Me and My Boat: Garage Sailing

I had previously hooked up the aft light to the electrical system and I knew it worked.  I had also purchased solder so I could permanently attach the wire to the housing.  It wouldn’t be good if it came off once the light was mounted.  However, my soldering iron went kaput and wouldn’t provide the required service.  I didn’t want to make another run to the hardware store; so I decided to trust in providence and hope that the connection doesn’t come undone.  At least I have solder, so I’ll be set when I buy a new soldering iron.

After applying silicon, ‘spooge’ as Tim and I affectingly call it, to the fitting, I shoved it in place.  This of course was after I modified the hole so that the light would fit.  Again, I am all about jury rigging, so the aft navigation light, which is actually a light fixture designed to illuminate car license plates, was now serving a new and more noble purpose.

The navigations lights were on line; except for the mast head light or in the proper terminology, the ‘anchor light’.  I then turned my attention back to painting and applied a coat to the deck of the interior cabin.  Again, my boat’s starting to look pretty good.

At that point I called it a day.  I didn’t want to bother with the trim and the wet paint hampered any work that I could do on the interior.  I took one last look at the boat and went inside.  I was planning on watching some TV or playing Wii with my son.  No sooner then I had gone inside, I received a phone call.  It was Tim.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I just got done dicking with the boat,” I replied.

“I’m in your driveway, and no one is home.”

“We’re here, we’re just in the house,” I told Tim.  Marcia had taken my car and Tim obviously thought, incorrectly, that we were gone.

“Let’s dick with your boat,” Tim requested.

I hung up the phone and proceeded back outside and to the garage.  In a stroke of good luck, my wife had also just returned and produced a twelve pack of beer.  Tim and I headed into the garage beer in hand. 

I opened a beer for Tim and told him to stay where he was.  I then walked around to the back of the boat and hooked up the battery.  The navigation lights did their thing.  Tim said, “I see you got your spastically gay lights working,”

“Fuck off,” I retorted, “They look good don’t they?”  Tim agreed and went about inspecting my latest efforts.  Because I had just painted the interior, there wasn’t anything that needed to be worked on.  We grabbed the beer, climbed into the cockpit, and spent the next hour or two sailing.  Garage sailing that is, the act of hanging out in your garage on your boat pretending it’s in the water.  Not to be confused with garage sale-ing, the act of driving to a complete stranger’s house and buying their crap.  The later being a miscommunication with my wife when I told her to grab a glass of wine and go garage sailing with me.  She’s a woman; of course she thought I meant shopping.

Hatchs

As Tim and I sat there on the boat we took it all in.  The boat has come a long way.  The transformation is fascinating to watch.  I have kept a photo log of the work and can scarcely believe that the boat we were hanging out on is the same one I bought back in August.  It also seems sublime as I look at the pictures, knowing that I did all the work. 

We formulated a plan for next weekend.  We’ll work on the bowsprit chain, the interior padding, and fixing the main hatch cover.  I have come to realize, though hours of observation, that the main hatch cover is fucked up.  Yes, I did do a lot of work to it, and yes it has been remounted.  But, it doesn’t fit.  Why doesn’t it fit?  Because, whoever made the stupid thing in the first place didn’t know how to measure.  The aft end is wider then the bow, thus it doesn’t fit properly in the tracks.  I first thought while inspecting it, that the tracks were mounted incorrectly, but now know that it is the hatch itself which is the problem.

The initial repairs on the hatch, the edging, are directly related to the skewed dimensions of the cover.  In order to forgo similar damage it will need to be modified.  We are going to mount to pieces of aluminum to the slides to widen them at the bow end.  That should solve the problem.  I will let you know.

Me and My Boat: Nav Lights

Prior to going to Menards I had been looking trough my tool box for solder.  I could have sworn that I had some.  I had placed the tray up on a large deep cardboard box, which had been the shipping container for my sails and now served for miscellaneous boat gear storage.  I looked though the tray, but I didn’t find the solder; that was another item I purchased. 

