectiu.

La importància dels vaixells als illencs aïllats és evident. En les Bahames fins als anys 50 vaixells de vela van predominar en la pesca, el moviment de la càrrega i del trànsit de passatgers. La majoria dels vaixells de pesca i els mailboats eren simples balandres. També hi havien grans vaixells de vela, com goletes. Però no obstant això, una gran part de l'aigua a les Bahames és poc fondo que limita la mida dels vaixells. Un americà, Evans W. Cottman va treballar com a metge a partir de 1940 i va prestar serveis mèdics als bahameses que vivien en comunitats aïllades a tot l'arxipèlag. En el seu llibre, Out Island Doctor, Cottman compte algunes històries fascinants de la navegació a bord de mailboats, balandres de generalment menys de 30 peus d'eslora, que transportaven passatgers, càrrega i animals en coberta. Són una mica inquietants aquelles històries. La vida en les comunitats petites i aïllades va ser dur. Les Bahames poden haver estat part de l'Imperi Britànic, però les illes a terme van ser una mica oblidades i abandonades.

Dia Dos - Navegant amb el "King"

Després de l'intent fallit de la Chris a pujar a un vaixell de regates era el meu torn per aconseguir un passeig. D'hora al matí vam tornar a la Cala Kidd. Vaig remar per tot l'ancoratge i preguntar a diversos vaixells si necessitaven tripulants. Tots em van rebutjar, però en una balandre em van suggerir que provés un vaixell de casc verd lligat al moll del port esportiu. I, llavors, vaig remar a través de la cala fins el moll i vaig preguntar a un senyor que em semblava estar a càrrec de l'embarcació si necessitava un tripulant. "Ei, vostè no té un motor," va cridar. "No necessito un motor," li vaig contestar, i ell va riure. És clar va dir, que podria utilitzar un altre tripulant de més i em va demanar que torni en una hora o així. Vaig tornar a Hirondelle per esperar. Jo estaria navegant a bord de la Lucayan Lady, una balandre de Classe A. Si més no, això és el que jo pensava.

Al final de l'hora la Chris i jo vam remar a través del port cap al port esportiu. Les nenes es van quedar a bord el Hirondelle, però vam demanar a alguns amics a bord el Wandering Albatross ancorat a prop de mantenir un ull sobre elles. Quan ens vam acosta al moll vam passar el Ansbacher Queen una balandra de Classe B que estava sent remolcat cap al camp de regates. En la canya del timó era l'home amb que jo havia parlat i m'havia demanat a tornar. Algú a bord de la balandra em va reconèixer i va cridar a nosaltres. Em volien a bord el Ansbacher Queen immediatament. De debò, jo estava confós sobre el que estava passant, però vaig girar el bot i em vaig posar perseguir l'embarcació al remolc. Estevam perdent terreny, però aviat la línia de remolc va ser abandonat i el vaixell remolcador em va traslladar cap el Ansbacher Queen. Vaig dir adéu a la Chris i ella va tornar a Hirondelle.

Quan estava a bord el Ansbacher Queen em vaig acostar a al timoner, el senyor que havia conegut abans, i ens vam donar la mans. Em vaig presentar i em va dir: "Jo sóc Eric, però tothom em diu King." King tenia mes de setanta anys d'edat, però es veia en forma i fort com un home molt més jove. Tenia braços musculosos i prims com els d'un boxejador. Tenia una veu profunda i parlava amb un accent distint bahames. Per descomptat, no tenia ni idea que estava navegant amb una llegenda de les Bahames en els quals la reina Elizabeth de Gran Bretanya li havia concedit un MBE , un orde de cavalleria britànica. Més tard vaig saber que el veritable nom de "King" era Eric Gibson i que era un dels músics i personalitats més famosos de les Bahames.

La tripulació va prestar poca atenció a mi sinó a donar algunes instruccions sobre què fer. Jo era l'únic estranger a bord el Ansbacher Queen. Hi havia una atmosfera relaxada a bord, per descomptat. Com podria un nouvingut prendre's a bord amb tan poc enrenou i cerimònia? Jo tenia una mica d'experiència de carreres incloent fen de tripulant a bord d'un iot de la classe 8-Metres, i jo havia vist la intensitat que podia aconseguir en un iot de regatàs. No hi havia res d'això a bord el Ansbacher Queen. Ràpidament amb vaig ficar en el ritme a bord i vaig sortir al "pry" o la palanca. De la canya del timó King em mirava de tant en tant per veure com em comportava a la palanca i durant les viraràs i, semblava que com si fos a la seva aprovació. Jo era simplement llast humà, igual que la major part de la tripulació, i la meva funció era moure el meu pes a on es necessitava. A més del llast humà, la tripulació estava formada pel timoner, King, una mena de cap d'equip el nom de en Alli, que també era responsable per caçar el foque, i China que s'ocupava del tall de la vela major. En Allí i King treballaven junts com tàctic i navegant durant la carrera.

Una vegada que havia grimpat a bord el Ansbacher Queen els esdeveniments van succeir ràpidament. De fet, la balandre es dirigia a la línia de sortida a l'altre costat de Elizabeth Harbour. El vent des del sud-oest i la línia, com en altres cursos de regata de forma triangular, es va establir perpendicular a la direcció del vent. La línia estava marcada per dos boies. Alguns dels vaixells ja estaven en la línia. Abans el comitè de regata ens havien assignat una posició en la línia i es tractava de trobar els vaixells a banda i banda de la nostra posició. L'àncora va ser llançada sobre el costat de sobrevent de la línia. A continuació, vam deixar que el vent empentes el Ansbacher Queen fins que la proa estava alineada amb la línia de sortida. Mentrestant, les veles s'havien baixat, però es van preparar per alçar ràpidament.

La zona de la sortida estava plena de balandres, vaixells de el comitè i de vaixells d'espectadors. Tot era soroll i confusió; les instruccions del King i en Alli, els comandaments del comitè de regates, els crits dels altres equips i crits dels espectadors. Un dels meus companys de tripulació ràpidament em va explicar com la sortida es faria. La tripulació, a excepció del timoner i els que se s'ocupaven de las velàs, va formar una mena de cua de la proa a popa i cada home tenia la corda de l'àncora a las mans. Després hi va haver un tret, l'advertència de un minut abans de la sortida. El soroll va disminuir una mica duran aquell minut però no era complet silenci. Cada membre de la tripulació en cada un dels 15 vaixells es va apoderar del las cordes nerviosament esperant, i esperant. I, de sobte, el tret de sortida es va senti a tot al port. La corda de l'àncora es va retirar ràpidament. De vegades les mans es perdien el seu agafament i els colzes d'un home interferien amb l'home en popa. El vaixell va lliscar cap endavant i a poc a poc va guanya velocitat. Amb la velocitat les velàs es van alçar ràpidament. L'àncora un cop a bord va ser llançat en la bodega i oblidada. Una vegada que les velàs estaven plenes el Ansbacher Queen va començar a escorar i les palanques van entrar en joc.

Les palanques, o "pry boards" com se'ls anomena en anglès, són la característica singular de las balandres bahameses. Un dissenyador de vaixells caritativament diria que las balandres porten a una àrea massa gran de vela. Las balandres són molt inestables i les palanques s'utilitzen per contrarestar la pressió sobre la velàs. Quan el vaixell comença a inclinar-se, la tripulació ha de lliscar al seus culs al llarg del les palanques que projecten de sobrevent. Virar el vaixell implica lliscar de nou, amb un pendent baixant si tot va bé, cap a la barca el més ràpid possible. L'últim home fora de la palanca, en altres paraules, l'home més externa, llisca la palanca cap el centre del vaixell i fins que sortir de l'altre costat. Això també ha de ser sincronitzada amb la botavara que ve a través. A bord de las balandres de las Classes A i B això pot ser complicat. No hi ha molt espai entre la botavara i la coberta com el agullot és només a uns quants centímetres per sobre de la coberta. Quan el vaixell vira, la tripulació ha de capbussar-se sota la botavara o llisquen sobre els seus ventres. Per fer las coses més interessants, sa ha de tenir cura de les mans i dels peus. Poden ser aixafats en qualsevol nombre de llocs, però especialment a les barres doblegades en la línia central que mantinguin l'extrem interior de las palanques.

Vaig ser designat l'home mes a fora sobre la palanca de popa. Amb la confusió a bord amb semblava el lloc més segur, i va ser sense dubte un gran lloc per veure la cursa. En l'extrem de la palanca podia mirar cap avall i veure la quilla i el timó a través de l'aigua cristal·lina. Però, havia d'estar alerta pel que el vaixell estava fent a causa del vent i en conseqüència moure cap a l'interior o exterior en funció de la força del vent. També era important escoltar el que King i en Alli deien, sobretot si l'ordre de virar es donava. En un moment de la cursa vam creuar amb una altra balandra i la punta del la nostra botavara va passar sobre els caps de la tripulació assegut sobre las palanques de l'altre vaixell. Va ser molt a prop i vaig pensar que potser seria una bona idea utilitzar cascos. El Ansbacher Queen va acabar la carrera al mig de la flota i tots a bord semblaven satisfets del resultat.

Vam torna a la Cala Kidd, i passa'n vaig saludar la Chris i les nenes a bord el Hirondelle. Ancorem el Ansbacher Queen a prop del moll i vam anar a terra. Allà ens vam dedicar a la preparació del Lucayan Lady per la cursa. La majoria dels tripulants de King havien arribat de Nassau al voltant de las quatre hores del matí i havien tingut dificultats trobant llocs per quedar-se. La major part de la tripulació eren originalment d'Illa Acklins al sur de las Bahames, com era King, però ara tots vivien a Nassau. Tenien quatre vaixells, però només havien portat el Lucayan Lady i el Ansbacher Queen a la regata de George Town. Els tripulants de King s'havien repartit entre diverses altres embarcacions per a l'esdeveniment de Classe B, però ara poc a poc es derivaven al moll per preparar-se per l'esdeveniment de Classe A. Encara quedava molt per fer abans que el Lucayan Lady estava llest. Las velàs encara no s'havien muntat. A més dels tripulants del King havien uns quants estrangers a bord, dos canadencs, un català i un nord-americà.

Durant la regata les coses no van passar com s'esperava a bord del Lucayan Lady, però d'altra banda ningú estava molt molestat pels resultats. Vaig tenir la impressió que el King i els seus nois estaven feliços de participar, festejar i jugar. Els estrangers a bord també van tenir la mateixa perspectiva. Vam arriba tard per per la sortida, un cop més a l'altre costat de Elizabeth Harbour, però com ja he dit que estava bé amb tothom. El Lucayan Lady i l'altre vaixell que va fer tard, el Who Dat, van navega el recorregut perseguint a la resta de la flota. Com no hi havia pressió era agradable a gaudir del passeig. El vent era més lleuger que en la cursa de la Classe B. Tots els estrangers a bord tenien somriures a les seves cares mentre asseguts a las palanques. D'altra banda alguns dels nois de King sospito que estaven navegant amb ressaca. De tornada al moll el contingent estranger estava feliç quan King els va preguntar si tots poguéssim tornar al dia següent.

De cara a tornar el Hirondelle, Bob Fleury, un dels canadencs a bord el Lucayan Lady, amb va donar passeig a bord del seu bot. Amb la dona de en Bob al timó vam creuar a través de l'ancoratge i ens vam aturar per preguntar si algun dels bots de la Classe C necessitaven tripulants. En un dels vaixells un parell de homes es preparaven per a la carrera. El capità ens van rebutjar, però mentre que ens allunyàvem, se'ns va demanar que tornem. Per un moment vaig pensar que potser només volia un de nosaltres, però ens volia els dos. El capità va dir que estava esperant l'arribada d'un parell d'altres companys. Devia pensar que era millor prendre dos cossos vius que estaven preparats i disposats. És molt possible que els altres dos mai arribarien, i si es presentaven no serien en condició de navegar havien sucumbit a las temptacions de la festa. El Vitamalt Thunderbird era un vaixell nou i mai havia competit en una regata. En Bob i jo vam pujar a bord i vam ajudar al capità, Joshua Green, mountar la vela major. Passa'n per davant de Hirondelle vaig saludar amb la mà la Chris i les nenes. Amb les nostres samarretes de color taronja brillant i amb el logotip del patrocinador ens destacàvem com quatre senyals d'alt a bord d'un vaixell.

La carrera de la Classe C es va dur a terme en vent que fallava, però era la millor cursa que vaig fer aquell dia. Malgrat el bon resultat, en Joshua, no estava satisfet amb l'ajust de l'embarcació, els pesos de llast de plom estaven mal col.locats. També en Joshua va dir que el Vitamalt Thunderbird hauria estat més eficaç si el vent hagués estat més fort. En les ràfegues la balandre semblava que guanyava temps dels seus competidors, però el perdria en l'aire més lleuger. En qualsevol cas es tractava d'una bona carrera. En Bob i jo havíem corregut las Classes A i B i per la tercera carrera estàvem molt hàbil amb las palanques. El vaixell més lleuger és més sensible i el treball de la palanca requereix més subtilesa. En els vents variables quan muntàs la palanca estas en constant moviment cap enrere i cap endavant. Estàvem gairebé mai immòbils, però era molt divertit. En Josuha em semblava satisfet amb la nostra capacitat i de tornada en l'ancoratge en Bob i jo vam ser convidats de nou per al dia següent.

Un dia de curses en les tres classes de vaixells m'havia donat l'oportunitat de tenir una mirada de prop a las embarcacions tradicionals de les Bahames. Durant l'últim mig segle, els vaixells i els seus equipaments han canviat fins al punt que ara són gairebé irreconeixibles als de la dècada de 1950. El comitè de regates s'esforça per mantenir un equilibri entre la tradició i la modernitat. Tothom vol guanyar i les regles sempre han estat empesos pels capitans, las tripulacions i constructors de vaixells. Les balandres, per descomptat, es construeixen a un conjunt de normes establertes pel comitè de regates. Els vaixells han de ser dissenyats, construïts i tripulats per bahameses. Las balandres de las Classes A i B son d'aproximadament 28 i 21 peus d'eslora respectivament. Els vaixells han de ser de construcció de fusta i en l'aparença han de ser la forma "tradicional de les Bahames." El llast mòbil i a l’interior del casc és preferit pel comitè de regates. No es permeta'n torns. Els pals no poden portar creuetes.

Al llarg de l'últim mig segle els balandres han tendit a convertir-se en "màquines de competició," construït per la velocitat en lloc de servir a funció de vaixell de pesca o vaixells de transport. Aquest aspecte de màquina de competició és més evident en la gran quantitat de vela que porten las balandres i bots en relació amb la seva mida del casc. Les normes recomanen per una balandre de la Classe A un pal de longitud màxima de 60 peus i una botavara d'una longitud màxima de 32 peus, i això en un casc de només 28 peus d'eslora. La vela major es alça amb una gran tableta de fusta que resulta en encara més superfície. D'altra banda el foque és relativament petit, ja que s'ha d'encaixar en el triangle format pel l'estai de proa i el pal. Malgrat las seves petites superfícies, las foques són fonamentals per virar las balandres de las Classes A i B. La importància de les foques es va posar de manifest per mi en diverses ocasions durant la regata. No obstant això, els bots de la Classe C no tenen foques .Les normes exigeixen que les veles han de ser fetes de tela de cotó.

Jo diria que els vaixells haitians estan més en consonància amb l'esperit de la primera sortida a la Out Island Regatta de 1953. Durant el nostre temps navegant a les Bahames vam veure alguns dels vaixells d'Haití. Construïts a las platjas amb materials locals, las veles són de colors de vegades incongruent, ja que es cusen juntes de les restes de banners publicitaris rescatats. Els mariners d'Haití no són benvinguts en les Bahames, però a un cert nivell són tolerades per les autoritats. A Nassau, una vegada vam veure una mitja dotzena barques d'Haiti ancorats prop de l'entrada del port en contrast amb els creuers grans en els molls propers. Els haitians exerceixen el paper de recol.lectors de deixalles, recollien qualsevol cosa que pugui tenir algun valor a Haití, però vist com escombraries en les Bahames. Diverses vegades hem vist vaixells d'Haití, les seves cobertes carregades de matalassos usats, mobles i bicicletes velles, travessant el port de Nassau passat els grans hotels, més enllà dels creuers i els iots dels rics. Es veuen com els vells mailboats de les Bahames. Els haitians no tenen necessitat d'una regata de vaixells tradicionals.

Dia Tres - Vitamalt, la beguda que posa mina en el teu llapis

En el tercer dia de la regata jo havia de fer un esforç per resoldre un problema. El dia anterior, tot el temps que estava a bord de las balandres, jo estava pensant de la Chris a bord el Hirondelle i que ella també volia participa en la regata. La seva única oportunitat havia estat anul.lada, però jo per bona sort havia navegat en tres embarcacions diferents. Durant els nostres viatges a les Bahames ens havíem adonat que las dones bahameses gairebé mai sortien en petites embarcacions. Ens preguntàvem si es tractava d'un fenomen cultural. L'any anterior havíem vist una dona conduint un vaixell de motor, que treballava amb diversos vaixells de pesca. Vam pensa que era notable perquè va ser l'única vegada que vam veure una dona bahameses conduir un vaixell. En la Family Island Regatta algunes de las balandres hi havien dones a bord, però totes elles eren estrangers, entre elles una era a bord el Lucayan Lady. Obviament King no tenia cap problema amb tripulants femení, així vaig pensar que la Chris podria fe de tripulant a bord el Lucayan Lady.

Dijous d'hora al matí estaven ancorats de nou fora de Cala Kidd. La carrera de Classe B, va tornar a ser la primera del dia. El vent era fluix al principi però a poc a poc va guanya forca durant tota la carrera. Peró el Ansbacher Queen va ser superat par la majoritat de la flota i va acabar antepenúltim. Llavors vam torna de nou al moll per preparar el Lucayan Lady per la seva cursa. King es va mostrar feliç de tenir la Chris a bord i va ser un gran alleugeriment per a mi. Vam conèixer l'esposa de King quan ella va portar entrepans per a la tripulació. Havíem quedat que a les nostres filles anessin a bord el Wandering Albatross. Allà serien subministrats amb galetes i dolços, i ferien gairebé cap atenció al que els seus pares estaven fent.

El Lucayan Lady va fer una sortida una mica desafortunada des de el moll. A la deriva i fora de control va travessa el ancoratge dels creuers, però sense xocar amb ninguna barca. Almenys aquesta vegada, vam arriba a la línia de sortida a temps. Després d'haver ancorat, i mentre esperàvem l'inici, un bot inflable es va acostar de el Lucayan Lady. Una dona d'uns cinquanta anys, més o menys, en el bot va atreure l'atenció de King. "Escolta, King," ella va cridar, "Jo et vaig conèixer fa 35 anys a Nassau." La tripulació la mirava mentre que ella va fer algunes fotografies i després va seguir el seu camí. No crec que King tenia la menor idea qui era la dona, però alguns de la tripulació li van prendre el pèl.

Per a la tripulació del Lucayan Lady la segona cursa de la Classe A va ser molt memorable, però per raons equivocades. Almenys ningú va resultar ferit. Una brisa de 15 nusos bufava onades i escuma a travesse de Elizabeth Harbour. Una altra vegada jo estava l'home de fora sobre la palanca de popa. La Chris estava en la mateixa palanca però cap a l'interior. Amb la seva àmplia experiència en regatàs de bots ella ràpidament es van acostumar a la palanca. El Lucayan Lady va tenir una bon sortida, sense encallar-se amb qualsevol altre vaixell. Pel als tripulants sobre las dos palanques, amb el fort vent que bufava, era una excursió emocionant. Assegut molt per sobre de l'aigua, de tant en tant mira cap avall per veure la quilla a través de l'aigua clara i el sentiment de la premsa del vent gronxant el vaixell, va ser molt estimulant. Però, el bon temps no va durar. Mentre que estàvem en una bordada d'estribord, en direcció a la primera boia de sobrevent acostat d'Illa Stocking, hi va haver un cruixit fort, el so de fusta trencant. Jo a la palanca i amb els altres tripulants a davant meu, no vaig poder veure res, però, la botavara tenia una esquerda un metre de llarg a partir del agullot. De sobte era molt tranquil a bord el Lucayan Lady. Què passaria tothom pensava? Afortunadament, res realment dolent.

Amb una mà ferma agafada el timó King va mantenir el seu rumb i va envia cap endavant en China amb una llargada de corda. Tots vam mirar com en China va embolica la corda el voltant de la esquerda. Jo no crec que ningú creia que la reparació aguantaria un cop que la barca virava. Per complicar les coses va ser el fet que estàvem en una bordada d'estribord i hauríem de circular la boia amb una bordada de babord. Virar seria un problema en la nostra condició delicada. A mes diversos vaixells per davant de nosaltres estaven a punt d'arribar a les proximitat de la boia, tots al mateix temps. Era molt clar que no hi hauria espai per a tots ells. Els patrons bahameses navegant els seus vaixells com si tinguessin molta cobertura d'assegurança, o potser com si ells no en tenen. Acostant-se a la boia, el Lucayan Lady va colpejar de costat a costat amb un vaixell. La Chris es va escapolir a bord i es va asseure a la vora de la coberta mirant per el que passaria a continuació. Quan el Lucayan Lady es va posa amb proa al vent i estabilitzar, els extrems de las palanques es van submergit en l'aigua. Jo amb vaig haver de aguantar fort perquè la pressió de l'aigua va tractar de tirar-me de la palanca. Vaig arriba a la coberta sense res pitjor que un remull. Però un home en l'altra palanca es va capbussar en l'aigua. Ens vam allunyar de l'altra embarcació amb prou impuls per arribar a la boia, al mateix temps que un altre vaixell. La proa del Lucayan Lady va colpejar l'altre vaixell just a popa de la proa del altra balandre. Estàvem llavors parats. Era evident que no podíem continuar. També ens faltava d'un parell de tripulants. Vaig mirar al meu voltant però no vaig poder trobar la Chris. El company que s'havia capbussat el vaig veure a la palanca d'un altre vaixell que s'estava allunyant del Lucayan Lady. Un altra dels nostres tripulants també s'havia capbussat per evitar ser escombrat per la botavara d'un altre vaixell, però aquest va tornar a bord del Lucayan Lady. No vaig poder trobar la Chris perquè en tot la confusió ella va tenir el seny de capbussar-se en la bodega. Si els vaixells no estaven fets de fusta la situació hauria estat un desastre. Una de les nostres estais, que suportava el pal, s'havia trencat en una de les col.lisions. Era el bon moment per baixar la vela major. Com vaig dir abans, per sort, no hi va haver ferits.

El Lucayan Lady va torna al moll amb nomes la ajuda del foque. Allà vam revisar els danys i perjudicis. King va dir que ell podria arreglar la botavara a temps per a la carrera del dia següent. Va proposar embolicar la ruptura amb fibra de vidre. La Chris i jo teníem experiència amb les reparacions de fibra de vidre i ens vam oferir a ajudar King. Ell ens va agrair, però va dir que no era necessari. Em vaig anar a la carrera de la Classe C a bord de el Vitamalt Thunderbird. Aquesta vegada vam tenir un cinquè home a bord, que va ajudar en les condicions de fort vent. Vam tenir una sortida una mica descurada i vam fracassa una de las virades. Això va ser suficient per que la resta de la flota ens va deixa en darrere. Vam acabar onzè. Havia estat un dia dur.

Més tard aguell dia algú ens va mostrar un article publicat unes dies abans de la regata en un periòdic bahameses sobre la tema del nostre patró King. Ens vam assabentar que ell era un natiu d'Illa Acklins al sud de les Bahames. En la dècada de 1950 va formar la banda de calipso King Eric and His Knights jugant els nightclubs i hotels a Nassau. King i la seva banda van ser molt populars al llarg de la dècada de 1960 i és reconegut allà on vagi a les Bahames. Més tard va obrir un estudi d'enregistrament per la promoció d'altres músics de les Bahames. Ara dirigeix un espectacle de varietats per als turistes en un dels grans hotels al costat de la famosa Platja Cable a Nassau, però que també està involucrat en diversos negocis. Un fill seu és un membre del parlament Bahames. La seva participació en les regatàs de balandres es remunta molts anys. No només navega, però ell i la seva dona fabrica'n moltes de les veles utilitzades per als altres competidors. En el 2004 la reina Elizabeth va concedir King amb la designació de MBE (Membre de l'Ordre de l'Imperi Britànic) per les seves contribucions a la música i la societat de les Bahames.

Dia Quatre - Un altre dia a les carreres

El quatre dia de competició va també ser molt interessant. Els vaixells de Classe B van córrer primer i a bord el Ansbacher Queen las coses no van anar bé. El rendiment de la tripulació hauria fet una tropa de pallassos envejat. Vaig pensar que la majoria de la tripulació no va ser molt útil a King en la preparació dels dos vaixells abans de les carreres. Els bahameses havien sortit de festa fins altes hores del matí i per la major part van arribar tarde en el moll. Un parell de membres de la seva tripulació i jo vam ajudar King a canviar les veles de el Ansbacher Queen. Sortint del moll va ser una comèdia d'errors acompanyada per un cor de crits, ordres i contraordres. Confusió en una paraula. Vam sortir del moll amb el timó de el Lucayan Lady a bord amb la intenció de deixar-lo a bord de Lucayan Lady que estava ancorat a terme. La tripulació del nostre vaixell remolcador no entenia els diverses crits que emani-en des-de el Ansbacher Queen i no es va poder lliurar el timó com previst. Simplement es va deixar el timó caure a l'aigua prop de l'inici per ser recollit després. La confusió va fer a bord d'un ambient molt inestable almenys pel meu sentiment. Vam fer la sortida força bé però una de las primeres virades va se un fracas, que ens va deixar parat i la flota va avançar sense nosaltres. Finalment, quan tots ens vam adonar que estàvem irremeiablement enrere, la tensió va disminuir a bord. En un moment durant la cursa vaig ser arrossegat fora de la palanca per una onada i em vaig trobar penjant de la borda, les meves cames en l'aigua. King em va mirar i va cridar: "salvar l'home!" Un parell de la tripulació sense cerimònies em van arrossegar a bord. Al llarg de la carrera hi va haver una constant lluita verbal entre King i els seus nois. King els castigava perquè havien estat masa de festa i masa tarde. La tripulació, almenys alguns, insistint que no havien sortit tan tard com King pensava. Quan vam tornar al moll em preocupava el que passaria a bord de el Lucayan Lady.

Vam traslladar el Lucayan Lady des-de l'ancoratge fins al moll i vam canviar les seves veles. Un vaixell de motor ens va lliurar al timó. Durant la nit King havia reparat la botavara. Hi havia una massa de fibra de vidre embolicada al voltant de l'esquerda com un enorme dit embenat. La Chris va pujar a bord i li vaig explicar el que havia passat a bord de el Ansbacher Queen. Quan vam tenir un remolc des-de el moll, possiblement ens va salva una mica de vergonya. Malgrat una bona sortida i navegant més o menys competents, vam acabar darrere de la majoria de la flota. El vent va tornar apropar-se de 15 nusos i en ocasions el Lucayan Lady estava gairebé de costat. Per els que estaven el las palanques va ser molt emocionant, i una mica alarmant.

La tripulació del Vitamalt Thunderbird va fer un bon esforç en la cursa de Classe C. Però ens vam veure frustrats per una decisió adoptada abans de la cursa. Perquè en aquell moment el vent era bastant fort, en Joshua va pensar que seria més adequat utilitzà la vela amb menys superfície. En conseqüència vam muntar la botavara més curta i la vela més petita. Per descomptat, un cop compromesos amb aquesta mesura no hi ha manera de tornar enrere. S'hauria anat millor amb la vela més gran, perquè en el moment de la sortida el vent estaven fallant. No obstant això, vam navegar bé. Per la forma en que la cursa es va traçar, la flota va haver de navegar en el tram de vent a popa a través de l'ancoratge dels creuers. En Joshua va esta mol ocupat que la punta de la botavara no s'en enganxes amb els aparellatges dels vaixells ancorats. Dues de les balandres darrere de nosaltres va tenir una trobada estrany. Al pal de una balandre va enganxar l'estai d'una altre barca. Un dels pals es va doblegar-se a un grau extraordinari abans de trencar-se. La peça trencada va caure sobre la coberta de proa, per fortuna sense fer mal a la tripulació.

Després de tres curses jo estava esgotat i afamat. La Chris i les noies estaven en terra gaudint de la festa i vaig trobar-les després d'un temps de vagar entre las multituds. La música de diverses fonts sonava una cacofonia de soroll. Menjar i beguda estava disponible en diversos estands. Hi havia una petita presència policial, però la multitud era amistosa i feliç, la seva majoria bahames amb uns pocs estrangers. Algú va dir que el bisbe anglicà de les Bahames estava de visita a l'illa. Si ell buscava pecadors tindria una tasca senzilla. La festa era ben divertida.

Més tard, la Chris i jo vam discutir la situació a bord el Lucayan Lady i el Ansbacher Queen. No teníem cap dubte que King era un bon, fins i tot, un excel.lent mariner però els seu tripulants no estaven en mateix nivell de habilitat. La Chris pensava que la majoria tenien molt poca experiència navegant. De vegades semblava que no se adonaven de la importància de les ordres o instruccions de King. Per exemple, era molt important per aconseguir el foque de un costat al altra amb rapidesa durant una virada, si no el vaixell se aturaria. Eventualment, ells aprendrien aquestes coses, i amb King tenien un bon instructor. Una vegada que la Chris es va adonar del nivell d'habilitat que tenia la tripulació es va sentir més còmoda prendre la iniciativa en algunes de les maniobres, per exemple, durant el ancoratge i amarratge. Per la seva banda, King va veure que la Chris i jo estàvem còmodes en un vaixell d'una manera que la majoria dels seus nois no ho eren. Crec que s'aprecia això i que ens tingués a bord. Un parell de tripulants van ser estranyament adversos a l'aigua. Un home no volia muntar la palanca, perquè no volia mullar-se, i un altre portava una bossa de plàstic sota de la seva samarreta per impedir que es mulli. Per a nosaltres, els estrangers a bord, mullar-se va ser part de la diversió, com ànecs a l'aigua.

