Jeff Brown . . . the next Julia Roberts?

 Thank goodness my cub photographer was on site to take these photos of the filming that happened in the Red Shed, known in the film as just "the boat house" I suppose. I asked Paul what the scene was about. He said that the character (I don't know if he's the main character/star, but he could be) is getting Jeff Brown ready to launch.

Ahahahahahaahahahahahaha!

Wouldn't that be nice?

And for those of you who are now captivated by this tale, please make checks payable to the Noank Historical Society (www.noankhistoricalsociety.org) so we can raise the 5 billion dollars necessary to make the old geezer pass his insurance survey. 

Here's the crew getting ready to shoot a "boathouse scene." The star is at left; note the bespoke opened toolbox at the bottom of the photo. Donated by Paul I suspect.

Down by the Town Dock is where they are filming a scene of a Jamboree; hence . . . yes, it really is there . . . a Ferris wheel.

Looks like a kinda crappy day to film a Jamboree, but there will possibly bee more shooting tomorrow, which is supposed to be nice.

Did I mention I filled out a form to be an extra? Sadly I did so too late, or I would probably have been cast, as "Waterfront Hag." Every movie needs one.

Hopefully more photos will follow. The producers said they'd give some to the historical society, and I'll post em here.  

Interestingly, some scenes from "Mystic Pizza" were filmed about 200 yards away at what used to be Ford's Lobsters, where--yes, you guessed it, Uncle Jack kept his dragger Star at the dock, and Sea Mew out on the mooring. I will have to find a photo  of them.

Hey, here's Star, in oh I don't know . . . 1985?  At the Seaport. All Jack's boats are destined to be movie stars!

Jeff Brown--Soon to be a Hollywood Star

 Geez, I  hope it doesn't go to his head!

So I learned last week that the Hallmark Channel is filming a movie in Stonington, Mystic and Noank called "Sand Dollar Cove," and one of the scenes, of a guy fixing a boat, will be filmed guess where and featuring you-know-who.

Here's an article on it. You too could be an extra.

https://patch.com/connecticut/madison-ct/hallmark-channel-movie-looking-hire-extras-shoreline

Come to think of it, so could I. What's to lose? You have to send 'em a photo though. I will be cast as "Seaside Hag."

Anyway, the production company has promised to send me photos of the filming of that scene (apparently I am not allowed to do it myself) so I will post them here once I get them.

What I'm hoping is that a) someone from the cast or crew falls in love with JB and writes the historical society a big fat check to repair him enough to pass his survey and get insured again, b) the buzz from the movie will help me with a grant to a maritime history preservation foundation, c) I can start a GoFundMe page (because believe me, it will take more that Paul and my ministrations to get Jeff out of the shed and back in the water, and d) well, I don't know what "d" is but it involves lots of money being thrown at my best wooden pal.

Stay tuned!!!

Long -overdue update

Since I probably set this blog up wrong, I can't reply to comments so for those of you who commented in 2019 . . . sorry!  But I do receive them in my gmail account so if you want, next time you have a comment, just put your gmail address in the comment and I can write to you, or update here.

A new comment from, of all people, a Jeff Brown, has prompted this post. Hi Jeff. Good to meet you!!

I have not posted for awhile because a) I moved a bit farther north so do not get to spend as much time with Jeff as I did before, and b) I think I reported in my last post that the dreaded "insurance survey" has consigned Jeff Brown to a life in the Red Shed, as it is known, for the time being. All the work that Paul and I did on the rails and deck 2 years ago did not get the chance to be tested on the high seas. . . but on the plus side it has a spiffy new paint job that isn't getting crudded up. Cold comfort.

If you want a tour, go to the Noank Historical Society on Sylvan St, or write to them at  noankhist@sbcglobal.net 
and have them open up the Red Shed behind the Latham Chester Store and bask in Jeff's cuteness. And donate to his zillion-dollar restoration fund!!!

Oh gosh--a comment--and me not knowing how to reply . . . .

If someone knows how to reply directly to comments on Blogger, let me know because I see no way to do it.

Shawn Perry has left a new comment on your post "Bulwarks need love too":

Is Jeff in the water now? I hope you are enjoying a sail now and then.
Is that other Key West Smackee still in the area? It was in David Barbers back yard for a while. 

