We were gluing up a wooden mast, and my father assigned me the task of making the glue paddles. These were always a disposable item, used once and thrown away, so I (the wise fourteen year old) wasted no time band sawing out some rough paddles quite worthy of being thrown away. No, said my father, they need to be thinner, beveled on the working edges, cleaned up. Quickly, I refined my glue paddles, and as quickly was reminded that I knew how we make our glue paddles. He then showed me; a chisel-like blade, sides and end angled off to thin, sharp working edges, cleaned up with sandpaper, with a long and comfortably sized hand grip. They were fine tools to do a fine job, an extension of the hand and the mind's eye. To do fine work one must have fine tools, which allow the practiced craftsman to see only the work and not the tools. This is a lesson not just of tools, but of the mindset of the master; glue paddles may seem a trifling matter, but as Michelangelo said, "trifles make perfection, and perfection is no trifle." Those glue paddles were thrown away when that job was done; of late, I have taken to re-using these fine little tools.
This is not to imply that every, or indeed any, detail of craftsmanship should be endlessly agonized over; that is the Apprentice's burden, who struggles with his first-steps in rudimentary tasks (such as, making the glue paddles); who then learns the economics of the trade as Journeyman, becoming proficient at performing fine, repeated tasks with precision and speed. The Master works with directness of purpose and a minimum of motions; they see the finished work before a single cut is made, work which seems to just fall from their hands. This is necessary for the craftsman in a competitive marketplace; and, desirable for the hobbyist and aspiring boat builder who understands and appreciates that the satisfaction of fine workmanship lies in the constant growth and refinement of skills and knowledge, as is true of sailing, golf, or any valued pastime.
But before a single cut is contemplated, the design must be clear, even precisely calculated and drawn down to the final detail. This is a matter of process left to personal preference; some will work through the parts as they come to them, relying on creativity and experience as their guide. This will give results as good as the builders' knowledge allows; much as with the historic, often single generation, exemplary examples noted previously. Conversely, there are methods, techniques, records, technologies, which are the intellectual tools to bring the virtues of past works forward to present works. This is worth discussing before we proceed to specific examples of successful, Master-level vessels.
The process of design is the process of accounting for multiple requirements of energetic and static function, large and small, until a single operational whole made of many interconnecting pieces has been achieved. It is best that the accurate determination of intention be acquired at the outset; that is to say, the actual use for the boat, in fairly specific terms, in order that form may be made to follow function. Here, it must be said, that design often does require agonizing over the small details, as there are so many competing factors to be simultaneously considered within limited dimensions, space, and available energy. This is the fascination of design, almost always beginning with seemingly impossibly competing complexities and evolving towards absolute simplicity, the most complex thing of all to achieve. Nature always seeks the path of least resistance, refining her designs to do the most with the least energy and materials. All good design follows this path to least resistance, efficient in the use of material and energy, confirming again by mathematical proof the natural beauty in all good design.
Designers thus always draw on works of the past to propel their present work forward. Whether taking guidance and lessons from the ancient or contemporary, or from their own most recent work, it remains that knowledge must build on knowledge. Failures, particularly spectacular failures, are often most fruitful. Ultimately, however, successes yield the most consistent successes, and boat owners no longer bang their shins on sharp protruding bunk corners if their designer has been adequately aware and diligent.
The science of hull design for pleasure boats presents a unique set of questions to the embodiment of collected, most often mathematically expressed, knowledge of the subject. It often seems the most pertinent questions go unasked; by the client of the designer, or by the designer of the environment and conditions to be operated in. Defining purpose, asking questions, is the first step in producing successful designs. Computer technology has created the opportunity to mathematically model the complex forms of boat hulls, though the computer program must ideally be updated to reflect real world experience (science is: the facts of our experience set in order.) Into this modeling, then, must enter a level of experience (ideally of all parties) to begin the process of model-making; purpose must shape the math, to some extent. And then, the questions posed by the marine environment enter the equation, especially for human, wind, and small engine powered vessels. Yacht design has been called a series of compromises, but it is in fact a series of averages. The exception is highly specialized craft operating in controlled environments, such as racing shells and flatwater kayaks.
Having moved this discussion along a winding course, the next several posts will (finally) be devoted to specific, successful vessels, including reflections on their design, construction, and careers. Of interest is the role played by all of the parties to these exceptional craft, the owners, designers, and builders. There is ultimately a point to these posts, which hopefully will begin to become clear if you bear with me a little longer.
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