At some point after I had returned from the store, I was fixing my flood light; the bulb had burned out and I was over by the shelf to find a new one.  As I turned from the shelf I bumped the box; the tray and the entire contents there in plummeted into it with a crash.  “Brilliant”, I said looking into the dark depths of the box at the jumbled array of tools sprawled at the bottom.  I rolled my eyes and continued with my present task of interior illumination.

I soon discovered I needed a tool and back to the box I went.  Grrrrrrr.  I swear, some of my antics just amaze me.  I’m sure it would have looked pretty funny seeing me with my entire upper body face down in this huge box, fishing of my forlorn tools.  I suppose I could have just up ended the box, but no, that would have been too easy.  As I pulled out handfuls of wrenches, pliers, screwdrivers, ratchets, and other tool like items; I looked down at the objects in my hand.  Low and behold my missing solder; it was in the tool box all along.  Murphy’s law.

So, to resume about the navigation lights; I cut thin wafers of plastic off the night light cover.  My first attempt was slow since I was essentially experimenting with the plastic cover, modifying it to fit my needs.  Did you know that when you apply a fast moving abrasive surface to plastic, it melts?  As I said, I left plenty of room for error not having any experience with this sort of thing.  The result was that small melted globules of plastic formed around the area as it was being cut. 

At first I was concerned, thinking that my idea was not going to work out the way I had planned, or I would need to find a different method of cutting the plastic.  Examining the cut eased my fears.  The globules were superficial and easily removed; leaving a nice smooth cut surface on the plastic cover.  I was getting a lot of melting because I was going slowly.  I soon discovered I could increase the speed of the cut and reduce the globule formation. 

Once I sliced off a wafer, I then scrapped the globular melted plastic off with a knife, and repeated.  With every slice I would reexamine the cover to see how it fit in the fixture.  Soon, I had two Navigation light covers. 

Now it was time to mount them.  After applying some silicon to the base of the cover, I stuck it in place over the small hole where the light bulb would be, and then taped it in position.  I did the same to the other side.  It was now time to stick the teardrop shaped stainless steel fixtures over the plastic light covers.  That went off with out a hitch and the navigation fittings were now ready for their guts.

Here would be another jury rigging opportunity.  I had no proper mounting bracket for the 12volt light bulbs; I would have to make one.  Using an external garden lighting kit I had bought for three dollars, I fashioned an internal mounting bracket that would easily facilitate changing a bulb when necessary. 

I cut the clear plastic cover which holds the light bulb assembly to fit.  It needed to be considerably smaller and would hold the light bulb in place.  Again, working slowly, checking to make sure my creation would fit, I produced an interior holding bracket for the light bulb.  With one out of the way the second was easy.

Nav Lights

I then found another use for the glue gun.  I put copious amounts of glue on my recently produced mounting brackets and then held them in place until secured to the bulkhead. They were now ready to be hooked up; a simple mater of splicing the wires together. 

It was the moment of truth; I hit the switch and the port and starboard navigation lights shown brightly from their teardrop fixtures.  I was quite pleased with myself and stared at the boat for some time.  The lights were brighter then I had anticipated.  I didn’t think my handy work would have been so effective at illumination; expecting a much duller display.  But hey, bright is good, the whole purpose is to be seen.  The effect was enhanced by the new glossy white paint which reflected green and red lines off the hull.  My boat is starting to look pretty damn good if you ask me.

After I got the port and starboard lights working I mounted the aft light.  The navigation lights would then be complete except for the mast head light.  It too would have its day. 

A Run to Munising

My boat had been launched on March 24^th, 2010, after five arduous months of labor restoring her to a seaworthy condition.  I was able to get the big “two” times in that month.  Although the number of sailing days was not impressive, the Flying Fish was the first sailboat in the water out of Marquette Michigan.  I would not be joined by other mariners until sometime in April.  The lake was mine.

The first few voyages were used to get the bugs out.  It was immediately apparent, at least to my friend Tim; that my boat suffered from lee helm.  Tim had helped me with the restoration project and was an old salt when it came to sailing.  I unquestionably trusted his judgment in matters of a nautical nature.  I was a new comer to the sport and could use as much advice as I could get.

With an adjustment here and an adjustment there, the Flying Fish became fully capable and ready for duty.  Now her captain just needed the same.  Throughout the month of April and May I honed my new skill, until I was capable of operating my boat in a semi competent manor.

