It has been
a rainy week, but a Sisyphus-like despair more than anything has kept me from
picking up the enormously heavy Bosch 5” sander and re-sanding for the
millionth time the battered hull of poor Jeffie. However, this weekend brought progress, if
not joyful things.
I finally
stripped, sanded and primed (1st coat) the $%$#@! transom (thank you Maynard Bray and the how-to book of Sanding and Painting for the Truly Anal-Retentive), and now the trowel cement must
do its magic.
Paul has reversed his earlier dictum of “no sanding after the
trowel cement goes on,” which I ignored anyway since I found that there were
spots I had not alcoholed off that could be sanded/feathered right out. Plus, I had to put another wad of
it in all the seams.
The four
errant planks have been re-fastened to the stem, but Paul now has to put the
cotton back in and apparently do it on the other side—which I conveniently troweled
right over. He tried to teach me how to “listen”
for loose planks with a plastic (electrician’s) hammer, but I did not get the
hang of it (apparently safe-cracker is not a good choice for me for future employment).
After I fill
up the cracks in the transom, there’s nothing left for it but to tackle the evil
deck, since I have been deserted by my one helper and my tentative second
helper has only given me a “maybe” on Facebook.
The good
thing about the deck is that gravity can do some of the work, and the sanding
should not be so bad. Except for the
bulwark. That way madness lies.
Paul has
been vacuuming out the keel, which in my mind points to a reefing out of the
keel soon.
If Jeff does
not go in by August I’ll fill up the hold with water and drown myself.
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