Dia Cinc - You've Gotta Regatta

El dissabte era l'últim dia de la regata. L'ordre de les carreres havia canviat i era la cursa de Classe C seria la primera del dia. En Bob em va venir a buscar d'hora i vam pujar a bord el Vitamalt Thunderbird a tres quarts de vuit. En Joshua havia triat per la gran vela. Ja, al començament hi havia una brisa de 15 nusos agitant onades al terme de Elizabeth Harbour. A bord el Vitamalt Thunderbird l'estat d'ànim era optimista i tots estàvem disposats a fer en una bona carrera. Vam tenir una bona sortida sense interferir o ser interferides pels altres vaixells. En Bob i jo estàvem com sempre en la palanques. Des de la línia de sortida vam esta en una vira a babord i ens dirigim a la cantonada del camp de regates prop de Regatta Point de front de George Town, el vent del sud-oest. En front de Regatta Point vam virar a estribord i a mesura quan ens acostàvem al centre del camp que probablement estevam entre els cinc primers vaixells. El Legal Weapon estava amurat a babord i estava acostant el centre del camp. Cobert per les veles i sense cap de la tripulació a la proa observant, el Legal Weapon no ens podia veure. Era evident a en Bob i jo que anàvem a xocar. El meu instint era de cridar "estribord", perquè teníem dret sobre un vaixell a babord, però com un convidat a bord no volia usurpar l'autoritat del capità. Crec que en Bob tenia el mateix sentiment. Just quan estàvem a punt de xocar, en Joshua va empènyer la canya posant la proa el vent i evitant així la col.lisió. Un moment mes tarde el Legal Weapon va virar i es va allunyar, però nosaltres ens vam trobar parats. No hi va haver més remei que abaixar la vela, deixa la barca surar amb el vent per guanyar velocitat, llavors hissar la vela i continuar. Però la flota ens havia deixat enrere. Era decebedor, especialment que el Vitamalt Thunderbird va navegat bé. A favor del vent la barca va trobar la seva bona gambada i tots vam pensar que podríem haver acabat en una de les tres primeres posicions, si no haguéssim tingut l'incident amb Legal Weapon. Més tard, ancorat en la Cala Kidd mentrestant que desmuntàvem la vela i la botavara, vam poder escoltar el patrocinador del Vitamalt Thunderbird enfadat i escridassant la tripulació del Legal Weapon. És poc probable que la tripulació del Legal Weapon van ser molt preocupat, ja que havien guanyat els honors de la Classe C. Eren bon navegadors però no van mantenir una vigilància adequada. En veu baixa en Joshua ens va dir que havia posat proa al vent perquè volia que ningú es fes mal. No tenia altra opció i havia pres la decisió correcta, és només una regata després de tot. No deixava de pensar que jo hauria d'haver cridat. L'amo de la barca va preguntar si en Bob i jo estaríem en qualsevol de les altres regatàs, era un bon reconeixement de les nostres capacitats.

El següent cursa era de la Classe B i el que seria un pèssim exercici per el Ansbacher Queen. No vull donar la impressió que no m'estava divertint, tot la regata era molt divertit, però ho hauria estat més si els dos vaixells de King havien tingut millors resultats. Les carreres de Classe B, van ser els més estranys, frustrants, i, francament, ridículs. Almenys per a l'última carrera, el Ansbacher Queen va tenir una bona sortida i vam fer una volta completa del camp de cursa abans que les coses es van tornar boig. Estàvem en la segona volta i navegant contra el vent quan es va fracassa una virada. La vela major es va de haver baixar i deixa el vaixell surar amb el vent per obtenir velocitat. Vam tenir el vaixell en control però poc després vam perdre una altra virada. Una vegada més es va repetir la maniobra per recuperar el control del Ansbacher Queen, però després per tercera vegada no vam pogué virar amb suficient rapidesa, perdent el control dels cables de control de la vela de floc. La tripulació es va quedar en silenci i em vaig sentir malament per King. Ell se sentia frustrat, però ho va prendre amb calma. A diferència d'alguns dels capitans amb que jo havia navegat King mai va perdre la calma no va abusa cap de la seva tripulació. En aquest moment estàvem irremeiablement darrere de tots els altres vaixells i el pretext va ser que se havia trencat una peça de equipament. King va elegir per tornar a Cala Kidd. Teníem temps de desmuntar la vela major i la botavara del Ansbacher Queen. Vam trasllada algunas de las peces de llast de plom des-de l'embarcació de Class B a’l Lucayan Lady. La Chris va arribar i tots dos van ajudar mentre que la majoria de la tripulació se’n van anar corrent a terra, per llepar les ferides i esmorzar. La Chris, jo i alguns altres vam navegar el Ansbacher Queen amb la ajuda del foque fins el moll del govern. La Chris va tenir l'oportunitat de timonar per una estona. Vam ancorar darrere d'un dels mailboats. Una vegada que vam esta a terra King em va comprar una cervesa i vam caminar a través de la festa i les multituds feliços fins al moll del port esportiu.

A poc a poc l'equip va tornar al moll i ens vam transportar a on el Lucayan Lady estava ancorat. Un altre espectacle de pallassos es va jugar a Cala Kidd. Sortir de un ancoratge amb nomes la ajuda de vela té el potencial de entretenir els espectadors. No vam defraudar. Vam travessar l’ancoratge dels creuers, afortunadament molt a poc a poc perquè també teníem poc control. Vam surar per sobre el cable de l'àncora d'un creuer. La corda va lliscar al llarg de la quilla del Lucayan Lady i es va ficar en la bretxa entre el timó i el casc. Això ens va deixar parats i vam donar la volta fins que estàvem de costat a costat amb el creuer en qüestió. Afortunadament, els propietaris de l'embarcació de creuer no es trobaven a bord. Mentre que alguns de nosaltres es vam defensar las dos barca, un parell de la tripulació es va capbussar i van ser capaços de lliscar el cable fora de la bretxa. Tot l'episodi es va promulgar un parell d'eslores lluny del Wandering Albatross, el vaixell, on les nostres filles estaven entretingudes. És una bona cosa quan els nens poden riure's del que fan els seus pares, i les noies van tenir una bona ullada de prop dels disbarats d'ells.

Lliure per fi, vam navegar a més aventures. Per sort vam arribar d'hora a la línia de sortida, ni tampoc vam fracassar la sortida. Simplement, els altres vaixells van navegar millor que nosaltres i ens van deixar enrere. Un vaixell, però, va tenir d'abandonar a causa d'una vela esquinçada. No vam fer res realment malament, vam fer tots els nostres virades sense problemes, però amb menys finor que las altres tripulacions. L'últim tram de la carrera es va desenvolupar d'una boia per sota del monument en l'Illa Stocking diagonalment a través del port a la meta fora de Regatta Point. Una altra vegada jo estava en l'extrem exterior de la palanca amb la Chris més endins en la mateixa palanca i va ser uns minuts gloriosos quan el Lucayan Lady perseguia la resta de la flota. Era un avantatge ser l'últim vaixell perquè teníem un bonic espectacle de la flota per davant sobre les aigües de color turquesa. La multitud d'espectadors, tant a terra com en embarcacions, tenia una bonica vista de la flota de carreres. A dalt un cel gloriós blau amb uns quants núvols, per sota, l'aigua cristal·lina. I, enfilat a la part alta de la palanca jo tenia el millor seient per veure-ho tot. En creuar la línia va haver crits i botzines a tot volum. Un vaixell de motor pel d'espectadors es va apropar del Lucayan Lady per saludar i animar King. Tenia un gran somriure i va saludar als seus amics. La regata havia acabat.

Vam ancora el Lucayan Lady enfront del moll del govern i vam desmuntar les veles i la botavara. Més tard el Lucayan Lady, amb el pal en peu, es va hissar a bord d'un mailboat per al viatge a Nassau. Els tripulants van enganxar passejades a terra tan aviat com van poder i van córrer per la gran festa. Abans de sortir, la Chris i jo, vam agrair King per deixar-nos navegar amb ell i els seus companys. Vam dir adéu al cap d'equip, en Alli, i li vam donar les gràcies també. Llavors la Chris i jo vam caminar pel carrer principal cap a la festa. Hi havia una gran multitud davant de l'edifici del govern veient la Banda de la Policia de les Bahames. Ens vam trobar amb les noies i els seus escortes del Wandering Albatross. I, tots ens vam dirigir a la festa de la regata per una mica de menjar i unes quantes cerveses.

He publicat aquest bloc fa algun temps en anglès. He traduït l'obra al català en part com una excersise per practicar el meu català escrit, que és certament feble. Espero que sigui d'interès. Hi ha molt poca informació sobre les Bahames disponible en català.

Les fotografies a color van ser preses per la Chris durant la regata de 2005. La fotografia en blanc i negre s'ha pres del llibre Bahama Islands de J. Linton Rigg.

The Ex Votos of la Cisa, Premia de Dalt

2011-12-04T19:29:00.002+01:00

Santuari de la Mare de Deu de la Cisa, Premia de Dalt, from an old postcard. This view looks
almost due north with the land sloping down toward the sea on the right.

The Santuari de la Mare de Deu de la Cisa is a small church with an austere baroque facade located in the town of Premia de Dalt. The church sits part way up the slope of the Serralada Litoral, a range of low mountains north-east of Barcelona, and overlooks the Mediterranean. It is home to a small statue of the Virgin Mary and Christ that during several hundred years has been an object of pilgrimage and veneration by fishermen, sailors and mariners from various towns along a stretch of the Catalan coast. Like many Catalan churches, la Cisa, as it is known colloquially, has been damaged and rebuilt various times over the last thousand years. The most recent attempt to destroy the church occurred in July 1936, a few days after the start of the Spanish Civil War, when a group of itinerant church-burning anarchists passed through the area. Although most of the interior decorations were destroyed the building itself remained intact and the Virgin and Christ also survived. However, a large collection of ex votos, that had been acquired over the previous three centuries, was almost completely lost. The loss of the ex votos was significant not just in terms of the physical loss of the item but also because each ex voto told a story of suffering, heroism and survival at sea.

An ex-voto is an offering made in accordance to a vow. Sailors facing what would seem to be certain death would pray for their lives to some particular saint and promise to undertake a pilgrimage or make a gift to the saint’s shrine. Ex votos are symbols of those vows made good. Sailors, generally being a superstitious lot toiling in an environment susceptible to the vagaries of the the weather and elements, have been keen suppliers of ex votos in Catholic cultures. A Catalan saying goes, “he who does not go to sea, knows not how to pray to God.”

At first it may seem odd that a church three kilometres from the sea and located on the slope of a mountain should be associated with mariners. From the grounds of la Cisa there is a fine view of the Mediterranean coast extending from the harbour of Premia de Mar all the way to Mataro. For hundreds of years there were few towns or villages directly at the water's edge over the length of the Catalan and Valencian coasts. The few towns with waterfronts were protected by high walls and had elaborate defences. This situation was a result of the fear of attack by Muslim pirates who ranged from the Algerian and Moroccan coasts. Most towns were set back from the sea. The fishermen would of course keep their boats down by the sea and perhaps put up a few simple buildings but they made their homes inland or on the slopes of the overlooking mountains. When the pirates finally disappeared in the late 1700s upland towns established suburbs on the coast. Usually, the groups of fishermen's shelters would form the nuclei of those suburbs which later became towns of their own. Along the coast northeast from Barcelona there are several towns that share names indicating a common origin. For example, Vilassar de Dalt--literally Upper Vilassar--is more than a thousand years old while its sea-side namesake Vilassar de Mar--Vilassar by the Sea--is only about two hundred years old. The Cisa's town, Premia de Dalt, has a seaside counterpart in Premia de Mar.

So while the risk of sudden seaborne attack persisted, churches would have been built on the mountain, preferably somewhere with a good view of the sea. The original church on the site of la Cisa, was according to a legend, built on the spot where the statue of the Virgin Mary and Jesus was found by a young shepherdess. The wooden statute is about 30 centimetres tall and it portrays the Virgin seated on a throne with the Christ child sitting on her left thigh. The style is Gothic and perhaps the statue dates from the 13th century. Very likely there was some sort of religious structure on the same site that pre-dated the discovery of the statue.

By the 16th century la Cisa was attracting fishermen and sailors who came to make votive offerings after some near disaster at sea. Gradually the association between the Madre de Deu de la Cisa and mariners grew stronger and the collection of ex votos increased until the walls of the church were covered in them. The dangers faced by mariners could be storms, pirates, accidents and acts of war. The first of May came to be an important day for la Cisa with a feast and gathering that brought together mariners and their families. A procession would be the highlight of the festival followed by picnics under the trees of the church grounds. It is a tradition that continues even if the numbers of fishermen are not what they used to be.

There are different styles of ex votos but most were in the form of paintings, usually oil on wood, depicting the events of the sailors’ near appointment with destiny. There would be a short note explaining the circumstances of the event along with the name of the vessel and the names of the captain and sometimes of the crew. Other ex votos were more akin to folk art than to fine art but that does not diminish their artistic and historic values. In the case of ship models they were sometimes hung from the church ceiling. A final type of ex voto consisted of what is known as a half-model, where only one side of the ship is constructed. Half-models were usually mounted inside a glassed over frame to be hung on a wall.

An ex voto dedicated to the Virgin of la Cisa and now part of the collection of
the Barcelona Maritime Museum.

By chance, sometime ago we acquired an ex voto dedicated the the Virgin of la Cisa. We found it next to a garbage bin here in our town, Vilassar de Dalt. Presumably someone had thrown it out without realising or caring about its significance. Our ex voto is of the half-model type. The ship it depicts is a three-masted schooner and in this case the artist had some technical skill as the model is quite well done. Perhaps it was made by a crew member whose hobby was making ship models. Not only is the schooner well proportioned but it carries a suit of sails and the rigging is relatively accurate.

Of course there is an inscription on the ex voto and it reads as follows;

Ex-Voto

En Acción de Gracias a Ntra. Sra. de la Cisa que nos salvó de muerte
segura al ser invocada durante la galerna de 24 Julio de 1880,
fronte al cabo de Lastres a bordo del pailebote Ernesto Mas.

Capitán Jayme Alsina

While off Cape Lastres on the Cantabrian coast facing the Bay of Biscayne, the schooner Ernesto Mas was struck by a gale and the crew invoked the help of the Virgin of la Cisa. Obviously they lived to tell the tale. I did some research in the library of the Maritime Museum of Barcelona but was unable to find anything definite about the ship or her captain. There was no record of the schooner Ernesto Mas. I did not find any reference to a Captain Jayme Alsina although the surname was very common amongst mariners from the nearby towns of el Masnou and Premia de Mar. In Catalan the name Jayme would have been written as Jaume and even then I could not find an exact match of the name. However, considering that the Alsina name is so common in the Maresme comarca (county) and that the ex voto is dedicated to the Virgin of la Cisa, the ship and crew were very likely from the area.

The earliest ex voto known to have been donated to la Cisa dated from 1689 and with it a Captain Josep Sala gave thanks for winning a sea battle against some Dutch pirates. Captain Sala's offering was of course lost in the civil war. Even without the intervention of the war many of the ex votos in la Cisa were by 1936 already in very poor condition suffering from the effects of time. Many consisted of oil paint over wood panels and they did not keep well. A few of la Cisa’s ex votos have survived and are now in the collection of the Barcelona Maritime Museum.

The Cemetery of Forgotten (Nautical) Books

2011-11-17T18:07:00.001+01:00

My favourite second-hand bookshop in Barcelona is lost somewhere in the Barri Gotic on a side street off La Rambla, the great walkway leading from Plaça de Catalunya down to the harbour. The bookshop, the Lliberia Cervantes, is near the Ateneu, bastion of Catalan culture, and steps away from the Roman tombs in Plaça de Madrid. The Cervantes brings to mind Zafón's fabulous Cemetery of Forgotten Books, but the fictitious bookshop was located closer to the harbour and on the other side of La Rambla. For a second-hand bookshop the Cervantes is relatively large and spacious. In the front room bookshelves reach to the high ceiling. A hallway, lined with glass fronted cases holding some of the more valuable volumes, leads to a larger room in the back. A bust of Cervantes faces you as you enter the back room where the walls are lined with more shelves and books. Tables laden with books fill out the room.

Most of the books in the Cervantes are in Catalan and Castilian but there are volumes in French, German or English scattered about. The bookshop has been owned by the same family for eight decades and often when one opens a book to the flyleaf for the price it may be written in pesetas instead of euros. Some books have sat on the shelves for decades waiting for the right person to pick them up, browse through them and take them home. Of course, one never knows what one will find in a bookshop, it's a bit like sifting through an archaeological excavation. Perhaps a book that you have had in mind for many years, but were never able to find, and suddenly there it is in your hands. Or it may you pick up a book with an intriguing title and leafing through its pages you decide that you must have it. Sometimes, you find nothing that is sufficiently interesting to take away. If I have a few minutes before catching the bus home I may spend the time browsing the Cervantes' shelves.

Some time ago, killing time as I had a long wait for the bus, I went into the Cervantes. On entering the back room I saw a new hand-printed sign on one of the tables that read in Spanish, "Sea, Voyages, Sailing." As I approached the table I expected to find nothing more than mass market coffee table books, copies of Josep Pla's Costa Brava, or perhaps Spanish translations of Thor Heyderal's books from the 1960s. I scanned the spines for the titles and author names and was surprised. What I found was a collection consisting almost entirely of accounts of small-boat voyages--the cruising sailor's library of classics. Most of the books were in English, some in French and a small number were translations into Castilian. None were in Catalan.

A majority of the books were first editions by English sailor/writers. Among them were five books by the mountaineer and sailor H.W. Tilman. Humphrey Barton's Westward Crossing, an account of his Atlantic crossing on a 25-foot Vertue sailboat, quickly caught my attention. An inscribed copy of James Wharram's Two Girls, Two Catamarans seemed particularly interesting. A pair of first editions by Miles Smeeton, Sunrise to Windward and Because the Horn is There, shared table space with a copy of Trekka Round the Word by John Guzzwell, Miles and Beryl Smeeton's friend and onetime crew. There were also a dozen or so hardback reprints in The Mariners Library series published by Rupert Hart-Davis including W. A. Robinson's circumnavigation account Deep Water & Shoal and E.F. Knight's treasure hunt tale The Cruise of the "Alerte."

It took me awhile but as I looked at all of the books I realised that I had a dilemma. I would have liked to have taken them all but I was looking at eighty or ninety volumes. It made no sense to do that as I could not afford the cost. What to do? I decided to pick two volumes, let it go at that and head for the bus stop. I selected Tilman's Mischief in Patagonia, an account of his first combined sailing and climbing voyage; and Eric Hiscock's revised 1948 edition of Wandering Under Sail in which the author recounts some of his pre-WWII cruises round Britain and the coast of France aboard his yacht Wanderer II.

How did all of these sailing books suddenly turn up in the Cervantes? And in Barcelona of all places. Barcelona does have a long maritime tradition. A stroll along its harbour and a visit to the Museu Maritime will illustrate that point. It is Spain's most important commercial harbour and there are several marinas and yacht clubs. Barcelonians also love books. Besides the city's numerous bookshops there is on Sunday mornings at the Mercat d'Sant Antoni a second-hand book market that is very popular with bibliophiles. As for the sudden appearance of the sailing books in the Cervantes I assume that the estate of some recently deceased sailor and book collector sold the volumes to the shop. Many if not most of the books bore the ex libris label of someone named Jose Jover. The copy of Two Girls, Two Catamarans had been inscribed, "To our good friend Jose Jover, (signed) Jim Wharram." I contacted some friends who had built a Wharram and know the man but I could not find out if Wharram remembered Senyor Jover. I asked several acquaintances amongst the sailors I know around Barcelona and none had heard of the man. Senyor Jover obviously had a fascination with small-boat voyages. One of the things I like about old books is that they have a history, they have been read and owned by others. I like finding notes in the margins and old book marks between the pages. When the book has been inscribed, it may have been given as a birthday or Christmas present, it has some history behind it. Senyor Jover loved sailing and books about sailing, They were undoubtedly his passions and his book collection is a testament to those passions. That his books were to be scattered to the winds is sad but they can also be enjoyed by others.

On my next trip to Barcelona following my discovery I went into the Cervantes and expected all of those sailing books to have disappeared. There must be other people interested in small-boat sailing, I thought. I imagined hoards of British and American tourists, from the cruise ships that assault Barcelona, descending on the Cervantes and nabbing all of those books. Of course, the people who sail aboard giant cruise ships maybe the least interested in small-boat sailing. Would they not want to take home as a souvenir of their stop in Barcelona a copy of Hiscock's Around the World in Wanderer III rather than, say, a history of the second Spanish republic, written in Catalan? Of course, not everyone has the same interests. In any case, I was surprised to find that the sailing books despite being located in a prominent section of the shop were, as far as I could tell, untouched and unsold. A book is only of value to the person who is interested in it. So I bought a couple more. On another trip to Barcelona I bought still another pair of volumes. Over the next 18 months, every time I went into the city I would try to drop into the shop but it was not always possible for one reason or another. By picking up one or two volumes at a time I built up a collection of almost sixty sailing books, and spread out the cost.

Unfortunately, a few books got away. I regretted not picking up one of Adrian Hayter's books after I had read his Business in Great Waters, although I did find in another section of the bookshop his Sheila in the Wind translated into Spanish. In my wanderings about second-hand bookshops and fairs in Barcelona I noted the quantities of travel and adventure books that were translated into Spanish in the twenty-five years after the Civil War. Of course you will not find Catalan books from that period. There must have been a tremendous appetite for those stories during the bleak years of the Franco dictatorship. Why the attraction? At the most basic level it is a way of experiencing with the authors their voyages but also because it was a dismal period in Spain people needed diversions from everyday life. The post-war period in Britain was also dismal with food rationing lasting until 1954. Many wanted to leave their respective countries but could not. Sailing books would have been a form of escapist literature. Speaking of escapism, I was amused to read Peter Pye's The Sea is for Sailing because the author, a physician, had taken up sailing to escape having to participate in the evils of socialised medicine in post-war Britain.

In addition to the English-language books I found in the travel section of the Cervantes several sailing books in Spanish. There are some interesting volumes that are not available to English audiences having never been translated. An example is Hong Kong-Barcelona en el Junco "Rubia," an a account of the voyage from the British colony to the Catalan capital of a Chinese junk in 1957. The author José Maria Tey had the Rubia built in Hong Kong and then gathered a group of friends to sail it to Catalonia. It would be interesting to find out what happened to the vessel, and the author. Another Spanish book La Niña II, Tras el Surco de Colon is an account of a voyage retracing Columbus's first Atlantic crossing. The author, Antonio Sagaseta de Ilurdoz, was a priest who joined the crew of a Niña replica. The voyage, undertaken in 1962, was somewhat marred by the fact that the Niña II had to be towed for the last part of the crossing--hailing a tow was an option that Columbus did not have.

Many sailing books are frankly poorly written, simple accounts of weather and anchorages, not much better than sailing directions or pilots. The excuse is that the authors are after all more sailors than writers. It is always a pleasure to come across a well written sailing book. I enjoy rereading Tilman's books because of his sense of humour and the fact that he does not take himself too seriously. Of course, Tilman had the advantage of making voyages to places few small-boat sailors would dare venture to. Another author who I find interesting Adrian Hayter. His Sheila in the Wind recounts his five-year long odyssey from England to New Zealand. In that book Hayter stands in for Odysseus and it is honest and well written. While I was writing this article I started reading Ann Davison's My Ship is So Small and was pleasantly surprised how well written it is but she had also previously written a book or two. Davison was the first woman to sail solo across the Atlantic and happened to be one of the better writers--she knew how to tell a good story.

At one time ocean voyaging must have been a small world and an interesting aspect of the sailing books from the 1940s to the 60s is how often one author will turn up in the book of another. For example, the Smeeton's first dismasting while rounding Cape Horn is also recounted by Guzzwell in his book. Guzzwell had interrupted his voyage to help the Smeetons round South America. The Australian S.E. Bradfield recounts in his Road to the Sea how he and his wife meet up with the Hiscocks in the Red Sea while on a passage from Australia to England. Of course the Hiscocks knew everyone and everyone knew of Bill Tilman and his exploits. The Trinidadian sailor Harold la Borde and his wife met with the American couple of Marjorie and Al Petersen in the Caribbean. Adlard Cole's North Atlantic and G.C.L Payne's Out of Poole are both accounts of the 1950 Trans-Atlantic race. In White Cliffs to Coral Reef William Howell tells of buying the Hiscock's boat Wanderer II and then sailing her to the south Pacific and on to British Columbia.

Some books are collections of cruising vignettes and they make for pleasant winter reading when the tramuntana wind is blowing over the Mediterranean and the fireplace is going. When one wants to read a few pages to recall summer sailing these are the books to pull off the bookshelf. Under the Cabin Light by Sir Alker Tripp, a collection of accounts of weekend and holiday cruises round about the English seacoast, falls into this category. I have reread several times Hiscock's Wandering Under Sail describing the author's pre-war cruises to Scotland and the French Atlantic seaboard. The latter voyage always strikes a melancholy note as it took Hiscock to some quiet fishing villages just a few days before the start of the war. Hiscock was writing about a world that was soon to disappear. Peter J. Haward, a delivery skipper, recounts in All-Seasons' Yachtsman several of his adventures, including the loss of a man overboard, while delivering yachts to various European destinations. Haward also sailed on Severn II an old eight-meter that I know as it is still sailing on Lake Ontario.

I still go back to the Cervantes and find amongst its shelves more sailing accounts. A couple of years ago, up on a shelf just below the ceiling of the front room, I found a copy of J. Linton Rigg's Bahama Islands. The Cervantes has few patrons who would have much interest in what is essentially a 1950s cruising guide to the Bahamas, sprinkled with the author's anecdotes, but having spent some years cruising those islands it was, for me at least, an appreciated find. On the same shelf as the Bahamas book was a copy of Captain Wilfred Shawe's Sea of Seas a somewhat scatter-shot book of various sailing voyages around the western Mediterranean. As we have a view of the Mediterranean from the terrace at home the book was a timely find. Last summer before sailing to Port Soller on Majorca's north shore Shawe's book provided us with some background information on our destination. Who knows what you can unearth in the Cemetery of Forgotten Nautical Books?

All Seasons Yachtsman, Peter J. Haward; Hong Kong-Barcelona en el Junco "Rubia," José Maria Tey; The Cruise of the "Alerte," E. F. Knight; Deep Water and Shoal, William Albert Robinson; Bahama Islands, J. Linton Rigg; Mischief in Patagonia, H.W. Tilman; Business in Great Waters, Adrian Hayter; Temptress Returns, Edward C. Allcard; Two Girls, Two Catamarans, James Wharram; My Ship is So Small, Ann Davison; The Last Cruise of the Shanghai, F. DeWitt Wells; Trade Winds and Turtles, Dan Mulville; Come Aboard, Eric C. Hiscock; Sunrise to Windward, Miles Smeeton; Single-Handed Passage, Edward C. Allcard; Navegando a los Cuatro Ventos, Hans von Meiss-Teuffen; Around the World in Wanderer III, Eric C. Hiscock; White Cliffs to Coral Reef, William Howell; Road to the Sea, S. E. Bradfield; My Lively Lady, Alec Rose; A World of My Own, Robin Knox-Johnston; Two Against Cape Horn, Hal Roth; Ten Small Yachts, Maurice Griffths; Triumph and Tribulation, H.W. Tilman; The Fight of the Firecrest, Alain Gerbault; Out of Poole, G.C.L. Payne; Around the World Single-Handed, Harry Pidgeon; Journey With Caravel, Fred Carlisle; Mischief Goes South, H.W. Tilman; Sou'West in Wanderer IV, Eric C. Hiscock; Islands Of Blue Water, Keith Robinson; Heaven, Hell and Salt Water, Bill & Phyllis Crowe; Under the Cabin Lamp, Sir Alker Tripp; Sea of Seas, Capt. Wilfred H. Scott Shawe; Stornoway East and West, Marjorie Peterson; Mostly Mischief, H.W. Tilman; La Niña II, Tras el Surco de Colon, Antonio Sagaseta de Ilurdoz; An Ocean to Ourselves, Harold la Borde; Family at Sea, John Caldwell; Atlantic Cruise in Wanderer III, Eric C. Hiscock; Ice Bird, David Lewis; Sea-Saint, Ian Nicolson; In Mischief's Wake, H.W. Tilman; Because the Horn Is There, Miles Smeeton; The Sea is for Sailing, Peter Pye; North Atlantic, Adlard Coles; 1700 Miles in Open Boats, Cecil Foster; The Voyage Alone in the Yawl Rob Boy, John MacGregor; Deep Water Cruising, E.G. Martin; Return to the Sea, William Albert Robinson

Sculling on the Humber River

2011-10-01T21:46:00.001+02:00

The Humber River from an old postcard.

In 1972 I took up rowing when I joined the Argonaut Rowing Club of Toronto. At first, I rowed in four- and eight-man crews but I soon learned to scull so that I could row in a single. Normally the Argonaut crews rowed inside the breakwall that runs from Ontario Place to the mouth of the Humber River. Occasionally we took our shells up the Humber as far as the bridges at Bloor Street. The river's sheltered waters are ideal for rowing shells with their low freeboards. Whenever I sculled alone in a skiff the lower Humber became my favourite outing. So seldom did I see other boats, or even see a person on its banks, that I came to regard that stretch of the river as my own. In the summer when the rushes and reeds in the marshes are at their tallest and the trees have leafed out the city disappears behind a green curtain. It is easy to image yourself on a secluded country stream far from the city. Marshes and steep bluffs prevent direct access to most of the lower Humber. Over the years, as I raced up and down the river, I experienced a corner of Toronto's urban wilderness that few of its residents even knew existed.