Well, Shawn, glad you asked.  At the moment, poor Jeff is an "exhibit" at the Red Shed, partly because I am no longer close enough to work on him, and partly because, well, insurance surveys catch up with the best of us, don't they?  We need to do a Go Fund Me page to do the necessary repairs that Paul and I just, well, deferred.  Hey, it was floating--what more does one need? But a dry exhibit is better than a floating one--all that in-the-water, out-of-the-water stuff does not a happy boat make.  So I have high hopes that we'll raise the thousands necessary to fix stem and stern, quite literally, and then it's heave-ho, back in action.

A few years ago I was treated to a glimpse of Dave Barber's smackee, under canvas and in the middle of shall we say an overhaul (Dave had removed some of the decking for a reason that escapes me now), and even though it has been out of the water for years and years, Paul says its hull is in better shape than Jeff's, because it was made with bronze fastenings. Uncle Jack did not go in for luxury items like that.  An interesting detail is that it is truer to the original plans than Jeff Brown--the combing (is that how you spell it?) is reversed in Jeff--Jack thought it was foolish to have the flat end in the stern, since that's where you need more arm room for the tiller. Dave's has the curve facing forward. It's still there, far as I know, waiting for an enterprising naif (and we are legion) to come rescue it . . . 
 
Coaming.
That's how you spell it.
I never knew . . .  

From our “When will I ever listen?” department: Don’t Go Looking For Trouble, Part II

Well, I can’t say we have been idle over the past two weeks, but it’s been so hot that you could fry a catfish on this miserable deck, so painting is taking a while.  Plus, a few days ago I was minding my own business, sanding away, and bang! I nearly fell down a hole into the bilge.  I exaggerate, but that was rot hole #1, and forgetting Bruce’s admonition when I first started this 4 years ago (“Don’t go looking for trouble”), I went and found 2 others before the day was up. 

I'd like to say it's not as bad as it looks, but I am afraid it is. Note the horrid hole at the stern--already gooed up at this point.

 So sanding stopped, out came the epoxy, then the lovely West Marine 2-part resin and red powder goo, then more sanding, then the gutter caulk (hey, why not), for the new space around the combing, 

all sanded--you can't even see the hole. One down, who knows how many more to go

    then because caulk is nice and squishy, why not just stuff it into the big ol rot holes on the inside of the railing/bulwarks which I thought we’d taken care of back in April in the boathouse.  But noooooo, this is at the stern where we did not look (fear, I suppose). Actually, I did look, and sort of hoped it would go away, but alas it did not, and this is why the phrase “new transom” sometimes passes Paul’s lips in a whisper as if he were invoking a demon.  However, there’s enough resin and red powder mix up there to keep even the most determined wave from breaking through. And I did not do so bad with the rail rot.

Meanwhile, the foredeck is not looking too shabby for the first coat, after the pounding we gave it this spring. Paint hides a host of character defects.

I am getting rather sick of this.  It is, after all, September.

 

I am eager to try “frostbiting,” though. Jeff should be swelled up by then.

Look who’s back in the yard

Well, I came home the other day to find this lovely surprise, waiting for me to now sand the deck. 

note the fancy trailer connector, which allows the thing to come apart and fit in the shed

I really don’t think that high-gloss black looks very good.  As you will recall, Paul suggested we used high gloss this year because it might hold up better. It looks great on the hull, but on the rail it shows every flaw and bump, and let me tell you, after the traumatic rail repair of  the winter of ’18, there are bumps galore. 

Here's what it looks like close up, indoors:

Oy! It's RuPaul's Smack Race. Paul says that after a week in the salt water it’ll dull right down. We’ll see. Speaking of bumps--about the deck. . . . The object this time is to just get it smooth enough to paint.  With all the rubber caulk and epoxy near the covering board, though, it’s just gonna look like crap.

But yesterday I gave it the old college try.

And dragged out Papa bear, the 8” disc sander, whose disc I had apparently never changed.

 

It doesn't look that awful from far away.  But rest assured, there are bumps.

 

WTF???

This thing requires half and hour of wrestling and ¼ bottle of nail polish remover to get the old sandpaper off, and then you have to spray this yellow adhesive goo on the head and glue the sucker down.  Who ever heard of a more ridiculous way to put sandpaper on a sander?

I swear, I get all the best tools.

I know, I know, it’s the woodworker’s friend, and there must be something good about it, but honestly, I think it’s the stupidest thing that was ever invented.

