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.

Jeff is looking spiffier . . .

. . . but boy have we got a ways to go.  My goal is the end of August, but I just don’t know if I can get the deck all caulked and painted by then.  Although I am about ½ way done.

Paul put the cotton in the stem last week, and I did my now-favorite trowel cement trick, and a coat of epoxy (the yellow stuff, also called fairing compound I guess). 

You can hardly tell the bow was hacked to pieces.

Well, from 10 feet, anyway.

Painting the bottom took most of the day--and I've done it before so I am no stranger to this boat's bottom.  Still, what a $#@! pain.  But thanks to "Frog Tape" and a really well-scribed waterline, I think it came out okay.

Paul says next year they will re-install the worm strip below the keel; it's mostly gone now.  Geez, I hope the worms stay away!

I’ve started applying, or finishing, the trowel cement with the plastic yellow blade I was using for the fairing compound, with great results—it’s a lot smoother and uses much less goo.  Paul apparently has an endless supply of trowel cement in his magic basement, which is good since I’ve already gone through a can of it and as I mentioned, Interlux doesn’t make it anymore.

Here are the tricks of the caulking trade—three little irons, which Paul showed me how to use and which I’m using on the deck, where mistakes don’t exact such a high price, like sinking.  But fortunately on the deck there aren’t that many gaping holes all the way down.

After the trowel cement is done on the deck I think I will paint all the white, and then possibly sand and paint the cockpit (yawn-inducing gray). Then on to the deck (light tan) while Paul wrestles with the (ulp) keel under the cockpit, which he says has gotten a little “mushy.”  Will this poor boat’s trials and indignities know no end?  And for this we have to drill out holes and put brass pins in there along with epoxy, which apparently will do the trick until such time as Jeff gets a complete keel transplant.  Or sinks.  Or both.

The boat-letterer, who does it every year, just told me she won’t be able to do it this year, so I’m going to see if a $15 gold boat stencil will do the trick.  I can do it but it’d cost me my sanity, I think, and several hours.  This is the best one I could find. I wanted gold but all this company had was dark yellow.  Other companies had the gold but the letter choices sucked, and the one in England was going to charge over $50 so forget that.

The yellow will be just about fine, I think.  Unless it should be white.  I dunno.

Here's the transom:

And here's the letters (42' wide, 4' high:

When it goes into the water, I have about 2 weeks to sand and varnish the spars. Ad then of course we’re into September.

It’s funny; I now know just about every plank and nail and peculiarity of this boat, but I cannot picture myself on it under sail.  I stand on the deck and look down toward the bow, trying to gauge whether this is a small boat or an incredibly huge one, sailing-wise.  I have no idea.  I keep getting the feeling of this immense power, and all that old wood, everything straining in the wind, and the big keel and all those rocks in Fishers Island Sound just waiting to get a crack at it . . . I want Jeff to get in the water but I fear the next step.

Especially if I’m involved in it.