During these forays on the Lake, I thought about the up coming summer and what I wanted to do with my boat.  I knew I didn’t want to do circles in Marquette harbor; I wanted to explore and my boat was perfectly capable of doing so.  I soloed many times, but more often then not my friend Tim would join me for an afternoon sail. Tim and I would discuses many things, but always talked about where we could take our boats.  By this time, Tim had also gotten his boat in the water.

Tim had suggested that we sail to Munising and back, about a seventy mile round trip.  To that time I had only gone as far as Shot Point, a round trip distance of twenty miles.  I thought a trip to Munising was a great idea; I had gotten my sea legs and was ready to go.  We picked an upcoming date in May.  We would leave on May 20^th and return the next day.

The day of departure arrived and with permission from my wife; I set sail. I had enough food on board to survive for twice as long as I was scheduled to be gone.  I made sure that I was fully provisioned: extra cloths, batteries, music, and anything else I could think of that I might need.  You would have thought I was prepared to cross the Atlantic, not just sail to Munising and back.

I thought of this trip as my first real challenge sailing the Flying Fish; the first test of my, as yet, undetermined skills as a mariner.  The voyage would live up to my expectations. 

Tim and I set sail from Marquette at 10:30 AM and headed east.  When leaving Marquette Harbor you have to sail out past the break wall before you can set a true course to any other destination.  So we had to travel south for a mile or so until we cleared the break wall.  During this period of transition is when you make ready for the voyage.

To get the boat fully rigged is a much easier task with at least two people on board.  One person can steer while the other hoists the sails.  However, I was solo on this voyage.  Tim and I would sail together to Munising as a fleet, each of us piloting our own boats.

While motoring, Tim can rig his boat in no time, but I have found it more challenging.  This is due to the fact that my boat tends to have a mind of its own.  As soon as I let go of the tiller, the boat heads in whatever direction it wants.  If I happened to be close to something the boat could collide with, I always got nervous.  There’s nothing better then being in the middle of hoisting the jib, when you suddenly notice the sea wall or another boat closing fast.

I am happy to report that after a summer of intense boating activity, I have rigging down to a fine art.  It’s de-rigging that sometimes can provide a challenge.

The Fleet

Anyway, the fleet cleared the break wall and set course for Munising, heading out into the shipping lane or pretty much due east.  It would be two hours to Shot Point and who knows after that.  Supposedly, we could make it in around seven hours.

The conditions were calm, with 5 – 10 knot winds from the southwest.  The temperature was in the mid sixties and it was partly cloudy.  It was starting out as a great sailing day.   

We made good time and kept a close formation on the way to Shot Point.  Since Tim and I were both solo on the boats; the idea was stay close to each other in case of an emergency.  This worked in theory, but I question whether in would prove the case in a real event.  Simply because, during the any given point we could be up to half a mile apart and could not necessarily know if one or the other had fallen off the boat.

Tim has an auto pilot for his boat.  If he were to fall overboard his boat would continue on its course.  I do not have an auto pilot at this time.  If I fell in, my boat would do circles.  At least that would be a good indicator that something was a miss. 

When one of us got too far a head, namely Tim, we would alter course or turn around to close the distance between the boats.  Also, some light conversation would take place if we got with in a few feet of each other.

Ore Boat

One time, I actually patched Tim’s sail with a piece of duct tape during a close quarter maneuver.  Tim pulled up along side and said he had a small rip in his Genoa (large jib) near the foot (the bottom) and pointed it out.  He then eased off a little, pulling the boat back to a position where I could apply the patch.  His Genoa was blown right into my cockpit, with the Genius (Tim’s boat) about five feet to my port side and half a length behind me.  I grabbed the sail, applied the duck tape to both side, and that was that.