But there I was, giving it my best, and remember, friends, I hated Papa Bear with a passion because it is big and mean and wants to fly all over the place and take anything in the way (like your shin) with it.  But I was getting good at it and realized that you do not glide that sander across the deck; you press down and guide it slowly, and if you want to move to a new location you lift the whole thing up and it becomes docile as a puppy. But if you leave it touching the wood it takes off and drags you to hell.

So I’m thinking, “Well, I’ve mastered you now, sucka,” and then all of a sudden I am pelted by a stream of small yellow spongy bullets and then a larger yellow thing goes flying off to my right and I look down and the whole disc assembly has disintegrated under my hands.

Because that’s the kind of craftsman I am.

 

I think that this sander’s days are quite numbered; I cannot find a replacement for it. I can’t even find anything like it in any catalogue, except a helpful model by 3M which costs $530. Um, no thank you. So now I’m using the teensy random orbital sander and dreading the lecture I will be getting for wrecking power tools.

At this rate, Jeff will be in the water by September.

Just in time to haul him out again.

Although I can’t say I mind sailing with no other boats around.   

Less stuff to hit, if you k. what I m.

Of Q-Tips, naughty dogs, and my overwhelming desire to save a buck

For the past 3 weeks it’s been either pouring like the monsoons or absolutely sweltering, so nothing for it but to a) kayak around in the afternoon, b) ride my fabulous new bike, c) sulk, or d) feel so guilty about not working on Jeff Brown that I do none of these things, and instead take myself down to the boathouse to chip away (would  that that were a euphemism) on what’s left to be done of the, um, exterior. Okay, outboard. This has been a pip, since the boathouse grows dark in the afternoon, with Jeff’s port side almost completely obscured unless I throw open the big barn doors, thus letting everyone in the world know I’m here mangling a piece of history.  For this shed is at the “Town Dock,” an impossibly tiny bit of beach overlooking the river and the anchorage, with a nice lawn and a nautical vibe, and everyone, and I mean everyone, for miles around comes and parks it here in the summer, lounging cheek by jowl with children, dogs, umbrellas, blow-up swans and picnics, to the point where I’m sure they’ve all exchanged phone numbers and bathing suit sand by evening. I usually keep the front and back door open, for the breeze.  

Grace, as seen from the back door. She has a last name but I've forgotten it.

The other day this was rewarded by a glimpse of the aging but quite cute Grace, an oyster boat usually berthed in Norwalk but up here sometimes for the heavy lifting, since next door is the Oyster Guy, who’s recently thrown in his lot with a bigger partner and so has access to magnificent craft like this one.  Although over the winter his shop was a flurry of activity, as he and his elves built a metal oyster catamaran, an operation shrouded in more secrecy than the design that turned America’s Cup racers from sailboats into pontooned bullets with kevlar on sticks.

But I digress.

Even though the breeze out the back door was wonderful I hadda open up the big doors, which brought all manner of curious onlookers, asking questions ranging from “Does it float?” to “Who picked the colors?” (this from a five year old, who liked the green but thought the red was a little too fussy). Now, since for the moment I have to work in a building owned by the Historical Society, and since Jeff is an Historical Artifact, you can bet I had my facts at my fingertips (I was able to assure people, emphatically, that yes it does indeed float. Some of the time. With  three pumps going) and had my pleasant-but paint-spattered docent-smile on, which is painful for this old hermit.

But the other day, as I was working on the transom, which gives me fits (more on that later), the irascible and over-large Marty the shih-tzu kept wandering away from his owner and flinging himself into the boathouse for a good romp through the dropcloth. Which made his owner a) scream his name over and over, so now it will never leave me, and b) dart in the boathouse after him and throw me what my aunt used to call a “withering look,” accusing me of having the nerve to be painting a boat in of all places a boathouse.

Marty aside, I have liked these late afternoons with Jeff, with the light slanting through the southeast windows  and the waves bumping against the rocks and the fading voices of tired beachgoers packing up and going home to dinner. It does not suck to live here.

This will be the last year we can use the same boat lettering, though it has held up like a champ.It breaks my aging Scottish heart that we will have to part with $35 again. First thing I had to do was wash all the rust off it with a Q-Tip and bleach, then I got out the artist brushes and painted around the letters.  I am sure that dead marine repair professionals are spinning in their graves over this but what can I do? We all serve one master or another. There is an awful spot on the starboard side that no amount of sanding or Interlux trowel cement can cure.  I have heard whisperings that a new transom is in order. I often wonder what part of Jeff Brown is actually not held together with epoxy and bronze wire.  The hatch covers, probably. Wonderfully sturdy things.

