ITALIAN JOB

THE ITALIAN WAY

Federico Nardi reveals Italy’s hidden gem of a boatyard

WORDS TOM CUNLIFFE PHOTOGRAPHY ROS CUNLIFFE

Back in 1970 I was serving as a very young skipper aboard a tidy wooden ketch with a home port on the French Riviera. On one occasion, my wife and I sailed the boat to Porto

Santo Stefano on the Italian mainland to meet guests.

After arriving early, we took a stroll in the evening, looking for some dinner. We passed the Cantiere Navale dell’ Argentario and, being more interested in love and gastronomy than the restoration of old boats, we paid little attention. Fifty-two years later, I discovered that this was a mistake. While on a general fact-finding journey to

Italy in the spring of 2022, I called the yard and asked if I might stop by to see what they were doing at the moment. A charming lady asked me to hold the line, then returned to say that Federico Nardi – the man himself – would be happy to show me around.

I arrived after breakfast and what followed was a trip through sailors’ fairyland. Twenty-eight years ago, the yard was re-established under five majority shareholders with

Federico as the man on the spot. Today, they carry on a full service operation for all comers, but their hearts are in the restoration of fine yachts. We wandered through the sheds and tents, yarning about characters and yachts that we both had known or that Federico could tell me about.

Names like Olin Stephens, Dennis Conner and German

Frers tripped o the tongue as we climbed up and up onto the decks of the ex-Errol Flynn schooner Zaca. Among numerous other jobs clearly in progress, half her capping rails seemed to be o . This was a change from the total rebuild one so often sees, and I asked Federico about it. He replied that, wherever possible, he liked to save what he could of the original. There is much to be said, he pointed out, for keeping a yacht that needs work in commission, then bringing her to the yard each winter, upgrading as one goes. This is a philosophy propounded by the late Martin

Heard of Mylor in Cornwall, a man who understood more about old boats than most of us. It pleased me to hear it from this world-renowned yard owner who had started out as a yacht skipper.

Strolling from one facility to the next, we found ourselves under the towering keel of Scud, a Nat Herresho

Bar Harbor 30. Thirteen of these yachts left Herresho ’s Rhode Island yard in the spring of 1903 after a hard winter’s e ort. Their 31ft waterline length just cleared the minimum that the larger American clubs demanded before a boat could be registered.

Federico found Scud in a parlous state in Maine, but no owner came forward to restore her. Nevertheless, one or two abortive attempts were made to bring her back to condition and she ended up in Belgium, not much better than she had been in Maine. A suitable owner took up the challenge and the restoration began at Porto Santo Stefano. What struck me was the painstaking research Federico had initiated to make sure that he got her exactly as she should be, right down to the fittings. These were fabricated using what remained of the originals augmented by studying bits and pieces from the Herresho museum, and always in accordance with the Herresho drawings.

Federico and his 25 highly skilled employees seem to have a special relationship with the United States. Among their restorations are the S&S masterpieces Dorade and Stormy Weather. While reminiscing about a visit I had paid to Stormy a few years back, I suddenly found myself in the cabin of Nyala, one of Olin Stephens’ pre-war 12-Metre yachts. Although restored once by the Cantiere and now in the yard pending further serious work, the boat remains spookily original. Even the old cabin sole is still there.

On the way to lunch on the quay with Federico’s young wife, his son and his two tiny daughters, we stopped by his o ce, which is a seaman’s delight. Plans, detailed drawings and all manner of memorabilia adorn the walls, while in full view are boxes and boxes of the sort of junk that’s not for sale and which a restorer delights in having about his person. “You never know when you’ll need one of these,” he muses, as he fondles the remains of an ancient winch gear.

Above: Classics overhang the road in Porto Santo Stefano Below: Federico (left) and Tom – two old hands shoot the breeze Facing page, clockwise from top left: A Hallberg Rassy on the slip; Anchor protection on Zaca’s bow; A wide selection of boats; Zaca’s mighty masts; Herresho Bar Harbor 30 Scud; Young crew aboard Zaca

Boatbuilder’s Notes

By Robin Gates

1 2

Wood lost to sawdust

Would a new boat built entirely from wood ordered in the round have su cient volume to accommodate the waste? It could well be a close-run thing, because losses can be staggering. A good proportion goes simply in converting a log to workable boards, throwing aside the live-edged sapwood, unfavourable grain, pockets of resin, rot and useless oddments. Then, having laid in stick for seasoning, what looked good a year ago is further whittled down to reject boards now showing splits and shakes, meanwhile rough-planing others to get rid of twist, cupping and bowing. What remains seems a mere shadow of the tree it once was, albeit of the clear timber dreamily specified in the plans. But there’s more heartbreak to come when spiling those oh-so-curvy planks onto sti y rectangular boards consigns yet more hard-won timber to the fire.