Above Bloor Street navigation of the Humber is restricted by a series of rapids and weirs. Three hundred years ago the end of navigable water also marked the start of the Carrying Place portage linking Lake Ontario and Georgian Bay via Lake Simcoe. When I first became acquainted with the Humber I had no idea about the river's historic associations. Later I learned that the lower Humber had seen the passage of Iroquois war parties heading for Huronia, and that French explorers Brule, Joliet, Hennepin and La Salle had very likely used the route. In the 1750s, near the end of the French regime, a trading post was for a short time located on the east bank near the Humber mouth. Later the same site became the home of one of Toronto's first European settlers. On the east bank a little way to the north of Bloor Street in the neighbourhood now known as Baby Point stood the Seneca village of Teiaigon. It would have been an almost idyllic place with ready access to the river and Lake Ontario a few minutes away.

Between Lake Ontario and Bloor Street the river is divided into five relatively straight sections, varying in length from 300 to 450 metres for a total of about 2 kilometres. Comparing maps from the 1700s and 1800s with modern ones demonstrates that the lower Humber has not altered its course significantly since that time. When I first started with the rowing club we used to row on the river in fours and eights but the bends were difficult to negotiate in the longer boats. On the other hand a single sculler could easily steer round the bends with little fuss. In the early 1980s the officials of the rowing club, after a series of accidents, decided that the fours and eights should stay out of the Humber. For the single scullers the river became even more isolated and uncrowded.

Occasionally a power boat would appear on the Humber. There is even a power boat yacht club on the river near Bloor Street. The members of the Humber Yacht Club were generally considerate with their wakes when passing a shell careful not to swamp it. However, there were other power boaters who insisted on roaring up the river causing disruptive wakes. Once, as I rounded a bend on the river I was surprised to see a power boat racing toward me. As the boat rounded the bend I looked up at the underside of the banking hull and hoped that it did not side slip and hit me. Fortunately, he had room enough as I had been hugging the shore. The driver did not see me until his boat had leveled out on the straightaway and he happened to look back. It is not likely that he heard my comments over the roar of his engine.

From time to time a police boat would make its way up the Humber. One afternoon I was returning downstream when one of the aluminum riggers of my skiff cracked. I managed to stay upright and maneuvered the boat to shore without capsizing. There was no way of rowing the boat with the cracked rigger without causing more damage. Earlier I had seen a police launch go up river so I waited for it to return. When the launch came round the bend I asked the two constables if they could call the rowing club to send a motor boat to pick me up. The officers offered to load the skiff aboard their launch. I readily accepted and rode back to the club in style. The police launch was one of the old wooden hull patrol boats from the 1920s that I had admired for years.

Curiously, prior to the mid-1980s I rarely saw canoes and kayaks on the Humber even though the Humber Marshes are ideal for exploring in such craft. Canoeists simply did not consider it worth their while to spend time on a river running through a major urban area. I have to attribute this lack of interest in the Humber to the generally poor reputation the Great Lakes and their associated waters had after the 1960s. Great Lakes pollution levels seemed to peak in the early-1970s. Sometimes the pollution was very evident in the form of garbage floating in midstream or thrown up on the banks. At other times it could be a slick of oil floating on the surface. In the aftermath of heavy rains the amount of debris on the Humber was revolting. The ubiquitous shopping carts always puzzled me. Why would anyone push one down to the water only to toss it into the river? While I can only give an opinion based on my observations and impressions, the water quality on the Humber did seem to improve between 1972 and the late 1990s. It took a long time for the general public to realise it. Meanwhile, the quantity of wildlife that I saw, including birds, fish and mammals, seemed also to increase over that period. Rowing shells are unotrusive, making little noise and are excellent platforms for observing wildlife. The drawback is that you approach everything going backwards.

The bird life on the Humber could be spectacular at times. The birds one normally saw included night herons, great blue herons, red-wing blackbirds, mute swans, Canada geese, mallard ducks and crows. I once saw a pheasant on one of the low wooded banks. Prior to the early 1980s the cormorant was a bird that I never saw but gradually they became more common. Their presence would seem to indicate that the population of forage fish was increasing. Of course there were often seagulls on the river. Great black backed gulls were sometimes seen feeding on a dead salmon or carp. Throughout the summer a small group of Caspian terns would sit on the section of the breakwall just at the mouth of the Humber. The night herons sitting on low branches that hung low over the water could sometimes be counted in the dozens.

On the east bank of the third bend there is a steep sand bluff from which a number of trees used to cling to. I recall rowing past one day and seeing that some of the trees had fallen into the river. When the tree roots had pulled out of the bluff they left holes. Within a few days the holes had been occupied by nesting barn swallows. Their nests were inaccessible to even the most determined raccoon. All that summer the river valley was alive with swallows swooping and diving.

All along the Toronto waterfront a tremendous increase in the Canada geese population occurred during the 1970s and every spring the Humber would be packed with goslings and their parents. In the 1990s I noticed that the numbers of geese declined. I can only attribute the decline to the appearance of a pair of nesting mute swans. Despite their stately appearance, I am ambivalent about these very territorial birds. Mute swans are non-native but also very aggressive towards other water fowl, hence the decrease in geese. The pair usually built their nest in the marshes along the second straightaway. Several times I was subjected to feint attacks by the males. The swan would fly toward me along the length of a straightaway as I rowed along. With my hands occupied with the sculls, all I could do was watch helplessly as the huge bird rushed toward me. I had no idea what it was going to do but as it got to within 20 meters of the stern of the skiff the swan settled on the water while slapping its feet on the water, its neck outstrectced and threatening. The bird continued to approach until it lunged with its bill at the stern of the skiff. The bird is very powerful and can, at least, inflict a painful bite. Presumably, the swans viewed scullers with their oars sweeping back and forth as some sort of giant waterfowl that had to be challenged.

The mammals present along the river were more wary of humans than the birds. It was common to see beaver, muskrat, raccoons and the odd fox. I started observing beaver in the late 70s. I would some times see them swimming across the river astern of my shell or waddling along the shore. The beavers often left evidence of their presence on the trees that they were cutting. Raccoons were fairly common but they presumably had an easier time scavenging amongst the houses that back on to the Humber ravine. Foxes are of course much rarer, at least warier, but they were sometimes visible at the water's edge.

From a rowing shell the fish life is harder to appreciate. The water of the river is typically a chocolate-milk brown and it is difficult to see fish. Sometimes as one sculled along watching the shell's wake and the pairs of swirls made by the oars a third swirl would mysteriously appear. It would be the result of some fish approaching the hull and suddenly turning away and stirring the water. In the spring rainbow trout make their runs upstream from Lake Ontario. In the fall Chinook and coho salmon, both non-native and stocked in the lake, make their runs up the Humber. The Humber has some very large carp, some weighing up to 30 pounds, and they spawn in the marshes.

The reason the scullers were on the Humber River was to train for races. And, it is a great place to train. The layout of the river allowed for various types of workouts. Sometimes I would row steady state pieces keeping at a constant rate and pressure, make a quick turn at the top of the river and head back to the mouth. Depending on how many trips you made you could easily build up the mileage. Sometimes I put in all-out sprints on the straightaways and then eased off going round the turns. The calm waters made it an ideal place to work on improving sculling technique. On the second straightway, which is more than 450 metres long and wide enough, two scullers could race side by side.

Occasionally on Saturday mornings 15 or 20 Argonaut scullers would meet up just below the Bloor Street bridges and race all the way back to the rowing club. It was a seven-kilometre long workout and it called for good judgement and skill to negogiate the river bends while racing. On those days the procession of scullers would pass for what would be considered heavy traffic on the Humber. Then there was always the problem of water conditions at the Humber mouth. It could get pretty rough for a rowing shell where the river current meets the swell from the lake. Until you had reached the protection of the breakwall you could expect to get wet and bounced about.

It has been so long since I last sculled on the lower Humber that I can no longer think of it as my preserve but other scullers have now made it their own. In addition to the Argonauts a number of other scullers now keep their shells at the Humber Yacht Club. It is an appropriate development as the quiet waters of the river are more suitable for sculling than for power boats. Perhaps a new Toronto rowing club will emerge from this association. From what I have heard and read the Humber's water quality continues to improve. I recently read that Atlantic salmon, which had been extirpated in the 1880s from Lake Ontario, had in 2011 been reintroduced into the Humber. It is long overdue but perhaps it had to wait until water quality had improved sufficiently. Toronto is fortunate that it has such a river running through it.

The Barcelona of the Brangulís - A Photographic Exhibition

2011-06-21T14:27:00.002+02:00

Fons Brangulí/National Archives of Catalonia (ANC)

The start of Josep Brangulí i Soler's (1879-1945) career as a photo-journalist coincided with the social and political upheavals in Barcelona that resulted in Setmana Tragica (Tragic Week) during the summer of 1909. Brugulí seems to have missed out on the actual rioting but he was certainly on hand to record the aftermath of the disturbances that inflamed the Catalan capital--the burnt out churches, monasteries and convents, and the street barricades made up of cobble stones. However, over the next 35 years or so Brangulí, and later in collaboration with two of his sons, produced a priceless photographic record of a city convulsed by tremendous events; the city under the first dictatorship, the rise of the Catalan middle class, the coming of the Second Republic, the civil war and finally the defeated Barcelona. Brangulí also recorded the more mundane everyday happenings that make a city work; workers at their trades, policemen investigating crime scenes, bored salesmen selling their wares at trade fairs, pupils at their desks and politicians speaking at meetings. By the time Josep Brangulí's career and life ended in 1945, Barcelona was an occupied city waiting for its long ascent to begin but fortunately for those of us interested in the city's history, his two sons were there to carry on.

Three hundred photographs are on display in an exhibition entitled Brangulí - Barcelona 1909-1945 at the Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona (CCCB). The curators, Valentin Vallhonrat and Rafael Levenfeld, have selected from a collection of almost a million images that the Generalitat de Catalunya (the Catalan government) purchased from the Brangulí family several years ago. The contribution to the collection by the two sons, Joaquim and Xavier, is not insignificant however, approximately half of the archive, and most of the exhibit, can be attributed to the senior Brangulí. The collection, now in the possession of the National Archives of Catalonia (ANC) is, for students of Barcelona's troubled history, an invaluable resource.

To have lived in Barcelona during the first half of the 20th century was like riding a roller coaster with no sense of how it would all end up. Many European cities suffered the same sort of breathless excess of destabilizing events. Think of Paris and Berlin, two cities whose highs and lows are well know to English audiences because of the many American and English journalists, writers and artists who told of their experiences. However, Barcelona in the first half of the 20th century was never exposed to the Anglo-Saxon world in a way that Madrid was, and it remains a mystery world to many foreigners. Although, that has changed in the last twenty years as the city has become a major tourist destination. To put the Brangulí exhibit in context it helps to learn beforehand some of Barcelona and Catalonia's history.

Fortunately, Brangulí and his sons provide us with images of those events. Later when the three Brangulís worked together it was not always possible to attribute a specific photograph to any one of them. As Josep started his career he worked for newspapers, magazines and commercial clients. Everyday street scenes in the Barri Gotic reveal that not much has changed except that in the 1920s some of the neighbourhood children were better dressed than those of today, there was less laundry hanging on the balconies and there were no gawking tourists. A number of photographs focus on the architectural aspects of city. At one time Josep Brangulí worked for Construcciones y Pavimentos, a firm that pioneered reinforced concrete structures. The company's buildings appealed to Josep Brangulí's sense of order with their precise clean lines. Few of the early Brangulí images capture any sort of spontaneity or movement, he preferred to have his subjects line up and solemnly face the camera. Arguably it was partly a function of the technical difficulties attributed to working in low-light situations. Even the crowds in his images of political meetings and assemblies seem to have stopped as he took his photographs. The later images have more of a sense of movement, the photographs more spontaneous but perhaps those were the work of the two younger Brangulís--it is impossible to tell who took a specific photograph.

The star of this exhibit is Barcelona during a period when it was convulsed by tremendous social and political upheavals. The clash of classes, the riots, huge public funerals and the political demonstrations provided much street theatre. The rise of the middle class and a more liberal society after the proclamation of the second republic in 1931 and contrasting that with the aftermath of the civil war and the stifling effects of the church and the Flange on Catalan society, make for at times an almost surrealist history. Throughout it all the Brangulis were able to remain apolitical. Among the papers in the exhibition is a less passe issued to the senior Branguli by the Partit Obrer d'Unifacacio Marxista (POUM) five days after the start of the civil war allowing him to ply his trade unhindered. On the other hand, in 1939 the Brangulis, unhindered in their work, were there to photograph the fifth columnists celebrating the "liberation" of Barcelona by the Nationalists.

Fons Brangulí/National Archives of Catalonia (ANC)

The period after the civil war provides the exhibit with several incongruous images. The image of F.C. Barcelona's players lined up at centre field with arms extended in the Fascist salute will surprise the club's traditionally anti-fascist supporters. A pair of images of a smiling Heinrich Himmler being welcomed with flowers at Barcelona's el Prat airport in 1940 raises eyebrows. (Himmler was on his way to the abbey of Montserrat on his alleged quest for the Holy Grail.) The swastika banners draping the front of a building in the Parc de la Cituadella are disconcerting when one realises that nowadays the same building houses the Catalan Parliament, but in 1941 it housed an exhibition of modern German architecture. More bizarre are the images of prisoner exchanges during WWII between the Nazis and Allies conducted in the port of Barcelona. In the foreground of one photograph, two Nazi officers, heavily bemedaled and elaborately uniformed, chat amiably while a few steps away in the background a group of Australian soldiers complete with slough hats talk amongst themselves oblivious of the officers, it looks like a lunch break on a Hollywood film set. Photographs from 1941 of Spanish workers with their families to see them off from Estacio Franca on the way to industrial jobs in Germany makes one wonder how many of them returned home.

The principal fault of the exhibition is that while the curators have let the photographs speak for themselves we learn little of the three photographers. Most of what we do learn is related is in the form of identity cards and passes but no commentary. I image that the Brangulis, to survive from dictatorship to republic and back again to dictatorship, had to keep their thoughts and opinions to themselves, but it would be interesting to know more about the men especially of Josep. Aficionados of Barcelona's history will leave the exhibit wanting to see more photographs. Fortunately, now that the collection resides permanently in Catalonia we can expect more exhibits like this.

(Brangulí - Barcelona 1909-1945, at the Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona, from June 8 to October 23, 2011)

Rowing Machine - The Sport of Rowing and East Germany's Legacy

2011-05-30T14:41:00.003+02:00

The final of the straight-pair event at the 1968 Mexico City Olympics. With 11 metres to
go (note the last row of buoys before the finish line) the United States and East Germany
are even, but with the latter crew having the momentum. Photo United Press International

There was an air of expectancy at the Xochimilco course on the last day of rowing competition at the 1968 Mexico Olympics. It seemed that the United States was about to regain its supremacy as the top rowing nation. The 1960s had been a tough decade for American rowing, but at Xochimilco the U.S. squad had qualified a crew in each final--something no other nation had ever done. The Americans were expected to medal in several events, including the straight pair, the coxed four and the eight. By the end of racing that Saturday afternoon under the brilliant Mexican sun, a rowing powerhouse had stepped forward. But it was not the United States.

An indication of what was to be came early in the race program when the American crew considered to have the best shot at a gold medal, the straight pair of Lawrence Hough and Philip "Tony" Johnson, took to the water. Although slow off the start, they were fourth at the half-way mark, the Americans moved into the lead in the second half. In the last 500 metres Hough and Johnson, rowing in lane four, poured it on and had open water with 150 metres to go. Lurking in lane one was a crew that had been almost forgotten by the Americans. Unexpectedly, in the last 500 metres that crew made a challenge for the lead. Somehow, in the last strokes of the race, the pair of Jörg Lucke and Heinz-Jürgen Bothe of the German Democratic Republic (GDR), or East Germany, put on a desperate sprint. In the rarefied high-altitude air of Mexico City, it took remarkable effort. Lucke and Bothe´s finishing kick closed the open water with the Americans and then some. With 10 metres to go the two crews were even, but the East Germans had the momentum. At the finish they nipped the Americans by 0.15 of a second.

The Americans were stunned, but so were the East Germans. The GDR celebrated its first ever Olympic gold medal. Later that afternoon, a second GDR crew won the straight-four final. The crew of Frank Forberger, Dieter Grahn, Frank Ruhle and Dieter Schubert remains one of the most successful crews ever. When in 1972 the same four won their second Olympic gold medal and retired, they had been undefeated for six years and had won two world championships and two European championships. These two East German crews heralded the start of a rowing dynasty like no other, and one unlikely to be equalled. That afternoon in Mexico the GDR's coxed four added a third medal, a silver. With those three medals it was East Germany that dominated the 1968 Olympic rowing regatta.

The success of East German crews between 1965 and 1991 was phenomenal. They won 48 Olympic medals, 33 of them gold, to say nothing of their world and European championship medals. In the same period, American rowing managed just 17 Olympic medals. (The GDR boycotted the 1984 games while the US did the same at the 1980 games.) At international regattas throughout the 1970s and 80s, competitors viewed East German rowers with awe and trepidation. Then came the whispers of drug use. "As athletes, we were aware of the possibility of drugs," says an American oarswoman who raced against GDR scullers in the 1970s, "but we were more in awe of the machine."

On the water, the GDR crews and scullers were a pleasure to watch with their flawless technique and precise bladework. "There was an elegance to their rowing, yet it was powerful," says Fred Loek, who coached several scullers who went up against the East Germans. "They didn't invent anything new; they went back to basics," recalls Loek, "and they understood that mileage makes champions. They did massive mileage and paid close attention to technique, especially the bladework." East German crews rowed with a distinctive style that emphasized layback and an acutely curved back at the finish. "They developed amazing length in the water," says Loek, "the change in direction at either end was seamless. They rowed with monster rigs, heavily loaded with short inboards."

Off the water, the East German athletes generally kept to themselves, on orders from their handlers. The Stasi, the secret police that followed them about, wanted to minimise the risk of defections. East German oarsmen and oarswomen seldom attended the post-regatta get-togethers. Their white singlets with the diagonal stripes of the national colours were the most sought-after trades, and the most difficult to acquire. It has been more than 20 years since the much maligned and detested regime imploded after the fall of the Berlin Wall, yet mention "East Germany" and "rowing" in the same sentence amongst rowing people and you have an audience. The legacy of that rowing program continues to influence the sport to this day.

Behind the superb GDR crews and scullers was a system that left as little as possible to chance. Perhaps they did revolutionise rowing but attention to detail was what made GDR rowing so successful. Every aspect of rowing was studied and examined. For example, after it was learned that the Île Notre Dame rowing basin in Montreal would be shallower than FISA's (the International Rowing Association) minimum depth, the GDR's Institut fur Forschung und Entwicklung von Sportgeraten (FES) designed new eights especially for the course. The new rowing shells were successful as the East Germans won both the men's and women's eights at the 1976 Montreal Olympics. FES looked at equipment for all sports but was run by an oarsman, Klaus Filter. Up until the 1960s rowing shells had for a century more or less evolved empirically but for the scientists and engineers at FES that process was not good enough. Under the leadership of Filter, FES ran the most elaborate testing facilities in the world, including a 285-metre tank for testing rowing shells. Today, Filter still designs hulls for various rowing shell builders around the world.

The creation of the East German sports system was a decision taken at the highest level of government and it played an important political function. The Communist Party's executive committee, or Politburo, wanted nothing less than international dominance of sport. The task was assigned to the Deutsche Turn und Sportbund (DTSB), the governing sports body of the GDR. Following World War II, Germany was divided into a democratic west and a communist east. The East German government became a pawn of the Soviet Union, which opposed unification of the two Germanys. Despite the political separation, the two Germanys were forced by the International Olympic Committee (IOC) to field a single team at international sporting events. Throughout the 1950s and most of the 60s the much larger West German team dominated the combined team to the detriment of East German athletes. It was not until 1965 that the IOC allowed the two Germanys to field separate teams. By then the East German government viewed success in the sports arena as an effective propaganda tool in order to promote communism, to gain acceptance for itself on the world stage, and to upstage West Germany.

In order to achieve those goals, the GDR promoted a massive and unprecedented research program into all aspects of sports, including training methods, medical support, talent identification, and equipment. The majority of these efforts led to legitimate advances in sports, but there was a dark side. The medical research wandered into the murky field of drugs and doping to enhance athletic performance. However, the GDR athletes were not the first to use drugs to improve performance. It had long been known that individual athletes throughout the world took performance enhancing drugs. There were many instances throughout the 20th century, especially in endurance sports, where athletes had used some drug or other. What was different in the case of the GDR was that drug use had the full backing of the state. At first doping involved a few track and field athletes who were given various pills. The athletes were usually told that they were taking dietary supplements and vitamins.

By the time of the 1976 Montreal Olympics, drug use and doping were systematic and widespread at the elite levels of practically all GDR sports teams. The dramatic success that year of the East German women in the swimming pool was perhaps what most raised suspicions of the west. Years later, the negative health effects directly attributed to the use of steroids tragically confirmed those concerns. After the demise of the GDR, it became apparent how widespread the drug use and doping had been. The Stasi had maintained elaborate records on every athlete including their drug and doping regimes. Some of the records were deliberately destroyed in 1989, but enough survived to be used in post-unification German courts to convict various individuals. It is inconceivable that any elite level coach or administrator--including those responsible for rowing--did not know what was going on. On the other hand, not one East German athlete ever tested positive at an international competition. There is no doubt that the East German crews when compared to their competition were the best prepared.

The East Germans approached sport as no other nation had ever done before. Nothing was left to chance. Every aspect of a sport was looked into and studied. This included physiology, psychology, bio-mechanics, nutrition and equipment. The training methods developed by the East German rowing coaches, emphasising high-volume low-rate work contrasted with the intense interval training in vogue in the West for much of the 1960s and 70s. The East German coaches had solid research results to back that approach. The selecting of individuals and formation of crews was based on a sophisticated process than involved methods of analysis and testing unheard of in the West. The East Germans found that it was better to monitor training intensity and loading by using blood-lactate levels instead of heart rate and V02 max uptake levels. The East Germans studied the bio-mechanics of the sport, developed principles and then strictly applied what they had learned.

It would be misleading to portray the whole East German sports system as solely aimed at amassing the greatest number of gold medals at the Olympics and world championships. The system had another side; 'Sport for the masses' was more than just a slogan. Ernst Herberger, author of the classic rowing textbook Rudern wrote in the book's introduction that the principal objective of rowing in East Germany was "the achievement of high performance in competitive rowing for men, women, and youth, based on a wide membership, on a comprehensive and systematic basic training, and on a party and class-conscious education of the oarsman into a socialist sports personality." The words sound as if uttered by some party bureaucrat but there was a broad cross-section--a wide membership--of rowers. Despite the occasional lecturing on socialism, and the obviously dated technical sections on rigging and equipment, Rudern remains a must-read for serious students of the sport.

People of all ages, from children to seniors, were encouraged to participate in the sport of their choice. At their height in the 1980s, the various sports clubs of the GDR had more than three million members out of a population of 17 million. The DTSB supported the whole effort by training coaches--there were more than 700 full-time rowing coaches. It also organized sporting events at various levels of competition. It is important to note that the whole system had grassroots appeal. Any fees to join or support clubs were nominal. Young children were encouraged to participate in various sports in order to develop their motor and social skills. "Sport was considered a society-supporting activity," says former GDR oarsman Jahnich Hagen, "and hence was very much supported politically. It got me a few days off at school in order to go racing."

Hagen rowed in the GDR from 1975 to 1990. "I was nine years old when they found me," he says, referring to the system of talent identification ever on the lookout for a potential Olympian. "From the first day on, there was solid centralized technical coaching and fitness training. From age 12, I did five sessions per week. From ages 13 to 14, we were assessed for the sports schools," Hagen says. "I was one of the fittest but too small to be selected for the schools." Those who were accepted to the specialized sports schools had their schooling and, later, their university or work careers built around their training--the sports schools continue to operate in the unified Germany. On most days three training sessions were held and there was very little time off. Sports medicine solidly supported the training. "A common rowing technique was taught and any advances were pushed through centrally," Hagen recounts. "That meant that I could jump into a boat with someone coached by another coach 200 kilometres away and be competitive after one outing. I've done that a few times and won." East Germany did not field non-Olympic classes at international events and as a lightweight Hagen did not get the elite level support. In 1990 Hagen and his partner became the last ever GDR national champions in the lightweight double.

"The success of GDR rowing and sport in general," says Hagen, "was based on a broad selection, perfect training facilities, professional coaching for practically everybody, a solid scientific base for technique, training methods, nutrition, proper medical backup, and a quite brutal but focused selection process." That might sound familiar today for anyone trying out for a seat in a boat, but in the 1970s it was unique in its scope. At the higher levels coaches undertook a five-year degree at the Deutsche Hochschule fur Korperkultur (DHfK), the German College of Physical Culture, in Leipzig. The DHfK became the foremost centre for research in sports in the world and a model for a number of subsequent facilities around the world. The success of East German sports attracted the attention of other nations.

During the 1970s, countries with strong rowing traditions and backgrounds like Canada and Australia realised that they had been left behind. At the 1976 Olympics neither country won a rowing medal. In fact, neither country won a gold in any sport. The two countries rowing associations persisted in their use of narrowly defined amateur athletes. Sending club crews to international events was no longer enough to even reach an Olympic final. Something had to change and because of its success East Germany became the model to follow. And, this is the point where the GDR's influence began to be felt and it continues to this day, at least as far as rowing is concerned. Obviously, it was impossible to emulate the GDR system in democratic societies but to match their performance officials in other countries thought that some elements of the system could be copied.

In Canada´s case, modest government funding starting in the 1970s enabled elite athletes to spend more time training. Although some of the Canadian crews at the 1976 Olympics had been assembled from selected individuals the national team concept was in its first stages. At the same time, the Canadian rowing association set out to improve the level of coaching at all levels. This lead to the creation of a coaching certification program supported with the diffusion of technical information through the use of manuals and coaching clinics. An effort was made to promote a uniform rowing technique that would facilitate the formation of national team crews. The Canadian rowing association decided to use East German crews as models--the pair of the Landvoigt brothers, and scullers Christine Scheiblich and Joachim Dreifke. "The models were meant to be used as guiding lights," says Al Morrow, current coach of the Canadian women's national squad, "and not to be copied slavishly. The models served their purpose and eventually the manuals were updated and new models promoted." The updated manuals eventually featured Canadian stars like Derek Porter and Marnie McBean. Gradually crews came to be made up of oarsmen and oarswomen selected on the basis on their individual performance and technique.

Australia has long tradition of excellence in sport, so when that nation´s international performances declined in the 1960s and 70s, public pressure forced the government to act. A commission studied the problem and recommended the establishment of a national institute similar to the GDR´s DHfK. In 1981, the Australian Institute of Sport (AIS) opened its doors to provide athletes with elite-level coaching, first-class training facilities, and complete medical support. At the end of the decade, the GDR´s Dr Theo Koerner was hired for six months to help prepare the rowing team for the 1990 world championships which Australia hosted at Lake Barrington. With Korner's guidance, Australian rowing made its great leap forward. The Australians had their best results ever at a world championship regatta, winning a gold, a silver, and two bronze medals. Coincidentally, it was the last international regatta for East Germany before reunification, and they still dominated the heavyweight events, taking 11 medals.

In the 1960s and 70s, the Americans were ahead of most western countries in their methods of selecting crews for the Olympics but nowhere near what the East Germans could do. In the second half of the 1960s most US crews were made up of individuals selected on the basis of seat racing and the subjective eye of the coaching team. However, even with a large pool of mostly college oarsmen to select from, the Americans had limited success at the international regattas. Occasional testing of the American squad for VO2 uptake on clunky rowing machines was crude compared to what the East German coaches had available to them. The highlight of American rowing, and perhaps western rowing, during the 1970s was the men's eight at the 1974 World championships won by the Americans with Great Britain and New Zealand trailing. The three English-speaking nations beating the East Germans on emotion, pride and guts--not something to be discounted in sports.

Today, rowing continues to be influenced by what the East German sports system achieved. That influence is perhaps most felt in coaching and training. One of the most exciting and closest races at the 2004 Athens Olympics was the hard-fought straight fours final in which the "Pinsent Four" of Great Britain squeaked past the Canadian crew. The story for the lay media was Matthew Pinsent's fourth Olympic gold medal. However, it is interesting to note that the British crew was coached by former East German coach Jürgen Grobler. For Grobler the Athens race was his15th Olympic gold as a coach since his first at the 1972 Munich Games. Grobler had moved to Great Britain in 1991, showing up at the doorstep of Leander Boat Club where he coached the pair of Steve Redgrave and Pinsent. At first the two Englishmen were very skeptical of Grobler's methods. Using the principles and techniques developed in East Germany he had them rowing very high mileages but at low rates in order to build an solid aerobic base. Redgrave in particular grumbled, but the pair found success, culminating in the gold at the 1992 Barcelona Games. Grobler's success represents the continuing influence of the GDR sports machine on rowing long after the demise of the system. Late in 2004, Grobler reportedly turned down an offer from China to head its rowing program in the lead up to the 2008 Beijing Olympics.

Considering the numbers of coaches, administrators, and athletes the GDR produced relatively few are still involved at the elite level. "Many former East German people had a hard time surviving without the whole system behind them," says Jim Joy, a veteran of the international coaching scene. "Guys like Grobler made the adjustment. The East German coaches worked within a system that supported them in their work." Obviously the best survived but without the system many of them could not continue. The reunited Germany may have reaped the most benefits of the GDR legacy. Jutta Lau headed the German women's sculling program for 24 years. Under Lau, twice an Olympic champion herself and FISA Coach of the Year in 2001, German women scullers have been the most successful in the world over the last 15 years. In early 2010, Lau took over as head coach of the Chinese women's sculling team and it will be interesting to see how that program fares.

