CUTTING THE DRAGON’S TAIL
David and Lynda Chidell
CUTTING THE DRAGON’S TAIL
Copyright David and Lynda Chidell 1998
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form
by photocopying or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage or retrieval systems,
without permission in writing from the copyright owner
of this book.
First Published 1998 by
MINERVA PRESS
195 Knightsbridge
London SW7 1RE
e-book version published in 2012 by
Lynda Chidell
Dedication
We have written this for the sake of Tin Hau and all those who might dream about living on a boat and making voyages in distant waters. It is our hope that Tin Hau may be cherished for many generations to come, giving others the excitement, pleasure and sense of purpose she gave us.
Acknowledgements
During our building and sailing years, we were helped by many of our friends and our respective families. Without their contributions there may never have been an adventure worth telling. The writing of this book has been a long-term project which hardly involved anyone else until we decided to have it published. We are grateful for the guidance and suggestions put forward by our editor at Minerva Press to help us improve the story. We would like to thank Barry Lamprecht for generously allowing us to publish various photographs which he took and which are attributed to him in the physical version of this book and which appear on our website. Among the very few people who knew we were trying to put the story down on paper were Trevor and Sally Doran – sailing friends met in Corfu. We are enormously grateful for their encouragement in the early stages of writing and for being so willing to take on the horrendous task of checking our work for factual inconsistencies and mistakes. It is not their fault if the text still contains errors! We're also indebted to them for suggesting the title for the book.
David and Lynda
21.3.98
Preface
In 1982, the seeds of an idea were sown; an idea that was to change our lives – a dream that perhaps had always been there, but one that developed in our home overlooking Mbabane, the capital of Swaziland.
I had first visited Swaziland on 5th August, 1973, whilst on a student working holiday in Southern Africa, and had earmarked it even then as the ideal African country in which to live – a place with some of the most spectacular scenery on the continent. Unlike so many African countries, this one was united. There was only one tribe, the Swazis, and one much respected ruler, King SobhuzaII.
Like others before me, I was bitten by the ‘Africa bug’; attracted by the wide open spaces, the warm climate, and the dignified but fun-loving people. In December 1975 I joined a couple, Peter Duby and Fiona Sawday, who had bought and prepared their own Land Rover for an Africa Overland journey and advertised in The Times for two people to share their adventure. Six months after leaving London, we reached Pretoria. Peter and Fiona then went to Swaziland. I chose to carry on to Cape Town where I obtained a job as a civil engineer at Simonstown harbour.
Two years later, on completion of the harbour extensions, I drove the 1300 or so miles to Swaziland to join Peter and Fiona in employment there. This lasted only eight months– although it felt like several years, such were the social and work activities with which I was involved. In the final fortnight, as I was preparing to leave, I met Lynda. I suppose we were destined to return to a country that had played such an important part in our lives (Lynda had been there since 1976); and return we did, in 1981. I was employed by the same firm of consulting engineers, but this time for a fixed contract period of two years.
We arrived towards the end of the winter dry season, a time of year when for months on end the skies are free from clouds. The land was brown from the lack of rain, especially in the hotter low veld areas and the roads were thick with dust. By November, however, the summer rains were well on their way and we started to experience incredibly violent thunderstorms. The heavens would open and rain would bucket down, turning the roads into mud baths. We discovered that our house, being near to the top of a hill, was regularly struck by lightning.
We enjoyed hearing the beautiful Swazi language (siSwati) again– words like ‘Sawubona’ and ‘Yebo’, drawn out and slowly spoken, as though time did not matter too much. ‘How far is it to Simunya?’ I would ask a figure standing by the roadside clad in a western tweed jacket, open necked shirt, brightly coloured Swazi mahiya (skirt) and heavy building site boots with no socks. ‘Ahh, little bit long way’, would come the reply. ‘How far to Mhlume?’ I would ask. ‘Ahhh, too far.’
We grew to know Swaziland very well, and explored its most remote corners. It will always be a kind of spiritual home to me, a very special place with some very special people. Not just the Swazis, but also the small and extremely varied international community– South Africans, British, Portuguese, Greeks, Dutch, Germans, French, Italians, Danish, Irish, Americans, Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders, Chinese and Japanese, to name but a few– all employed on various projects around the country.
Although much of our time in Swaziland was taken up with work, we were able to spend most evenings and weekends pursuing an amazingly diverse set of interests. I tried to set aside one evening a week to deal with a yachtmaster correspondence course I had started in England just before going to Swaziland, thereby gaining knowledge that proved to be extremely valuable. We found ourselves increasingly involved with local amateur dramatic performances, initially backstage and later – to my terror – on stage. I enjoyed more the obscurity of singing choral music with the Mbabane Singers– although the obscurity was somewhat shattered when the small choir was commanded by royal decree to sing the Hallelujah Chorus of the Messiah in front of tens of thousands of people at King Sobhuza’s funeral. Other activities included sports such as golf and tennis, organised painstakingly by the Japanese. As if that wasn’t enough, our New Zealand friends in the Usutu forest aroused our interest in orienteering (or how to get lost in the forest). We were the ‘Mbabane link’, placing advertisements in the local paper in an effort to swell numbers.