All beautiful, except the white trim and the right side.  See how ugly? 

Those are not puckers or bubbles.  They’re pieces of . . . the boat, that just stick up. 

Which probably means that they are not sticking up; it’s the area around it that has sunk in. Nasty.

And the mast, of course, though it is a bit bendy.  Dane stopped by the other day—it was the thunder-and-lightning storm and some people were down at the dock to look at the Sound as it grew purple and wild. Hadn’t seen him since the one sail he had after he’d refinished the mast and bowsprit. He was glad they were holding up.  I should take a photo of them hanging in the boathouse. They still look lovely. I remarked to Dane that he’s the only person who ever said “I’ll help” and actually did. Except Dave the pilot, who last year refinished the boom and jib club. Paul doesn’t count. Cuz he’s the boss and does everything.

So, waiting on the white paint for the rail cap, I have been painting the rub rail (black) around the brass (black), before I can paint the red sheerstrake or the rail/bulwark below the rail cap.  If you’re going to tart up a boat you have to know in which order you can paint the colors so you don’t end up bent over twisted like a pretzel with your hair in the paint can. Actually, I am doing all of this because I absolutely do not want to face the deck.  I’m refusing to sand it until Bruce pulls it out of the boathouse. I will not kill myself in a space that’s three inches from the ceiling.

No freaking way. I’ve cracked my head, shoulders and back on those beams so many times, 

scuttling around when we repaired those rails,  I can’t count.  Also please note the traveler, 

formerly known as the whatsis, in the foreground. Still not replaced!

“Lie down and stick the sander under you,” says Paul.  In a pig’s eye. YOU lie down and stick the sander under you, see how it feels. I’d sand off my chest. I’m dedicated, but not insane.  In fact, I don’t know how boaty people do this year after year.  With me, I’ll do it because it’s my uncle’s boat.  But any other boat?  To spend this much time just to get it to the point where “job well done” means “doesn’t sink?” Fuggedaboutit.

Take that, rot!

It’s been brought to my attention that some people are actually reading this blog, including people from the area that I’ve studiously tried to not mention, in order to lend a little faux-anonymity to the postings. But I guess the (waterlogged) cat is out of the bag. I’m just going to pretend that it’s not.

April . . . was a cruel month, but not for the reasons T.S. Eliot lists. It was just too darned cold to do much, even though Jeffie was in the boathouse. However, May rolled around and as the last blog post suggests, Paul and I decided that it might be time to tackle the Big Repair of the season: the rails.  Now this, as you recall, flies in the face of my promise, this year, to really go to town on the deck, which doesn’t get much love since I’ve exhausted myself on the exterior, or outboard as you watery types would say. But rot is a harsh mistress, and apparently this repair could wait no longer. So for about a month we reefed out all the goo, muck and non-wood from the rail and covering board (see previous post), and lo, the craters of the universe appeared. We had to separate the rail from the deck completely, which was a real pleasure. We’d been told by one observer to just take the Sawzall and hack it right off, but that would have meant complete replacement of the rail cap and probably, at that point, the rail, plus as I have been told more than once, every time you take a piece off a boat, you risk shifting its shape, even if it’s by just a little bit. So for this frankly grisly operation we used no power tools, but at the end of it, to smooth things out, Mr Sawzall did come in handy.

The scuppers also look tons better--nice and smooth (sort of) without all that 40-year-old filling clogging their sides.

Then it was time for some resin, just to seal things up (but not to fill the holes by any means.)

Then we had a Day of Bolting, where holes were drilled through the rail cap through the rail (a delicate operation requiring a good eye and lotsa luck) into the members below the deck, and screwed on tight. Then more epoxy to seal the bolt holes and plugs, then enough caulk to fill a bathtub that went in between the rail and the deck. This was wonderful stuff, and we smoothed it out with mineral spirits so that the area between the rail and deck is smoother than it has been in years.  Plus, instead of hard, stiff epoxy, trowel cement, Bondo, 5200, chewing gum, or whatever else had been stuck in there over the years, there is a slight give to it, and it is very waterproof.

