BOAT BUILDING

Understanding the Sea Through Traditional Craft

​

Long before I built my first boat, I had spent a lifetime on the water.

Fishing with my father, surfing, swimming and exploring Ireland's coastline had made boats a constant part of my life. Although I never trained as a boatbuilder, I became increasingly fascinated by Ireland's traditional currachs—not simply as vessels, but as practical solutions shaped by landscape, materials and generations of local knowledge.

Building them became another way of understanding the relationship between people and the sea.

​​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

Learning from Tradition

Rather than buying a kit or following a modern production method, I wanted to understand how traditional boats were conceived and built.

Over many years I travelled throughout Ireland studying currachs in places such as Kerry, Galway and Donegal. I photographed them, examined abandoned boats, spoke with local builders and learned how each region developed its own approach depending on the materials available.

One conversation in Donegal stayed with me. A local builder explained that electrical conduit had become a popular material for ribs because it was readily available to builders working in the area. It was another example of a tradition that had always adapted to local resources.

That philosophy became central to my own boats.

​

Building with Local Materials

The beach where I live is bordered by woodland rich in hazel and willow.

Rather than importing specialist materials, I harvest local hazel, experimenting with different species until I found those that best suited the boats I wanted to build.

Every rib is hand selected.

Every frame is tied together individually.

Rather than relying on manufactured fastenings, I lash each rib to the longitudinal timbers by hand. One of my boats contains more than 700 individually tied knots, each completed by hand.

​

Learning New Skills

Building the frame was only one part of the process.

To cover the hull with canvas, I learned sewing techniques from a local dressmaker, who guided me through fitting the first skin. From then onwards I completed the work myself, finishing each boat by hand with heavy needle and thread to accommodate the natural movement of the timber once the frame had settled.

The finished hull is waterproofed using traditional tar.

Having previously worked with tar and pitch in the construction industry, I found the material both practical and authentic. While many modern builders use lightweight roofing products, I prefer the rugged character and proven durability of hot tar.

​

Boats Built to Be Used

Every boat I build has a practical purpose.

They are designed to be carried by one person, loaded without a trailer and launched wherever the coastline demands. That simplicity reflects both traditional Irish currachs and my own approach to exploration.

Like much of my work, the boats are built to fit the way I move through the landscape rather than requiring additional equipment or infrastructure.

​

Blyton

Every boat I build carries the name Blyton.

Blyton I.

Blyton II.

Blyton III.

They are named after my dog, who accompanies almost every stage of the process—from gathering hazel in the woods to sitting beside me while I tie frames, sew canvas and apply tar.

Boat building has become one of the quieter parts of my life. It is patient work, carried out close to home, usually with Blyton asleep nearby after another walk along the same beach where many of the materials were gathered.

Naming each boat after him feels like a fitting tribute to the companion who has shared every stage of that journey.

​

What Boat Building Has Taught Me

Building boats has reinforced something I have learned repeatedly throughout my life:

The best understanding comes through making.

Studying traditional boats revealed not only how they were constructed, but why they evolved differently from one coastline to another. Every choice of timber, fabric and fastening reflects the landscape, the available materials and the people who depended upon them.

Building my own currachs has become another way of exploring Ireland's maritime heritage—not as a museum piece, but as a living craft that continues to evolve through experience.