One of the first East German coaches to come over to the west after 1990 was Harmut Buschbacher who took over as head coach of the United States women´s national team. He spent nine years with the US program before moving on to China for a couple of years. Buschbacher has now returned to Germany where he hopes to revive that nation´s rowing program after its dismal results at the Beijing Olympics. Another former East German coach, Lothar Trawiel, directs the German male scullers. Harald Jahrling was head coach of the Australian women's program until he became embroiled in the "Lay Down Sally" affair. Jahrling, twice an Olympic champion and now an Australian citizen, later spent some time coaching in Ireland and more recently in Belgium. Another East German who had great influence on a particular national rowing program was Eberhard Mund. With the fall of the Berlin Wall Mund promptly left for France where he ran the national team from 1990 to 2002. In France Mund, like Grobler in Great Britain, was faced with incredulous oarsmen who did not believe that the low-rate high-mileage formula could work. Under Mund, the French national team picked up four Olympic medals in 1996 and three in 2000. Mund's influence continues to this day.

There was always an air of secrecy behind East German rowing and some things don´t seem to change. Some of the former East German coaches continued to operate as if they were still working under the old GDR system and maintained their secretive and autocratic ways. Take for example the Konstanz Rowing Symposium, the largest rowing conference in Germany held every other year where coaches give their views on technique and training. The audiences are of mostly German speakers--Germans, Swiss and Austrians. Among the coaches who had been invited to one event was Lothar Traweil. "At one symposium some years ago he was not willing to give any secrets to coaches of other countries," says Volker Nolte, assistant professor and coach at the University of Western Ontario and a former West German national-team oarsman. The mentality of secrecy manifests itself in other ways, according to Nolte. "If you examine the official rowing magazine of the German rowing association you will not find scientific or technical articles," says Nolte, "and there haven't been since about 1990 although prior to that the magazine was for decades the leading publication for technical rowing articles."

More than ever, technical information is shared across borders, and training methods are discussed at international conferences. Coaches move about from program to program and rarely does one country outrun the rest for long. The success of the East German rowing program remains unmatched, and is unlikely to be repeated--but who knows. Yes there was a dark side to the whole system but it also produced legitimate technical and scientific advances that continue to influence rowing programs everywhere in the world. In 2003 several Canadian national team coaches including Al Morrow attended a coaches conference in China. Morrow had the opportunity to speak to the coach of the Chinese women's eight that put in a credible performance at the world championships that year, winning the B Final. When Morrow asked his host about the average age of the crew, he was told it was 21, with the stroke the youngest at 18. "What are their occupations?" Morrow asked. "Students, students of rowing," answered the Chinese coach. The oarswomen were full-time athletes fully supported by the state for the benefit of the state. "It's the closest thing to the East German system that I've seen in recent years," says Morrow, "and we're going to see the results in 2008." In fact, the rowing regatta at the Beijing Olympics must have been disappointing for the Chinese. They were fifth in the medal ranking behind Great Britain, Australia, Canada and the United States, all countries that had learned from the East German rowing program.

(Adapted from an article I wrote for the Rowing News in 2005)

The Black Canyon of the Gunnison

2011-05-16T22:08:00.001+02:00

The Painted Wall, Black Canyon of the Gunnison. Photo National Park Service, Lisa Lynch

On the way out of Hotchkiss we stopped at a 7-Eleven for gas and snacks for the road. The young man behind the counter got to chatting and he could not place our Canadian accents until we told him. He seemed surprised. Not many foreigners pass through Hotchkiss, a Colorado town that really is off the beaten path and serves the local ranches and farms. As we made some small talk, he asked us if we had seen the Black Canyon. The Black Canyon? We had never heard of it. What was it? Where was it? There’s nothing like it in all the world the man insisted and it was less than a half-hour drive from Hotchkiss. He gave us directions, warning that the posted signs could be misleading. Well, why not? We were wandering around western Colorado on a week-long road trip without any real itinerary, so off we went to find the Black Canyon.

That part of Colorado was marked by gently rolling and low widely spaced hills. It was wide open country with a few farms and ranches scattered about over huge fields of grass. There was the odd tree here and there, just enough to break the skylines. It was also a land of beef cattle. In the distance and just visible through the low haze were the Rocky Mountains. We followed the directions taking state highway 92 south to the even smaller town of Crawford and turned onto North Rim Road. A few miles beyond the paved road ended and we went on over hard packed gravel. Once through Crawford the landscape changed to open range. No fences, no trees and no grass, just an expanse of low hills covered in sage bush.

North Rim Road ran parallel to the dried river bed of Grizzly Gulch. The smell of sage came through the open windows. At one point we had to stop to allow some cows to cross the road. A huge bull on an overlooking ridge gazed down on his domain. Twenty kilometres of gravel road, more sage bush, fewer cows but still no Black Canyon. At last we came to a T-junction and a sign gave us the choice of going either right of left. We chose left, drove another kilometre and parked at a sign marked “the Narrows View.” A footpath disappeared amongst the sage bushes and under the stunted oak trees. A few steps from the car brought us to a sight so compelling and unexpected that we could hardly believe it was real. At our feet was an immense gash in the earth hundreds of metres deep. The Black Canyon is a rent so deep, narrow and shear that no other geological feature in North America can compare to it.

We stood at the edge of the precipice trying to take in the view and make sense of it. About a kilometre away was the south rim of the canyon but it seemed much further. More than a half a kilometre below us, the Gunnison River snaked through a narrow channel it had cut through the ancient rock. Sometimes it is squeezed between rock walls only metres apart. The depth of the canyon within the protected area of the Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park averages over 500 metres but it often seems much deeper. The aptly named Painted Wall is a sheer rock face more than 670 metres high. Contributing to the grandeur of the canyon is its relative narrowness. The Gunnison itself is a wild river full of raging rapids and falls interspersed with quiet pools. The trout fishing is said to be very good, if you can reach the river.

A number of side canyons make it possible to reach the bottom of the main canyon on foot. A descent into the canyon while not requiring special climbing equipment will take at least an hour and a half. Some nerve is also required. The routes down into the canyon are steep and a lot of clambering is required. The return ascent will take three or four hours. Even for the physically fit the ascent will be arduous. Some high altitude acclimatization is suggested. The rim of the canyon is at an elevation of 2500 metres above sea level, Denver is at 1600 metres. There is no other way into the canyon other than by foot. The park rangers warn that the river is lined with poison ivy bushes some of them two metres tall.

The Gunnison River is a relatively minor tributary of the Colorado River. The canyon is more than 85 kilometres long but only the most spectacular 19 are within the protected area of the park. The Ute Indians that had inhabited south-western Colorado for hundreds of years seldom ventured into the chasm. The canyon was not seen by Europeans until 1873 when railway survey crews entered the area. The engineers decided to go around the area because of the difficulty of bridging the canyon.

Commencing about two million years ago the Gunnison River carved out the Black Canyon from a mass of Pre-Cambrian rock. The exposed rock faces of the canyon walls are a mess of colours. Lighter coloured rocks indicate where ancient lava intrusions penetrated into the parent rock. Standing on the rim and looking across the canyon to the opposite walls is like gazing on some immense modernist painting.

The Black Canyon can be rewardingly explored from the rim. Both the North and South Rim Roads are set well back from the canyon and signs indicate where the best overviews are. However, most of those overviews are not fenced and care should be taken when approaching the canyon as the drop is sudden and often without warning. There are a number of hiking trails along the rims that lead to more remote overviews. The North Vista Trail is a good example. This three mile hike, including return, winds through the sage bushes, stunted oaks and pinyon pines to some wonderful views of the canyon. Most of the trail is well set back from the rim and is safe and easy. Signs identify where to leave the trial to the overviews. There are no facilities whatever on the north rim and you must bring your own food and water.

There is an abundance of wildlife in the area. Eagles, falcons and hawks are very common soaring over the rims where they ride the updrafts from the canyon. Swifts are constantly swooping for insects along the canyon walls and various song birds abound in the sage and oaks of the rim lands. Chipmunks and ground squirrels are everywhere. Harder to see are the mule deer, coyote, black bears and the elusive mountain lion.

We spent the morning exploring the several overviews along the North Rim Road and hiked the length of the North Vista Trail. We saw no one during the time we were in the park area. At one point as we looked across the canyon we could see some cars on the south rim but they were so far away that it felt like we had the whole park to ourselves. The weather had been perfect, sunny with a few clouds and comfortable temperatures despite it being July. We had been fortunate to run across the chatty clerk at the 7-Eleven because otherwise we would never have found the Black Canyon. It was one of several pleasant discoveries that made for a memorable road trip.

Sailing With King Eric - Traditional Boats at the Family Island Regatta, the Bahamas

2011-04-19T22:01:00.018+02:00

   A few years ago our family spent a winter sailing in the Bahamas aboard our sailboat Hirondelle. During the third week of April we were anchored in Joe's Sound at the north end of Long Island. We had to be in Florida by the end of May, and if we wanted to make the return trip without rushing, it was time to go. The easiest way back was to retrace our steps up the Exuma islands including a stop in George Town on Great Exuma Island. There were two reasons for returning to George Town. We could replenish stores but, more importantly, we could attend the Family Island Regatta. The regatta for traditional boats is the Bahamas' most important sporting and social event. Chris and I were intrigued when several people told us that it was sometimes possible for visitors to crew on the racing sloops during the regatta.
     It was a Friday when we arrived back in George Town and there were significantly fewer foreign cruising boats compared to our previous visit. Nevertheless over a hundred boats were anchored throughout Elizabeth Harbour, as George Town´s great harbour is called. Earlier in the year there had been more than four hundred, mostly American and Canadian. It would be difficult to fill Elizabeth Harbour as it is a mile wide and almost five long. By April, however, most foreign cruisers have moved on to the Caribbean or were returning to the States. In George Town it was the quiet before the storm and the cruisers who had stayed knew that a great party was about to break out. Later that afternoon we watched a mailboat--as the cargo and passenger ships that ply between the islands are called--arrive from Nassau. Her cargo deck was loaded with racing sloops.
     The weekend was spent relaxing and loading up on groceries. During the nights we anchored across the harbour off Stocking Island. Meanwhile, George Town continued to fill with visitors, most of them Bahamians from other islands of the archipelago. On the waterfront facing the harbour and along the road to the government dock a sort of shanty town of makeshift bars and food stands took form. The streets were full of people strolling, some with beers in hand. Music blared out from various high powered sound systems. There was an air of old acquaintances renewed and new ones made. Many of the visitors would have surprised me if they had showed any interest in sailing. They knew a good party. The shore festivities had more in common with Mardi Gras than Cowes Week. Throughout the weekend various mailboats loaded with more sloops and visitors arrived. Several racing sloops from nearby communities in the Exumas or from Long Island were towed in by power boats.

The Class A racing sloop New Southern Cross leaving Kidd Cove, George Town.

     On Monday morning we moved Hirondelle near to Kidd Cove, the anchorage adjacent to George Town. Most of the racing sloops were anchored in the cove itself. Christine and I watched the activity from our cockpit as the crews went about preparing their boats. The sloops bobbed and rocked from the wakes set up by the constant back and forth of the cruisers' power dinghies. One of the smaller C Class dinghies was rafted to a larger B Class sloop. The smaller boat’s mast was stepped with the aid of the larger's mast. Once the mast was secured the dinghy´s crew attempted to flag down a passing power boat. The crew wanted a tow but the power boaters thought that they were just being friendly, returned the waves and sped on. Chris suggested that I go over with our rowing dinghy and offer to help. I was not sure if I could effectively tow the heavy racing dinghy and hesitated before rowing across. The crew threw me a line although they were surprised that I had no engine. It was an easy pull. As we neared shore the crew tossed a stern anchor and I ran the painter off the bow to shore, no problem. Before returning I asked if they needed crew for the races. They declined my help but suggested that I ask around on some of the other boats. The racing was to start the next day with the high school class. We would try again the next day.

Day One - A Missed Chance

     To get away from the noise of George Town, now in full party mode, we again spent the night anchored across the harbour off Stocking Island but on Tuesday morning we returned to Kidd Cove. That morning Chris almost had the chance to race. The regatta rules allow dinghies in the high school category to race with one or two adults aboard. As we watched the racing sloops prepare and go out to the course, a race committee boat approached us and asked if we wanted to crew. Chris went off and I stayed aboard with our two daughters. However, a few minutes later she returned. The officials had found someone else. It was very disappointing as by now Chris and I were quite keen to get on a sloop. We were falling for the ambiance of the event. We love sailing and, for sailors especially, the Bahamian sloops have a unique attraction. After lunch the four of us went for walk in town and along the regatta park. The crowds were even bigger than the day before; and the mailboat brought in another load of racing sloops.
     The intent of the founders of the Family Island Regatta was to provide, frankly, financial incentives to maintain the boat building skills and seamanship of the Bahamians. A group of American businessmen were concerned that the sailing workboats of the Bahamas were going to disappear into a haze of gasoline engine smoke. They organized the Out Island Squadron in 1953 to collect a fund of prize money from mostly American yachtsmen who knew and loved the Bahamas. Originally the regatta was known as the Out Island Regatta. Even if the winner of a race can claim bragging rights the prospect of a little cash keeps everyone interested and focused. The tradition of cash incentives continues today in the form of government subsidies for the regatta. Boat owners and crew share in some cash dispersals. The founding of the regatta has been told by one of the American founders, Linton Rigg, in his book Bahama Islands. A good account of the history of the regatta as an organization and its importance to Bahamian society can be found in the second volume of Islanders in the Stream by Michael Craton and Gail Saunders.

The Bahamian sponge schooner Blanche Eva of Long Island. From J.
Linton Rigg's book, Bahama Islands.

The importance of boats to isolated islanders is self-evident. In the Bahamas up until the 1950s sailboats predominated in fishing, movement of cargo and in passenger traffic. Most of the fishing boats and mailboats were simple Bermudian-rigged sloops. Sail-propelled mailboats carried passengers and cargo between islands. There were also a number of larger schooners. However, much of the water in the Bahamas is shallow limiting the size of vessels. For those interested in Bahamian life and travel from island to island on the old sailing mailboats I recommend Evans W. Cottman's book Out-Island Doctor. An American, Cottman worked as a medical practitioner who starting in 1940 provided medical services to Bahamians living in isolated communities throughout the archipelago. Cottman's accounts of sailing aboard mailboats, sloops of generally less than 30 feet LOA, that carried passengers, cargo and animals on open decks, are somewhat disturbing. Life in the small and isolated communities was tough. The Bahamas may have been part of the great British Empire but the out islands were neglected.

The Sloop, Nassau, by Winslow Homer. Painted in 1899 and part of the collection
of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Day Two - Sailing With the King

     The day after Chris’ failed attempt to get on a racing sloop I tried my luck. And that Wednesday turned out to be a heck of a day. Early that morning we sailed back to Kidd Cove. Rowing the dinghy about the anchorage I asked at several of the sloops as their crews were preparing for the race. I was repeatedly turned down but one skipper suggested I try a green-hulled boat tied to the dock at the marina. So I rowed over and asked a gentleman who appeared to be in charge if he needed crew. “Hey, you don´t have an engine,” he called out. “I don´t need one,” I answered, and he laughed. Sure, he could use some more crew and he asked me to come back in an hour or so. I rowed back to Hirondelle to wait. I was going to be racing on Lucayan Lady, an A Class sloop. At least, that's what I thought.
     An hour later Chris and I rowed across the harbour back toward the marina. The girls stayed aboard Hirondelle but we asked some American friends aboard Wandering Albatross, anchored nearby, to keep an eye on them. As we approached the dock we were passed by a B Class sloop under tow going out to the race course. At the tiller of the sloop was the man I had spoken with before. Someone on the sloop recognised me and called out to us. They wanted me aboard the sloop straightaway. Honestly, I was confused about what was going on but I spun the dinghy about and chased after the boat in tow. I was losing ground but soon the tow line was dropped and I clambered aboard. I said bye to Chris and she rowed the dinghy back to Hirondelle.
     I approached and faced the skipper, the gentleman I had met earlier and we shook hands. I introduced myself and he said, “I’m Eric but everyone calls me King.” King was in his 70s but looked fit and strong, like a much younger man. His bare arms were muscled and lean like a boxer´s. He had a deep voice and was well spoken with a distinct Bahamian accent. Of course, I had no idea that I was sailing with a Bahamian legend. Later I found out the “King´s” real name was Eric Gibson and that he was one of the most famous musicians in the Bahamas. The sloop I was sailing on seemed to have been named the A Queen, which took me aback somewhat. It was a while before I could interpret the heavy Bahamian accents of the crew and figure out that the boat's name was actually the Ansbacher Queen, named after an old banking sponsor.
     The crew paid little attention to me except to give a few instructions on what to do. There was a laid back atmosphere, obviously, how could a newcomer be taken on with so little fuss and ceremony. I had some racing experience including crewing on an old 8-Metre class yacht and had seen how intense racing can get even at the club level. There was none of that on Ansbacher Queen. I quickly got into the swing of things and out on to the prys. From the helm King watched me intermittently, and my conduct on the pry and during the tacks seemed to meet with his approval. I was simply human ballast, as were most of the crew, and my role was to move my weight to where it was needed. In addition to human ballast the crew consisted of the helmsman, King, a sort of crew chief named Ali who also looked after the jib sheets, and China the mainsheet trimmer. Ali and King worked together as tactician and navigator during the race.
     Once I was aboard Ansbacher Queen things happened quickly. In fact, we were heading for the start line off Stocking Island. The wind was out of the south-west and the line, as on other triangular courses, was set perpendicular to it and marked by two buoys. Some of the boats were already on the line. We had an assigned position and it was a matter of finding the neighbouring boats. I was about to find out that the starts in Bahamian regattas are unlike others. The anchor was dropped on the weather side of the line, we let Ansbacher Queen blow downwind until her bow was aligned with the start, her sails were lowered and made ready for a quick hoist.
     The start area was crowded with racing sloops, race committee boats and dinghies full of spectators. Noise and confusion prevailed with stage-whisper orders aboard Ansbacher Queen, bull-horn commands from the officials, shouting from the crews around us and cheering from the spectators. One of the crew quickly explained how the start was to play out. The crew, except for the helmsman and sail trimmers, formed a line from the bow aft with each man holding the anchor rode. There was a first gun, the one-minute warning. During that minute the noise diminished somewhat but it was not complete silence. Every crewman on each of the 15 boats gripped the rodes nervously, waiting and waiting. Then the gun. Rodes were hauled in fast, hands sometimes missing their grips, each man's elbows flying and interfering with the man aft. The boat slid forward, gradually accelerating. As the speed increased sails were quickly hoisted. The anchor, once aboard, was dumped into the hold and forgotten. As the sails filled and Ansbacher Queen started to heel, the prys came into play.

The start. Ministry of Youth and Sport, Government of the Bahamas

     The prys or pry boards are a distinctive feature of the Bahamian racing sloops. A boat designer would charitably call the sloops over-canvased. They are unstable and the pry boards counter balance the pressure on the sail. As the boat heels the crew slide on their butts along the prys--rough 2 x 10s--projecting six or eight feet out from the windward gunnel. Tacking the boat involves sliding your butt back toward the boat, downhill if all goes well, as fast as you can. The last man off the pry, in other words the outer most man, slides the pry across the boat to the other side. This has to be timed with the boom coming across, a tricky maneuver aboard the A and B Classes. There is not much room below the boom as the gooseneck is only a few inches above the deck. As the boat tacks the crew has to scramble under the boom and get across on all fours or slide on their bellies. To make things more interesting one has to be aware of where you put your hands, fingers and toes. They can be crushed in any number of places but especially at the bent bars on the center line that hold down the inboard end of the prys.
     I was somehow designated outside man on the aft pry. With all the confusion it seemed the safest place aboard, it was certainly a great place to view the race. Out on the end of the pry I could look down and watch the keel and rudder slice through the crystal water. However, one had to be alert as to what the boat was doing and move accordingly inboard or outboard. It was also important to listen to what the skipper and sail trimmers were saying especially if the command to tack was given. At one point in the race while we were on starboard tack, and with rights, we crossed tacks with another boat. The end of our boom passed just over the heads of the crew on the prys of the other boat. It was very close and I thought that perhaps it would be a good idea to wear helmets. We finished in the pack and everyone aboard Ansbacher Queen was pleased with the result.
     We sailed back to Kidd Cove. As we passed I waved to Chris and the girls aboard Hirondelle. Ansbacher Queen was moored with an anchor off the stern and a bow line to the dock. There we set about preparing Lucayan Lady for her race. Most of the members of King's crew had arrived from Nassau around four o'clock that morning and had had difficulty finding a place to stay. They had slept wherever they could. They all lived and worked in Nassau where they maintained a fleet of four racing sloops but had only brought Lucayan Lady and Ansbacher Queen to George Town. Most of the crew had spread themselves out among several other boats for the B Class event but afterwards gradually drifted onto the dock to prepare for the A Class race. There was still much to do before Lucayan Lady was ready. Her sails had still not been bent. In addition to King's regular crew, there were going to be several non-Bahamians aboard, three Canadians (myself included) and an American.

An A Class sloop approaching the mailboat in George Town.

     During the A Class race things did not go as expected aboard Lucayan Lady but no one got too uptight about it. I had the impression that King and his boys were happy to participate, party and play. The same went for the non-Bahamians aboard. We were late for the start but King and his crew took it in stride--no big deal. Lucayan Lady, and another late boat Who Dat, sailed the course chasing the rest of the fleet. As there was no pressure everyone relaxed and enjoyed the pleasant sail. With longer prys, as Lucayan Lady heeled you found yourself even higher above the water than aboard Ansbacher Queen. Riding the prys the non-Bahamians all wore big smiles. Some of King's boys, however, seemed to be nursing hangovers. Back at the dock the foreign contingent was pleased when King asked us all to return the next day.
     Looking to get back to Hirondelle I got a ride in Bob Fleury's dinghy, another of the Canadians aboard Lucayan Lady. With Bob's wife at the tiller we cruised through the anchorage and stopped to ask if any of the C Class dinghies needed crew. At one of the boats a couple of fellows were preparing to race. The skipper turned us down but as we pulled away called us back. I thought that perhaps he wanted only one of us but took us both. The skipper said he was expecting the arrival of a couple of other fellows. He must have thought that it was better to go with two willing, and sober, bodies who were present rather than wait for two others who were ashore perhaps succumbing to the temptations of the party. Bob and I climbed aboard Vitamalt Thunderbird, a new boat that had never been raced. After the mainsail was set we were off with Bob and I out on the prys. I waved to Chris and the girls as we went out to the race course. Wearing bright orange T-shirts with the sponsor's logo we stood out like sore thumbs.
     The C Class race was sailed in failing wind but it was the best "racing" that I experienced that day. Despite our performance the skipper, Joshua Green, was not satisfied with the boat's trim, the lead ballast weights needed shifting. He also said that Vitamalt Thunderbird would have been more effective if the wind had been stronger. In the gusts she seemed to make time on her competitors but lost it in the lighter air. Nevertheless, it was good racing. The crew totaled four, the skipper, the sail trimmer and the two Canadians. Bob and I had both raced the A and B Classes and by the third race we were quite adept at the prys. The lighter boat was more sensitive to the wind and working the pry required more quickness and finesse. The variable winds had us constantly moving back and forth but it was a lot of fun. Joshua seemed pleased with our ability and after the finish we were invited back for the following day.
     Racing in all classes had given me the opportunity to have a close look at the boats. From a distance the Bahamian sloops have a sleek yacht-like appearance especially the hulls which are kept to a high-gloss finish. The painted rub rails emphasize their beautiful sheer lines. Ansbacher Queen had a white hull with a red rub rail, Lucayan Lady a green hull with the rub rail painted yellow. Up close the boats are crudely but strongly built. Inside the framing has been roughly shaped and some of the frames were not square to the length of the keel. Bahamian sloops have no external ballast but are loaded with lead pigs that are shifted about to adjust the boat's trim. The loose ballast also allows a boat to be recovered if it sinks, which often happens. The regattas are always held in shallow waters and recovering a boat is relatively easy. Once divers are sent down to remove the ballast the boat can be raised.
     Despite the intentions of the founders of the Family Island Regatta, over the last half century the boats and their rigs have changed to such an extent that they are now very different from the working boats of the 1950s. The race committee struggles to maintain a balance between tradition and modernity. Of course everyone wants to win and rules have always been pushed by crews and boat builders. Racing sloops, of course, are built to class rules. The boats must be designed, built and sailed by Bahamians. The A and B Class sloops are approximately 28 feet LOA and 21 feet LOA respectively. The boats are of wooden construction and in appearance must be of traditional "Bahamian" hull shape emphasising moderate overhangs, pronounced sheer and a wineglass transom. Winches are not allowed.
      Over the course of the last half century the sloops have tended to become "racing machines" built for speed rather than serving as fishing boats or passenger vessels. The racing machine aspect the Bahamian sloops is most evident in the huge area of canvas they carry relative to their hull size. The "recommended" maximum mast and boom lengths for an A Class sloop are 60 feet and 32 feet respectively, and that is on a hull 28 feet in length. The mainsails are hoisted with large wooden headboards that gives the boats a leg-of-mutton look while further increasing sail area. The solid wooden masts are so far forward that the sloops look like cat boats. No spreaders are allowed under the rules and the shrouds reach almost to the truck of the mast. Only A and B Class sloops have jibs which are relatively small though they are critical for tacking. This importance was made clear on several occasions during the regatta. The rules exclude the use of synthetic fabrics, heavy canvas duck is the usual sail fabric.
     In contrast, the Haitian sailing vessels which are frequently seen in the Bahamas could be arguably more in keeping with the spirit of the first Out Island Regattas. The crudely built Haitian boats are constructed from local materials, the sails, sometimes incongruously colourful, are sewn together from scavenged advertising banners. The Haitian sailors are generally unwelcome in the Bahamas but at a certain level are tolerated by the authorities. In Nassau we once saw a half dozen anchored near the harbour entrance in striking contrast to the huge cruise ships at the nearby docks. The Haitians play the part of seagoing junkyard dealers collecting anything that may have some value back in Haiti. Several times we saw Haitian boats, their decks loaded with used mattresses, furniture and old bicycles, sail the length of Nassau harbour past the hotels on Paradise Island, past the cruise ships and yachts of the well-to-do. It was an image out of Cottman's book and the old Bahamian mailboats must have looked much the same. The Haitians do not yet need a traditional boat regatta.

Confusion at the start during an early edition (1950s) of the Out Island Regatta.
From J. Linton Rigg's book Bahama Islands.

Day Three - Vitamalt, the Drink That Puts Lead in Your Pencil

     On the third day of the regatta I had to make an effort to resolve a problem. The previous day the whole time I was racing I kept thinking of Chris aboard Hirondelle and how much she wanted to be out on one of the sloops. Her one chance to race had been quashed but somehow in one day I had managed to race on three different boats. During our travels in the Bahamas we had noticed a reluctance on the part of Bahamian women to get out on small boats. We wondered if it was a cultural phenomenon. The year before we saw a young women driving a power boat working with several fishing boats as we all sat out a weather front behind Chub Cay. We thought it remarkable because it was the only time we saw a Bahamian woman running a boat. At the Family Island Regatta several of the racing sloops had women aboard but they were all foreigners, including one on Lucayan Lady. Clearly King had no issue with female crew so I thought that there would be a chance that Chris could race on Lucayan Lady.
     Early on Thursday morning we were again anchored off Kidd Cove. Bob and his wife came round and ferried me over to the marina dock. The B Class race was again the first of the day. The wind was light at the start but gradually picked up throughout the race. Ansbacher Queen was outclassed and we finished third last. Then it was back to the dock to prepare for Lucayan Lady´s race. King was happy to have Chris aboard and that was a relief for me. We had arranged for the girls to go aboard Wandering Albatross. There they would be plied with cookies and candies and pay almost no attention to what their parents were doing. We met King´s wife when she brought sandwiches for the crew.
     Lucayan Lady made a somewhat hapless departure from the dock, drifting out of control through the cruisers' anchorage but without hitting anything. At least we made it to the start on time. After we had anchored, and as we waited for the start, an inflatable dinghy of one of the cruising boats approached Lucayan Lady. A woman her late fifties or early sixties in the dinghy hailed King. "Hey, King," she shouted, "I first met you 35 years ago in Nassau." We all looked at her as she snapped some photographs and then moved on. I don't think King had a clue who she was but some of the crew teased him about the encounter.
     For the Lucayan Ladies the second A Class race was to be memorable for the wrong reasons, but at least no one was hurt. A 15-knot breeze was blowing up white caps across Elizabeth Harbour. Again I was outside man on the aft pry. Chris was on the same pry but inboard. With her extensive experience racing 470 dinghies she quickly got into the groove of sailing aboard Lucayan Lady. We had a good start without fouling any other boats. Out on the pry with the strong wind it was a hell of a ride. Sitting way above the water, occasionally looking down to see the keel through the clear water and feeling the press of the wind rocking the boat, was exhilarating. It was not to last long. While on the starboard tack, heading for the first windward mark off Stocking Island there was a loud cracking sound, the snap of wood breaking. On the pry and with bodies in front of me, I could see nothing but the boom had a three-foot long split starting from the gooseneck. It was all at once very quiet aboard. What would happen next? Fortunately, nothing really bad.
     With hand firm on the tiller King held his course, and sent China forward with a length of rope. Somewhat incredulously, the crew watched as China wrapped the rope round the split to try and hold the boom together like a spline. I do not think anyone believed, certainly not the cruisers, that the repair would hold once we jibed or tacked. Complicating matters was the fact that we were on starboard tack and at the windward mark we would have to round with the buoy on portside. Tacking was going to be a problem in our delicate condition. Ahead of us several boats were about to reach the vicinity of the mark at the same time and there was not going to be room for all of them. There occurred a series of bumps and crashes between various boats, and I was sure that we were going to join in on the fun. Bahamian skippers sail their boats as if they are carry heavy insurance, but perhaps they don't and that no one cares too much. Closing in on the mark we hit the first boat beam on beam. Chris scampered aboard and sat by the gunnel watching to see what would happen next. As Lucayan Lady headed up and leveled off, the ends of the pries dipped into the water. I gripped the pry trying to hold on as the pressure of the water tried to pull me off. I made it to the boat with nothing worse than a soaking. The outside man on the other pry, next to me, dived into the water. We sheered away from the other boat carrying enough forward momentum to take us to the mark just as another boat on the port tack also did. Our bow hit the other boat just abaft of their bow. We were then dead in the water. Obviously we could not go on. We were also short at least two of crew. I looked about but could not find Chris. The fellow who had dived off was now on the pry of another boat that had fished him out and was now moving away. A second fellow had dived off to avoid being swept off by the boom of another boat but came back aboard Lucayan Lady. I could not find Chris because in the confusion she had the sense to dive into the hold. If the boats were not built of wood it would have been a real mess. One of our shrouds had broken in one of the collisions. It was time to lower the main.
     Lucayan Lady limped back to the dock under jib alone. There we surveyed the damage. King said that he could fix the boom in time for next day's race. He proposed wrapping the split with fibreglass. Chris and I had experience with fibreglass repairs and we offered to help King. He thanked us but said it was not necessary. I went off to race the C Class race aboard Vitamalt Thunderbird. This time we had a fifth man aboard which helped in the blowing conditions. We had a sloppy start and missed one of our tacks. That was enough to leave us trailing for the rest of the race. We finished eleventh.