Even timber bought seasoned, squared up and free of defects may require resawing to a required thickness, with losses to sawdust mounting up like desert dunes. Using a coarse 6- or 7-point, sharp and well-set ripsaw that makes the sawing bearable, I’d suggest John Leather’s suggestion of allowing "at least 1/8in (3mm)" for the "loss in thickness taken by the saw" to be a conservative estimate, because you have also to allow for planing away the saw marks and possibly correcting deviations from the line if you’re prone to distraction. Resawing a board by hand will often provide both required examples of what’s meant by ‘full’ (slightly oversize) and ‘bare’ (slightly undersize). 1 Resawing a small reclaimed oak board 2 Wood lost to a heap of sawdust

Holt Marine copper nails and roves Stanley Tools’ commercial strategy of selling inexpensive utility knives (six shillings in 1964) with cheap replaceable blades (five for two-andsixpence) was hugely successful, but how many millions of assumedly ‘disposable’ blades have been needlessly thrown away? Carpet fitters alone, buying blades in contractors’ packs of 400, have wasted enough metal to build a steelworks. Nowhere did Stanley’s advertising suggest that instead of buying a new blade, you could sharpen the old one on a whetstone or more simply using abrasive paper.

The standard trapezoidal 1992 blade is awkward to handle on its own. The secret is to use the knife itself as the honing handle, drawing the blade along the edge of a sheet of fine abrasive (1,000-grit in this case) at the shallow bevel angle of around 100 . On each side, only draw the blade back from its cutting edge, to avoid cutting into the paper. Monitor progress by observing the worked metal shining more brightly, and sharpening a pencil. Honing at a steeper angle makes a stronger longer-lasting edge.

Holt’s handy pre-packs

When you have only an idea of a small component, fitting, fastening or tool that you need, there’s a good chance you’ll recognise it among Holt Marine’s display of little ‘pre-packs’ dangling helpfully from a carousel at your local chandlery. Here for example, the remnants of a dozen of Holt’s No 13 copper boat nails and roves – very handy for small repairs – which cost around £4.

Sharpen Stanley blades

1

By Robin Gates

1

DEAN TAPE MEASURE

Leather-bound with brass fittings gleaming, the wind-up measuring tape is as tactile and inviting of investigation as a vintage writing case. Your fingertips seem willed to explore the hand stitching as they would a cricket ball before delivery, feeling the urge to take measurements, and big ones; back in the day a 200ft (61m) tape topped the standard range, su cient to measure a J-Class and then a 12-Metre yacht with what’s left over. So perhaps it’s not surprising that such a tape routinely featured among the tools of the old-school yacht surveyor, along with the more rudimentary chipping hammer for investigating rust and pointy thing for probing rot.

Sailmakers, too, have long favoured the wind-up tape for measuring the lu of a new mainsail while the vessel is afloat with mast stepped. Conveniently the first inch of the tape is occupied by a swivelling brass loop, seemingly purpose-made for connection to the main halyard shackle for hoisting aloft. Given calm conditions (and not forgetting a safety line tied in parallel with the tape in case of a snag) the measurement to the top of the boom may be noted.

The best-known makers of early 20th century wind-up tapes (not to mention rules, straight edges and spirit levels) were John Rabone of Birmingham and James Chesterman of She eld, subsequently merged under the Rabone Chesterman brand. Small uncased tapes by Dean of London are more familiar to the tailoring trade (there should be one in every domestic sewing box), while the main business of Dean’s parent company, Howard Wall, was manufacturing parts for corsets and bodices, but the company also carried Dean’s wind up leather-cased tapes which found their way into the maritime sector and – of topical interest here – maritime archaeology. This 50ft example is exactly as used during excavation of the treasureladen Anglo-Saxon ship burial at Sutton Hoo in 1939. Last year the much-lauded movie The Dig reimagined events surrounding the excavation for the cinema, and it carries ongoing relevance for boatbuilders in the construction of a replica by The Sutton Hoo Ship’s Company (see CB404). Contemporary photographs show the Dean tape being used for mapping grave goods as they were uncovered, and archaeologist Basil Brown’s original is on display at Tranmer House, formerly home to Edith Pretty who owned the site, now managed by the National Trust.

