On the Turn
Ship builder Elly joined our team in October 2019 and has spent most of her time working on Ceiba’s framing stage and in the wood workshop. In this blog she explains the process of making coaks and trunnels following eleven months at the shipyard.
At the shipyard, we make a lot of things ourselves. Regular deliveries of lumber enter the yard to be milled by the sawyers, stored, selected, and will leave as part of a 148’ schooner. Any timber not used for the ship may become a greenhouse, a desk, a bed, and the offcuts of these may be turned into a bowl or a mallet or a raccoon-proof latch for the food cupboard. Once all possibilities are exhausted we are left with a pile of firewood, mostly sapwood and bark, yet on the weekend you will find “yardies” (as we call ourselves) scavenging among the heap for a piece to carve into a spoon or Scrabble board.
Author Elly on the framing stage
In October 2019 I arrived wide-eyed in the meaty humidity of rainy season. The yard was a cacophony of machines and mallets, set to a pulsating bass line from the huge speaker on wheels. Sweating and overwhelmed I found my place in the woodshop, amidst the production line of framing stage paraphernalia; blocks, wedges, dowels, coaks, and trunnels. Demand from the stage was high, pumping out one frame per week they needed a constant supply, otherwise work could come to a standstill. As I then began to understand, the yard operates on a shifting equilibrium. We rely on each other's work to keep the process flowing and when a gap appears, we adapt to fill it.
The double sawn frames of Ceiba are held together with steel bolts and wooden treenails (henceforth referred to as trunnels). For the purpose of framing, a trunnel is a wooden dowel driven into a hole bored through two futtocks, held in place by wedges at either end. Prior to wedging the futtocks are clamped together (with our homemade Tamarindo screw clamps) as the wedges will hold a tight fit firmly in place, but will not draw the two timbers any closer as is possible with a bolt. The trunnels we use were originally made from Tamarindo del monte, however, we have switched to using butter yellow Guachipelin due to its flexibility and strength. If you want to learn more about the different kinds of wood that we use, click here.
The trunnels are borne through the “trunnel tunnel”, brainchild of Artur (he talks about the previous trunnel making process in this video ). Now in its third iteration, it takes the form of a wooden jig clamped at an angle over a small jointer, with infeed and outfeed holes bordering the planer knives. Yet to find a comfortable spot, it perches awkwardly in the centre of the woodshop.
Drawing of the Trunnel Tunnel
We begin by squaring lengths of Guachipelin to 23mm thickness and grazing the arisses with a hand plane. Despite having already been selected for having suitably straight grain, at this point we carry out the “smash test”. The timber is held at one end and swung against the floor or a firm post, if the length fractures we can confirm that it is unsuitable and would lead a more fulfilled life as a sticker or tool handle. One end is then inserted into a female drill attachment (made by our metalworking legend Eli) and spun through the jig over the turning cutter head. The infeed hole hugs the incoming timber, table height is set to control diameter, and the outfeed hole is the exact size of the finished trunnel to eliminate chatter. These lengths are then cut to around 15”, one end slightly tapered on the belt sander to create a leading edge, and a slot cut in the same end to accommodate a wedge. The wedge slot on the opposing end is not cut until the trunnel has been driven 3⁄4 of the way into the hole to prevent splitting from the impact of a mallet. Whole days pass at the trunnel tunnel, only slightly sheltered from the feversome heat of the dry season, planing, turning, pushing, sanding, sawing. At the end of the week I am turning in my bed with dreams that I have become the tunnel.
In comparison, the coak making process is a calmer experience. The purpose of the coaks is to locate the futtocks when being tarred/assembled, in addition to adding sheer strength. Like the trunnels, the grain of a coak runs perpendicular to the grain of the frame. Each coak encircles a bolt, the paring of these two components guarantees the accuracy of location when the coak holes are being drilled.
Nestled between the motorbike shelter and a tent is a pile of Guapinol offcuts, I inspect for suitability (straight grain, no sapwood, adequate width, free from scorpions) then mill and 16 side them. I turn the coaks on the wood lathe in a quiet corner of the yard near the mangrove, five per length, with a custom made gauge. It is an exercise in mindfulness as well as a welcome respite from the cries of the Alaskan sawmill. I turn them to twice the depth of the forstner bit, and to the exact diameter to achieve a press fit. I then drill a hole through the exact centre to later accommodate a bolt, then tease off the edges with sandpaper. I have fallen in love with the lathe.
Once I had earned my stripes in the woodshop, I ascended to the role of frame assembler and spent the rest of my days at the yard between the framing stage and the lathe. Over time the stage lost the limelight as new priorities arose. It was once the throbbing centre of the yard operating with 4-6 framers, building 2 frames at once, each ‘frame week’ concluded with a frame raising and celebratory dinner. This era climaxed with the raising of the two final full frames and a passion fruit cheesecake, followed by the frenetic destruction of framing stage number one to make way for the sternpost. With so many things to do before the final 11 frames closed the open end of the ship, the framing team dispersed to apply their expertise elsewhere making deck beams and steam boxes. With one platform remaining, our team reduced to 2, and our tools now on the less convenient side of the frame layout, we dance over and around the futtocks until we have finished each frame.
I intended to spend only a few months at the shipyard, but almost a year later I am leaving a more rounded person and I hope to be back before long.
“I intended to spend only a few months at the shipyard, but almost a year later I am leaving a more rounded person and I hope to be back before long. ”
ELLY FEENEY
September, 2020