Someone showed us an article published a couple of days before the regatta in a Bahamian newspaper on our skipper King. We learned that he is a native of Acklins Island in the southern Bahamas. In the late 1950s he formed the calypso band King Eric & His Knights playing the nightclubs and hotels in Nassau. King and his band were very popular throughout the 1960s and he is recognized wherever he goes in the Bahamas. Later he opened a recording studio promoting other Bahamian musicians. He continues to run a variety show in one of the big hotels on Cable Beach in Nassau but he is also involved in various businesses. A son was a member of the Bahamian parliament. King's involvement in sailing sloops goes back many years. Not only does he sail but he and his wife make many of the sails used by other competitors. In 2004 Queen Elizabeth invested King with the MBE for his contributions to Bahamian music and society.

"Bahama spinnakers" in the early years of the Out Island
Regatta. From J. Linton Rigg´s book Bahama Islands.

Day Four - Another Day at the Races

     The fourth day of racing again proved to be most interesting. The B Class boats raced first and aboard Ansbacher Queen it was not to go well. The performance of the crew would have made the Keystone Cops envious. I thought the crew members were not very supportive of the skipper King, most of them arriving late. Most of the crew had been getting into the spirit of the regatta and for the majority admitted to having been out late partying. King with the help of some of his regulars and me, as the visitor, changed Ansbacher Queen's sails. Leaving the dock was a comedy of errors accompanied by a chorus of shouts, orders and counter orders. Confusion in a word. We left the dock with Lucayan Lady's rudder aboard. The intent was to leave the rudder aboard Lucayan Lady which was anchored out. Our tow boat did not understand the various shouts emanating from Ansbacher Queen and we were unable to deliver the rudder as planned. We simply dropped it into the water near the start to be picked up later. The confusion aboard made for a very unsettled atmosphere at least as far as I was concerned. The start went reasonably well but we muffed a tack early on, leaving us dead in the water and the fleet moved on without us. Eventually, when everyone realised that it was hopeless the tension aboard eased somewhat. At one point I was swept off the pry by a wave and I found myself hanging on to the gunnel, my legs in the water. King looked over at me and shouted, "save the man." A couple of the crew unceremoniously hauled me aboard. Throughout the race there was a constant patter between King and his boys. King chastising them that if they stayed out so late they should not expect to do well. The crew, at least some, insisting that they had not been out as late as King thought. Returning to the dock I was wary of what would happen on Lucayan Lady.
     We moved Lucayan Lady from the anchorage to the dock and changed her sails. A power boat delivered the rudder. Overnight King had repaired the boom, there was a mass of fibreglass wrapped round the split like some huge bandaged thumb. Chris came aboard and I recounted to her what had happened on Ansbacher Queen. Mercifully we had a tow out from the dock possibly saving us some embarrassment. Despite a good start and more or less competent sailing, we finished near the back of the pack. The wind was again up near 15 knots and at times Lucayan Lady was almost on her beam ends. Those on the prys had a thrilling ride, if somewhat alarming.
     Aboard Vitamalt Thunderbird's we put in a good effort in the C Class race but we were frustrated by a decision taken before the race. As the wind was fairly strong during the early part of the day, Joshua thought that it would be more appropriate to race with less sail area. Accordingly we changed to a shorter boom and smaller main. Of course, once committed to such a move there is no way to go back. It would have been better with the larger main because by the time we got out to the start the winds were failing. Nevertheless, we sailed well. The way the course was laid out, the fleet had to sail the downwind leg through the cruising boat anchorage near Stocking Island. Joshua had his hands full keeping the end of the boom clear of the anchored boats. Two of the sloops behind us had a bizarre encounter. One sloop snagged the stay of another boat. The mast of the one boat bent to a phenomenal degree before snapping about two-thirds of the way up. The broken bit came down on the foredeck, fortunately clear of the crew.
     After three races I was exhausted and hungry. Chris and the girls were ashore enjoying the party and I found them after awhile of wandering through the crowds of party goers. Music from various sources blared a cacophony of noise. The scantily dressed girls showed off and the guys eyed them. Food and drink was available at various stands. There was a small police presence but it was a happy friendly crowd. Again it was a mostly Bahamian crowd with a few foreigners. The Anglican bishop of the Bahamas was said to be about. If the bishop was looking for sinners no one paid him any attention. The Family Island Regatta was more fun than the timid cruiser´s regatta.
     Later over dinner, Chris and I discussed sailing aboard Lucayan Lady. We had no doubt that King was a good, or even an excellent sailor, but his Bahamians were not in his same league. It was obvious that of all the crew Ali was the only one who had sailed extensively. Chris thought that most of King´s boys were very inexperienced sailors. In fact, we learned later that most had only been sailing for a short time, a few weeks in fact. They seemed at times not to realise the importance of King´s commands or instructions. For instance, it was critically important to get the jib around and hardened quickly during a tack or else the boat ended up in stays and stopped dead in the water. The crew also did not understand why going to windward the mainsail was flattened by pulling the outhaul or conversely why the outhaul was released on the downwind legs. Eventually, they would learn these things. Once Chris realised the level of skill that most of the crew had she felt more comfortable taking the initiative in some of the maneuvers, for example, during anchoring and mooring. For his part, King understood that Chris and I were comfortable on a boat in a way that most of his boys were not. I think he appreciated having us aboard. A couple of the crew were oddly adverse to water. One fellow would not go out on the pry because he did not want to get wet and another wore a plastic bag under his T-shirt to keep the spray off. To us Canadians getting wet in the Bahamas was part of the fun, like ducks to water.

The author kitted out in Vitamalt colours and
enjoying a sample of the sponsor's fine (non-
alcoholic, by the way) brew.

Day Five - You've Gotta Regatta

     Saturday was the last day of the regatta. The order of races had changed and it was the C Class that was to go first. Bob picked me up early and we were aboard Vitamalt Thunderbird by a quarter to eight. Joshua had elected to change back to the original longer boom and larger sail. There was a 15-knot breeze churning up white caps out on Elizabeth Harbour. Aboard Vitamalt Thunderbird the mood was upbeat and we were all keen to put in a good race. We had a good start getting away cleanly. Bob and I were as usual on the prys. From the starting line we had gone off on port tack and headed into the corner off Regatta Point, the wind out of the south-west. Off of Regatta Point we flipped to starboard tack and as we neared the centre of the course we were probably in the top five. Legal Weapon was on port tack also heading up the centre of the course. Blanketed by her sails and without a lookout Legal Weapon's crew could not see us. It was obvious to Bob and I out on the prys that we were going to collide. My instinct was to holler "starboard" but as a guest I was reluctant, I did not want to usurp the skipper´s authority. I think Bob felt the same. Just as we were about to hit, Green pushed the tiller over and luffed up into the wind thus avoiding the collision. Legal Weapon heard more than saw us and tacked away clear but we found ourselves dead in the water. There was no option but to drop the main part way and fall off to make some way. We hoisted the main and continued but by then the fleet had left us behind. It was disappointing especially since Vitamalt Thunderbird had been well sailed. Downwind she found her stride and we all felt that we could have finished in the money. Later anchored in Kidd Cove as we helped de-rig the boat we could hear Vitamalt Thunderbird's owner angrily and loudly berating the crew of Legal Weapon. It was unlikely that Legal Weapon´s crew was very much concerned as they had won Class C honors. Good racers they were but showed poor seamanship by failing to keep a proper lookout. As we worked on the boat Joshua quietly said to us that he had luffed the boat because he did not want anyone hurt. He had no other option and had made the correct decision, it's only a boat race after all. I kept thinking that I should have shouted out. The owner asked if Bob and I would be attending any of the other regattas, it was a nice appreciation of our abilities.
     Next up was the B Class race and what was to be a dismal performance by Ansbacher Queen. I do not want to give the impression that I was not enjoying myself, I was, but it would have been icing on the cake to have been able to contribute to some better finishes. The B Class races were the most bizarre, frustrating and, frankly, ridiculous. At least Ansbacher Queen had a decent start and we got around the course once completely before things went haywire. It was on the up-wind leg when we missed a tack. The main had to come down and the boat fall away to get some way before hoisting the sail; a very tedious maneuver to have to perform in the middle of a race. We got the boat going and then we missed another tack. Once again we let Ansbacher Queen fall away and got her going and then we muffed the tack for the third time. The problem was a lack of sharpness on the part of the crew especially the handling of the jib, way too slow to come across. The crew fell silent and I felt bad for King. He was frustrated but took it in stride. Unlike some of the skippers I had raced for, King never lost his cool or abused any of his crew. By this time we were hopelessly behind all of the other boats and the pretence was made that we had broken equipment. King elected to sail back to Kidd Cove where we tailed off of Lucayan Lady. We had time to take off the mainsail and boom of Ansbacher Queen. We transferred some of the lead pigs from the B boat to Lucayan Lady. Chris got a ride over and we both helped while most of the crew scampered off to shore, presumably to lick wounds and have some lunch. Chris, myself and some others sailed Ansbacher Queen under jib alone round to the government dock. Chris had the opportunity to steer for a bit. We anchored behind one of the mailboats. Going ashore King bought me a beer and we walked over through the happy crowds to the marina dock.
     Gradually the crew reassembled on the dock and we hitched rides out to Lucayan Lady. Another bit of Keystone Cops antics was played out in Kidd Cove. Sailing off the anchor in a crowded anchorage is never without the potential of providing onlookers with some entertainment. We did not disappoint. Sailing through the crusiers' anchorage, fortunately very slowly, we had little way and thus almost no steerage. It was then that we drifted over the anchor rode of an anchored cruiser. The rode slid along Lucayan Lady´s keel until it lodged in the gap between the rudder and the hull. That stopped us and we swung sideways until we were beam to beam with the cruiser in question, whose owners, fortunately, were not aboard. While some of us fended off, a couple of the crew dived in and were able to slip the rode out of the gap. The whole episode was enacted a couple of boat lengths away from Wandering Albatross, the boat where our daughters were being entertained. The girls were able to closely follow their parents shenanigans. It is good that your children can sometimes laugh at you.
     Free at last, we sailed off to more adventures. Mercifully we were not late for the start, and neither did we make a hash of it. We were simply outclassed by the other crews. One boat did, however, drop out because of a torn mainsail. The race goes to the swift and cunning, we were neither. We did nothing very wrong, we made all of our tacks and rounded the buoys without trouble, but we were just not sharp enough. The last leg of the race ran from a mark below the monument on Stocking Island diagonally across Elizabeth Harbour to the finish line off Regatta Point. Again I was on the outer end of the pry with Chris inboard of me and it was a glorious few minutes as Lucayan Lady chased after the rest of the fleet. From last place we had a fine sight of the fleet ahead racing over the aquamarine waters of Elizabeth Harbour. For the crowds of spectators, both on shore and aboard boats, it was a grand thing to watch the racing fleet come home. Overhead a glorious blue sky with the odd puff of white clouds. Below us the crystal water curved to the sheer of Lucayan Lady's hull. Perched high up on the prys we had the best seats in the house. As we crossed the line there were cheers and horns blaring. A power boat of full of spectators, or perhaps groupies, approached Lucayan Lady to say hello to and cheer King. He wore a big smile and waved to his friends. The regatta was over.
     Lucayan Lady dropped anchor opposite the government dock. There we took the sails off and removed the boom to lay it on deck. Later Lucayan Lady with her mast still standing would be hoisted aboard a mailboat for the trip to Nassau. The crew hitched rides to shore as soon as they could and dashed off for the shore party. Chris and I said thanked King for having us aboard and he expressed his gratitude to us. We said goodbye to the crew chief Ali. Once ashore Chris and I walked up the main street towards the town centre. There was a huge crowd in front of the government building watching the Bahamian Police Band and its break-dancing sergeant-major. We met up with the girls and their escorts from Wandering Albatross. And, we went on to the regatta party for some food and something stronger than Vitamalt like, say, a few ice cold Kaliks.

A Class A sloop sailing in Elizabeth Harbour off Regatta Point.

I recommend the following books for those who may be interested in Bahamian history, sailing and the Family Island Regatta.

Out-Island Doctor, Cottman, Evans W., with Wyatt Blassingame, Hodder and Stoughton, 1963

Islanders in the Stream; A History of the Bahamian People, Volume Two, Micheal Craton, Gail Saunders, University of Georgia Press, 1998

Bahama Islands, J. Linton Rigg, 3rd edition, D. Van Norstand Company Inc., 1959

(All images by Chris unless otherwise noted.)

XVII Descenso del Oria - A Basque Rowing Regatta

2011-03-28T00:57:00.023+02:00

We arrived in Orio late on a Friday night after seven hours on the road from Barcelona. As we drove slowly down the main street that runs parallel to the river, patrons of the outdoor bars and the strollers along the sidewalks paused to look at the odd boat we towing. Eventually someone recognised the boat and they shouted in Castilian, "the Catalans have arrived!" and there were cheers. Some more shouts followed, some of it incomprehensible, as it was in Euskara, the language of the Basques. We were in the Basque country for the XVII Descenso de Traineras del Oria, a pre-season regatta. The organisers had invited some Catalan clubs to the event. The two Iberian nations have many cultural differences, among them the rowing boats that Basques and Catalans race.

While the Catalans have been racing llaguts for about two decades, the Basque traineras have a history that goes back to the 19th century. The Catalans launch their tubby seaworthy llaguts, based on old fishing boats, through the beach surf along a stretch of Mediterranean coast that has few natural harbours. The 300 kg llaguts are manned by eight oarsmen, or oarswomen, seated side-by-side and a coxswain. The traineras, longer and lighter than the llaguts, are derived from whale chasers that darted out from harbours into the Bay of Biscay. The traineras seat 14 in an odd arrangement of seven rowers on port side and six on starboard side. Instead of a rudder the coxswain uses a steering oar over the port side. Whether rowing in an llagut or a trainera it is still hard-on-the-ass fixed seat rowing.

Orio a town of 5,000, and like many Basque coastal communities, has a splendid rowing tradition. The rowing club is very impressive, not only do the members row traineras they also race sliding-seat shells. The boathouse is filled with Empachers, Filippis and Hudsons. During the years of the Spanish dictatorship Orio hosted international regattas, including some in the late 1960s and early 1970s, that attracted Oxford and Cambridge. However, the Descenso del Orio is strictly fixed-seat rowing event.

On race day Saturday it was overcast and raining. The main launch area for the visiting clubs and crews was down by the llotja where the Basque fishermen land their catches and repair nets. There were dozens of trailers and boats surrounded by crews preparing their boats. Spectators and supporters milled about examining the llaguts and traineras. The Basques and Catalans were keen to look over each other's boats. Since their respective languages are mutually incomprehensible the lingua franca was Castilian but there was not a single Spanish flag visible the length of Orio's waterfront.

The llaguts were all of fibreglass construction, heavy and stoutly built. Most of the trianeras were also fabricated with fibreglass but built with more finesse and greater economy of material. Some of the traineras were of wood construction made with the same craftsmanship as old wooden rowing shells. The varnished wood of one of the traineras that I examined reminded me of the wide-grained cedar used on Pocock shells of forty years ago. Most of the oars are made from carbon fibre.

The Descenso del Orio is organised like a head race four or six kilometres long depending on a crew´s category. As the race course is on an estuary, the start of the regatta is timed to coincide with slack water at high tide. Otherwise the upper reaches would be too shallow to row. The tide at Orio is an impressive four metres and it makes a big difference to the navigability of the river.

There were only three llaguts and as guests we were given the first three starting positions but there were 62 traineras entered. A couple of the Catalan clubs raced in borrowed traineras. They were handicapped by their unfamiliarity with the equipment. All of the boats milling about the start area reminded of the Head of the Charles in Boston. The Oria especially at the start is much narrower than the Charles. Even the damp weather felt like autumn in New England but the background on the Oria consisted of steep green mountains instead of Boston skyscrapers.

Like any rowing race one expects to hurt and the Descenso del Oria was no exception. Fixed-seat rowing is as hard as sliding-seat rowing. The first part of the course was narrow and meandering but the second half wider and more open to the head wind and rain that seemed to build during the course of the race. The last 800 metres of the course followed the Orio waterfront and there was a bridge just beyond the finish line. It seemed like the whole town was out to watch and the crowds on shore and on the bridge were very vocal in their appreciation of the crews' efforts. We bested the other llaguts and then drifted by the finish line to watch the traineras come across. With longer waterlines, narrower beams and larger crews the traineras are much faster than the llaguts. The traineras have an impressive ponderous grace as they move, their fine bows slicing neatly through the water. I thought that it would be interesting to row in one.

Later, many of the crews went for dinner at a sagardotekis, a traditional Basque cider house, high on a hill overlooking the Oria valley. The Basque cuisine is said by many to be the best in Spain. We were served codfish omelets, huge thick beef steak, and chunks of pungent cheese. We drank the strong apple cider poured directly from the huge barrels that lined the walls of the sagardotekis. Sitting a dozen to a table on bench seats, oarsmen and oarswomen talked about rowing and food. The table next to us was occupied by a group of Orio veterans who had there own rowing stories to share. It reminded me of long ago Saturday nights up at the Henley Island clubhouse on Martindale Pond but the Basque food was better.

(All photographs by Sergi, Carol and Blanca, Club Nautic de Premia, Premia de Mar)

Solar Sails See the Light

2011-03-18T15:24:00.001+01:00

An artist's depiction of the solar sail spacecraft LightSail-1.
By Rick Sternbach and courtesy of The Planetary Society

Over the last decade the development of interplanetary spacecraft fitted with solar sails propelled by sunlight, much like sailboats dependant on the wind over a terrestrial sea, has evolved in fits and starts. The solar sail is not a new concept. In 1871 Scottish physicist James Clerk Maxwell postulated that light photons from the Sun exerted a force on exposed surfaces. Three decades later Maxwell´s theory was proved experimentally by the Russian physicist Peter Lebedev. Quantum theory suggests that photons act as small packets of energy with the character of matter. A photon striking a surface thus imparts a bit of momentum. In the 1920s Soviet rocket pioneer Friedrich Zander proposed that photons could propel a spacecraft. The notion of photons exerting a force should not be confused with the much weaker solar wind that gives comets their tails. Proof that solar radiation could be used as means of control and propulsion came in 1974 when the Mariner 10 spacecraft, on a mission to Mercury, was low on fuel. To stretch precious reserves NASA engineers successfully manipulated the pressure on the satellite's solar panels.

Two recent events have advanced the development of solar sails as a means of propulsion. First, on January 20 NASA deployed the NanoSail-D, a small experimental solar sail spacecraft, into low Earth orbit. NanoSail-D will eventually succumb to drag from the upper atmosphere, re-enter and burn up but not before providing important data on the capabilities of solar sails. The other event occurred in late January when the Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency (JAXA) announced that it was extending the mission of its IKAROS spacecraft. IKAROS was launched in May 2010 and, partially propelled by solar sails, flew past Venus in December and is now on its way to the far side of the Sun. IKAROS has proved the practically of solar sails for interplanetary travel and gathered much relevant data.

The acceleration provided by light photons bouncing off the surface of a spacecraft's sails is very slight but given enough time very high speeds can be reached. The more reflective the surface of the sail the more momentum is imparted to it by the colliding photons. A lighter spacecraft has less inertia to overcome so considerable engineering ingenuity is required to cram extendable sails into the smallest and lightest package. A solar sail spacecraft, once blasted into a high earth orbit by a rocket would have no more need for conventional chemical fuels. The same sunlight also works on the spacecraft´s solar panels to produce electricity. The sails are made of ultra-thin aluminium covered mylar that can be folded compactly and stored for launch. Once in space the sails are deployed by either telescoping struts, or, as is the case of IKAROS, by spinning the spacecraft to create centrifugal forces that hold the sails open. The direction of the push, and thus, the spacecraft's trajectory can be controlled by changing the angle of the solar sails with respect to the Sun.

Later this year another experimental solar sail project is expected to go into space to gather more data. The Planetary Society, a US-based private non-profit organization, hopes to launch its LightSail-1 spacecraft into a high earth orbit. Solar sailing may prove to be more practical for interplanetary travel within the solar system rather than for deep space missions where the strength of the push rapidly diminishes as the craft moves away from the Sun. However, some scientists envision solar sail spacecraft powered by laser beams aimed from Earth. A sort of ongoing shove from the home planet, powering and directing the mission onwards.

A Castle in Spain

2011-02-14T21:24:00.001+01:00

Vilassar castle in the early 1900s from an old postcard.

Those who indulge in absentminded daydreaming are sometimes accused of dreaming of castles in Spain. I do not know why daydreamers would favour Spanish castles over, say, Scottish castles. Of course the weather is better in Spain. Perhaps it is a matter of numbers and the expression arose because there are so many castles in Spain and thus there are more of them to dream about. When we had the opportunity to move to Spain a few years ago I certainly was not thinking, or dreaming, of castles but perhaps my wife was. I should ask her if she was absentmindedly daydreaming. In any case it was by chance that we found ourselves in Vilassar de Dalt living next door to one of the oldest and best preserved castles in Catalonia or Spain for that matter.

Vilassar de Dalt is a small town tucked into a fold of the Serrelada Litoral, a low range of mountains stretching northeast along the Catalan coast from Barcelona. Until I had the offer of a job in the town I had never heard of it. When we left for Spain we still knew very little about the town. Would Vilassar be a friendly town? Would we like living there? Could we find a place to live?

Arriving at Barcelona’s airport on a day in September, tired from the overnight flight, we were overwhelmed by the Mediterranean heat and light. As the taxi drove us from the airport through Barcelona and past the sprawling harbour we wondered just where we would end up. Once on the other side of Barcelona the highway cuts across Badalona, Catalonia’s third city in terms of population but perhaps its most dismal example of urban planning. The apartment towers, decorated with drying laundry, crowding the highway filled each of us with dread. What if we ended up living in one of those places? We were all relieved to leave Badalona behind. Eventually the taxi left the highway and started climbing the lower slopes of the Serralada. Vilassar turned out to be a surprise, a pleasant surprise.

The oldest part of Vilassar is characterised by narrow and steep streets. The centre of the town is the Placa de la Adjuntament, three kilometres from the sea, where the town hall and the church face each other. The old town coincides with the abrupt change in slope between the coastal plain and the steeper flanks of the mountain itself. Vilassar is separated from the sea by the highway, a strip of agricultural land and along the coast a strip of urbanization that runs continuously from Barcelona to Mataro.

Our arrival was a few days before Catalonia’s national holiday and so after I had presented myself at my new employer’s premises we had a four-day long weekend to settle in. We found a room at a local pension in the old part of town, basic but comfortable and clean. The following day we set out to explore the town with the objective of finding an apartment as quickly as possible.

At the first real estate office we asked, the agent was not encouraging; she had no rentals but suggested we try another agent. Although it was only ten o´clock in the morning it was already hot and as the four of us trudged up the steep streets of Vilassar we wondered at our prospects. The office of the second estate agent was just uphill from the church. A young man of about thirty let us in and we presented our case. We had just arrived in Spain, I had a job in Vilassar and we needed, we wanted an apartment in town, preferably in the old part. Our hopes lowered when Jordi, the young man, warned us that there were normally few rentals in the centre of Vilassar but that he had one listing.

The apartment was not more than fifty steps from Jordi’s office up a side street. The three-bedroom apartment was on the third floor. Despite Jordi’s warning it was a comfortable apartment. What sold me was the view of the Mediterranean from the living room window. There was a balcony that ran the width of the living room and the adjacent bedroom. The other two bedrooms and the kitchen faced a sort of courtyard at the rear that was shared with several other buildings. And, the apartment had access to the terrace on the next floor up. The view from the terrace was even better. One could look out over the roofs of the lower town and in the distance take in a wide sweep of the sea. Close by in the foreground stood the bell tower and steeple of the church. The view was framed on either side by outlying ridges of the Serralada.

The view in the opposite direction from the sea was not as interesting. Standing over the various bits of the nearest buildings was a quartet of disused water tanks and beyond a line of cypress trees. The closely spaced trees effectively blocked the view toward the mountain. I asked Jordi what was behind the trees. He reacted as if I should know. “It’s the castle of the Marques,” Jordi said. My surprise was complete. “A castle, really?” That settled it; we took take the apartment and we had not even seen the castle.

It was a couple of days before we had a proper look at Vilassar´s castle, or rather caught some glimpses of it. From the narrow streets of the town it is impossible to see anything more than its upper parts. Vilassar castle is not large but its picture prefect aspect conjures images of brave knights jousting and chivalrous deeds done. A little research into its history soon dispells such thoughts. During its almost thousand years of existence nothing much has happened around the castle. Unlike other parts of Spain the Muslim occupation of Catalonia was relatively short and in the immediate environs of Vilassar it was even briefer. Vilassar castle never suffered a great siege. The most martial function of castle occurred after the 16th century when Muslim pirates roamed the Catalan coast and its towers served as maritime lookouts. While nearby coastal towns suffered pirate raids the castle itself remained untouched.

Vilassar castle origins are obscure but already in the 10th century a cylindrical watch tower and some adjacent structures coinciding with the present building were in place. Judging from the location of the castle, on a sort of ridge between two intermittent watercourses, there were likely previous structures, perhaps a Visigoth castle or a Roman villa, on the same site as the castle. Late in the 13th century a square tower was added. It was about this time when the function of Vilassar castle changed from that of a fortress to a palace.

The castle was originally in the hands of the Sant Vincenc family, lords of Burriac the fuedal masters of this area of the Maresme. Vilassar castle and Burriac castle in nearby Cabera de Mar were both held by the Sant Vincenc family. Burriac castle is now a picturesque ruin. The death of Berenguer de Sant Vincenc in 1352 without an heir led to the sale of the castle to Pere des Bosc family. In the 15th century the castle passed into hands of the crown even though the des Bosc family continued to live there until the 18th century when the family seems to disappear. In 1704 Vilassar castle passed to marques de Moia de la Torre family.

The castle acquired, more or less, its present appearance during the 14th and 15th centuries under the des Boscs. The appearance of Vilassar castle, more palace than fortress, saved it from destruction during the reign of Philip V. Since the 19th century the castle has been the property of the Marques de Santa Maria Barbera i la Maresana. In the 1930s Vilassar castle was designated a national monument and the current Marques continues to receive public funds to maintain it. The castle is more than an architectural treasure as it also houses valuable archives. The archives consist of manuscript collections of several aristocratic Catalan and Spanish families. Some of the documents date from the 11th century according to a group of conservators from the University of Texas. Some of the archives relate to the Catalan mystic, writer and thinker Ramon Llull.

Despite the significance of the castle and its archives and the public funds that maintain both, the castle remains the private residence of the Marques and his family. This situation does not please the locals, few of whom have ever even been inside the enclosing wall much less entered the castle itself. Later when we got to know the mayor I asked if he had ever been inside--once many years before he said. The marques does maintain the castle and its important archives. He has not turned it into a carnival attraction or into a parador and that is something to be commended.

The best views of the castle and the grounds surrounding it are from the mountains around Vilassar. A favourite view of it is from a slope just to the east of the castle overlooking some vineyards. The castle grounds also include three or four acres of vineyards. The grapes are sent to the nearby town of Alella to be used for making wine of the smallest DOs (Denominacio d´Origen) in Spain.

The castle broods over Vilassar especially at night. The perimeter wall around the castle grounds crowds the narrow streets. In the evenings when I walk the dog and the wind blows off the mountain rustling the almond trees and bougainvillea overhanging the castle’s walls spirits seem to be about. Sometimes there is the scent of honey suckle. Bats flint about in the pools of light round the street lamps. From a certain spot on the street next to the perimeter wall the upper part of the castle is visible including a window high up on the wall. Usually the window is dark but sometimes there is a light signalling that someone is home. As we stroll past the main gate the marques’ dogs bark at my dog. Some nights the sound of an owl on the castle grounds drifts through our open bedroom window. We may never see the inside of it but it is our castle in Spain.

The Casa de Cos—19th Century Catalan Row Housing

2011-01-21T16:27:00.004+01:00

An example of a Casa de Cos, Vilassar de Mar

We had been living in Vilassar de Dalt for some time before we decided to buy a house in town. In the last four decades Vilassar´s population has increased dramatically as it is within easy commuting distance of Barcelona. Although it has been afflicted by urban sprawl, the town retains a well defined centre with narrow winding streets and close packed houses. We had decided early on that if we were to buy it would have to be in that old quarter which still retains its village character. Over a period of months my wife had been browsing the advertisements in the estate agents´ windows looking for something we could afford. Eventually she spotted a house that had the right combination of necessary restoration and price. We visited the house several times, and honestly it was a mess, but eventually we talked ourselves into its possibilities. After closer examination we concluded that the asking price was too high for the amount of work it was going to need. And so, when our offer was rejected we decided to wait and see what would happen. Our timing was right as the Spanish housing bubble had collapsed and forced down prices. Accordingly, a few weeks later the asking price was reduced and we made another offer. We and the sellers agreed on the terms and we found ourselves owners of a property in Spain.