June brought the Filling of the Deck Cracks, which is still not done, although I have managed to paint the bottom, a practice which gives Paul fits since he believes one should start from the top and work one’s way down, but not me, no siree, I want to see that ugly mass of ruts and caverns covered up—it motivates me to carry on.  So at this point the topsides are almost sanded and ready to paint.  Better late than never. We’ll see what this month holds. It’ll be out on the mooring by Christmas, I swear!!

I actually did a not-bad sanding job this year--my goal is to not have the planks show. Ahahahahaha. Paul says it takes 3 years from the time you take the hull down to wood; this is year #4 so here's hoping.

Jeff Brown the diva gets his own dressing room this winter . . .

 . . . so those who serve him can do so in relative comfort—and much earlier!   

Jeff Brown's new winter home--it even has electricity.  We're spoiled!

So there I was today, hoof-pick (reefing hook) in hand, gouging out all the crud that I’d put between the rail and the deck, and that others before me had put there for the past 50 years, because this year we are going to do some above-the-waterline repairs.  I’d told Paul I wanted to take the deck down to wood this year, and he’d looked at me with that patient, aren’t-you-just the-cutest gaze I have come to understand means that there is more to the deck and its, er, issues, than I had realized. So when we met in Jeff’s new boathouse this week—me, Paul, and a possible helper-to-be, what was discussed was the sorry state of the rail and the need for the “covering board” to be screwed down tight to the frame, since it has come up in spots over the years. The covering board, in case you are clueless like me, is that deck plank that is closest to the rail and is the same width all up and down the length of the boat, unlike the other planks farthest from the middle, which are cut to match its curve. 

the white plank is the covering board.  And that cool little red scraper was my best friend today. Way over down on the right you can see the fabbo newly varnished bowsprit and jib club.

So the first thing to do is get all the ancient goo (some soft, some hard, some like iron) out from between both the covering board and the first “real” deck plank, and then get all the other crap out from under and wedged up beside the rail, so that everything can move enough when we fasten things down together.

Charming.

 Let me tell you, friends, I did not like what I saw when what was under the rail was revealed.

Lotsa rot.

eeeeewwwwwww.

Which will have to be addressed, but since this is the non-billion-dollar restoration, we will be using our pal Mr. Epoxy instead of Mr. New Material.

I am confident that when the time is right, the real restoration will begin.

on the outside I had to lift up the rail with the screwdriver and get the reefing hook underneath it to clear out all the gunk so you can see about 1/4" of daylight now all along the rail.  Which is why I thought I'd destroyed the boat till I was told this was what had to be done.  Jeff looks painfully decrepit at the moment, though.

But for now, it's good enough to make it so that no more water gets in where it shouldn’t.

So today I did both sides on the inside--I suppose you purists would call it the inboard--and then one side on the outside because frankly I was terrified that I was just ruining the whole shebang.  But Paul examined it later and told me I had done a bang-up job, and certainly didn’t take any more out than I should of, and as a matter of fact would probably need to pull out even more.

But this is good, since it is only January and we are attending to the deck, which in my opinion never gets enough love. 

Since it gets dark so early still I will have to wait till next weekend to do more, but now that I know I’m not completely wrecking the poor thing, I’ll be able to finish, as well as start on what I wanted to do in the first place—grab the heat gun and get rid of some more of the deck paint.  Hopefully nothing like what I found today will be lurking anywhere else but around the rail.

There really are hoof-picks involved in this operation, although I ended up using the reefing hook more.

Plus, a gentle tap with the ice pick and the screwdriver didn’t hurt.  And the business end of the file.  I seem to be far better at demo than fine finish carpentry.

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?

Bulwarks need love too

these photos are pre-sanding . . . I'm not that sloppy

a massive bit of rot here . . . but a few gobs of trowel cement and hey presto! No one will ever know the difference

 I always think I’m going to really tackle the inside of the bulwarks and the scuppers and sand the bejeezus out of them so they're all nice and smooth and lovely . . . but then I run out of time—plus, it’s been raining nonstop here so I’m sanding and filling and painting between storms.  Not the best way to work, but poor Jeffie needs to get in the water.  I decided to concentrate o the outboard side this year—boy were there enormous cracks.  Thank god once again for Interlux trowel cement and a detail sander.

I haven’t taken photos of the results yet but I will tomorrow.  Painted all the black, and the “gold” second rub-rail.  Tomorrow: red sheer strake, and the hull.  

That bronze top rub-rail will never stay shiny so I just sanded it until all the really nasty blue bits  (and paint from years ago) came off.   Looks kinds rustic.

