In the 13th Century, the Chinese began to compete with their Arab counterparts as a merchant navy, in the 15th Century reaching a position of supremacy under the Ming Dynasty. The most notable Chinese maritime exploration was carried out under the command of a famed eunuch admiral, Cheng Ho. In 1405, he left China with a fleet of 63 ocean-going junks, voyaging the south seas and, finally, returning triumphant with an unwilling king from Ceylon to pay homage to the Chinese court. Several similar missions followed in succeeding decades, returning with such trophies as exotic fruits, zebras, ostriches, and most startling of all, a giraffe. On these voyages, the Chinese junks proved their sea worthiness in the seas of Borneo, the Philippines, Ceylon, Malabar, and off East Africa. Pottery fragments found on the northern shores of Australia suggest they reached that area also.
The seaworthy hull designs developed by the ancient Chinese shipbuilders are in use by the Republic of China's fishing fleet today. The ROC has a very highly developed fishing fleet, but wooden hulled vessels of the junk style remain a significant part of total fleet tonnage. Now motorized and fitted with refrigeration plants, they still ply world sea routes to distant fishing grounds. Broad of beam, their design conception is for load capacity and work rather than speed. And the junk hull is an exceptionally seaworthy shape. One experienced ' yachtsman told me the story of a fearful storm on the South China Sea in which he had given up his course to run with the seas. As dark approached, he was surprised by no less than seven fishing junks making the heading he desired across his bows; although reeling wildly in the high seas, their captains held to course undaunted.
The picturesque junk hull is now entering a new era of importance for the fishing industry of Taiwan. After a few years of moratorium on the fabrication of new costal fishing craft, due to government fears that excessive numbers would upset income levels in the fishing industry, building has recommenced. However, the traditional wooden hull is now giving way to a wooden-framed fiberglass hull in the same shape. T.N. Lee, at his boat building yard on Chichin Island in Kaohsiung harbor, took me aside, away from the overpowering smell of resin, to talk about the boat he and his team of seven or eight men and women were working on.
We settled near the water, where a wooden hulled vessel of equivalent size to the one under construction was being hauled up for maintenance. Lee pointed to it: "This is where the fiberglass hull has a great advantage. That boat was here four months back for similar maintenance and, in fact, should have been back earlier. The fiberglass hull on the other hand can go for six months between antifouling overhauls, and added to that, it saves 20 percent in weight over the full wooden construction—that means higher load capacity and better fuel consumption and speed. The longer times between maintenance and better fuel economy are the principal attractions for the fishing fleet owner. These two factors combine to allow longer voyages and less port time. On the full wooden boat, the fuel carrying capacity usually is about 160 barrels of oil, meaning a month's operations before calling into a port for refueling. This amount goes about 30 percent further on the fiberglass hulled boat."
Lee went across to inspect the streaming hull of the boat just brought up out of the water: "Look at this. The work required here in scraping, caulking, and painting is twice that for a fiberglass hull after six months."
"Are they as strong'?" I asked. "Stronger, if anything," Lee replied.
"But more important, the fiberglass hull is more flexible. It can take a bang; even scraping on rocks it can give and then pop back into shape. And even if holed it is a much easier material to repair at sea. The only thing against it is the price, which is about 30 percent more than wooden construction. Just the same you won't find anyone here building a wooden boat these days."
The 60 ton vessel Lee was building had a contract price of about US$70,000 and would take him and his team about three months to complete. Finished, it would look quite similar to the traditional vessel, as all decking and fittings were to be of wood. It stood in a crowded yard supported by a rough scaffold and surrounded by wood cuttings and shavings that had become the workship floor over the years. Apart from a band saw and power drill, all Lee's work is hand done. In the early stages of construction, I watched the fitting of the inner frame of imported ash to the hull shell. The frame principally consisted of a grid pattern to strengthen the keel, laid down within the fiberglass.
At another yard, I discovered a boat further along in construction. I was now accompanied by my self-appointed guide, Wang Liang-tien, who was later to introduce me to more of the lore of these small fishing vessels than would dredge up in the building yards. A moustache blazed across his weatherbeaten face; just 27 years old, he had a wiry, energetic build that contrasted with an easy "time doesn't matter" manner learnt from years at sea. His present responsibility, the boat newly drawn up in Lee's yard, he casually set aside to assist me in seeking out further fiberglass hull makers.
Wang smiled at my comments on the rugged finish: "At least these are dry-better than some of the leaky old tubs I've worked." Looking below decks I tried to imagine life on board with perhaps as many as twelve crewmen. Wang promised to show me the "real thing," a boat prepared for sea, later that evening.
The yard we were visiting contained two fiberglass hulls under construction, one a newly laid keel not yet out of the mold; the second I have already mentioned. A Mr. Sun, manager of the yard, echoed Lee's praise of the fiberglass hull, though indicating a little more nostalgia for the honest smell of wood. He said there was still a place for the wooden vessel in coastal service. As we talked, the light of a fire danced accross his features. Looking as though engaged in some ancient rite, he was in fact firing a spar to harden it. The wooden spar would be support for the bowsprit of the ship he was finishing. His description of the prow piece, being carved elsewhere, conjured up visions of a ferocious dragon breasting the waves. The fishing junk remains a work of art to Sun, and his distinctive magic must still be exercised over the product no matter what its material.
Leaving Sun's yard late, Wang and I took the ferry to the busy waterfront district of Kaohsiung to meet former shipmates who should have been enjoying a pre-voyage party. At this feast aboard the prepared vessel, captain and crew decide their duties and negotiate how the catch will be divided. However, we reached the vessel to find it under-manned, the party having broken up ostensibly over a dishwashing dispute. Retreating from that tense atmosphere, we dined in a restaurant obviously known to all deckhands. And before long, we were joined by the reluctant dishwasher, center of the dispute, who gave us his disparaging view of the upstart captain, a few years his junior.
The seaman's grievances flowed with a few glasses of beer. Irregular hours, at times hard and long, other times free and tedious, made up the principal complaint. Suprisingly cramped quarters seemed to matter little to these men once the sea was rolling beneath them.
"Why go to sea'?"
"It's my life!"
And of course there is the lure of the final payment. Being paid off after a voyage is the only way my friend knew of saving. Normally, the payment is made on a percentage of the catch basis, depending upon years of experience at sea and rank on board. If discussions at the dinner on the eve of departure go well, there is promise for a good voyage. On the other hand it is understandably not auspicious for the vessel to find herself short of crew at this point.
Discussion of my investigations of the fiberglass hulled fishing junks reminded my new friend of one such vessel that should be about ready to sail. As Wang and I prepared to leave, he set out to find her master. I wished him well on the prospects of a drier bunk, a faster ship, and a bigger cut without the dish washing.