The house is on one of Vilassar´s oldest streets but unusually the part of the street in front is at least three times wider than is normal in the old town. There is a good reason for that but it was some time before we found out why. Our neighbour to the north is the marquis de Santa Maria de Barberà i de la Manresana who lives in Vilassar’s most imposing private residence, a thousand-year old castle. Depending on who we talked to, our more modest home is between a hundred and two hundred years old. Like most of the houses in the old part of the town the front façade is built directly to the property line on the street. There is a small courtyard (eixeda in Catalan) between the back of the house and the retaining wall that separates us from the castle grounds. Soon after buying the house we learned that it is a typical example of what in Catalonia is called a Casa de Cos—sometimes also known as a Casa d’un Cos. Groups of near identical Casas de Cos were built in rows along urban streets throughout Catalonia. They are particularly prevalent in the Maresme comarca, or county, north-east of Barcelona. The Casa de Cos first appeared in the 18th century, was built in considerable numbers throughout the 19th century and new examples continued to be built during the first three decades of the 20th century. During all that time the basic layout hardly varied. The prevalence of the Casa de Cos is tied to the industrialization of Catalonia, specifically the growth of the textile industry. I find it intriguing that the Casa de Cos is so common and that it was built with so little variation in many places throughout Catalonia. Of course, row houses—lines of identical units built shoulder to shoulder—are not unique to Catalonia but it is perhaps interesting to examine this type of structure using our Vilassar house as a basis.

A Casa de Cos in Premia de Mar, dated 1823

The typical Casa de Cos was built to a very specific layout; the stairs so placed so as to divide the ground floor into two more or less equal areas in the front of the house and the back. A hallway runs from the front entrance clear back to the door opening out to the rear courtyard. The layout of the second floor is similar to that of the ground floor. The front facade was also strictly defined so that on the ground floor the entrance was set to one side and a window centred on the remaining space. There was a single window on the second floor centred on the entrance doors below. There could of course be variations in the details. Sometimes the ground floor window was eliminated leaving only the doors as an opening. The second floor opening would possibly be extended down to create instead a small balcony. There were also variations in decor and finishes. For example, some Casas de Cos had finely finished stone work for the lintels and jambs of the windows and doors, but most had painted stucco covering plain brick work. These were houses that were meant to be economical to build. We changed the street façade of our house during the renovation by adding a second window directly over the ground floor window and raising a parapet wall to enclose a new rooftop terrace.

Row houses developed in Europe during the industrial revolution as a means of providing medium density housing for industrial workers and their families. For Anglophones the term row houses is sometimes replaced with “terrace houses” and brings to mind images of working class neighbourhoods in England—think of the television show Coronation Street. With the movement of people from the countryside to urban areas, property owners maximized their profits by building standardised units and squeezing as many of them as possible on a given area of land. Because of the delayed state of industrial development in Spain the row house developed later in this country. In Vilassar de Dalt the appearance of the Casa de Cos coincides with the establishment of textile factories that in the 19th century became the backbone of the town´s economy. Rows of houses clustered around the factories to house workers and managers. Often the factory and housing were built at the same time as one single project financed by the factory owner who wanted both to attract workers and house them nearby. In neighbouring towns, such as Vilassar de Mar and Premia de Mar, the Casa de Cos also served as housing for fishermen and their families. It should be noted that these towns also had significant textile industries. On the other hand the Casa de Cos is absent from Alella, Arenys de Munt, Calella, Malgrat, Mongat or Premia de Dalt, all nearby towns but which did not have textile industries.

A row of Casas de Cos in Vilassar de Dalt. Most of the houses have been renovated, some of them beyond recognition.

Our older neighbours have told us that our house is one of at least four on the street that were built to an identical plan. This is not now apparent as over time the other houses have been altered almost beyond recognition with the addition of extra floors or changed façades but the houses as originally built would have been all much the same. Of the houses on our street, ours had been the least altered. The simple plan of the Casa de Cos allows it to be renovated with relative ease to modern standards of comfort. Across the street, neatly illustrating the symbiotic relationship between Casas de Cos and industry, is an old factory now converted into several individual houses. It is not obvious at first but Vilassar de Dalt retains one of Catalonia´s most extensive conglomerations of early industrial workers´ housing and industrial buildings. The last of Vilassar´s textile factories closed in the 1980s but several empty structures remain awaiting conversion to new uses. One is presently in the process of being changed into the town library.

The phrase Casa de Cos in Catalan means literally house of a body, the “body” in this case being a unit of length. However, in this instance the word cos derives from Latin cursum which meant this portion of land. It was an ancient unit of measurement used to divide land and later used in the construction of the traditional Catalan masias, or fortified farm houses. As unit of measurement the cos was based on the maximum span of a beam made from the native white pine (Pinus halepensis) trees. A Casa de Cos was usually built one “body” wide, but it could be a “body and half” wide or even more. The owner of a property would have asked the municipality for permission to divide a section of land into coses. A cos is approximately 20 pams wide. (A pam is literally a hand span with the pam de Barcelona set at 19.43 cm and the pam de destre at 23.5 cm.) Our house in Vilassar de Dalt is roughly rectangular in plan fitting between two parallel party walls, the corners not quite forming 90 degrees. The long axis of the house, from the inside faces of the front and rear walls, is 10.4 metres, the inside width of the house is 4.70 metres. These are typical measurements for a Casa de Cos. Presumably, our house was built using the pam de destre as 20 pams de destre equals 4.70 metres. Throughout Catalonia the Casa de Cos could vary between 20 and 30 pams with some exceptional examples up to 40 pams.

Invariably, the typical Casa de Cos consisted of a ground and second floor. Only in renovated houses would there now be a third floor. Entry into the Casa de Cos is via a pair of massive wooden doors. Although they now serve as decorative features originally the massive doors would have had a functional purpose as they led into the largest room of the house, a space that would have served the original owners as a workshop or storage area. The oversized doors would allow large objects to be moved in and out of the house. The front rooms have now, of course, been converted into living rooms. In our house we have created a threshold by adding a pair of French doors just inside of the main doors. Located near the centre of the house are the stairs to the second floor. The stairs were positioned so as to create a direct uncluttered passage from the front entrance to the eixida, or courtyard, behind the house.

Ground floor plan of a typical Casa de Cos. The front of the house is at the right.
The eixada, or rear courtyard is at the left.

A rebost, or pantry was built under part of the stairs. Beyond the stairs is the kitchen. By moving the door of the pantry from the kitchen to the hallway we added a downstairs bathroom with access from the hallway. The most notable features of the kitchen are the fireplace and bread oven. The bread oven consists of two parts; a lower chamber for the fire and the upper chamber where the bread was baked. The two chambers are separated by a masonry grid. The roof of the oven is a dome of roughly 1.4 metres in diameter. The bread oven was built in the space under the stair landing. The present fireplace has a chimney leading directly to the roof but the bread oven never had a separate chimney. Originally the fireplace and oven would have been vented by a large hood that drew the smoke up a single chimney. Smoke staining of the stone work around the bread oven attests to that. The kitchen has a large terrazzo sink under the window centred in the rear wall of the house. A door from kitchen leads out into the eixida. Another door in the kitchen leads to a covered area in the courtyard. This second door was likely a later addition. The covered section of the courtyard would have served as a pig pen or as a hen house. We have now converted this space into a dining room with two windows looking out to the courtyard. During the day the lower floor would have been in constant use as an area for working, cooking, washing and, for the children, as their play area. The upstairs would have been used only at night.

On the ground floor of our house the original flooring consisted of terracotta tiles 23 centimetres square and 4 centimetres thick laid on a skim coat of mortar laying directly on the leveled soil. We decided to conserve as much of the flooring as possible despite the wear in some areas. Some of the tiles had to be removed in order to install a new under-floor drainage system but our contractor was able to remove most tiles without damage and reuse them. Still, there was a deficit of tiles. The shortage problem was neatly solved by creating a runner of hydraulic tiles laid from the front door to the rear door. The hydraulic tiles are 15 centimetres square and added an interesting feature to the ground floor.

The second floor of our house is divided into three bedrooms. Many Casas de Cos would have had two bedrooms, and perhaps a large closet or storeroom, on the second floor. The front and back rooms originally had each a single window but we have added a second window to each room. The centre room, of course, did not have any windows but did have a small skylight set into the roof. The front room being larger would have been used by the parents’ of the family. The other room divided amongst the children and possibly the grandparents. Despite the size of the Casa de Cos it would have been a crowded place to live.

The structure supporting the second floor consists of three Catalan vaults. These vaults are the most singular architectural and structural features of the house. The Catalan vault (la volta catalana) is a traditional technique for building a shallow lightweight vault or arch. The vault over the front room is a barrel vault spanning 4.70 metres between the supporting walls and with a rise of only 45 centimetres. The vault is 6.15 metres long. Over the rectangular kitchen is a domed vault—the loads supported on four sides—where the corners are the lowest points of the vault. A small barrel vault, beside the stairs, spans the area between the two larger vaults. The term Catalan vault is somewhat of a misnomer because this building technique is found in various regions around the Mediterranean. To construct a barrel vault, rectangular terracotta tiles bricks are laid edge to edge on wooden form work. In the case of a domed vault the form work can be sometimes be eliminated. Using wooden battens to guide the laying of the tiles a domed vault can be quickly constructed. Depending on the span and loads to be carried by the vault, two or more courses of tiles would have been laid. The advantages of the Catalan vault are its light weight compared to a stone vault, the economical use of common terracotta materials and the short construction time.


A Catalan vault spanning over the front room of a Casa de Cos under renovation.

In our house to support the floor tiles of the second floor, ribs of ceramic brick are supported by the vaults. The result is that a good part of the second floor structure is hollow. This of course reduces the weight and also lowers the lateral loads that must somehow be carried by the supporting walls. The flooring of the second floor consists of 30 x 15 centimetre ceramic tiles laid in a herringbone pattern. Lifting the flooring tile allows access to the hollows over the vaults. With care, plumbing and electrical runs can be placed within the hollows except near the centre of the span where the space over the load carrying vault is thinnest.

A Catalan vault consisting of four layers of ceramic masonry supporting a small
bridge.

Vilassar de Dalt has an interesting historical connection to the diffusion of the Catalan vault to North America. The engineer and architect Rafael Guastavino built Vilassar´s La Massa theatre. It was his last commision in Spain before emigrating to the United States in 1881. The theatre features a circular Catalan vault of 17 meters in diameter and a rise of 3.5 metres. It is a fine example of the technique and it inspired us to preserve and maintain the vaults in our house. The theatre is only about 150 metres from our house. In the United States Guastatavino patented the Catalan vault and used the technique on some of the most prestigious American buildings of the early 20th century including Grand Central Terminal, Carnegie Hall both in New York City and the Boston Public Library.

Not all Casas de Cos would have made use of the vault. Other examples would have floors supported by wood beams. But timber of sufficient size would have been difficult and expensive to obtain in 19th century Catalonia. (Old photographs of the surrounding mountains reveal how few trees were available in the 19th century.) Still others used a system of iron beams with ceramic infill blocks supporting the floor above. In many renovations the vaults and wood beams have been replaced by modern concrete or wood structural systems. This probably reflects the reluctance of contemporary contractors and architects from dealing with structural masonry systems.

Looking up at the structure of the second floor of a Casa de Cos.
The rough hewn pine beams support wood stringers which in turn
carry planking. The finished floor consists of ceramic tile laid on
the planking

Originally, in our house the underside of the vaults were covered with a layer of plaster to smooth out the unevenness of the masonry. We elected to remove the plaster and expose the vaults. The exposed masonry is a testament of the masons’ skills. The ceilings are high enough that the ground floor rooms do not feel like caves. Our house faces south-east and is located on a relatively wide street so that lots of natural light enters though the windows and the glass doors of the threshold.

The roof line of the Casa de Cos is simple, a ridge over the centre of the house slopes both to the street and the courtyard. The original roofing consisted of teulada, the traditional roofing tile found throughout Spain. Both our contractor and architect agreed that it would be very difficult to remove the original teulada without damaging the individual tiles to some extent so we replaced them with new ones. Nevertheless, we did note that the contractor carefully removed the old roof tiles and trucked them away. We were happy to use modern roofing tiles if they could guarantee the integrity of the roof—i.e. that it kept the rain out.

Cross-section through a typical Casa de Cos. The front facade is
to the right. There is a vault over the kitchen, ground floor left, but
wood beams span over the ground floor front room.

As originally built, the roof of our house was supported by wood beams. The beams were essentially tree trunks stripped of bark and set onto the side walls. Scarcity of suitable timber in the vicinity of Vilassar de Dalt can be inferred by the use of some very bent logs in our house. The builder and original owner of our house would not have been too fussy about appearances. Shims were used to fill the gaps between the timbers and the underside of the roof planking. The planks carried a layer of what is essentially earth on which the roof tiles were placed. It was obvious from the time of our first pre-purchase visits that the beams would be a problem. A cursory inspection found them all to have been damaged by woodworm, some of them severely. We decided to replace them all with glue-laminated wood beams. As the old beams were removed it became apparent just how badly damaged they were. The new beams were treated against woodworm.

The loads supported by the roof beams and vaults are carried by the thick party walls (the side walls we share with the neighbours). These party walls are made of tapia, nothing more than packed mud and cobbles. Confined on either side by wood forms, moist earth is packed down with rams. Successive layers of tapia are gradually built up to the required height. Horizontal loads from the floor vaults between adjacent houses would cancel each other but still the walls had to be thick enough to eliminate the need for buttresses. During the renovation of our house when I looked at the exposed mud walls I had the impression the walls were made up of pre-formed blocks of tapia—akin to adobe blocks—cemented together with a mortar of some sort. It would certainly speed up the drying of the walls. One source that I found stated that it could take up to two years for the moisture content of a tapia wall to each a state of equilibrium. It would have made sense to use pre-dried and pre-formed blocks especially if the walls had to support the relatively heavy loads of vaulted construction. With brittle masonry vaults susceptible to cracking it would also be critical to reduce the amount of movement. Using pre-formed adobe-type blocks would help reduce movement due to shrinkage as the walls dried.

The use of tapia construction seems to have been common practice in Vilassar. I have seen other houses in town with mud walls. Certainly the workmen doing the renovations to our house were familiar with tapia walls and comfortable working with the material, for example when they made the openings for two new windows of the second floor bedrooms. However, I suspect that they would be at a loss if they had to build up a new wall of tapia, while on the other hand they were very adept with brick masonry construction. The exterior walls are thick, at the ground floor the rear wall is 58 cm thick, at the street façade it is 48 cm. From the second floor up, the walls are thinner, 56 and 41 centimeters thick respectively. I am not sure why the walls are were not built the same in front and rear but the tapia of the front walls had some larger pieces of stone embedded. The party walls, or rather the walls we share with our neighbours and carry the horizontal loads from the vaults are at least 90 cm thick.

It is important to allow tapia to dry out and then to protect it from rain and groundwater. Sometime ago we saw the result of water damage to a tapia wall not far from our house when the wall of an old house partially collapsed into the roadway. That house, which was then under renovation, had not been properly protected from the elements. After a couple of days of heavy rain a portion of the wall had been weakened. During our own renovation, removal of the old roof coincided with the April rains and particular care was taken to protect the tops of the walls by covering them with waterproof tarps. Our architect insisted that a continuous band of concrete reinforced with steel bars was added to the top of the tapia walls.

One source states that in Premia de Mar some of the old fishermen’s Casas de Cos were constructed with the ground floors below street level for two reasons. First, it helped stabilize the temperature within the house by increasing the thermal inertia of the ground floor thus making it more comfortable in summer and winter. During the day the lower floor was the centre of activity and keeping it cooler in summer and facilitating heating in winter would have been advantageous. The upper floor was used only at night. Secondly, by excavating below street level a ready source of material for building the tapia walls would have been at hand.

The bases of the tapia walls are also susceptible to moisture infiltration from soils supporting the walls. So it is also important to control groundwater near the building. In our house water leaking from the main under-floor drain likely caused some damage to the base of the wall in the kitchen. This was apparent when we first visited the house. It was obvious where the under-floor drain ran. It did not help that the original under-floor drain consisted of a rectangular channel formed from bricks—needless to say such channels leak tremendously.

The eixida, or courtyard, at the rear of the house is roughly 5 x 3.5 metres. About a third of the courtyard has a vaulted roof over it. There is a large safareig, or laundry sink in a corner of the courtyard supplied by an overhead water tank built into the corner formed by the walls. The tank would have been filled bucket by bucket and later connected to the municipal water supply. A few of our older neighbours who have lived in Vilassar all of their lives have told us that some houses on our street had wells in the courtyard. Access to these wells was shared between two or three neighbouring houses. That our immediate neighbour´s house had the well is obvious as there is a pulley wheel hanging from a bracket on the wall. A measure of how little altered had been our house can be inferred by the fact that when we bought it there was only one point of inside water supply, a cold water faucet over the kitchen sink. A shower and water closet had at some point been added under the vaulted portion of the courtyard but to access it one had to dash outside. A small electric caldera, or water heater, heated the water for the shower. Few Casas de Cos as originally built would have had inside sanitation facilities. The most common solution would be an outhouse over a dry well, or holding tank, that would be periodically emptied by a local farmer requiring fertilizer. Our house had been in the same family for most if not all of the 20th century and obviously the owners had not kept up with the times.

An interesting feature of our house is the front garden. The ownership of this small plot of land is problematic. Almost certainly it was originally part of the house but at some point it was severed from the lot and ownership passed to the municipality. The garden measures roughly 5 by 7 metres. It is very small to have served as a vegetable garden but still today there are in Vilassar similar sized gardens that supply their owner’s tables. Our immediate neighbour also has a similar space but, as far as I know, in Vilassar these are the only two houses with such an arrangement.

These 19th century Casas de Cos originally housed
fishermen and their families in Vilassar de Mar.

In other towns these small gardens were more common. In Premia de Mar the streets were laid out parallel to the sea and whole blocks of Casas de Cos were built with the front façade facing south (and the sea). Behind the house, to the north, was a garden and beyond that the eixida with a safareig, the outhouse and a fruit tree, usually an orange or lemon tree. From the courtyard there was access to the next street across which was another row of Casas de Cos. In Vilassar de Mar the streets were also laid out parallel to the sea. Again the front facades of the Casas de Cos were on the north side of the streets. However, the garden corresponding to each house was across the street to the south. In the 1950s Vilassar de Mar’s garden plots were taxed out of existence and built over with new construction that was generally higher than the Casas de Cos. I found one street in Vilassar de Mar that still retains the original arrangement of houses and garden plots, however, where once vegetables were grown now cars are parked. Our house with its garden plot in front and the eixida in the rear would have had a similar layout to that of those Vilassar de Mar houses.

Casas de Cos in Vilassar de Mar with their front gardens intact.

The Casa de Cos is a simple structure but in it we find some interesting links to Catalonia´s social and industrial history. Though they may be plain and unadorned they serve as repositories of traditional construction methods. The volta Catalana and tapia wall are no longer used but are part of the region´s architectural heritage. The very basic structure lends itself to easy upgrading, renovation and conversion. Most Casas de Cos continue in their original function, as single family dwellings, but many have been converted into offices (for example, our architect´s office in Vilassar de Mar), small shops or as workshops. Our renovated Casa de Cos is comfortable and homey. The major change that we made, add a third floor and terrace, resulted in a studio with a view of the sea. The house may be somewhat rustic with the odd dash of tiles in the kitchen or on the stair risers and treads but it has character. From the street the Casa de Cos seems to hide and rebuff attention but once inside it has secrets to reveal.

I love Paris...by train

2011-01-09T21:21:00.007+01:00

Two years ago we travelled on one of those budget airlines from Barcelona to spend a week in Paris. Getting there was not much fun. We vowed never to fly with that particular airline again as the company seems to take the attitude that customers are a nuisance. I must say that it was not all the airline´s fault that the trip was so dismal. We made some choices about when we wanted to fly but flying has become something one has to endure as opposed to experiencing. Flying is like a visit to the dentist--sit and wait with a rising level of ennui but then hope to get the whole business over as quickly and painlessly as possible. Well, we just returned from another week in the city of lights but this time getting there and back was much more pleasant. We took the train. It was in fact an overnight tren hotel where the four of us had our own cabin complete with fold-down beds. This trip was more comfortable and civilised.

My wife and I love trains and we have both experienced long-distance train journeys either on our own or together as a family. A few years before we met, my wife travelled from China to Germany mostly on the Russian Trans-Siberian railway. It is a trip that she still talks about and will never forget. Railway travel in the dying days of the Soviet Empire may have been at times uncomfortable but it made for an adventure. A few years before that, I had taken The Canadian from Toronto to Vancouver and back. It is a five-day long trip one way and a marvelous way to see how varied Canada´s geography is. I did the trip on a small budget and could not afford a sleeping berth. I spent the trip seated--most of the daylight hours sitting in the train´s famous observation cars watching the landscape roll by. It was a journey that I will never forget.

The distance from Barcelona to Paris, about 1100 kilometres, can be flown in about two hours. The train took 12 hours. However, comparing the two methods is not as simple as that. We live about 20 kilometers outside of Barcelona in the opposite direction of the airport. So if we fly and we want to arrive at the airport the recommended two hours prior to takeoff we have to leave our house about three hours before departure time. On our previous trip to Paris the airline flew out of Girona airport about an hour-long taxi ride from our home. In Girona boarding the aircraft was a disorganized free for all. At the other end of the flight we landed in Beauvais, an hour by bus from Paris. Once in Paris we were still some distance from our accommodation. Even though we left our home at five in the morning it was afternoon by the time we reached central Paris.

For us the train was more convenient for a number of reasons. We took the bus from our town to Barcelona and then a short subway ride to the Estacio de Franca. With our cabin pre-assigned there was no need to line up early. Security was unobtrusive and quick. You can arrive at the station five minutes before departure and not be denied boarding. Border controls involve surrendering your passports to the train staff to be returned to you a couple of hours before arriving at your destination. At arrival you have your baggage already with you. It is an overnight trip and you sleep comfortably for most of it. You arrive early and rested, and ready to go and play the part of a tourist and not of a walking zombie. The terminus of the tren hotel in Paris was the Gare d´Austerlitz with the subway right there. It was a twenty minute subway ride to our Paris accommodations.

Several years ago we took another family train trip from Toronto to New York City and back. That trip was during daylight hours. The scenery along that route is always changing and fascinating. At times it is spectacular especially as the train traces the east bank of the Hudson River from Albany to New York. If you have ever seen the Hitchcock film North by North-West you would be familiar with that part of the trip.

The trip up to Paris had been so pleasant that we were all looking forward to the return to Barcelona. Next time Paris by train.

Lake Ontario's 8-Metre Fleet

2010-10-11T16:10:00.011+02:00

The 8-Metre yacht Bangalore of the Royal Canadian Yacht Club.

It is the last day of racing at the Royal Canadian Yacht Club’s Royal Week Regatta coinciding with the Labour Day weekend. Out on Lake Ontario, it is warm and sunny, but the light and variable winds are causing trouble for the crews of more than 30 racing yachts as their crews jockey for the favoured end of the start line. The yachts are divided into several fleets based on their sizes and ratings. The staggered starts of the fleets have various groups of boats step up to the starting line while others hang back awaiting their turns. The boats criss-crossing behind the line makes for an impressive spectacle. Finally, the first fleet, consisting of the largest IMS boats, is off. These boats are slab-sided and blunt-bowed fibreglass hulls, the latest in high-tech sailing.

A few minutes later the second fleet starts. In contrast, this fleet consists of wooden hulls with low, sleek sheerlines and profiles with elegant long overhangs. The manner in which the boats of this fleet cut and shoulder through the water it is obvious that they have very heavy displacement hulls. This fleet is made up of some of the most beautiful sailboats anywhere and is also one of the oldest fleets of racing yachts in the world. These yachts make up the unique Lake Ontario 8-Metre fleet. Several of the boats are more than 70 years old. Two of them first raced each other 69 years ago. Thisbe and Quest met in August 1930 across the lake on the waters off Rochester in New York state. During that long-ago summer, 10,000 spectators watched as the two boats duelled for the Canada’s Cup and sailing supremacy of the Great Lakes.

The unique pre-WW II fleet of 8-Metres consists of ten boats at two Toronto area clubs-RCYC and Etobicoke Yacht Club. Although over the years other eights have come and gone. Another pair of more modern Eights sail out of the American side of Lake Ontario. The pedigrees of these Eights represent unique aspects of Canadian and international yacht design and history. For example, the rivalry between Iskareen and Venture II dates back to the 1954 edition of the Canada’s Cup. Conewego, currently under restoration, was design number nine off the drafting table of Olin Stephens and the beautiful lines of Norseman came off the board of William Roue, designer of the famous Nova Scotia schooner Bluenose.

The 8-Metre class, which was based on the International Rule, is not a one-design but represents an early 20th century effort to allow designers some leeway in the design of boats that race without time penalties. Not as well known as the 12-Metres which were used for past America’s Cup racing, the Eights are handier and more suited to the shallower harbours of Lake Ontario. Nevertheless 8-Metres are powerful and fast with superb up-wind capabilities. “You can feel the power of an Eight by the way it rides through the water,” says Bart Meuring, co-owner of Bangalore, a 1928 Norwegian-built Eight. With their full keels they sit deep in the water and are designed to heel 15 or 20 degrees. Most 8-Metres were built strictly for racing and there are few compromises for cruising. “The old Eights were built by craftsmen who put life into those boats,” says Meuring.

Cedric Gyles, who owns and races Norseman, represents the typical 8-metre fanatic. “I’ve been messing about 8-Metres for about 25 years,” say Gyles, “and I’ve had a lot of fun in them.” He first sailed in Eights as a youngster growing up in Vancouver with his father. Later living in the Prairies Gyles did not sail for many years. Moving to Toronto he got back into sailing and he started looking for a boat to buy. He was not impressed with most of the modern boats. “Then I saw the two Eights at RCYC,” he says. “So I went looking for an Eight to buy. I looked in Europe and found nothing, but in 1973 I found Norseman in a boatyard in Sodus Bay (New York) across the lake. It was love at first sight.

Sitting next to Norseman in Sodus Bay was another 8-Metre, Thisbe. “When I came back to Toronto I told Dick Mitchele about her,” says Gyles. “Dick bought Thisbe and then there were four 8-Metres at RCYC." Gyles has a personal connection with two other Lake Ontario Eights. His son is a co-owner of the Scottish-built Severn II and a number of years ago Gyles found Bangalore in Martha’s Vineyard and restored her before selling her to Meuring and his partners.

The origins of the Lake Ontario 8-Metre fleet are tied to the Canada’s Cup, inaugurated in 1896 when the Lincoln Park Club of Chicago challenged RCYC for supremacy of Great Lakes match racing. The Toronto club won the first series with a boat named Canada, hence the name of the trophy. The Chicago Yacht Club won the cup in 1899. It went back to RCYC in 1901. The Rochester Yacht Club won it in 1903 and successfully defended in 1905 and 1907 before the series went into dormancy until RCYC issued a challenge in 1929.

With the 1929 challenge, consideration had to be given as to the type of boat to race the series. In 1928, Commodore George H. Gooderham acquired the first International Rule yacht on the Great Lakes, the Finnish-built Six-Metre Merenneito. It was Merenneito’s impressive performance that led RCYC to suggest using 10-Metres for the Canada’s Cup. Rochester balked at the expense of building a 10-Metre to defend but agreed to go with the 8-Metre class. In fact, both clubs built three Eights each. The first American boat Conewago, was one of Olin Stephen’s earliest designs years before making his mark with a long line of America’s Cup winners. The second Rochester boat, Cayuga, was designed by Frank Paine and financed by public subscription. The final Rochester boat, Thisbe, a Clinton Crane design built in New York City, was simply intended to be a trial horse for the other two. It was Thisbe, however, that won the defender trials.

Meanwhile across the lake, RCYC, had approached the designer of the famous Nova Scotia schooner Bluenose, William Roue to draw up the lines of Norseman. The club built her in the club’s own yard on Toronto Island. The next RCYC boat, Quest was from the design offices of William Fife of Scotland. Fife had been responsible for the design of Canada the first winner of the Canada’s Cup. Quest was built by a yard in Oakville, a few miles west of Toronto, partly from pieces shipped out from the Fife shops. George Gooderham commissioned the final RCYC boat, Vision, designed and built by Camper & Nicholson in the United Kingdom. Quest won the challenger trials.

The 1930 Canada’s Cup between Thisbe and Quest drew tremendous crowds, upwards of 5,000 people in boats and on shore for the first four races. With the series tied at two races each, the fifth and final race was watched by an estimated 10,000. So exciting was the series that RCYC issued another challenge for 1932. RCYC again commissioned Fife to design a challenger, Invader II. Rochester selected Conewego as defender. The two boats met for the Canada’s Cup in 1932 and 1934 with the Americans winning both series. With the continuing depression and the onset of the Second World War the Canada’s Cup went into a 20-year-long hibernation.

In 1954, under the impetus of Norman Walsh, RCYC again issued a challenge for the Canada’s Cup, which had been held by Rochester Yacht Club for more than 50 years. The two clubs agreed to use existing boats but the only 8-Metres then at Rochester and Toronto were considered too outdated and there was a scramble to acquire suitable boats. Both clubs set their hopes acquiring the Olin Stephens-designed and Swedish-built Iskareen. Walsh sent a young engineering student, George Cuthbertson, to Scotland to chase up Iskareen. Cuthbertson, who later went on to establish C&C Yachts, found that Iskareen had been bought hours before his arrival via cable from a Rochester member. “We later found out that they had picked up word of my excursion,” says Cuthbertson, “had acted sight unseen.”

“I reported to Norm by telephone and he asked me what I thought we should do,” recalls Cuthbertson. “I replied that several of the Eights in Sweden perhaps merited a look.” Walsh told Cuthbertson to go ahead and have a look at the Swedish Eights. Unfortunately, there were none that, in Cuthbertson’s opinion, could match Iskareen. Back in Toronto, Walsh and Cuthbertson conferred on what to do. Cuthbertson studied all of the available data and suggested that the next best boat Venture II, an E. Arthur Shuman design, then in Detroit should be investigated. Both Iskareen and Venture II had built in 1938 and were considerably advanced technically over the older Eights used in the Canada’s Cup.