            About half way to Shot Point we noticed an Ore Boat approaching from the east.  Boat doesn’t aptly describe the vessel.  It was a ship about nine hundred feet in length with a displacement many thousands of times what our boat’s were.  In short a collision would not be a good thing, at least for us.  The Ore Boat wouldn’t even be scratched in such an event.
            We kept a close watch on the Ore Boat as it grew closer in case we needed to get out of its way.  As it closed the distance we could tell that it would pass well to the north of our course; probably five hundred yards.  That was close enough for my taste.
            I watched with great fascination as the Ore Boat passed on my port side.  It moved through the Lake with little effort; its massive engines driving it towards Marquette.  The ship was producing a large bow wave which I though might cause some major turbulence being this close.  I made ready to turn into the waves to avoid being hit on the port side.  Small motor boats had passed me many times, and their wakes would rock the boat.  I didn’t know what to expect from an Ore Boat generating a massive wake, but I was prepared to meet it head on.

The Ore Boat passed, but the effect was anti climatic.  I was expecting tsunami like waves, and was hit with a less than eventful obstruction to my course.  It seems that the Great Lakes Ore Ships were designed to reduce the wake created by their passing.  Thus, when the wave from the Ore Boat hit me it was less than anticipated.  This was a pleasant surprise.   

The small ripples from the Ore Boat careened into the bow of the Flying Fish, hardly making a distinguishable mark to her performance.  The boat sailed right through the disruption with only the slightest turbulence, and no need to alter her course.

The passing Ore Boat would be the most exciting part of the voyage for that day.  As our tiny fleet continued towards Munising the winds died down and the temperature warmed to the 70’s.  By mid-afternoon we were making about three knots.  It would take us around ten hours to reach our destination.

Sometime, during the voyage I rigged a remote steering device to my tiller.  I got tired of having to constantly hold it to keep on course.  Also, I had to attend to other pressing matters such as making food or getting stuff from the cabin.  As I’ve said, every time I let go of the tiller the boat would alter course, usually steering into the wind.  This was unacceptable and I had to address the issue.

Using a rope, a couple pulleys, and bungee cord; I fashioned a crude remote steering contraption.  Fortunately, my superior planning ensured I had all the required pieces of equipment on board.

I positioned a pulley on each side of tiller and stretched a bungee cord between the two.  The bungee cord was wrapped around the tiller to provide stability and prevent abrupt course changes.  I then used a thin nylon rope of about thirty feet in length.  I looped it around the tiller a couple times and tied a knot.  I then ran each end through one of the pulleys on each side and connected the rope ends with another knot.  There it was, my new remote steering device. 

My makeshift remote device worked great.  In fact, the bungee cord alone enabled me to maintain course for short durations without having to constantly adjust the tiller.  Usually giving me a window of about thirty seconds to attend to the rigging or grab something from the cabin.  With the addition of the steering rope I could now relocated to different spots on the boat.  I was able to sit in the cabin or on the bow and still maintain control.  This would prove very useful in the coming months and certainly enhanced this trip. 

Now all I had to do was sit back and enjoy the ride.  Hours passed as the boats headed east, both crawling along under full sail.  Every once in awhile Tim would come close enough to talk to me and suggest an adjustment to my sails.  I would adjust as instructed to get the best performance out of my boat. 

One particular time, Tim told me to sit up on my bow and steer the boat from there.  He said I would get the optimal speed out of the Flying Fish by doing so.  This was because my weight positioned forward would reduce the drag on the hull.  How?  The aft end would be lifted out of the water exposing the back foot or so to the air; reducing the surface area in contact with the water; thus reducing friction and increasing her speed.  Okay, sounded good to me.

I grabbed a couple beers, a cigar, and my steering rope and headed up to the bow. At first I sat with legs crossed leaning up against the cabin.  Soon though, I was sitting in the pulpit with my feet dangling off the bowsprit, the best seat in the house. 

At that point, an odd thing happened.  The Flying Fish started pulling away from the Genius.  The conditions and the reduction of drag favored my boat over Tim’s.  I was loving it!  For the first time I could remember, I was out sailing the master.  I could see Tim, adjusting his rigging, but no matter what he did he couldn’t catch me. 

“Don’t think you’re going to start doing circles around me, asshole!” He yelled at me, obviously annoyed that I was getting the better of him.

“Don’t worry, I’m just happy leaving you in my wake,” I yelled back.  Tim gave me the finger.

