Swordfish ll Experience!

As I mentioned earlier, one of the things I enjoyed was landing people on islands they wouldn’t normally get the chance to set foot on. It was always a source of fun and entertainment. On good days, one or two of the Association boats would make things a bit more interesting by landing on places like Little Arthur or Nornour/Great Ganilly. After bird breeding season, I’d occasionally land people on Annet, which was always a treat. 

As the years went on, I noticed increasing numbers of people coming to me asking to land on the more unusual little islands. One day I was told there seemed to be an unwritten policy by the other boatmen to send everyone who wanted to land anywhere except the usual quays and landing places… to me. That explained a lot. 

Being someone who believes in fairness in all things, I started to feel a bit aggrieved.  

As the 1990s approached, I decided I’d rather be an independent boatman. No more feeling annoyed or put upon, no more arguing, and no more being stuck in the middle of petty arguments. I could be my own boss, answerable to no one except my passengers. Life would be more pleasurable—and a lot more fun. 

In 1990, plans began to formulate in my head. I sat at my new computer and started sketching out diagrams of how I envisaged the new look Swordfish. 

First, I created 2 or 3 designs with a cabin on the front end with open space at the stern. But I realised that would mean I’d be inside all the time, which didn’t appeal—unless I built a flying bridge on top. That wasn’t practical, considering I’d be handling the boat alone. Also, I often needed to look over the side to see just how shallow the water was when edging close to rocks and sandbars. I needed to be able to jump over the side at a moment’s notice. 

Flying bridges and forward cabins were forgotten. Besides, with a flying bridge, I was sure passengers would want to be up there too, and that would make the boat top-heavy. Or I would be up there alone, away from the passengers, which I didn’t want. So, I went with an aft cabin, leaving the front half open and basically untouched—perfect for deck chairs and a table for lunch. And I fully believed that if the passengers were going to get wet, then it was only fair that I was going to as well. 

Inside the cabin I wanted a table to seat twelve, a bar, and a cooker so I could serve lunches, warm scones for cream teas, and boil water for tea and coffee. I spent the winter glued to my computer, and after several designs came and went, I finally had the one. 

Swordfish ll before.

The Chicken Shed!

In summer 1991, I informed the other boatmen of my plans but at first, I don’t think they believed me—until one day in September they saw a lorry with a load of timber and plywood sheets came trundling down the quay from the Scillonian, It was the new cabin and decking. It headed to Brian Holt’s workshop at Rose Hill, where he was going to build all the cabinets, seats, and fittings and help me build the structure on the Swordfish. 

That winter, I hauled the boat up on the bank at Porth Loo and the work began. It was a great project. In no time, the hull had been stripped of seats, floorboards, and other unnecessary bits, and the rebuild began. By January it was taking shape. 

Various people came aboard while we were building it and offered their advice. The most common comment went something like, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing? You won’t make bran for ducks with this ridiculous idea!” 

But I soldiered on. The boat took shape, was eventually painted up, and looked fantastic. 

Early in March 1992, we dragged her down the beach and waited for the tide to float her off. A few people sat on the bank to watch us steam off around to St Mary’s Harbour. I was more concerned about whether she’d float upright or sit too heavy in the stern and look silly, needing a load of ballast in the bows to level her off. 

But honestly, my biggest worry was whether it would look like a chicken shed had been plonked on the back of the boat. 

I needn’t have worried. She floated perfectly upright, sat in the water just fine, and once I saw a few photographs taken from the beach, I was chuffed to bits—she looked really smart. 

Swordfish ll after. ~ March 1992

Lunch Is Served!

My original idea was to serve morning coffee, a 2 course lunch, and a cream tea during the trip. So, at the beginning of April 1992, I set off on my first trip with twelve hearty passengers. The weather wasn’t the best — squally showers and a brisk wind from the northwest. I anchored off in Watermill Cove for coffee, then did a trip around the Eastern Isles and headed for the shelter of Tean, where I put them all ashore for an hour while I got dinner ready. 