After Walsh had acquired Venture II, he set Cuthbertson to design and implement upgrades to her. They replaced the heavy wooden mast and lightened the hull. “She was ruthlessly stripped of anything that could be eliminated,” says Cuthbertson. Venture II was outfitted with one of the first suits of Dacron synthetic sails on the Great Lakes, although, a fine set of cotton sails was obtained as a hedge. Venture II dominated the challenger trails, winning eight straight races against Vision and Invader II. In the 1954 Canada’s Cup series, Iskareen won the first race. “In the next race, Venture II evened the series which saw the lead change five times,” says Cuthbertson. Eventually, the Canadian boat won the series and brought the Canada’s Cup back to the north shore of Lake Ontario for the first time in 53 years. There was another hiatus, this time 15 years long, before the Cup was again contested in 1969.

The break did not do much for the 8-Metre fleet, but in anticipation of the 1969 series, Eugene Van Voorhis of the Rochester Yacht Club commissioned Olin Stephens to design Iroquois. This new Eight was essentially a scaled-down version of Stephens’ revolutionary 12-Metre Intrepid. Unfortunately for Van Voorhis, RCYC pulled the rug out from under him and changed the deed of gift for the Canada's Cup dropping the 8-Metre class. On the other hand Iroquois was the forerunner of a number of “modern” Eights that appeared on the American side of Lake Ontario. The Van Voorhis family raced Iroquois for several seasons before selling her to Finnish owners.

In the late 1960s, without the impetus of the Canada’s Cup, the Lake Ontario 8-Metre fleet floundered. Some of the boats were sold to European owners while others were left neglected in boatyards. By 1971 there were only two Eights in racing condition on the lake, although Joe Balogh was in the process of restoring the venerable Quest and it was just about that time that Cedric Gyles found Norseman and Thisbe in Sodus Bay. Since then, Lake Ontario has again become one of the most active 8-Metre venues in the world.

So important is the Lake Ontario fleet that the 8-Metre World Cup regattas alternate between the lake and a European venue. The last Lake Ontario World Cup was hosted by the Rochester Yacht Club in 1999. At the World Cup Regattas, two trophies are contested, the Sira Cup for vintage boats built before World War II, and the World Cup itself for the fastest overall Eight regardless of age. All the boats race together and occasionally the older heavier boats beat some of the newer. Last year’s World Cup regatta at Porto St. Stefano had more than two dozen Eights show up.

The Lake Ontario fleet is centered in Toronto, but there are several modern Eights on the American side of the lake. These modern Eights of either fibre-glass or cold-moulded wood construction are of lighter displacement and easily leave the vintage Eights behind. Unfortunately, the state of the American 8-Metre fleet is not at all promising. “The only boat that was out sailing last summer was The Natural out of Sodus Bay,” says Joel Roemer, North American Secretary of the International 8-Metre Association. In 1998, Roemer organized a match race series at the Rochester Yacht Club that saw Ted Turner take the helm of several vintage and modern Eights. The event’s special guest was Olin Stephens, who was able to inspect his two designs, Conewego and Iskareen. It was the first time that Stephens had seen Iskareen.

Two modern American Eights were lost to Lake Onatrio last summer. The Rochester boat Octavia–a Bruce Kirby design built in Canada–was sold to owners on Lake Michigan. “Ron Palm of Oswego sold Sarissa at dockside at the World Cup in St. Stefano,” says Roemer, “but on the other hand Palm also recently bought Mystery (formerly Triage) and has refurbished her.” The only other American Eight on Lake Ontario is Golden Feather and she did not race last summer.

There had been some talk of using 8-Metres to contest the next Canada’s Cup series set for this summer. “We tried to push for Eights in the Canada’s Cup but it did not work out,” says Gyles, who is involved in negotiations with the current holders of the Cup, the Bayview Yacht Club of Detroit. From his prospective on the American side of the border, Joel Roemer thinks that using the Eights for the Canada’s Cup would be great. “If the Canada’s Cup went with 8-Metres it would really revive the 8-Metre scene on this side of the lake,” says Roemer. The most likely boat to be chosen for the Cup is the Farr 40.

In any case, Cedric Gyles remains enthusiastic about the future of 8-Metres on Lake Ontario, especially the Canadian fleet of vintage boats. “We could well have nine or 10 boats on the start line next summer,” he says. “The future looks promising with so many young people coming into the fleet.” Gyles’ crew bank of a dozen or so includes some of his grandchildren. Gyles was pleased to see Venture II back racing last summer after many years of being used as a family day sailor. Although Etobicoke Yacht Club’s Jackeen was not raced, her owners have recently acquired a sister ship, Ace, and are restoring her. With dedicated owners and crew, the Lake Ontario 8-Meter fleet will continue to flourish.

(I wrote this article for Canadian Yachting magazine in 2001.)

Message From Raimon

2010-09-22T11:59:00.000+02:00

In 1960 my family traded one world for another when we emigrated to Canada. Through the mail we maintained a very tenuous connection with Catalonia. My aunt would from time to time mail us packages. Usually the packages were rolls of Spanish newspapers and magazines wrapped in brown paper and covered with lots of stamps. Presumably my aunt thought that the magazines and newspapers would be of interest to my parents at a time when news from Spain was hard to get through the Canadian media. It was like receiving packages of cultural sustenance, the newspapers and magazines to be thumbed through for months after they had been received. For my sisters and me the arrival of a package from Spain was a great event because the space in the centre of the roll would be packed with candy and the type of liquorice that could not be had in Canada.

Sometime in 1963 we were surprised when instead of a roll, a boxed package arrived. In addition to the newspapers and magazines the box contained several records. I am not sure how many there were but it was probably a half dozen or so. Now, those records were quite a novelty because they were all in Catalan. Under the Franco regime’s strict control of the Spanish media the Catalan language was rarely heard or even seen in a public forum. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s there were no Catalan-language newspapers and very few books published, and there was no Catalan radio or television. So the arrival of a batch of Catalan recordings was unexpected. For me as a seven-year-old, there was little novelty, as the language at home was Catalan. What was the fuss about? The recordings were a varied lot, children’s stories, and for adults non-political comedy, but there was one record of music. That record, or rather the photograph on the cover sleeve left a long lasting impression on me.

I listened to the music on that record but for someone whose only sources of spoken Catalan were his parents, I had difficulty understanding the singer’s words. In any case, if I could not understand the words I would not remember the tune either. Again, it was the photograph on the cover sleeve that fascinated me. I remember looking at that photograph many times because I thought that there was a story in the image, perhaps even a message for me.

In the foreground stands a young man next to a weathered wooden door set into a brick wall that recedes into the background. The man is wearing a coarse woollen sweater and has a guitar tucked under his left arm. He stares at the camera with sad looking eyes and he seems out of place in the bleak surroundings. What always caught my attention when I studied the photograph was the little boy in the background staring up at the man with the guitar.

The boy would have been about the same age as me. He is leaning forward while pulling on a rope attached to the wall. The boy does not seem to be especially unhappy but he has a sad wistful look in his face. He seems to be part of the neighbourhood, a poor part of some tough town, I thought. His clothing is coarse and it looked shabby and worn. Who was the little boy? It made me sad to look at the photograph. I had the odd thought that the little boy in the photograph could have been me, if we had stayed in Spain.

The man with the guitar was Ramon Sanchis better known as Raimon a Catalan singer originally from the province of Valencia. The record was in fact an EP, an extended play disc, the same size as the old 45s, and it contained four songs including al Vent, translated from Catalan as The Wind. Raimon was part of La Nova Canco, or the New Song movement, and al Vent was one of the most important expressions of the genre. The singers and musicians of La Nova Canco had taken to promoting the Catalan language through music and challenging the Spanish dictatorship. They directly provoked the post-civil war Franco regime with songs that had somewhat obtuse meanings but whose messages were readily understood by the Catalan public. La Nova Canco enabled Catalans to gently promote and protect their ancient language and further their aspirations for greater freedom. There were parallels with the folk movement in English-speaking countries and, later in the decade, to the protest movements in North American and Western Europe.

As a boy I had no inkling of La Nova Canco. During the 1960s Spain was a very long way from Canada. For some reason my aunt had thought it important enough to send a copy of Raimon’s record. Growing up in Canada I was only vaguely aware of what had happened and what was going on in Spain. My parents had both lived through the civil war and its aftermath and they would have understood the implications of the words of al Vent. They had made a choice to move to Canada and had no intention of going back. Still there was always the thought of what life would have been like if they had stayed put. For a long time whenever I looked at the little boy in the photograph on the cover of Raimon’s EP it was if I was looking through a window into another place and time. What would life have been like if other choices had been made?

All this came to mind a few days ago when I visited an exhibition at the Museu d’Historia de Catalunya entitled La Nova Canco; la veu d’un poble—the New Song; the Voice of a People. Marking the fiftieth anniversary of the movement, the exhibition underlined Raimon's importance. Of course there was a copy of Raimon's EP, the little boy still staring up at the singer. The exhibition notes stated that the photograph had been taken on a February day in Barcelona’s Raval neighbourhood, one of the city’s poorest and toughest. For those who grew up in Catalonia in the 1950s and 1960s La Nova Canco had a different meaning than it did for me. I was living in a different world and while Raimon’s song made little impression on me, I am just old enough to remember the Beatles’ two live appearances on the Ed Sullivan Show early in 1964.

A Weekend Crossing to Majorca

2010-08-04T12:49:00.002+02:00

This past weekend I was invited to sail with some friends to Porto de Soller on Majorca's northwest coast. From Vilassar de Dalt, the island lies due south of us at about 120 nautical miles. I have read and heard several times that on a clear day it is possible to see Majorca from the higher peaks of the Maresme. Walking in the mountains above Vilassar I often take binoculars but still I have never seen the island. Presumably some of the clouds that we can see from our apartment when we look south hang over Majorca. The island had remained unseen but its presence is somehow felt.

There were ten boats from Premia de Mar's Club Nautic that were to make the trip together. We were late getting away on Friday evening. One of the crew, Paul who is chronically late but seems completely oblivious to the consternation this causes amongst family, friends and colleagues, did not show until about quarter to eight. We should have left much earlier, the plan being that the slower boats leave an hour or so before the bigger and faster boats. Tony's boat a 31-footer should have left first. Some of the other boats in the "Premia flotilla" were 46-footers.

Unfortunately, the wind was on the nose and it remained so all the way. From Premia de Mar the course to Soller is almost due south. We steered, or rather the autopilot steered about 175 degrees true. Of course with the wind on the nose our speed was going to be slow. The distance to be covered port to port was 118 nautical miles.

For dinner that evening Sev had made an enpannada a typical Galician dish, essentially a large pocket of bread stuffed with meat, vegetables and eggs. Micheal, and his 11-year old son John, brought a large tomato salad, the ingredients coming from their garden.

The seas were a little confused and there was a bit of hobby-horsing into the head sea but it was not uncomfortable. I was a little worried about my sea legs but I had no trouble. After midnight we split into shifts of two hours and the time went quickly. The night passage was uneventful, except for having to steer round a slow moving trawler, there was little of consequence.

Tony made up breakfast of fried eggs and bacon. It has been a long time since I've had that combination. After the previous evening's dinner and then breakfast we seemed to be eating our way to Majorca.

Micheal and John came to fish and fish they did. Not long after breakfast they had their first strike. With Tony's coaching Micheal reeled in the fish, a tuna of about 6 kilograms. Tony demonstrated his ability with spear, knife and axe and the fish was quickly cut down to size. And a couple of hours later we lunched on it.

There were a couple of lost fish in the afternoon all hooked by Micheal. Our host had no bites on his line.

From mid-day Saturday the high mountains that form the long ridge along Majorca's north coast gradually sharpened into view. The upper peaks were, however, streaked with clouds. The coast is wild and stark. Steep slopes and sheer cliffs fall into the sea.

As we neared Soller we crossed a school of dolphins at right angles to our course. We followed them for a bit and some did come to the boat but they were mostly intent on following their own way and they soon disappeared.

The approaches to Majorca are easy with no outlying hazards and we motored right up to the entrance to Soller. The harbour itself is hidden behind the cliffs and mountains and only a few houses and the two lighthouses either side of the entrance give it away from seaward. Once inside you find a circular basin surrounded by mountains. There is an anchorage facing the mouth of the harbour that must be uncomfortable in a north wind and swell. There is a beach of sorts most of the way around the harbour. It was packed with people and plenty were swimming too.We had reservations at the municipal marina. The dock attendant spoke to us in the strongly accented Catalan of the islands.

There were a number of boats flying the red ensign and a smaller number of French-flagged boats. After mooring we went to find the other boats from Premia. Soller is a tourist town. Lots of restaurants and gift shops catering to the trade. There is a small commercial fishing fleet. There is also a small naval base but there were no vessels present. One of the books we have here at home written by an American who cruised these waters in the 1950s says that there were submarines stationed in Soller.

One of the interesting features of the Port de Soller is the tram line that runs along the rim of the harbour. The town of Soller is actually some distance inland from the port. The tram line is a century old and was built to take the fishermen home to the town proper.

The Premia flotilla had reservations for dinner at one of the restaurants facing the harbour. There were 30 people at our table. I was unable to do justice to the meal as we had already eaten so much just getting to Majorca. The owner asked if there was something wrong with the meal. And I apologized for not finishing it. He noted my accent and thought that I was French. He himself was from Normandy.

Short on sleep during the crossing the crew was in bed by mid-night and most asleep as heads hit their respective pillows. In the morning we took the tram into the town of Soller. The locals get to ride for free but the tourists have to pay four euros each way for the privilege. Perhaps Barcelona's transit system could be run on a similar basis. The town is not so tourist focused and that was nice. There is also a rail connection from Soller to Palma on a narrow-gauge railway. The equipment is splendidly maintained, as if in a museum, but very old.

We left for the trip back to Premia around three, we had a pause for a swim and by four we were heading back for good. There were several interruptions to the trip because of the fishing. The wind was again mostly on the nose but at times were were able to get some extra speed with the main and genoa both flying.

We did set a record with one fish. From the time it was caught to the moment it was served for dinner I estimated that less than 45 minutes had elapsed. We ate our way back to Premia.

Again an uneventful crossing back home. There was some wind that had clocked around so that the sails did actually contribute to the effort but we kept the engine on most of the time. We arrived back in Premia de Mar by three o'clock on Monday afternoon.

The Great Lakes Storm of November 1913

2010-07-25T20:38:00.002+02:00

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy.

Gordon Lightfoot, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald

The Great Lakes Storm of November 1913

Ever since the arrival of Europeans in the 16th century the Great Lakes of North America have witnessed literally thousands of ship wrecks. Many of those wrecks sank as a result of the furious storms that develop over the mid-western regions of the continent and sweep across the Great Lakes. Most of the wrecks involved small vessels with little or no loss of life and have long been forgotten. Others are well known and have become legendary. Among the more famous wrecks is that of the Edmund Fitzgerald, which foundered on Lake Superior in a November 1975 gale. One of the most sought after wrecks, inspiring speculation ever since her loss, is the Griffon which La Salle had built. The Griffon disappeared in 1679 on Lake Huron—likely as a result of a late summer storm.

November is the worst month for storms on the Great Lakes. A four-day long storm in November 1869 sank almost a hundred ships and killed an unknown number of sailors. Most of the lost ships were schooners and barques but several were large steamers. In 1905 a late-November storm sank or damaged almost two dozen ships and killed almost three dozen sailors. On Remembrance Day (Armistice Day in the United States) 1940 a blizzard struck the mid-west and sunk five vessels on Lake Michigan and took the lives of almost 70 sailors. But the most destructive storm to ever hit the Great Lakes was in November 1913. It took the lives of 235 sailors and sank almost 40 vessels, including some of the largest freighters.

Its fury and intensity, along with the ensuing loss of life and property, has bestowed a legendary status on the great storm of November 1913. No other event before or since has caused so much devastation to shipping on the Great Lakes. The location of most of the wrecks caused by the storm have long been known, the majority having occurred on Lake Huron, but the discovery in the summer of 2000 of a lost wreck has reawaken interest in the event. The wreck of the S.S. Wexford was found lying upright in about 23 metres (75 feet) of water near St. Joseph, Ontario. It was discovered by an angler using a fish finder.

S.S. Wexford

During the Storm and over the following days, the bodies of 56 sailors washed up on the eastern shore of Lake Huron between Southampton and Grand Bend, Ontario. The dead crewmen frozen and battered after their wind-blown journeys across the lake, were found amongst the debris of their ships. Among the bodies were some of the crew of the Wexford. An old photograph shows a priest making the sign of the cross over the body of sailor clad in a life jacket as another body lies in the foreground. Five unidentified sailors were buried in a common grave in Goderich but most of the sailors who died in that storm are entombed in their ships.

Other storms have been as intense, or even more so, but most have come and gone in a matter of hours. The November 1913 storm lasted six days. It developed out of two storm fronts colliding over the western section of the Great Lakes basin. On November 6 a low pressure system pushed across from the south-west. The next day an Arctic air mass from the north-west moved into the Great Lakes area bringing with it lower than usual temperatures. Warm and moist air sitting over the lakes combined to produce high winds. By November 8, storm warnings were posted across the Great Lakes region. During the storm, gusts as high as 90 mph (145 kph) were recorded at some shore stations. As the weather disturbance advanced across the Great Lakes, the winds shifted from the south-west to the north-west. The change brought lower temperatures and blowing snow with blizzard conditions.

The winds picked up over the next few days. By Sunday November 9, winds were averaging about 60 mph (97 kph) with gusts up to 70 mph (113 kph) at several shore stations on Lake Huron and probably even higher offshore. The gale force winds threw up huge waves that took their terrible toll. On Lake Superior, the Henry B. Smith, a 525-foot (160 metres) long ore carrier attempted to outrun the storm but was eventually overwhelmed by the wind and waves, eventually foundering in Kenweenaw Bay with the loss of her entire 23-man crew. Also on Lake Superior, the Leafield an Algoma Central freighter and her 18-man crew disappeared without a trace in the relatively protected waters of Thunder Bay. The losses on Lake Superior, however, were small compared to what was to happen on Lake Huron.

At the onset of the storm a number of ships on Lake Superior were able to make it through the storm tossed water to the safety of Sault Ste. Marie. Chastened by their harrowing experience, most of the skippers chose to sit out the rest of the bad weather at dockside in the “Soo”. A few, unfortunately, decided that the worst was over and proceeded south on Lake Huron. For the most part, the ships sailing south with the wind aft survived, but it was a different story at the other end of the lake. At Sarnia and Port Huron, several ships set out pushing against the rising wind and waves, their captains having no idea of the horrendous conditions that had developed on Lake Superior. They soon had second thoughts. Late on November 8 and the early hours of the 9th, the up bound ships found themselves ploughing into 35-foot (10 metres) high waves.

By mid-day on Sunday November 9, the two weather systems had coalesced into a single massive disturbance centred over the U.S. south-east. Moisture from the Atlantic was sucked into the vortex from one side while cold Arctic air poured in from the other. The resulting snow and high winds caused havoc not just on the lakes but also on their surrounding shores. Snowfalls of over 2 feet (0.6 metres) fell on many communities. The wind piled up snowdrifts that in some places reached more than 7 feet (2 metres). Blocked roads, together with downed power and telegraph lines, cut off towns and villages from each other, creating a sense of isolation across the whole of the Great Lakes region. Not for several days after the storm would the full extent of the damage be known.

Meanwhile, out on Lake Huron, the ships struggling north from the mouth of the St. Clair River were overwhelmed one after the other. Blowing snow and spray created conditions of near zero visibility. The lake’s notoriously short and steep seas tossed and twisted the ships, rolling them onto their beam ends, causing their loads to shift and, finally, capsizing them.

By late Sunday, shipping losses included five large ships on Lake Superior, three on Lake Michigan and ten on Lake Huron. By Monday, the storm had blown itself out although gale-force winds continued to sweep over the lakes, especially on lakes Erie and Ontario. The storm took one final victim on Lake Erie, US Lightship Number 82—actually anchored in Canadian waters—guarding the approaches to Buffalo. Wind and waves overwhelmed it sometime on Monday, sending it and its crew to the bottom.

In the storm’s aftermath, a grisly scene greeted searchers on the eastern shores of Lake Huron. The frozen corpses of sailors of sailors had been thrown up here and there onto the beaches. Fifty-six bodies were recovered during week after the storm. Most were readily identified and claimed by relatives. Many of the bodies were clad in their life jackets with the names of the lost ships neatly stencilled on. As the winds shifted, other bodies were blown back into the lake and sank long before any could make to the American shore. The five unidentified corpses found near Goderich were buried in the town graveyard after a solemn funeral service and procession through the town on November 16.

During the proceeding days a bizarre drama was played out on Lake Huron. During and after the storm, several ships had reported an upturned hull floating on the lake north of Port Huron, the bow of the unidentified vessel awash. On November 15, the waters were calm enough for a diver to go down and identify the drifting ship. It was the Charles S. Price. She had likely rolled over so quickly that enough air had been trapped inside to keep her from sinking. Despite several attempts to keep her afloat, the Price finally sank.

S.S. Charles S. Price

As the storm clouds receded from over the Great Lakes, life slowly returned to normal. The winds fell and the waters calmed. The shipping season was now almost over. Weeks later, the Lake Carriers’ Association released a survey of its members, reporting that none had ever experienced a storm of such intensity. In the decades since, other storms have come and gone but none as devastating as the one that hit the lakes in November 1913.

(This story was originally published in Maritime magazine in 2001)

FC Barcelona vs the World Cup

2010-06-27T19:40:00.003+02:00

By simply living in Catalonia one becomes a fan of FC Barcelona, the great football club. Most people in Catalonia follow the club's ups and downs. For most of the last decade it has been mostly a lot of ups as the club has had arguably its greatest string of successes. In the four years since we have been here it has been fun to have become a fan. This is especially so since back in Toronto the city's professional ice hockey team has not won the league championship in more than forty years. It's a lot more fun to back a winner than a loser.

Whenever FC Barcelona plays the bars here in Vilassar de Dalt fill up. For big matches, such as games against arch-rival Real Madrid, it is standing room only. Even if we don't go to the bar at the end of our street, it is possible to follow the game, at least the goals. The cheering and hollering are intense and we can hear the noise from our apartment even with the windows closed. Someone in town maintains a supply of fireworks for celebrating every Barça goal and win. Little children, and adults too, wear the club's shirts with the name of their favourite Barça player stencilled on the back. People are football mad here, or least I thought so until the World Cup started earlier this month.

Back in Toronto, the World Cup is a huge event mostly because of the Canadian city's ethnic diversity. It helps that Canada itself has never competed in the World Cup even though the game is popular. If Canada did qualify, would anyone cheer for the team? Toronto is the place to really enjoy the World Cup. Look at the list of the 32 countries that are represented in this year's tournament and most have sizable communites of expats in Toronto. Some of those communities are larger than others. During the 20th century huge numbers of Italians, Portugese, Britons and Dutch immigrated to Canada. Dictatorships, civil wars and economic woes during the last decades of the 20th century attracted Chileans, Hondurans, Mexicans, Argentinians and Uruguayans to Canada. In Toronto every team has its supporters but if your preferred team fails to advance you can pick another and find a group of its supporters to party with.

Here in Catalonia, however, there is a very remarkable lack of interest in the World Cup. It is very disappointing. Spain may be one of the favourites but here in darkest Catalonia very few people are following the tournament. Of course this has all to do with Catalan nationalism. Catalanists will not support a Spanish team even though at least a third of the players are from this region. The World Cup is about the best footballers in the world playing each other but that has not filled up our local bar where I find myself watching the games virtually by myself. Even when Argentina plays with Barça's star player Leo Messi on the pitch, there are hardly any people watching the game.

Not all the bars in Vilassar are so empty during the games. In the lower part of town where there are more immigrants from other parts of Spain there is attention being paid to the tournament. On Tuesday when Spain plays Portugal I will try one of those bars. At least I'll have some company. So perhaps Barça fans are not football fans, they are simply Barça fans.

Roman Remains--Vilassar De Dalt

2010-06-12T20:08:00.001+02:00

At about eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning in October a couple of hundred people are gathered on a patch of level ground on the southern extremity of Vilassar de Dalt. The area of bare red earth looks like a construction site with red and white caution tape strung across different parts of what will be an athletic field including an oval running track. In fact it is a construction site but for now it is also an archaeological site. The crowd has gathered to examine the remains of several Roman-era graves and storage silos that were found in what will be the infield of the track. The tour is under the guidance of a group of professional archaeologists and volunteers from Can Banus, Vilassar’s municipal museum.

The site is located on the lower slopes of Vilassar about a kilometre above the autopista, the toll highway that runs parallel to the coast. To the north and uphill from the site sits the new public school built to accommodate Vilassar’s growing number of children. The school was built on what was once Vilassar’s old football pitch. The new athletic field is being built on the same site as the old track. During our first winter in Vilassar when early nightfall kept me from running on the mountain I used to run on the old track. During the last two winters I have had to find other places to run during the hours of darkness. Construction in Spain is very slow. Now completion of the new track is likely in the next few months.

From an archaeological point of view the site is interesting because it combines elements of a necropolis with evidence of past agricultural activity. According to our guides the remains of about 30 people have been found including several children. Some of the skeletal remains seem to have been placed in previously existing graves indicating that the site was used as a burial ground over a long period of time perhaps three or four centuries. Testing to ascertain the age of the various human remains has still to be completed.

The agricultural remains include several sitges, in-ground silos for the storage of grain. Several other silos were especially prepared to store liquids such as wine and olive oil. The remains of a furnace for the firing of ceramics have also been identified along with several pit pits where very likely clay was taken out of the ground.

That archaeological remains have been found on the site is not surprising. About fifty years ago some human remains also dating from the Roman era were found under the old football pitch, now under the new school. And, during the construction of the new school work was delayed because still more remains were found.

Vilassar de Dalt’s location must have attracted human settlement from the earliest times. The south facing slopes of the Serralada Litoral, a mountain range of low peaks running parallel to the coast, gently fall away to the Mediterranean which helps to moderate the climate. In Roman times the Maresme, as this area of Catalonia is called, was famous as a source of wine, much of it exported to Rome. Many retired soldiers were given land and settled in the area. The indigenous Iberic population seems to have been easily and willingly Romanized.

Most of the crowd that has shown for the tour up is made up of familiar faces. The political core of the town is represented by the mayor, those who want to be mayor and most of the municipal councillors. The citizenry that has turned up is made of a hard core of Vilassarophiles who tend to show up at these civic events. My wife and I call them the usual suspects. These people have a strong sense of pride in their town, revel in its history and value its sense of community. They care about what goes on. The families of most of these people have been linked to Vilassar de Dalt for several generations. They have known each other all of their lives. Most grew up and went to school together. Now they perhaps commute to work in Barcelona or Mataro but for all of them Vilassar is home. The mayor once told us that at least half of the working age people living in Vilassar actually work in the town itself. That is because Vilassar unlike most of the small towns that straddle the flanks of the Serralada Litoral has both a diverse industrial base and a significant amount of agricultural activity. It is a place to live and work in.

It is nothing new because even in Roman times the area that is now Vilassar boasted a diverse economic base that mixed agriculture and, surprisingly, some important manufacturing. The year before on another guided visit arranged by the municipal museum we viewed the excavation of a Roman villa located very close to the autopista. The villa was the centre of a large farm. And the remains of the villa are under what is still used as agricultural land. In Roman times the Maresme, as this area of Catalonia is called, was famous as a source of wine, much of it exported to Rome.

Vilassar de Dalt’s most public, possibly most important, archaeological remains are Els Forns Romans, the Roman Ovens. This is group of three ovens that were used to fire ceramic objects for everyday use such as amphora, containers and roofing tile. The ovens were found in an area of Vilassar that had always been known as the Fornaca. Some sort of historical memory had kept the name Fornaca alive for most of two millennium without anyone knowing why. When the ovens were discovered about twenty years ago they were thought to be unique and important enough that a special effort was made to preserve them. A stone and steel structure now protects the ovens from the elements while allowing public access to view them. The ceramics produced by the ovens of the Fornaca would have been sold to the surrounding farms, homesteads and towns. Presumably, the local wines would have been sent to the centre of the empire shipped in amphora made in Vilassar.

The Romans arrived in the Iberian peninsula in 218 B.C. when their army landed in Empuries near the present-day French border, in response to a threat from Carthage during the Second Punic War. The Roman army marched south along the Catalan coast to face the Carthagians south of the Ebro River. Along the way they would had marched past the narrow coastal plain between Vilassar and the Mediterranean. Although it took the Romans a century to completely occupy the peninsula the Maresme area of Catalonia quickly became an important part of the empire. The Via Augusta provided a land link with Rome. In the region of the Maresme the Via Augusta split into two routes, one on either side of the Serrelada Litoral. The coastal branch cut across the southern part of modern day Vilassar de Dalt. Both the excavated Roman villa and the ovens of the Fornaca would have been a few minutes walk from the Via Augusta.

We viewed the remains of several skeletons. The in-ground silos had had their tops broken but their bases seemed to still be intact. Afterwards we were all served drinks, chips and olives. Standing around under the mid-day sun we chatted with acquaintances and friends. After a while the heat got to be too much. Fortunately, it was a short walk home.

La Course en Canots--The Quebec Winter Carnival Ice Canoe Race

2010-06-09T13:37:00.002+02:00

In eighteen years of competing in the Quebec Winter Carnival’s Ice Canoe Race Jacques Anderson remembers the 1993 race as the sweetest. Anderson and his Chateau Frontenac team were one of only two crews to finish the race that year. “We were up at the Chateau Frontenac terrace looking down over the river and we could see the other crews trying to finish.” Ice conditions on the kilometre-wide St. Lawrence River were brutal and when the tide turned two dozen crews were swept up river, unable to make headway over the moving carpet of jumbled and jagged ice. So while most of the crews had made it across to the Levis shore and back to the Quebec City side of the river they were unable to reach the finish line at the Basin Louise.