1 Dean of London 50ft (15.1m) linen tape measure 2 Brass rollers guide the tape 3 Easy connection to a halyard shackle

NEXT MONTH: ECE planes

ROBIN GATES

LETTER OF THE MONTH SUPPORTED BY OLD PULTENEY WHISKY

A Polaroid delivered by boathook

I am just re-reading my June edition and in particular Adrian Morgan’s piece where he mentions Sally. I wonder if he recalls being approached by a pilot/patrol boat o Calshot when he was aboard Sally? I was the skipper. The story is that my coxswain and I were both wooden boat owners and we spotted Sally sailing out of the Hamble. Intrigued by this beguiling beauty we closed in. Using our evidencegathering Polaroid camera we grabbed a picture. Then using our PPP (Patented Pamphlet Pusher, an old boathook handle with a large paper grip on the end), we closed in on a very startled and alarmed Adrian. Coxswain, using the PPP, passed across the photo while I shouted across “You don’t often get a shot of yourself sailing, nice boat, what is she?” Satisfi ed, we then shot o leaving a bemused Adrian sat in the cockpit clutching a fresh picture of Sally. A month or so later my boss said with a twinkle in his eye: “Nice to see you boys check the camera now and then!” I wandered away perplexed, then returned home to fi nd my copy of Classic Boat on the mat. Be sure your sins will fi nd you out!

John Hardwick

I’ve enjoyed all the recent articles on Folkboats; there have been many epic voyages with these yachts. No more so than an Australian lady, Ann Gash. Her voyage round the world in the 1970s with her wooden FB Ilimo was quite remarkable, considering she didn’t start sailing until she was a grandmother at 45. I met her in Durban in 1975 while delivering a 40ft (12.2m) ferro-cement ketch, after crossing the Indian Ocean from Thailand. With another friend in Durban, we managed to get her Stuart-Turner engine going. How long her engine ran after that I don’t know. They were quite fi ckle beasts. Ann wrote a book called A Star to Steer Her by, quite di cult to obtain these days, having been published in 1980. Now I’m a grandfather myself I appreciate her achievements much more…

John Simpson

Ann Gash, Folkboat sailor Looking in the Mirror

My August copy of Classic Boat arrived this morning, and my attention was drawn to the excellent article on page 52 (Mirror Man). I thoroughly enjoyed the article. My late father and I built one of these wonderful little boats in the garage over a winter some time in the late 1960s. The build was quite straightforward and rewarding as well. We sailed the boat, named Wyndana (Maori for ‘which way’!) at the IPCYC just outside Iver for some years. It was also taken to The Witterings (West Sussex) for days out on the beach, and holidays in Lulworth Cove and around. It was stable and a joy to sail and I have some very fond memories of the time we spent either racing or just pottering about on a balmy afternoon o the south coast. I remember on one occasion going to Jack Holt’s chandlery in Putney and, as a schoolboy, being mesmerised by the vast array of fi ttings in stock. The concept of these lovely little boats has, as with all simple ideas, stood the test of time.

Clive Cripps, Colnbrook, Berkshire

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Considering an Electric Outboard?

“Using a well-engineered electric outboard has been a revelation.’’

TOM CUNLIFFE Classic Boat

From £1650

Epropulsion Spirit PLUS

› 1276Wh battery › Faster to charge › Battery floats if dropped › Foldable tiller means only one cable to connect › Three shaft length options › Direct drive (no gearbox)

From £1750 Torqeedo 1103

› 916Wh battery › GPS data on tiller gives speed & range indication › Removable tiller (more compact for storage) › Near‐silent direct drive › Much more robust than the previous model (Torqeedo 1003)

Quiet, Convenient, Reliable and Easy-to-Use

In the popular 2-4hp category, the latest electric outboards – with their integral and rechargeable lithium batteries – have transformed the market, rendering petrol motors all-but obsolete. Advantages include:

› Ease of Use Switch on, twist the tiller handles, go. Almost anybody can do it; no experience, strength or mechanical knowledge is needed. › Ease of Handling The batteries

are removable, and the “pass up and down” weight (the shaft/motor assembly) is then 10kg or less. › Ease of Storage These electric motors divide into components, don’t leak oil or petrol, and don’t mind which way up they’re stored. › › Quietness & Smoothness

Electric motors are a delight to use. › Power Forget slow speed “trolling motors”, these 1kW electrics have huge torque (more like a 3hp petrol). › Range There are many variables, but most users achieve at least 9 to 10 nautical miles per charge, at 4 to 5 knots (2.5m inflatable dinghy).

Much more if you slow down a little. › Reliability Many outboard motors don’t get used very often, and small petrol motors hate this. Electric outboards have fewer parts in general, and in particular there’s no carburettor to “gum up”.

