A year has come and gone, and with it, a promise of more help next spring . . .

Not much to report of thrills or derring-do in Jeff-land this summer, although I never did get a photo of the beautiful sanding and varnish job that Paul’s friend Dave did on the boom, bowsprit and jib club this year. Just as well; I clipped the boom on the wire shroud of a boat at anchor on my way up the river; we were trying to protect Jeff from the upcoming storm.  Sounded like someone had taken a pickaxe to the inside of a Steinway. Suffice it to say, I did more damage than the storm did.  It was not my finest hour. Paul was philosophical, although a bit silent. He then proclaimed that Uncle Jack would have shrugged it off as a sort of “live and learn” moment in sailing too close to someone else.  Someone else who was thank god not present to witness it. I tell you, friends, I wanted to die. Worst of all, I made a 3” gouge in Dave’s beautiful varnish work. Paul went back later and assured me that the other boat didn't suffer even a smidgen. Wire is resilient like that. I, as you might expect, did not return to the scene of the crime, even in my kayak. 

But we had many other disaster-free adventures, and then Jeff got his rig taken off, as usual, and he is now hauled out waiting to be brought to a (gasp) indoor location this winter so I can get a jump on repairs (listen to me--repairs, as if I know what I'm doing), which I’m hoping will include attention to the deck that I always run out of time to take down to bare wood and make nice and smooth and crud-free.

 Jeff waiting to get hauled out. I can't believe this photo was taken just 3 weeks ago. There's now 6" of snow on the ground. You can sort of see the snazzy varnished bowsprit--I haven't destroyed that yet.

 

But what do we hear?  The faint whisper of potential help this coming year?

Yes, we have heard it before, and it materializes briefly, then disappears like a spring mist, a will-o'-the-wisp.

But the potential helper showed himself today, and enthusiastically discussed the sad state of Jeff’s rail, and the need for it to come off, get repaired or rebuilt I’m not sure which, and then re-fastened onto something that did not equal rotting wood.  Which would be fabulous.  You know how I have complained bitterly about those scupper holes and that whole sorry mess between the deck and the rail.

So, vamos a ver, as they say. Help may show up . . . and then again, it may not.

But hopefully I’ll be a little better about documenting the progress this year.  In truth, though, how many more photos of painting and fairing the hull could you stand?