The desperate crews kept out of the moving ice by tucking in behind piers and indentations along the Quebec side of the river. There they waited for either open water or level ice that would enable them to move quickly enough to move against the five-knot tidal current. The break never came and three hours after the start the officials stopped the race. Meanwhile, Anderson and his crew relaxed, beers in hand, in the regal splendour of the Chateau Frontenac hotel, enjoyed the hospitality of their sponsor and accepted congratulations from friends. “It was a very memorable race,” says Anderson. I have to agree with him because I was part of one of the crews down on the river, waiting for the conditions to change and all the while trying to ward off hypothermia. By all accounts when this year’s edition of La Course en Canots goes on February 4, Chateau Frontenac will again be the team to beat. And Jacques Anderson will be there.

Ice canoeing involves racing lightweight fibreglass boats that are not canoes but rather 30-foot long rowboats and weighing about 230 pounds. Each crew consists of four oarsmen with a fifth crewman in the stern with a canoe paddle to steer. On the ice the crew scooters, inside knees on the seats and outside legs over the sides kicking at the ice to propel the boat forward. Clothing generally matches what a cross-country skier would wear in the same temperatures with the exception of the footwear. Thick neoprene knee-length socks keep feet dry and warm while protecting against bumps to the ice and boat itself. Crampons with inch-long snowmobile spikes allow for sure footing on the ice. Despite the danger of falling in the water, and there is an element of danger, few competitors wear lifejackets—they are too cumbersome.

Ice canoeing is a sport born of a particular set of geographical and cultural factors. It roots go back to the First Nations and the settlement of New France when the only way to cross the St. Lawrence River in winter was by boat or even birch bark canoe—the powerful tides and currents prevent the formation of solid ice. Ideally, open water assured a crew of a swift crossing but if the ice closed in, the crew and sometimes the passengers would climb out and manhandle the boat to the next stretch of open water. Until recently ice canoes continued to be used in certain communities on the lower St. Lawrence. When the Quebec Winter Carnival was established in 1948 an ice canoe race was suggested as an appropriate way to celebrate life on the river.

With this background, an air of cultural commemoration pervades the sport but Anderson downplays that aspect. “We don’t like to focus on legend and folklore,” says Anderson, “not when we designed our last boat with a computer and can spend $150 to test a new wax for a single outing.”

The top teams train year round. Chateau Frontenac’s trainer emphasizes endurance and interval training on land, snow, ice and water. The crew trains on the same rowing machines used by national rowing teams and every three or four weeks each crew member is tested on the rowing machine. Anderson and his crew regularly run up the 400 steps from river level up to the Plains of Abraham or practice scootering their boat across the snow fields of the Plains. Out on the St. Lawrence they perfect their rowing technique and practice bone-jarring scootering amongst expanses of broken ice.

“One of my goals is to pull good athletes from other sports, especially mountain bikers and tri-athletes,” says Anderson, “and it gives me pleasure to transmit my knowledge to newer athletes to ice canoeing.” There will be at least four all-female crews at this year’s race and one of them DMR Consell, consists of athletes who race mountain bikes, run cross country and race kayaks. “In the summer we pursue our individual sports,” says Corinne Bottollier of the DMR team, “but we start training in the ice canoe by the beginning of November.” This is DMR’s third season. “The first year we finished third in most of the races, the second year we were second,” says Bottolier, “and this year we hope to do even better.”

Race organizer Patrick Gagne expects about 25 teams for the 2001 edition of the Carnival race but there will be only one team from outside of Quebec—the Calgary Ice Canoe Team. The city of Calgary has sponsored a crew since 1969, making it the oldest continuously active team. “I would like to see more teams from outside Quebec,” says Gagne, “but I know that it is not easy for crews outside of the area.” In years past teams from the Toronto and Windsor, Ontario, areas had shown up for several years in a row.

It is also expensive to participate.

The cost of equipping a team with a boat, oars, trailer and other associated gear can easily run up to $10,000 in addition to the expense of travelling to the races. That is why most crews try to find a sponsor to cover some of the costs.

The Ice Canoe Race is a great spectacle. If you are in Quebec City on February 4, 2001, make your way down to the harbour and check it out.

I originally wrote this article for the February 2001 issue of Coast magazine.

Sunday, 7 March 2010

2010-03-21T14:10:00.000+01:00

This was the day of the Barcelona Marathon. I am tired but I did finish the course. My time was somewhat disappointing in that I was unable to finish in under four hours. I ran the course in 4 hours, 13 minutes and 52 seconds. My time was almost twice as long as the winner's.
Sunday was a cold day, colder than usual for his time of year. And I suffered from the cold because I should have worn an extra layer of clothing. It would have been more comfortable especially in the parts of the course that were exposed to a head wind.
The first half of the race went reasonably well as I was able to maintain my usual plodding pace. At the halfway mark I was just under a four pace--1 hour 57 minutes 29 seconds. After that and especially after the 30 kilometre mark I gradually faded as my legs felt heavier and heavier. I had no trouble aerobically as I was breathing easily but my thighs seemed to tighten up and it became harder and harder to run. At some point after the 25 kilometre mark I paused to stretch my legs but it had little effect.
Around the 30 kilometre mark I walked fro the first time. Of course the hardest part about walking is that it is so hard to start running again.
The last part of the race was gruesome. It took me almost 16 minutes to run the last 2.2 kilometres
After the race I was in some pain but that lasted for a half hour or so. Later, although I was stiff, I was able to walk reasonably well.

Tuesday, 2 March 2010

2010-03-21T00:48:00.000+01:00

Saturday's long run was still affecting me today. Nothing in aprticular was hurting or especially achy. The exception being an occasional pain in the sole and heel of my left foot. The pain, when I notice it, is dull and very faint and I doubt that it is anything to worry about.
During my short, 40 minutes or so, run today I had a general feeling of tiredness and lethargy, fatigue to be more specific, that caused me to slow up a bit. While running on the Passieg Maritim I felt awkward with a herky-jerky gait. I ran as far as the riera just beyond the foot bridge.

Saturday, 27 February 2010

2010-03-14T14:26:00.000+01:00

After last weekend's fiasco concerning my abbreviated run I was hoping to somehow make up for it today. With a week or so left to go before the marathon I thought that I could still get in a long run without jeopardizing the taper.
In the lead up to my first marathon in 1983 I had put in a long run the weekend prior. Of course I was much younger then and my ability to recover from a strenuous physical effort was much greater. Perhaps putting in a long run at this point was not going to be productive. The psychological benefit of having run at least half the marathon distance, I thought, would be worth it.
So after some careful stretching and the application of vasoline in the right places I set off. I followed my usual route down to Premia, taking care not to run too fast as I warmed up. The weather was agreeable; overcast with a threat of light rain but not cold. I ran in shorts, a polypro long sleeve with a t-shirt over top. I carried my fleece pullover tied round my waist.
At Premia de Mar I stretched again and then set off toward Barcelona. There was hardly any wind. I did not bother to time myself as this was strictly an attempt to put in some mileage. On the other hand I was not feeling particularly fast but I was not uncomfortable either. I had no problem with chaffing.
I followed my regular route to the railway tunnel, then on to Badalona, on to the marina and paused at Sant Adrias de Besos to call home and arrange where and when to meet in Barcelona. Once over the river and in Barcelona I just kept heading toward Placa de Catalunya. I had some water, a beer and a cheese sandwich in a cafe as I waited for the girls.
Total time for the run including stops and pauses was about 2 hours and 25 minutes.

Thursday, 25 February 2010

2010-03-14T13:33:00.000+01:00

Tonight after work I repeated the same route as on Tuesday for my run. It turned out better than expected. I was worried that my legs would be stiff, they were a bit but not as bad as I had feared. As a bonus the weather was warm enough to be able to run in a t-shirt. The jog down to Premia was easy and comfortable. At the sea there was a strong wind blowing from the south at what I estimated to be about 20 to 25 knots. The wind did slow me down on the way out but pushed me along on the return. About a 45 minute run in all.

Tuesday, 23 February 2010

2010-03-14T13:22:00.000+01:00

A short run this evening down to the beach and out 15 minutes and then back to Premia. Then the bus home.

Saturday, 20 February 2010

2010-03-14T13:12:00.000+01:00

The more I think of today's run the frustrated I feel. I had hoped to put in an extra long run, the last one prior to the marathon, of say two and a half hours but it was not to happen. It was cool and sunny morning when I set off full of expectations. Frankly, I expected a problem before I even got to the beach. The problem was chaffing between my legs caused by my shorts. I had forgotten to apply vasoline before setting out. I was running in my heavier pair of black shorts. I have often run with these shorts without a problem but today was somehow different. By the time I had reached Badalona it was quite painful. I stopped running at the Badalona marina. I walked on to the railway station where I took the streetcar into Barcelona. I then took the bus from Placa de Catalunya to Vilassar. It was all very frustrating and only two weeks to go to the marathon.

Thursday, 18 February 2010

2010-03-14T12:54:00.000+01:00

Another short run of less than 50 minutes. The same route as on Tuesday last. The weather is warmer and I deliberately ran without a backpack. I had hoped that the run would have felt more comfortable.

Tuesday, 16 February 2010

2010-03-14T12:48:00.000+01:00

This evening after work I put in another short run of about 50 minutes. I ran down to Premia de Mar and from the railway station I ran out 15 minutes before turning back. I timed the run to catch the 6:20 bus back to Vilassar. It was pleasant to put in such a relatively short run.

Sunday, 14 February 2010

2010-03-14T12:34:00.000+01:00

This morning I went for a long walk with the dog in the mountain overlooking Vilassar. It was a walk of over two hours and so in the afternoon when I went for my run I was a little leery of how it would go. The previous run after a long walk with the dog had been very sluggish. Today's run, however, turned out to be so-so.
It has been a very cold day. There were patches of ice and snow in the mountain but when I got down to the beach I found myself somewhat overdressed.
I was definately fatigued as my time over my usual timed distance was just over 30 minutes. I ran on to the railway station at Badalona where I took the train back to Premia and from there the bus up to Vilassar.
I was weary by the end . The run had been into the wind and eventually I found myself chilled. It took me a while to put on the another layer.

Friday, 12 February 2010

2010-03-14T12:16:00.000+01:00

Today I had a relatively short run of about 50 minutes. It started with my usual jog down tothe beach at Premia de Mar and then along the Passeig Maritim to the riera just past the footbridge of the NII highway. It was a sluggish effort. In particular my thighs felt very stiff. At the riera I turned back and ran to the Premia railway station. As usual I took the bus back up to Vilassar.

Tuesday, 9 February 2010

2010-03-01T20:13:00.000+01:00

It was raining when I ran today after work. All I can say about the run is that I ran the Passieg Maritim to the rail tunnel and then back to Premia and the bus up to Vilassar.

Saturday, 6 February 2010

2010-03-01T20:10:00.000+01:00

Despite two days off I felt as if I had not completely recovered from Wednesday night's sprints. My thighs felt a bit stiff as I set off down the long decline to Premia de Mar. Perhaps I am putting in more mileage than I can handle and that I am to some extent fatigued. Another factor is that today I was sufferring from a cold, not a bad cold, still a bothersome one.
Once I got down to the seashore I had to run into a strong cross-head wind. It was strong enough to significantly slow me down. My time from Premia station to the el Masnou-Mongat line was 30 minutes 35 seconds. That was not a good time at all.
I ran on to the Barcelona side of the rail tunnel and turned back. Timing myself on the return with the wind helping I had almost time. That seemed to confirm that I am fatigued. When I finished I was very weary and tired.
Except for the wind it was a beautiful day. The wind had a bit coolness in it but the sun gave a noticeable warmth. On Friday I weighed myself in trousers and a t-shirt at 71.00 kg. I have lost a bit of weight.

Wednesday,3 February 2010

2010-03-01T18:45:00.000+01:00

I have had two days of rest since Sunday's long run in the mountain. I had considered running on Tuesday after work but by the end of the day I was bone weary and I walked home instead. The rest was welcome and necessary.
So far I have not had any running related injuries and still continue to avoid them but yesterday I developed a problem with my left wrist. Some inflamation developed on the back of the hand. It is a work related problem no doubt. My wife insisted hat I do something about it before it got any worse. The pharmacy around the corner sold braces and I wore it all day at work. It seemed to make things better.
For my run I went up to the park with the cypress trees and did some sprinting on the sidewalk. I did eight laps and called it quits. I am not a sprinter but it was nice to do something different.
The shoes I ran in were the second pair that I bought, lightweight racing pair. The shoe were comfortable and I had no problems with them.
The whole workout including a warm up from the Fornaca took about 40 minutes.

Sunday, 31 January 2010

2010-02-24T20:00:00.000+01:00

In the morning I walked the dog for a couple of hours on the mountain above Vilassar. So when I ran in the afternoon I felt a little burned out especially in the thighs. For the run I went up the "back way" to the Font de Sant Mateu. There was even a tiny dribble of water coming out of the spring. The winter rains have been adding to the ground water. From the spring I ran down to Can Boquet then up past la Roca d'en Toni and on to el Coll de la Gironella. My time was a disappointing 36 minutes 40 seconds. I did have to pause at one point so the time would have been better. After a break and some stretching I returned to Can Boquet and then the long way back to Vilassar via the Cabrils road to finish at Can Rafart. It was a gray overcast day and it rained on me early in the run. This was the second run with my new shoes and they caused me no problems. They were comfortable.

Friday, 29 January 2010

2010-02-24T19:46:00.000+01:00

After work I ran down to Premia de Mar and ran my now regular route along the Passeig Maritim. I timed myself at 29 minutes 40 seconds over the usual segment of the seafront. As I ran I hoped for a better time. I felt that I should have had a better time judging from the way I was running. I ran as far as the rail tunnel before turning back. On the way back I put in five or so sprints. The full moon was helpful for judging the ground after it got dark.

Wednesday, 27 January 2010

2010-02-21T20:08:00.000+01:00

After work I jogged down to Premia and ran along the sea. Before the run I felt somewhat nervous. I timed myself from Premia station to the el Masnou-Mongat line in 29 minutes 35 seconds. I felt that I had run better than that. Perhaps I missed timed the run. I felt a bit stiff during the day likely due to the sprints that I did on Monday evening. Total time for the run today an hour and twenty minutes.

Monday, 25 January 2010

2010-02-21T20:02:00.000+01:00

It was a short run today. I warmed up at the Fornaca and then jogged up to the park with the cypress trees. There I put in some sprints along the adjacent sidewalk. I jogged from one end and then dashed back to the other end. I did seven laps and then headed home. I am not much or a sprinter. The sprints lasted perhaps two minutes. It took me two or three laps before I felt properly warmed up.

Saturday, 23 January 2010

2010-02-21T19:55:00.000+01:00

There was a cool wind from the north-east, generally blowing parallel to the sea shore. It was a cold day but at least the sun was out. I ran my usual warm-up from Vilassar de Dalt down to Premia the Mar. From there I headed out toward Barcelona following my regular route. However, I felt very unmotivated and lethargic and I did not really push myself. I was more interested in putting in the mileage. Instead of turning back at the el Masnou-Mongat line or the rail tunnel I pushed on to Badalona. That way I avoided running back against a head wind. I hopped on to the train at Badalona and returned to Premia de Mar to catch the Vilassar bus. The total time for the run was an hour and a half.

Tuesday, 19 January 2010

2010-02-17T21:24:00.000+01:00

It had been a gray, heavily overcast, day with a steady rain for most of it. By the time I set out to run, just after work, the rain had stopped. With the rain had come some warmer temperatures and I was able to run comfortably in a t-shirt with a long sleeve shirt over top and shorts.
I set off for Premia de Mar and was at the rail station in about 18 minutes. I timed the run from Premia station to the el Masnou-Mongat line. There was a slight head wind and I did not really push the first part. Besides, in some places the Passeig Maritim was very muddy making the footing a bit problematic. By the time I had reached Ocata, and the better surfaces, I was getting some good speed. I did have to watch my footing and slow down when I crossed the riera just beyond the el Masnou harbour. I had very good speed on the last section over the paving stones. My time was, however, disappointing at 29 minutes 35 seconds. The slow pace at the start and having to dodge puddles had something to do to the time.
I ran on to the rail tunnel just beyond the Mongat Nord station. I did a bit of stretching and back I went. The return was better than usual although I was tiring noticeably in the last half of the return. Also I had some trouble in the dark judging the ground and avoiding the puddles was even harder. Despite that I seemed to be able to maintain a better usual average speed. I was tired and achy in the hips but not so bad as some of the runs over the same distance of a month or so ago.

Sunday, 17 January 2010

2010-02-07T21:15:00.000+01:00

I felt sufficiently recovered from yesterday's run to try again today. In the morning I had a leisurely walk with the dog. We, or rather I, spotted a pheasant in the tall grass. I had to draw the dog's attention to the it by throwing dog biscuits toward the bird. The dog found the biscuit but head down it failed to see the bird ten feet from it. The bird finally lost its nerve and flew up and away. It was a hunting day and the pheasant flew down toward the town and with the hope of surviving the day.
In the afternoon I felt ready for another run and I wanted to run in the mountain. At about half past two I set off in a slight drizzle. A low cloud covered the mountain from an elevation of 300 metres so that the whole ridge was covered in fog.
I went up the back way via the Turo d'en Cases to the Font de Sant Mateu. The road was quite muddy in places but the footing was never a problem. I timed myself from Sant Mateu to el Coll de la Gironella. Normally, I had run this distance in the other direction and theorectically I should have been faster today. This is because Sant Mateu is at a higher elevation than the Coll de la Gironella. My time was 34 minutes 35 seconds. The best that I had done in the other direction has been 34 minutes 55 seconds.
I ran with what I that was a good pace and did not push myself. The rain and fog gave me some trouble by fogging up my glasses and in a few places I had to be careful of my footing. So that slowed me up a bit. I finished the run by returning to Can Boquet and down to town by the Cami de la Costa. Total run was about one hour and 45 minutes.

Saturday, 16 January 2010

2010-02-02T22:19:00.000+01:00

I had hoped to run on Friday after work but I had to stay and help out with some business. By the time I was done it was late and I was in no mood to run. However, I was able to run this morning. Around half past nine I set off down to Premia de Mar, holding back a bit so as to have a good warm up. In fact, I seemed to get down to Premia a little bit faster than usual. I timed myself from Premia station to the el Masnou-Mongat line in about 28 minutes and 20 seconds running into a headwind to boot.
After reaching the line I went on for another ten minutes or so to the Barcelona side of the railway tunnel. There I stretched and took some water before heading back. I knew it was going to be slow going back. Timing the return leg of my timed section in almost exactly 30 minutes, even with the tail wind. The legs felt heavy around the thighs. By the time I got back to Premia station I was very tired. The total time for the workout was about an hour and 40 minutes. Estimate the distance covered to be about 18 kilometres.

Wednesday, 13 January 2010

2010-01-31T19:33:00.000+01:00

I had been thinking that it was time for a change. Running laps at the Fornaca has become unbearable. I do not understand how people can train on treadmills day after day. I suppose it is no worse than the rowing machines I have had to train on in the past. I have not been running on the mountain because it is too dark to properly see the road by six o'clock, much too soon after work to get in a proper workout.
I had been thinking that perhaps running down to the sea would solve my dilemma. The light should last longer out in the open away from the shadows of the trees that are part of the problem of running on the mountain. Once it was dark possibly there the street lights from the adjacent N-II roadway would light the way. In fact it tuned out that almost the whole way of the Passeig Maritm is lit by the street lights of the N-II or from lights along the path itself.
I had also been worried that I would be running by myself along the Passeig Maritim, however, even in the dark the passeig is a busy place. There were plenty of other runners, strollers, couples even single women and cyclists. There are lots of fishermen spaced along the beach.
So after work I set off down to Premia de Mar and then on to the el Masnou-Mongat line. I did not time my normal section of beach. Before going off I was frustrated by the minimal amount of running that I had managed to get in the previous week. My rythm was off and felt almost awkward.
There were a few places along the passeig where the lighting is very poor but none of the spots are more than 20 paces or so. Tired at the end but not too sore.

Monday, 11 December 2010

2010-01-31T19:06:00.000+01:00

We were away during the weekend and I was unable to run but we did walk for miles in the mountains of the Montseny. This evening I was at it again running more laps in the dark at the Fornaca. After about ten laps I headed home--boring, boring, boring and cold.

Friday, 8 January 2010

2010-01-31T18:59:00.000+01:00

There would be days like this. I knew it when I started training for the marathon. Boredom hits while running aimlessly in the dark thinking of how warm it would be to sit in my favourite chair at home with a glass of wine and a good book. Instead after work I found myself running laps at the Fornaca. Cold and boring it was. I ran for about an hour doing about 20 laps--I lost count. It was nice to get home.

Wednesday, 6 January 2010

2010-01-26T21:06:00.000+01:00

I had put off running until today and was glad that I had done so. The weather on Tuesday was miserable, very windy and wet. Today was a much more pleasant day. Just before noon I set off down to Premia de Mar. It was a sunny day and as I neared the sea the temperature grew warmer. Oddly I was nervous before today's run as if I was about to run or row a race. Running into a headwind I timed myself from Premia station to the el Masnou-Mongat line 28 minutes 5 seconds. It would have been faster if I had not had to stop to tie a shoe lace. I felt strong and comfortable during the effort. After the piece I ran on to the railway tunnel beyond the Mongat Nord train station. I was tired after the run but I seem to be getting fitter as I did not feel as weary as after some of my runs of a month earlier.

Monday, 4 January 2010

2010-01-26T20:59:00.000+01:00

We were to have our first row of the year this evening. The weather was not very encouraging, it had threatened to rain all day. I set off running down to the Club Nautic not sure what to expect. It is a twenty minute jog down to the club, a good warm up. There were five of us who showed up. As we waited to see who else would show it of course started to rain. Unlike other crews that I have been part of this one does not row in the rain. In any case it would have been a heavy row with only five of us. So we retired to a local bar for a beer.

Saturday, 2 January 2010

2010-01-24T22:17:00.000+01:00

It has been more than two weeks since I had last run on the mountain and today seemed like a good day to go back. I thought that it would be worthwhile to run on the varied terrain. There is an element of Fartlek training running up and then down hill. The steep slopes are good for building and maintaining muscular strength. Mentally, I find running on the mountain much easier than on the beach.
Around three o'clock I set off from Vilassar de Dalt. I took what I call the back way up via the Turo d'en Cases. The route covers some very steep roads and trails. It is a route that I have often done with the dog. Much of this first part of the route is so steep that I walk most of the way to Turo d'en Cases. Near the turo there is a lookout with a fine view of the Maresme coast. While looking out over the sea I do some stretching.
From Turo d'en Cases it is only a few minutes to la Font de Sant Mateu where again I take a short break and stretch again.
The weather today was overcast and cool. I ran in a long sleeve shirt over a t-shirt but had a heavy cotton pullover with hood tied round my waist. I ran in trousers. I was not looking for speed and I wanted to make sure that I stayed warm so at Sant Mateu I put on the pullover.
From la Font de Sant Mateu I headed down to Can Boquet, then up hill to la Roca d'en Toni pushing on to la Coll de la Gironella without stopping. I felt quite comfortable and relaxed running. At la Coll de la Gironella I stretched before heading back. Back to Can Boquet, then down the Cabrils road to finish at Can Rafart and Riera de Targa.
My legs felt tired but I was not hurting like I had on other occasions on this long downhill. I was out about an hour and 55 minutes.

Thursday, 31 December 2009

2010-01-20T21:42:00.000+01:00

The last day of the year and I can still run in a t-shirt along the beach. It was a long run of more than one hundred minutes. I had my usual warm up running down hill from Vilassar de Dalt to Premia de Mar. At the sea I had to shed a long sleeve shirt and tie it round my waist. Again I had the pack horse look with back pack and shirt hanging off me. The sun provided some warmth even running into the wind. The wind was strong enough to slow me down especially on the more open sections of the Passeig Maritim. My time from Premia station to the el Masnou-Mongat line was 30 minutes 25 seconds and it felt good, not really pushing it.
Instead of stopping at the line I went on for another 10 minutes, past the rail station at Mongat Nord and almost to the mouth of the railway tunnel that is beyond the station. There I stretched a bit before returning to the el Masnou-Mongat line where I again timed the distance to Premia station. I covered the distance in 29 minutes 5 seconds. The wind helped on the return but I cannot say that I really pushed it.
I was tired at the end but not falling down weary. I had no real aches and the groin area caused me no bother. I wondered several times how much the back pack affects my speed and stride. Again I waited for the bus to take me back up to Vilassar. I just cannot face running, or even walking, the three kilometres back up to home.

Tuesday, 29 December 2009

2010-01-20T20:10:00.000+01:00

Late on Saturday afternoon I felt a bit odd, not well at all. I felt weak, I had some minor gastrointestinal trouble and felt feverish. On Sunday morning I felt worse and hardly got out of bed. At one point I timed my resting heart rate at over 70 bpm. My usual resting heart rate is around 46 or 47 bpm. Obviously something was wrong. Monday morning I felt better and I took the rest of the day easy although I did walk the dog in the mountain for a total of about three hours. This morning I seemed to have recovered from whatever it was that had hit me. Perhaps I should have dressed more warmly on Saturday.
This morning I took the dog out in the mountain for an hour and a half and had no trouble. I decided to try running and so around one o’clock I set out down the road to the sea. Fortunately, the temperatures had risen during the last few days. The ache and soreness of the groin muscles that had bothered me during the last week was gone. My energy level as expected was low but not as bad as I had expected.
The warm up down to Premia went well but I kept expecting to suddenly fade. The run along the Passeig Maritim went well. Running into a headwind I managed 31 minutes 10 seconds over my usual timed distance. The wind died by the time I turned back and timed myself at 29 minutes and 35 seconds on the return. At the end although I was tired I was not weary. Glad to have recovered and not lost much ground in the training.
Late in the day, using the internet, I registered and paid for my entry in the Barcelona Marathon.

Saturday, 26 December 2009

2010-01-12T21:47:00.000+01:00

This morning’s run was disappointing. I had expected a good run despite the cool conditions and had dressed, I thought, accordingly. I had gone up to the terrace to get a feel for the weather. So there I was set to go and I stepped out into the street and it was raining. I should have gone back up and put on an extra layer but I did not. The run down hill to the beach at Premia did not bode well. My groin muscles were as sore as ever. Reasoning that the down hill made my stride longer and that I would be more comfortable once I reached the level ground along the Passaieg Maritime I persisted.
As I got closer to the sea the rain lightened and eventually stopped. From Premia I set out on my usual route toward el Masnou. I was not trying for any speed but to simply get some mileage. The water in the riera that had flooded on Thursday had gone down and I was able to run on to my turn around at the el Masnou-Mongat line—time from Premia Station 31’15’’. I did not bother to time the return since I was going into a headwind. I now suffered for not having put on an extra layer. Of course I had some extra clothing in my knap-sack but I was too stupid to take the time to put it on. The return to Premia was slow and sluggish. By the end I had had it; tired cold and wet. The groin muscles were stiffer and sorer than ever. Total time about an hour and a half

Thursday, 24 December 2009

2010-01-10T20:25:00.000+01:00

After three days off I finally got in a run. I had hoped to run on Wednesday but a number of things got in the way. It was also raining hard for most of the Wednesday. When I set off today I was hoping for a good run but was to be sorely disappointed. I felt very stiff especially in the groin area, obviously still feeling the effects of Sunday’s run. My stride felt short and jumpy and I was unable to comfortably stretch out to a longer stride. The pain brought to mind when I used to cross-country ski. (It has been many years since I have skied.) How ever much I trained at other sports prior to the cross-country ski season the groin muscles were always very sore in the first week of the season. There are muscles used for cross country skiing that get little use when running. Running with a short stride is obviously different than running with a longer stride. Last Sunday’s run when I was able to get some good speed caused some of those muscles to come into play.
Today’s run was down to the sea and then along the Passieg Maritim. I was unable to go the el Masnou-Mongat line because of flooding at one of the rieras. The mountains along the coast are drained by watercourses, known as rieras, that are dry for most of the year. When it rains hard the rieras quickly flood. Of course the rieras have to then cross the beach to reach the sea. At the beach some of the larger rieras form pools that may take a while to drain. One of these pools that is not bridged over had not drained. After turning back I ran on to Premia Club Nautic before doubling back to the bus stop. It was an hour and a half run in rainy conditions. There were very few people out on the Passeig Maritim.

Sunday, 20 December 2009

2010-01-10T20:21:00.000+01:00

This afternoon’s run was down to Premia de Mar and then along the sea. Up here in Vilassar de Dalt it was a cold but sunny day but I was perplexed about what to wear as I expected it to be warmer by the sea. Finally, I decided on shorts, a t-shirt and two long sleeve shirts. As insurance I stuffed into my back pack a pair of trousers, another long sleeve and my down ski jacket. When I got to the sea I found it to be much warmer than up in Vilassar de Dalt. I took one of my long sleeves off and tied it around my waist. I must have looked like a bit of a packhorse with all that I was carrying.
The wind was quite strong out from the south-east, it was strong enough to have an effect on my speed. After the 20 minute run down from Vilassar I was well warmed up and felt pretty good as I set out along the Passeig Maritim. I felt much stronger than the last time I had run this route. I timed myself from the Premia rail station to the el Masnou-Mongat line at exactly 30 minutes against the wind. I ran on a bit further and did some stretching and jogged back to the line. The time on the way back with the tailwind was 28 minutes and 15 seconds.
By the end of the second timed piece I was feeling the effects of the increased speed and the longer stride. The muscles in the groin were sore and achy. I had hoped that with all the downhill running it would have looked after this problem. After the second piece I ran on to the Premia Club Nautic and then back to the rail station. The total run was an hour and 45 minutes including stops for stretching.
It is easier and more comfortable to run in shorts than in trousers. The back pack was likely detrimental but it is a necessary evil. I was warm running along the sea but by the time I finished my workout around quarter after four it was getting colder rapidly. I had a twenty minute wait for the bus back to Vilassar. I was pleased with myself for having taken the ski jacket and the extra shirt. I would have been frozen without them.