Grand Island

At some point late in the afternoon, we realized that we still had a good way to go.  The fleet had passed Laughing Fish Point, and was about half way across the ten plus mile gap to Grand Island.  We were also at the farthest distance away from shore we would get on the cruise; about five miles out give or take.  The decision was made to start the motors and expedite the remainder of the voyage.  We had already been traveling for over eight hours and were ready to call it a day.

Trout Bay

      We would spend the next two hours motoring around the north side of Grand Island.  During this period we used our radios to maintain communications and decide where we would anchor for the night.  The fleet ended up at Trout Bay on the east side of the island.  And after we picked a spot near the secluded beach, we killed the motors and dropped the anchors.
     Tim and I ate a dinner of brats chased by beer, and then settled down for the night.  We had tied the boats together with fenders placed in between them. This kept the boats from causing any damage to each other while at anchor.  It was nice to be able to move back and forth from boat to boat. 

Tim found an old bottle of rum in his cabin an invited me in for a night cap.  We had a couple drinks and then Tim passed out.  I went back aboard the Flying Fish and prepared to hit the rack.  I decided I would have one last beer and one more cigar before I went to sleep.  So I sat in the cockpit and enjoyed the last of the daylight and enjoyed the silence.

Suddenly, I heard a rumble from Tim’s boat.  The main hatch slide back and Tim scrambled out of his cabin.  He made a ‘B’ line for the railing and proceeded to vomit violently of the side of his boat.  Fortunately for me, he did so on the opposite side from where my boat was tied to his.

As Tim regained himself, I asked the inevitable question, “Are you okay?”  Tim explained that he had gotten sea sick while laying in his bunk and was lucky to make it outside before he redecorated his cabin.  I wished him a good night for the second time and then sought the refuge my own cabin would offer.

That night would be the first of many times I slept on my boat.  I remember that I didn’t sleep well because my feet were cold; other then that, my boat’s cabin was up to the task.  Subsequent stays on the boat would find me rested and ready for the next day’s adventure.

I can only describe it as either staying in a very long but low ceilinged tent or sleeping in a very small and low ceilinged RV.  My boat being a swing keel design isn’t much for head room, but is high enough to sit up in.  It is also big enough to accommodate four people, if they’re all midgets.  However, for one person, it is quite spacious, and I find it very comfortable.  Tim’s boat is much the same.

           The next day we were up early.  After a quick breakfast and a cup of java the fleet set sail.  Well,…..engaged the motors.  There was absolutely no wind.  Lake Superior was as smooth as glass.

Motoring back to Marquette

We continued around Grand Island and on past Munising Harbor.  At least we would be able to say we had gone around the island.  Tim was slightly ahead of me as we started to leave Munising, but that would change quickly.  He ran a ground close to the marker buoy where a sand bank extends several hundred feet out into the lake.  From that point on and until we were again in open water, he follow close behind me.  I had the GPS unit with the charts.

For the next three to four hours we motored back towards Marquette.  I did some cleaning and some other minor chores during the trip.  I managed to set my tiller on a straight course and only had to make minor adjustment every five minutes or so.  I also put my CD player up on top of the main hatch and was listening to music for pretty much the entire time.  Rock’n the boat, so to speak.

After about twenty miles my motor sputtered and quit.  I checked it out and found I was out of gas.  I had about a gallon left in my reserve tank which I switched to the main.  I pulled the cord, the motor started, and I was back under way. 

While I was refueling Tim had come up on me.  I asked him if he had any spare gas?  He said that he had about a half a tank.  I might need to barrow some when I ran out again.  I didn’t think what I had would get me back to Marquette, and I didn’t want to be stuck floating in the lake.   Tim suggested that if I ran out again he would tow me.  The gas would last longer if only one motor was running.  Worked for me.

The fleet continued on towards Marquette, another fifteen miles to the west.  We had been motoring all day with full sails.  The wind had picked up a little bit earlier in the day, but was not strong enough to allow the boats to make much headway.  We had cut the motors and found that we moved at the brisk pace of about one and a half knots.  At that rate we would arrive in Marquette by Tuesday of the following week.  That was no good; we would run out of beer by then.