Our main relaxation, and something I really appreciated, was a visit once every fortnight to Sand River Dam, a low veld dam near the sugar estates of Tshaneni. There we would pitch a tent and spend an idyllic weekend dinghy racing in a Fireball built by and belonging to our good friend, Jeff Perring In the evenings, we would light a fire and cook our meal in the open, as we contemplated the bright stars of the southern sky.
With so many things going on, it was perhaps surprising that we had time to think about what to do on completion of my contract – but think we did. An idea evolved, exciting possibilities were discussed, and a plan was formed that somehow tied together many of the threads of our lives up to that point. Might this be the time to make a move into something completely different? Could we consider selling our home and all our possessions, spending the rest of our lives at sea aboard a sailing boat? Could we make a living from a boat, by taking paying guests in an area such as the Greek islands and giving them the ‘holiday of a lifetime’? Could this be our chance to create a more fulfilling lifestyle, in which we could get to know the oceans, live closer to nature, and explore as much of the world as possible?
The instinctive answers came straight from the heart. Why not sail off into the wide blue horizon and chase the sun? Why not set our sights on what we would really like to do with our lives? Why not do it now?
And so the project was conceived.
PART ONE
&nb
sp; Construction
David Chidell
Map 1: Tin Hau's Wanderings
1. The Case for Selling Up and Living on a Boat in Warm Climates
It took a number of months for our gut feelings to harden into a real decision. But the more we thought about it, the more sense it made.
Firstly, I looked at many of the people ten to twenty years older in my chosen career, and concluded that I was not desperate to follow in their footsteps. It looked like a future of suits and ties, rules, regulations and endless meetings; a life of worries about future prospects and employment, with either too much or too little work in the wrong place or at the wrong time. Every now and then my work had been fulfilling; there had been chances to be creative; I had enjoyed being part of a team, deriving satisfaction from a project that I had seen as being both necessary and attractive. But often the opposite seemed to be the case. Engineering schemes, top-heavy in management, would lead to ugly structures and buildings not wanted by many people. It was hard to see who could be blamed for this; it was as though everyone was powerless, caught up in a system that had gone wrong. I was aware that it would be a big step to give up a career I had pursued for more than ten years. I realised that by leaving the ‘system’ I ran the risk of being unable to join it again. I would be on my own. I knew that financially I could be making a major mistake; a regular salary is a sad thing to do without. Yet somehow...
Secondly, I was attracted by the concept of being involved in a project all the way from design, to construction, to final use. Most individuals in the building industry never have this chance, and do not see the overall results of their work. I imagined living inside our own creation, paying for it out of our own pockets, having full responsibility for any errors, and being able to change anything that needed changing without first having to appeal to a higher authority. That seemed like the real thing. There would be no one else to blame if it all went wrong. The buck would stop with us.
Thirdly, we were both equally inclined towards the idea and both in reasonably good health – although a bit touched by boat madness! It seemed better to do something really exciting and different at that time (we were both in our early thirties) than to wait for retirement and perhaps ill health. I wanted to make some sort of mark on the world, however small, while I could.
Finally, on totalling up the value of everything we owned and on researching what boats cost, we knew we had saved enough money to get what we wanted without having to borrow. Moreover, once living afloat in warm climates we would be free of many social and work oriented expenses associated with houses, cars, clothes, and stress-relieving hobbies and holidays. Our living costs would be much smaller, despite the cost of boat maintenance.
I am still of the opinion that it is not an extravagance to own a boat that serves as your only home – particularly if it can be used to provide an income.
2. Which Boat?
Our next decision was: which boat? All we knew at the time was that we wanted:
A boat that was satisfying to sail and could be taken around the world, using a rig that could be managed by one person, or two people at most.
A boat that was attractive to look at yet different from most contemporary yachts. I wanted some of the fishing boat – or small ship features – like high bulwarks, solid mooring bitts and a wheelhouse.
A roomy interior, comfortable enough to serve as our only home and large enough to accommodate charter guests in privacy with priority given to the size and quality of the berths, not their number. We wanted plenty of storage and good access to important items such as plumbing, electrical wiring, the bilge, and the main engine.
Good reliable equipment made by companies well-known throughout the world. Jimmy Cornell’s ocean survey helped us here; for example, it led us to choose our Perkins 4.236 diesel engine.
A long keel and protected rudder; a boat that would take the bottom should we ever find ourselves in those colder, muddier and tidal waters found in places such as England.
A hull and deck built of steel. I understood steel and valued its strength; in the event of a collision, it dents rather than shatters. I had formed this opinion three years earlier on the final (forty-fifth) day of a 4,500 mile race from Cape Town to Uruguay. On drawing close to our destination– Punta del Este – we had hit a rock. Unbelievably, there was no damage.
