Logs and Shanties


A true epic

by James / harriers b 2006
This is a tale of legendary bravery, treachery, and survival against all odds. Leaving Horsey Staithe on a fine morning, a subtle breeze rustling the trees, who could have forseen the events which lay in store for the gallant crew of Luna. For us we thought the highlight of the day would be little more than repeated showers, a ruffle of thunder and a red, 20'' creature, commonly known, and widely feared as the horrendously monstrous Horsey Monster.

But lo! What is this? Rebellious use of home-made trapezes? Two well proportioned gentleman and our very own damsel in distress who was rescued from the viscious mouth of the horrendous Horsey Monster by our knights in shining armour. The ample breeze soon subsided, the water became ominously flat as a millpond and the still darkness of what was to come descended.

Alas! What misery soon befell our brave crew. Our skipper, violently felled like a mighty warrior, by a cruel bludgeoning blow by a quantpole driving her to her knees in the reeds. Nay, all but the great crew of the legendary Luna would have died to send a blow, but the skipper rose and climbed aboard with little more than a singing head and a throbbing rear. What travesty is this? While offering aid to the beleaguered crew, at the sacrifice of his own passage on his fair vessel, one crewman paid the ultimate price. Only a member of so elite a crew of Luna would have sacrificed so much to aid the lesser boatsmen of Lustre. And at such cost! The jealous and spiteful crew of Lustre so cunningly and maliciously placed a rope in such a reckless position that the heroic crewman fell, like Caesar to Brutus' knife. Furthermore, as he sank beneath the roaring torrent between the unyielding stone arches of the domineering towers that make up the archaic Potter Heigham Bridge, he felt the burning pain of treachery in his heart, and the dull inconvenience of the mortal wound he received from the gunwale of the boat. Striking for the surface, a dull glimmer of light piercing through the sordid squalor. Hope turned to despair and despair to determination as it cruelly dawned upon him the dire consequences of their treachery as no hand was lowered to pull him from the mire. "Quant on! Quant on!" dull voices called, scarcely audible beneath the murky depths. Summoning up his last reserves of strength and, hauling himself with the merest of finger holds onto the boat, his head rose above the gunwale once more. With a shout of "victory" echoing from the lofty heights of the unyielding stone arches striking fear into the hearts of the callous crew he stood forth once more upon the deck.

Hark! Listen ye here! The trials and tribulations of the crew continued. As our plight could seem no worse howling gales and a ferocious indiscriminate tide pounded the frail vessel. Now little more than a skeleton at the mercy of the heatless whims of mother nature. The muscles of the quantsmen scarred with burning pain, and the helmswoman's head, trembled as she struggled to contain the incessant pounding of the relentless currents. "We cannot go on" their bodies cried, but their hearts stood strong. "Land ahoy!" The distant cry arose from on high. And shelter was found amidst the raging storm. With no alternative, the crew drew lots, to ease the painful choice of sending a man into the unrestrained attack of the very earth on which we depend to search for the legendary 'Quant pole John'. Lo! Even the mighty deities of Greece quiver in fear. The fates smiled upon the daring sailor who found the legend at worth, the rippling muscles of his Quant-dom. Hark! The cry rippled along the docks of Hunters Yard! The enduring Herculean crew, giants among men, strode triumphantly from their battered vessel, the scene of battle worn as medals of honour, and demanded, "wherefore art our chips?"


to the tune of 'Goldigga'
by Matt, Josh and Rach / harriers b 2006
She sailed my wood boat, into a tree,
She won't stop gybin, though I plead.
Oh she's a bad skipper, burnt my tea...

I ain't sayin she a bad skipper,
But none of us will wanna sail with 'er.

Roof down, sail, moor up, brew on.

1. Now I seen this skip before, she's a little bit strong,
Yeah she almost had my eye out when she put in a rond,
She said boy ya better watch cause I know how to sail,
But she didn't have a clue and I had to bail.

She did a tack to the left and a gybe to the right,
She was all over the river givin cruisers a fright,
I said girl get off the tiller, you becomin' a killer,
Betta patch up ma boat with some polyfilla.

2. I was sittin on the cabin with the Commy on the tiller
When she knocked Anni over with a boom brain spiller,
I was up out on deck in a second to see
But I started laughing so hard that I had to go pee.

Anni got wet and Anni wasn't ok,
And as she sank beneath the water we were forced to pray
We hadn't seen that she had grabbed da keel
Til she surfaced again just in time for our meal.

3. When the sailing time is over and it's time to stop,
Well she can't tie up the moorin cause she don't know the knots,
I said could you do the awning maybe cook the tea
And then my skipper turned and looked at me,

She said I ain't doin cookin, I am not your slave,
Plus I already did half of the sailin today.
I said girl you couldn't sail if you was Ellen McCarthur,
So you betta be my maid, where's the food that I'm after.

A 'dynamic' risk assessment

by Ed / harriers b 2006
  1. Activity
  2. Hazard
  3. Mitigation
  1. Sailing backwards with only one bloke to push the boom out.
  2. Bloke could get drowned 'William Tell' style over the boat and into the water.
  3. Make sure the bloke is strong, and able to climb, unassisted, out of the Broad.
  1. Mooring first for lunch
  2. Everyone else moors somewhere else.
  3. Be prepared to start lunch while quanting to the 'correct' location.
  1. Tacking on Heigham Sound using bays to lengthen tacks.
  2. The Broads Authority may place mud and weed traps on the exit points of bays to catch yachts.
  3. Back jib, scandalise, quant, lower mainsail, rock, kedge - be towed off by Commies.
  1. Tacking along through Potter behind a slow, unaware cruiser going at exactly the wrong, slow speed in the middle of the river.
  2. Every, '**!! tack' you will have to lose all your way, since you can't get past, and you don't want to crash.
  3. Politely ask the cruiser if they wouldn't mind moving over a little, so that you might get your dinner before it gets dark.
  1. You are chatting to a fisherman while tacking against a strong tide through Potter.
  2. A gust stuffs you up and you start hurtling backwards with the tide.
  3. Cheerfully call out 'oops, I think that's the wrong way...' while hastily backing the jib and reversing toward a reed bank until forward way is restored. [Call out 'that's better' when you next pass the fisherman, showing that everything is under control]
  1. You are double-quanting through Potter bridge against strong wind and tide.
  2. The crewman tasked with the crucial job of pushing on the bridge to avoid a horrible crunching noise made by the boat is not up to the job - and resigns with immediate, wet, effect.
  3. Make sure John is one of the quanters, so he can hold the boat in place directly under the bridge, while the now damp ex-crewman climbs back aboard.
  1. Tacking (again) with very little way, next to a very expensive looking sea - going cruiser.
  2. You could be there forever, and the owner is watching you.
  3. Accept a tow from two 'handsome' chaps in a rescue boat who will whisk you away from their expensive, enormous boat.
Also, didn't mention: - Duncan nearly fell in...!

- You can't mitigate [G] by quanting against the tide using the wrong (and very muddy) end of the quantpole.