With the motors running and making full use of the available wind we were moving at around five knots.  That speed if maintained would get us into Marquette in about three hours.  I didn’t know at the time that running out of gas would be the least of my problems.

Tim’s boat was ahead of me by a few hundred yards when I noticed him healing.  I thought it was just a slight gust.  Within seconds of seeing Tim’s boat; the wind hit mine, taking me by complete surprise.  The Flying Fish healed over violently, pitching my CD player into the water, my music along with it.  Lesson: never place your radio on top of your cabin unsecured. 

This was not just a surprise gust, this was an abrupt change in the weather.  The winds went from almost nonexistent to sustained twenty miles an hour with gusts up to thirty.  And I had full sails up! 

The Flying Fish pitched violently, healing forty five degrees and more.  I positioned myself on the windward side and held on.  This is where my inexperience really came into play.  I had been out in similar weather with Tim, but had never attempted to control the boat in these conditions by myself and this far from home. 

Control is a matter of opinion.  I was not in control, my boat was.  I would crank the tiller as far as I could against the wind and the boat would still turn up.  This happened over and over.  At one point the boat did a 360, with me barely holding on and almost being tossed into the lake.  There was too much power in the sails, but at this point I was not about to attempt to change the rigging.  That time had past.  All I could do now is hang on and hope I could weather the storm.  It wasn’t starting out too good.

At some point during the ensuing chaos I realized that this was a hazardous situation and could be fatal.  I put on a life jacket and tied myself to the boat with a lifeline.  The lake was still cold in May, but at least if I got thrown in I wouldn’t be stuck floating a mile or more from shore.  The only thing I would have to worry about is the boat doing circles and smacking into me as I was dragged along for the ride.  That and hypothermia.  At that point, I hadn’t figured out how I would get back aboard, but at least our fates would be shared (mine and the boat’s).

Tim would later comment that he was aware of my situation and was keeping an eye on me just in case.  Actually, while I was struggling to regain control of the Flying Fish; he was on board the Genius cooking brats for lunch, while sailing in the high winds.  Just goes to show the difference in experience levels.  I’m fighting for my life, and Tim’s cooking lunch.

I quickly figured out that I was way over powered.  I needed to have a storm jib and a reefed Main; not a 160% Genoa and a full Main.  I had to reduce the power and there was only one way to do that; let out the sheets.  I gave plenty of slack to both sails and that did the trick.  I was back under control.  The boat was still healing but I was able to maintain course. 

I positioned myself as far forward in the cockpit as possible and had a hand on the sheet controlling the Genoa, the Main, and the tiller.  It was a juggling act to maintain control.  For the next two plus hours I fought to get back to Marquette in one piece.

Once in a while I would glance at my GPS unit to check my speed.  The winds were now propelling the Flying Fish at up to seven and a half knots according to the unit.  Quite an increase in speed from the five knots I had been doing with the motor running.  At least I wouldn’t have to worry about gas any more.

Fortunately, the winds were out of the south which provided for calmer wave conditions.  Had they been from the north I would have had to seek sheltered water, a cove or something.  Maybe even attempting to beach or anchor the boat; hoping I could find a suitable location.  However, putting down the sails would have also presented a very real problem.  I would have had to head straight into the wind and take down the sails with the motor running; hoping my course stayed true while I was working on the rigging.  I have since done that exercise many, many times, but always find it somewhat nerve racking. 

My luck and the weather held and I made the last fifteen miles back to Marquette without incident.  I gained new respect for both sailing and the weather, and don’t take either for granted. 

Spending two to three hours with a death grip on my lines and making constant adjustments wore me out.   By the time I had made port and moored the boat, I was exhausted.  My arms were dead tired from the long tug and war with the rigging and hung limply at my sides.

My Mother-in-law just so happened to come for a visit and I proved to be less then hospitable.  Upon arriving home I greeted my family and her warmly and proceeded to pass out on the couch.

“Tired from having fun,” she commented as I drifted off.  If she only knew.

Me and My Boat: Two Words for You, “Glue Gun”

Two words for you, “Glue Gun;” now why didn’t I think of that?  Just another suggestion supplied to me by Tim.  And you know what, that thing worked great.  It just so happens that we already owned one, which Marcia had acquired for her scrapbooking.  Above and beyond scrapbooking, the glue gun works good for securing wire, mounting navigation lights, and overhead fixtures.  A truly versatile tool. 