I took their lunch orders before they disembarked via the punt. I was offering Tomato or Mushroom  soup, spaghetti bolognese, or a salad of their choice with nibbly bits, followed by teas and coffees and biscuits. Brilliant. Some were having spaghetti, some tomato soup, one mushroom soup, and some salads. Fine, I thought as I ferried them ashore to the beach, this is going very well so far. 

I returned to the boat and got to work on lunch. I needed a saucepan for the spaghetti, one for the bolognese, one for the tomato soup, and one for the mushroom soup. 

Agh! I only had two saucepans — and there were only two rings on the top of the oven. Oh my Lord, how am I going to sort this out? Well, being ever resourceful, I found I could cook the spaghetti in the oven in a cake tin, the bolognese in the grill pan under the grill (stirring it constantly), and the two soups on top. Phew! Panic over. 

While all that was cooking, I sorted out the salads. I just got it all done by the time I had to collect the passengers off the beach. After that, everything went smoothly.

After lunch, we moseyed around the coast and beaches of Tresco and ended up in the shelter of Bryher, where we had our cream tea. A successful day. Just! 

Don't Upset The Landladies!

The next day, I rejigged the menu. I forgot about the bolognese and just offered a choice of two soups and the salads. By the time the passengers were getting off the boat at the end of the trip, they were stuffed full. 

It was only a matter of a couple of weeks before I started getting wind of disgruntled landladies. They were spending their afternoons creating wonderful meals for their guests, only to find that those who had been on the Swordfish that day were full to bursting and unable to eat their evening meal. So, I was pressured into reducing the amount of food I was feeding my passengers. That’s when I decided it would be better if I just offered soup and nibbly bits — cheese, Ritz biscuits, peanuts, crisps, and so on — along with tea, coffee, and biscuits. 

This seemed to be much more acceptable, and in the end, I didn’t hear from the landladies again. 

The Logbook

I used to keep a logbook in the cabin for the passengers to write in on the way home. Most days, something was written; some days, nothing at all. It was always a joy to read the entries, as some people went to great pains to write a poem, an essay, or just a few lines of doggerel. I shall post a few of the pages as I go along for your perusal.  Can you spot your self in it?

This one reminds me of a little rhymey thing I used to relate to help people identify certain birds

And here it is in black and white.

If you want to tell the difference between a Greater Black backed gull and a lesser black backed gull! Contrary to belief, it’s quite easy, apart from the size all you have to do is look at their backs and remember the fact that a Greater Black backed’s back is blacker than a lesser black backed’s back because a lesser black backed’s back isn't as black as a greater black backed’s back, Its lighter! 

See! Simple! 

The Empire States Building!

Sometimes when we were down by the Bishop Rock Lighthouse — I would quickly scan the horizon far out to the west, in the direction of America. When I spotted the very tip of the top of a vessel, just the tiniest little sliver of it and hoping that it was indeed coming towards us, I’d look off in a different direction and casually tell my passengers that sometimes, on a really clear day, you could see the top of the Empire State Building. 

“But sadly, it’s not quite clear enough today,” I’d say, “but hopefully it’ll lift, and we might just catch a glimpse.” 

Of course, I knew full well that it was pretty unlikely that anyone else would spot the tiny bit of ship I’d already seen. So after a few minutes, as it rose over the curvature of the Earth and became a little easier to spot, I’d suddenly exclaim that it was clear enough after all — “and if you look out there,” I’d say, pointing right at it, “you can just make out the top of the Empire States Building now!” 

Much to the delight — and utter belief — of any new passengers who hadn’t been out with me before. 

I must admit that I did get a right telling off from one particular local for telling people such lies. I tried to explain that it was only a joke, but she wasn't having any of that nonsense and “Don’t do it again!”  but of course I did.... several times!