The Workhorse of the North
Donál MacPolín

They were easy rowed and they were easy sailed and they were great for the hard water. (Bertie McKay, Antrim Fisherman)

The Yawls, or drontheims, built for generations in Greencastle, Moville and Portrush, were remarkably uniform, suggesting a design whose evolution had reached its zenith and remain unchanged. This uniformity also reflects the conservative nature of the early boat builder and the small isolated communities they served. In spite of the huge numbers built over almost two centuries in both districts, the essential design remained the same, with only minor local variations. An Islay sgoth and an Inishbofin yawl were virtually identical. Nevertheless, the boat we know today as a drontheim, though derived from the Norway fjord boats, is different in many respects.

The boats were mostly 26 - 28 feet with a 6-foot-6-inch to 7 foot beam and 2 feet 6 inches to 2 feet 10 inches depth. Smaller '20-foots' or 22-foot boats were favoured in some places. All were open boats, clinker-built, with oak frames on deal or larch planking. Keels were pine or larch with the 'turn,' or forefoot, stem and stern of oak. Oars were generally 18 feet, sometimes 20 feet, and rounded or 'boxed' (square-sectioned at the loom) which meant that they could not be feathered when rowing, unlike the round or 'roped oar' (the loom wound with rope to reduce wear on the softwood oar version).

Four was the usual complement of oars carried. First, nearest the stem, was the 'bow oar'. Next was the 'main oar' on the opposite side, then the 'waist' or 'main-after' oar, and lastly the stern or 'aft' oar. The aft oarsman, 'rowing stroke', took a baring from the stern and directed the course.

The first oar I ever rowed in a dronthon boat was an 18-foot oar. Old Nealie Walker used to say to me "Them boys that's fishing now wouldn't be much good on an 18-foot oar. People were used to it, you see. If you weren't used to it and hadn't the practice, even if you were as strong as a horse, you wouldn't stick it! But when you were used to that rowing you could row all day. Oh aye, it was a sore life. (Henry canning, Greencastle fisherman)

Most Drontheims were worked with a single mast, setting a loose-footed sail, and a single jib set flying from the stemhead, without a bowsprit. As often as not, the mast had no stays, but as the jib-halyard was brought back through the masthead-pulley, this was tied down to a beam and served as a stay. Sometimes a mast might have two 'sets' or stays tied down to the 'wearing' (stringer) or the beam if the weather was bad. Mast positions were often changed at sea, a difficult and dangerous manoeuvre, especially if the mast had to go through a hole in the beam. In a rising wind, the sprit was often taken out and the peak of the sail tied into the mast with a fine line to reduce the boat's way as the drontheim sail did not have modern reef points:

If there was a lot of wind in it, and you running before it, they put no sprit in at all. They tied the top down and it would flap away. A 'barmoody' (Bermuda) they call it! It was simple sailing. (Henry Canning Greencastle)

In Glengad, taking out the sprit was graphically described as 'making a "goer" out of her!' At Inver in Donegal Bay, where there was once a large fleet of yawls, the late Peter Gallagher described the stamina and skill of the man at the sprit when there was a strong wind on the big Atlantic swells and a following sea. It was essential that the boat did not run too fast ahead or slide back on the crest of a swell. To do so meant capsize and disaster.

You had to be a bloody good man to be there at that pole... In a big swell the man at the mast and the sprit was more important than the man at the tiller. He had his arms around the sail and dropped the sprit when they were on top of the swell to reduce her way in case she' broach, then raised it again when they were down in the swell to get her up! (Jonny Gallagher, Fisherman, Inver)

This difficult manoeuvre was employed by Shetland fishermen a century earlier, who raised and lowered their lugsails in the same manner.

Lightness and sea-kindliness were paramount. Recognising that it had to be managed with as few as four men, the boat was built to be beached and quickly hauled to safety on coasts exposed to the Atlantic's strong tidal currents, huge swells and often dangerous surf. In such conditions, a heavy and unwieldy boat would destroy itself, and perhaps its crew, very quickly. Thus its superb double-ended, inherently Scandinavian shape, lightness and ease of handling made the drontheim ideal for this region.

Bertie McKay, a fisherman on the rocky north Antrim coast, describes the type's qualities thus:

The drontheim fishing boat was the only answer running in from the sea. All these inlets, most of them were exposed to the west and you were running before seas approaching a landing which is the worse possible way to approach it. The drontheim's fine end splits the sea. You could always control them. The transom-stern can be a problem unless you have some kind of decent shelter.

In a wonderful phrase, he describes the drontheim's seaworthiness: 'Going into a big swell was like sliding into a basin of cream; they were that steady.'

The fine fore and aft lines widened considerably amidships enabling the boat to be easily rowed yet carry large cargoes, which included enormous loads of turf, seaweed, and often sheep, cattle and horses. The drontheim was thus the perfect workhorse for the many island communities on the north coast which relied exclusively on it for transport as well as fishing.

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