Friday night I found myself working on the boat once again.  Using the glue gun, I mounted the wires to the bulkhead with only a few difficulties and some burns sustained to my fingers as I held the wires in place.  That glue’s hot!  In a few instances I had to apply more glue to a particular section to insure that the wires stayed in place.  There is no arguing that the glue gun was much more effective then putting the other adhesive on and having to clamp the wires.  That technique was effective but slow.   In a mire fraction of the time that it took me the previous evening I had all the wiring mounted. 

I then painted that rest of the cabin.  The white with blue trim looks good.  My son wasn’t too happy with me because I closed down his playground due to wet paint.  Sorry buddy.  No worries, he’ll be crawling around in the boat in no time.

On Saturday, I did more painting, fixing my experiment with the trim.  It is now all black, at least on the top.  I still have to get the bottom done.  At least it doesn’t look as spastically gay as it did with the yellow and semi orange color highlights. 

Painting has to be one of my least favorite activities involved with the boat; surpassed only by sanding.  I much prefer the more constructive aspects of the project like, mounting the hatches, building the interior, or burning my fingers with hot glue.  Painting is just too monotonous.  However, I have to admit that it is ‘the paint’ which makes the boat. 

I also applied silicon to the interior of the rivet line.  I hope that it prevents the boat from filling with water when I’m healed over at sixty degrees due to the ridiculously large Genoa that the modifications (bowsprit) have been made for.  I still have to crawl into the aft berths and finish up, but there’s no rush.  I am confident that by the time it is warm enough to actually use the boat; all of the needed tasks will have been completed.

While in the midst of doing the various tasks on the boat, Tim arrived.  He and I then cracked the first beer of the day.  Production was limited due to the wet paint, so there wasn’t much Tim could help with.  I don’t think he minded.  We talked boat and what needed to happen to make it work.   

Red & Green Lights

The next day was to be a milestone in the refurbishing effort.  I got all the lights mounted and working.  My jury rigging efforts were put to the test and the end result passed with flying colors (green & red). 

It all came down to getting the lights up and working.  I had the fixtures and reasonably good idea of how to make it all work.  It was now time to put it to the test.  First however, I was missing a key piece; back to Menards.

With my little side trip taken care of I could then get down to it and make my lights.  I had to buy another night light to cannibalize, but with that in hand I was ready to go.  I proceeded to remove the plastic cover from the nightlights and then see how much I would have to modify them. 

The plastic cover fit perfectly into the teardrop shaped fixture for the navigation lights.  It was designed to enhance the light via the grooves in the plastic, which was nice, but not necessary, as long as it worked.  The covers were too big to fit right off the bat, but with about a ¼ inch removed; they would work.  Looks like another job for my handy dandy Dremel tool. 

I carefully secured the plastic cover on the work bench and then began to cut.  I made sure that I left plenty of room for error.  I could always cut more off but didn’t want to have to glue any of it back together.  To that aim, I bought an extra night light just in case.  It’s always good to have spare parts.

Me and My Boat: It's still work...wiring

My idea about gluing the wiring to the bulkhead has several flaws as I discovered last night.  Perhaps the biggest can be attributed to myself; I.E. a complete lack of patients.  I had come home ready to willing to work on the boat, with the expectation that I would complete the task of mounting all the wiring.  It was not to be.  I also learned that electrical tape is no more suited to the effort then duct tape is.  Basically, the surface texture of the bulkhead is not conducive to prolonged or even short term taping.  So what that left me with was two large clamps and two small clamps.  Hardly enough to secure the wiring in place long enough for the glue to harden.

By placing some glue on the bulkhead and then clamping the wire to it, I would eventually be able to mount it all.  However, that could conceivably take days to get the job done, but in some cases that may be my only recourse.  Fortunately, I came to the realization that using screw held brackets will perform the desired task of holding the wiring in place.  I had forgotten that the overhead of the cabin is close to an inch thick to support weight on the deck.  I will be able to mount the wiring using a minimum number of brackets and the end result should be acceptable.  I just have to stop by Menards again to pick up the needed hardware. 