A boat we could afford to build and afford to run. What the boat would be worth from the point of view of resale did not enter our reckoning at that time. We were sure we would never want to sell her.
3. Second-Hand or New?
The other important question was: should we build a boat, or could we buy one second-hand? The second solution was tempting– so much work would be saved. A tried and tested boat could be chosen, and we would be able to see what we were getting. But how could we view boats from Swaziland without wasting vast sums on fruitless investigations?
We wanted to keep the idea on the boil and wrote numerous letters to boat-building companies and yacht designers in England and elsewhere. One reply, in particular, looked promising. Ronnie Nel of ‘Nelco Marine’, based in Port Elizabeth, South Africa, was prepared to build a steel hull of substantial size for a reasonable cost in an aircraft hangar used by a dozen or so amateur builders. He would construct the shell of our chosen boat. We would fit it out to our own interior and deck plans.
Building in South Africa would have certain advantages and I did not feel we would be supporting the apartheid system in any way. It is a beautiful country, as varied as the United States or Europe. The weather, although at times too hot for work, would definitely be better than England’s cold and damp conditions. Availability of important materials like steel and hardwoods appeared good, and the cost of living low. Port Elizabeth in particular appealed, being the home of Lynda’s father, mother, brother and sister and their families. It also seemed like a good place to seek employment should boat building plans go wrong or be delayed– which, in fact, is what happened. I already had a work permit for South Africa after my work there from 1976 to 1978.
The adrenalin was beginning to flow. We just needed to finalise our choice of boat and start moving.
4. Our Choice
Our minds were made up completely when Ronnie introduced us to a book called Cruising as a Way of Life by the American designer and boat builder, Tom Colvin. We saw some plans of his boats. Lines drawings. Sail plans. Cross-sections.
We started to eat, drink and sleep boats. Our imaginations were racing as we thought about all the things we could achieve, and the places we could visit.
The excitement reached a head when it became clear that, unbelievably, we could afford to build the same boat Tom had owned and sailed for over a decade (sometimes without crew). What better recommendation could we have asked for?
Tom’s home, Kung Fu Tse, was built of aluminium. Ours could be to the same design, but of steel. It would be fifty feet long, fourteen feet in beam, five feet in draft, and twenty-five tons in displacement. In other words, big! Much bigger than I had thought our budget would allow. We would get our long keel, our bulwarks, our ship-like mooring bitts, an enclosed wheelhouse, a separate engine room, watertight collision bulkheads fore and aft, a roomy interior, and a boat that looked good to sail and had been tested on many ocean voyages.
Only one aspect demanded a bit of a rethink: Tom Colvin’s ideal floating home was a three-masted Chinese junk.
5. What Next?
After much deliberation we decided to go ahead with Lilandza (the first of a series of names we had for Tin Hau; this one being the Swazi word for a great white bird, discarded only when we came to realise it was simply a cattle egret). We paid for the drawings (about £850), increasingly happy with the idea of a junk. My being Hong Kong born was a bonus, a good omen.
Then came the formal appointment of Ronnie Nel. He was given a one year contract worth 33,000 rand (about £20,000 – the exact sterling amount being dependent on the exchange rate used). He signed an agree
ment to complete all the steelwork and a few additional items by April 1984.
Next we wound up our commitments in Swaziland. My work with EPD Consultants was over. We returned to England, sold our house in Midhurst, Sussex, and packed what we would need on the boat into seven bags (Lufthansa lost two). We flew back to Swaziland to collect our ‘bakkie’ (pick-up truck) and our various possessions, remaining there for a few days before setting off on the one thousand mile drive to Port Elizabeth. At first we stayed with Lynda’s parents; then we moved to a caravan, which was to be our home for several months. This was followed by some house-sitting for Lynda’s parents while they were away. Eventually we found rented accommodation of our own in Donkin Street, in the middle of Port Elizabeth. In all, we had eight homes in as many months!
Meanwhile, Ronnie was living up to his reputation: slow, but sure. At the time of our arrival in South Africa, nearly half way through his contract, he had assembled an impressive looking gantry, taken delivery of some steel, and partially made the keel.
I decided to look for employment, and was lucky to receive an offer almost immediately, as a structural engineer with one of Port Elizabeth’s multi-disciplined consulting engineers, Hill Kaplan Scott (HKS). When not at work, I joined Lynda in a full scale hunt for boat materials; and when not involved with this, we were always busy designing and redesigning the interior, organising import permits and constructing various small items needed on the boat. In addition, Lynda spent three dusty and hot months at the caravan making a three foot long model, which we used to work out some of the peculiar junk details. We needed to learn about euphroes, friction blocks, snotters, parrels, sheetlets and lazy jacks. We wanted to become familiar with how the reefing worked, for example. We knew there would be no one to teach us once we launched.
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