I can see now that the inboard parts will be another rush job, as will be the deck.  Sigh.  Where does the summer go?

The 3rd year’s the charm . . . so they say

 Jeff Brown arrived in my yard a little late this year, what with the rain that wouldn’t stop and then 14 minutes of spring that kept Bruce hopping until Jeff and I couldn’t stand it anymore, and convinced him to step away from the travel lift and drag Jeff down to my house for his 3^rd year of refurbishment.

Paul says it takes 3 years of paint on the hull before the planks don't show through and the topsides look all smooth. I am willing to believe that.

There’s a couple of spots of rot on the hull but apart from that, it’s back to business as usual.

See that little dark spot about 8" to the right of the bowsprit chainplate (or whatever it's called)?  That is the hole. Not awful, but still unnerving. Bring on the epoxy!

Sanded and painted the bottom last week—before more rain set in.

 

 Louisa from the Historical Society has a knack of making me look about as dorky as I can get--someday I'm gonna make her photograph me with my hair down and in an evening gown--but still with a paintbrush in my hand.

 Jeff has a new pal—Dave the pilot, who helped us step the mast last year. He took the blocks home over the winter and refinished them—snazzy!  He’s also doing the boom and the jib club so all the spars will be done this year.

 

I still would like to take the deck down to wood but who knows when I’ll get around to it.

Barnacles the size of buffalo teeth.  Jeff no longer has a worm shoe so this is what shows up to party during the summer.

The rudder looks like crap, and I took all kinds of gook out of it, but Paul says he has heard of a new remedy, recommended by "the boys at the boat yard,” wherever that is, it’s not like we have a limited supply of 'em around here.  The miracle unguent is, apparently, (wait for it) Crisco cooking fat. You can fill the cracks with it and it makes a nice water-tight seal between one piece of wooden crud and the other, and it expands and contracts with the wood.  Plus, it’s organic so doesn’t hurt the fishies.  I have my doubts, but who can argue with the boys at the boat yard? Praise be unto them if this works.

The new plank

Just in case you wanted to see the almost-finished product.


Still has to be shaped, but this might do the trick.
Of course the weather is about to turn bitter cold so "shaping" could be a euphemism.
Don is bringing an odd-looking contraption on Sunday that looks like a big white hookah but which actually might be able to steam the old thing.

Meanwhile, Jeff Brown is still in the water, waiting for Bruce to haul him out.  Let us hope he does not wait till February like the year before last.  That was sort of disastrous. Paul has already had to replace a pump battery.  Sinking at the dock is NOT an option.

Stay tuned!

Don to the rescue

 My friend Don went to boatbuilding school in Eastport, Maine, but these days prefers to loaf around in Florida in the winter, repairing his own boat, and come up to CT in the summer to help his brother do carpentry and help me extricate myself out of all the maritime messes I seem to get myself into. He also loves to fish and figured that maybe Tallulah could offer him an opportunity that the other boats in my yard could not.  He really wanted to “audition” by way of helping replace this plank, so he could prove to Paul and the waterfront gang that 2 years in Eastport Maine was not just one wild party (if you know Eastport, you will understand that I jest).  But we had a difference of opinion when it came to transferring measurements onto the pattern.  I preferred the white sticky-label method of my new idol Lou Sauzedde, but Don preferred the old compass-and-curve method, which I thought depended too much on guessing where the apex of the curve was, and relying on a measurement that is really taken on an angle instead of straight up and down.  But as Paul said, quoting Willets Ansel, there are a hundred ways to build a boat . . . and all of them are right. 

So first we tried to get all the black goo and 5200 out from all the crevices (I’d done most of it but Don was being a madman).   

 

Then we resined up all the ribs, one of which was cracked.  (I used office clips to glue back some of the planks that had gotten knocked off when we removed the old one) Oh well!  Moving along . . . .

Then we mixed up my favorite red filler, which holds Jeff Brown together, along with some silica powder, and put it in some of the rotted bits.

Don brought some very thin plywood and we cut that to match up with the plank hole as best as we could, and glued the pieces together.

 

Then we laid out the sucker on the piece of cedar that Paul gave us, which Don had planed down (he’s a handy lad). You can see Peanut in the background, which got winterized today (and started up! )

Then Don got out his spiling-compass and made the marks from the bottom and top edge of the adjacent planks.  We used a long piece of thin crown moulding for the batten to draw the curve.