I used my four clamps and secured about two feet of wire to the bulkhead.  I guess that’s it for the night.  I was just about to go in when I remembered that I could still use the tie straps to secure the battery line to the aft navigation lead.  So I set about the task. 

With headlight on, tie straps in hand, and a pair of dikes; I crawled head first into the aft bunk.  I placed a tie strap about every six inches on the two wires, binding them together.  As I went along I placed the wire bundle in its approximate mounting location, using nooks and crannies to secure it in place.  The end result worked great and I could even leave the bundle alone and forgo further mounting activities.  But someone’s foot or something might snag on it pulling it free from its wedged status; which would be annoying, especially underway.  A couple of brackets and a dab of glue will ensure that the aft wire bundle won’t be going anywhere. 

That was it for last night’s efforts.  We’ll see what I get done tonight, after I stop by Menards that is.  If providence is with me, I may get the wiring mounted tonight.  At least that’s my plan.  If my luck holds I might even get a lighting fixture up.

Me and My Boat: How Hard Can It Be

Last night, January 21^st 2010, was basically a waste of time.  Why, because I accomplished virtually nothing.  Let’s see, I managed to actually drive the screws into the wooden mounting board, there by ‘mounting’ the switch box onto the board.  I also tightened the screws of the actual switch apparatus, effectively securing it into its utility box.  At least that’s done now.

It was actually semi difficult.  You wouldn’t think that tightening eight screws into place would be that hard, but nothing is as it seems.  My efforts could probably be turned into a short slap stick movie and would entertain vast numbers with my antics. 

First, the utility box was mounted on the wooden board made specifically for that purpose.  This involved placing a ¼ inch screw into the appropriate hole and with a little applied force, driving it into the wood.  Yeah right.  I had to hold the utility box in place, while holding a very small screw and attempting to use a screw driver; all this at an awkward inverted angle in a confined space with a jumble of wiring hampering the effort. This made for a difficult task. 

And there goes another one.  A screw that is, not into the wood to secure the utility box in place.  No, into the dark unexplored recesses of the interior cabin; exactly were ‘they’ wanted to.  It was a conspiracy; those damn screws had no intention of being permanently placed into that wood.  What is truly amazing is how far the trajectory of the miss guided screws could remove them from the work sight.  I swear that in some cases the screw ended up in the other end of the boat, never to be seen again.

I enlisted the help of my youngest, who had come out with me.  When not beating on the boat with a stick, he would offer his assistance.  I reassessed the situation realizing that I needed a third hand.  This would free one of mine to commit to screw holding, a truly noble effort.

Raz’n’, fraz’n’, fricking, frock; I still couldn’t get the sharp pointy end of the screw to go into the wood.  Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!  I was starting to get annoyed to say the least; the amount of colorful metaphors exuding from my mouth increasing with every failed attempt.  Enough was enough; it was time to get out the big guns.  I needed my drill.

Delays, delays, nothing is ever easy, especially when your work space is completely disorganized like mine.  A prudent craftsman would put all his tools away at the end of the work day.  Needless to say, I am not a prudent craftsman.  My tools are disbursed in piles at various points surrounding the boat.  There is no rhyme or reason to the dispersal; it is simply where the tool ended up after its last use.  Thus, finding a particular tool can sometimes be difficult.  Last night was no exception. 

A drill bit, my kingdom for a drill bit.  That is after I found the drill.  Oh, there was a drill bit in it, a 5/8^th inch to be precise.  Last used to mount the bowsprit; it would do me little service at this juncture.  That is, unless I wanted large holes in the overhead of the cabin. 

As disorganized as the workspace is, I still have a pretty good since of where certain items may be found; in this case a drill bit.  Ah, success.  With the drill bit changed out from large to small I was ready to conquer the utility box. 

Wow, that made it a whole lot easier.  With starter holes drilled in the mounting bracket, I was finally able to get the screws to grab the wood and was able to affix the utility box to the bulkhead.  After that, the rest of the operation went without a hitch; at least as far as the screws were concerned.