Of course, it’s not all perfect. The range may still not be enough for some users. And they’re undeniably More Expensive than petrol outboards, mostly because lithium batteries are expensive. But that extra upfront cost is largely offset by

Of course, it’s not all perfect. The range may still not be enough for some users. And they’re undeniably lithium batteries are expensive. But that extra upfront cost is largely offset by their Lower Lifetime Running Costs, including (almost) No Servicing.their

NESTAWAY BOATS is the UK’s number one retailer for both Torqeedo

AND Epropulsion. You can find out more on our website, and we are always happy to discuss further – and offer advice – by email or phone. If you’d like to see them before making a purchase, we are based in Christchurch, Dorset (UK).

www.nestawayboats.com mail@nestawayboats.com Tel 0800 999 2535 Tel 0800 999 2535

It’s the taking part that counts

At the annual Maldon Regatta, even Dave Selby can win a prize... but not for sailing

The prizegiving of the Maldon Town Regatta is a bit like an episode of Midsomer Murders without the murders, the disappointing lack of which was raised in a recent very acrimonious parish council Zoom meeting, which had it been in person would have gone some way to redressing the woefully low body count that is a stain on Maldon’s reputation, not to say an embarrassment.

For some in our mystic marshy realm on the east coast margins of land and sea and plough and sail, it’s a matter of civic pride, while others blame the local undertaker for not sponsoring a trophy for a category that would not only boost his business but would also surely be as hotly contested as the under-12s section of the crabbing competition. Over the years this has provided the kind of publicity you can’t buy for sponsor farmer John, whose bacon smoke-house provides the bait. Headlines included “Boy unwell after eating raw bacon” and “Re-count demand: ‘pushy’ parents deny crab con.”

You see, the local regatta prizegiving in our mecca of mud, where the deepest water lies in potholes on the A12, is a pageant of English village life, and in a recovering post-pandemic world something of a step towards normality, and as with all local regattas, ours has more trophies than your average Olympics, including some for actual sailing. Of course, they say it’s not about the winning but taking part, but that’s just loser talk, because I bagged eight trophies without even taking part.

Last year, with participation not yet back to normal, I took advantage of a “perfect storm,” which ironically involved no wind whatsoever, and even less water. Even more ironically, these are conditions in which my centreplate Sailfish 18 excels and is 27 per cent less likely to capsize and makes barely any leeway, so if I had taken part I could have won nine. However, the unseasonably light airs, which can be wholly attributed to climate change, or possibly a lack of wind, had little effect on the murderous intensity of the shore-based contests with prizes down to fifth place (as well as “highly commended” for the really worst entry) in flower arranging, cake decoration, crabbing, face-painting, dogs that look most like their owners and vegetables that look most like Jesus or Elvis. As veterans of village fete committees well know, that’s a hot potato if ever there was one, and this year did not disappoint because the winner was a real turn-up… actually it was a swede that looked like Daniel Craig. There’s even a prize for the most entertaining morris dancing troupe, but it’s never been awarded. As for activities on the water, it confirmed the old adage that to finish first, first you have to finish, and not many did. As ever, testing light-air conditions proved the ultimate measure of skill, as the canniest skippers scythed through the fleet like pensioners on mobility scooters careering at break-hip speed for breakfast at Wetherspoons. This they did by skilfully anchoring with anchors, while less serious racers who’d left their anchors ashore to lighten their boats drifted backwards towards Holland with very pretty limp spinnakers and no passports. It was quite literally a drag race. Protests about not displaying an anchor ball while racing may yet result in murder – some parish councillors hope. Meanwhile the lack of activity on the water developed into a fascinating game of nautical chicken as skippers listened intently on the VHF and punched the air and hollered “We’ve got this in the bag, chaps” each time a rival announced their retirement. Some less enthusiastic crew mutinously muttered “Does he realise the pub’s open?” And with a fast receding tide and little hope of reaching Maldon, some keener drinkers swam for it, but more loyal crew stuck by their skippers until they could walk ashore without getting their wallets wet. It’s at times like this that a man has to step up to the plate, and with the prizes far outnumbering the recipients, and some of them quite muddy, I seized my opportunity when the regatta chairperson asked if anyone would receive a prize on someone else’s behalf. So I did, and even got a round of applause, which only encouraged me, so next time I made an acceptance speech, humbly

“As with all mentioning that it was “a team effort” and that regattas, ours “I couldn’t take all the credit,” for which the has more trophies than applause was slightly less enthusiastic. For the fourth one the MC hissed: “Dave, you’ve already thanked your mum.” I declined the morris your average dancing prize for reasons of self-respect. On the

Olympics, next one I proper welled up… when the MC including some for snatched the microphone off me and told me to shut up. The applause for that was rapturous. I’ve an inkling the body count round in actual sailing” Midsomer Maldon is about to go up. Spoiler alert: in a strange case of life imitating art the suspects are… everybody!