 

I have forgotten to take a photo of the cut plank, which is now sitting on the boat in the rain and wind, “acclimating,” and waiting for next week when we smooth it down, steam it up a bit, and fasten it to .  That oughtta be a laugh riot.

But wait! There’s more! Introducing Jeff’s new friend, Tallulah

 I had thought we’d be all done (pretty much) last week when Jeff’s rig came out (and I got a black eye fighting with the boom) but Paul took one of his trips to Maine and came back with a little tender that he actually didn’t want—he was going up to look at a different dinghy which, in his words, was “a real sexpot,” but apparently in need of lots of work.  Now, I have never thought of tiny rowboats as sexpots but that is because I am not one of the maritime elite.  The owner of said sexpot apparently did not want to part with it, but instead led Paul over to another part of his yard where this pretty thing had been waiting for about 5 years for someone to come along and rescue it.

And so, as many boats do, it ended up in my yard.   

 

The man who owned her had us take a photo of the name, which Rhonda and her designer at Boat Lettering to You replicated so that I can buy a vinyl stick-on if I need to, instead of trying to paint it.  At first we thought it could be the dinghy for Jeff Brown but jeezum it’s more that half his size (13’).  Then Paul thought it could be the tender for Peanut, whom you have not met here but which I should probably include here just so you can see the other boat in my yard.

Peanut, whose name we all hate but can’t think of a better one, was built in Noank in 1913 by a guy named Smith and was used as a launch to take the hoi polloi out to their yachts.  It was being offered to the Historical Society and Paul and Bruce went to fetch it from Wethersfield (a town not exactly known for its waterfront) and bring it back home.  We’ve found a slip for it next year, but still, someone has to claim it.  It has a cute little 1-stroke engine in it that has a bit of a compression problem . . . but we won’t go into that now.  So then Paul thought that Tallulah would be a great dinghy for Peanut because its slip will not really be very accessible from land unless you leap over Dave’s boat, and while Dave is a very nice guy and is coughing up the slip, I don’t think he wants much traipsing back and forth across his gleaming white fiberglass and teak decks.

 

So as you can see, Tallulah is very cute indeed; she was built in the early 1930’s and did a bit of hoi-polloi transport herself. 

But time and tide wreak havoc on one’s bones, and poor T needed to swell up to see if she needed any plank replacing.

You will recall I am an absolute doofus when it comes to this stuff.

Paul apparently is unfazed by my continued ineptitude.

But we also have Don, who actually went to wooden boat school in Eastport, Maine (thank the gods) and he looked Miss Bankhead over and we both decided that one plank was so nasty that it had to come out.

 

But first we had to swell her up a bit so I watered her twice a day; Paul put some felt in the bottom and miracles occurred.

Sadly, the offending plank didn’t get any better, plus it was split,  so Don and I took it out—it was all mushy at the stern (which is not too wonderful anyway).

Since I was still a plank-replacing greenhorn I started watching this fabulous guy on YouTube, Master Shipwright Louis Sauzedde, who has this 8 or 10  part series on repairing one of my favorite boats—the Herreshoff 12 ½--remember me drooling about it a few posts ago?  Paul snorted coffee out his nose when I told him this—apparently they wouldn’t be too good around here—they’re designed for lakes or calm water.  But I digress.

Anyway, I am in love with Master Shipwright Louis Sauzedde, because he is so damn cute, and because I actually understand what he is doing. He teaches us how to make a pattern from plywood and then with some sticky white labels and a black marker how to transfer it perfectly onto our wood, which in our case is a big old cedar plank 13’ long that Paul found somewhere.  I don’t ask anymore.  I just marvel. 

Don is going to plane it down, and also has some ideas about how to transfer the pattern but I really like this method.

We’ll see.

So Sunday I started scraping and sanding the bottom just to get all the crud out of the way, and boy was there a lot of it.  Whoever had this boat before us did not scrimp on the 5200.

Here is a view of one side done, one side not. Note Peanut in the background, behind my laundry.

Because it’s been so dry lately, and because Talulah has been upside down for a few weeks, there are some enormous gaps between the planks which really have me scared.  Our new plank will fit well but what are we going to do with these arroyos between the others, especially between the garboard planks and the keel?

 

Jeff, I take back everything I ever said about your bottom.

Stay tuned—this weekend should be plank replacement day. At least one section will be tight, as we sink to the bottom.