Behind, but movin' forward - New Digs

Raven in her new slip. David admiring the fine job he did stripping the toerail. We're getting there...

Mid-November and we're still in the 5^th wheel. Plans deferred are plans gone awry.

We somehow got sidetracked in October. Mostly we were just tired and wanted to do Something Else with our limited free time. So, we enjoyed the month and did do quite a bit on the boat, but not enough to get us back on board.

I have spent hours in the head, taping, painting, getting paint in my hair, wiping bits of paint off every conceivable surface, some of which weren't even in the head, removing paint from under the tape that was supposed to block the paint...Did I mention I really don't like to paint?? To add insult to injury, I think I did it wrong and I am anticipating the whole of the painted surface peeling off in my hand at the first scratch. Demoralizing, yes. But it does look nice, temporarily or not. Clean! The paint got rid of old stains, old yellowing, bits of mildew I couldn't reach, etc. If it stays put, I'm a happy woman. If not, gee, I just don't want to think about it. If you could stand in there with me, which you can't because there isn't enough floor space, we'd fill it up. But that tiny room took me about two weeks to finish.

So much for October. Now, with the time change, our time after work to do anything aboard is really, really limited.

On the positive side, we moved to a new marina. We'd been at Watergate Marina for eight years and had a really nice slip. We'd have stayed, had they allowed us to move back aboard. But they have instituted a new rule which decrees that your boat must be 40 feet long if you want to live aboard. So...36 feet is not long enough, and the fact that we have been there for 8 years and have been exemplary tenants makes not a whit of difference. Fine. I feel completely dissed.

They'll miss us now we're gone! Probably not. Bye bye.

In the long run, though, it was a blessing, as these things usually are. We have moved to PortoFino, right off the south side of the Kemah channel, and it has a completely different atmosphere. For one thing, the marina has mostly sailboats. For another, there is a lot of activity. We sat in the cockpit yesterday doing various tasks and watched a number of boats go in and out. We have a great view of the channel from the berm right in front of the boat. We met two very friendly couples who walked over to introduce themselves and welcome us to the neighborhood.

The new neighborhood. Kemah channel in the background. Raven's slip is off to the right and back about 30 feet.

Sitting out on the swing watching the Sunday night traffic, I felt my heart light within me. This is a good move. It sort of feels like the first step in setting off, in getting my life back again, in loving what I do. This is a good move.

View from the edge of the channel. Across the way there is Seabrook Marina. You can just see our slip, where we left on our first cruising adventure in April 2006. My fingernail tracks are still in the pier. :)

Sail on, Harvest Moon!

The fleet spreads out as it heads toward Port Aransas.

[Hilde's log]

This past week (October 13-14) we spent two days on the water – not the Bay, mind you, but the Gulf itself – sailing to Port Aransas (just north of Corpus Christi) from Galveston as part of the 30^th annual Harvest Moon Regatta. I've never participated; this was David's 4^th trip. We were crew on Morning Star, a Shannon 38 that belongs to friends John and Brenda.

I used the race as an excuse to buy new boat duds. Mine were all either expired or really moth-eaten after not being used for eight very long years. West Marine and Academy came to the rescue, providing me with a new windbreaker and rain pants, a new warm rainproof jacket for cooler temperatures, a couple of new tops, new shorts, new pants, and new undies that I hoped would dry quickly if they got wet. Soggy cotton is a nightmare on a sailing trip, rubbing your skin raw with damp and salt, so all these new clothes were made of quick-drying material. Brenda generously supplied us with two Morning Star tees, one long-sleeved and one short-sleeved. Topped off with my Boat Life ball cap and 100% sun block, I was set.

We met John and Brenda at their slip at the crack of dawn Thursday morning and schlepped our modest duffels and food supplies aboard. The crew included daughter Megan and the real captain, poodle Elmo, who oversaw the whole operation in between snacks. Elmo is such a trooper, she actually pees on the side deck (when the sea is calm), the only dog I have met in our travels who would do that. 

John, Brenda, and Elmo on the deck of Morning Star with our award.

The trip to Galveston was the usual motoring slog, since the wind is always wrong for sailing, but we had a great time visiting with each other and craning our necks as other sailboats joined the parade. I believe there were 143 sailboats in this year's race, and I think I heard that 141 finished.

About 2 p.m. Thursday afternoon, all the boats clumped up outside the Pleasure Pier on Galveston Island, jockeying for position. Everyone wanted to be exactly on time, but not early, for the individual starts. The race committee breaks the fleet up into different classes, and each class has a slightly different start time. The slowest boats go first, the fastest last. A Shannon is a heavy cruising cutter-ketch (she carries a jib, staysail, and mainsail on the foredeck and a mizzen sail on the aft deck). She's very sea kindly, but not a fast ride by any means. The only boat slower would be one like ours...Raven is a 36 foot cutter, with less length and one less sail. Morning Star was in the second class called.

We survived the start, which included a boat-jam with the requisite yelling and fears of collision, and then set sail in light wind (7 or 8 knots, maybe) under beautiful sunny skies. The boats fanned out around us as they headed to their preferred course. Each captain has his or her own idea of the best route, either farther out or hugging the shoreline. Cap'n John opted for a pretty straight course down the coastline, about 5-10 miles offshore most of the trip.

There's no “right” way to do the coast. When David and I go along the coast on our way to Corpus Christi or to Florida (we aren't racing, of course), we tend to head out to the fairways and deep water as fast as we can. If you look at Google Earth, you can see a shelf along the US side of the Gulf. The shelf extends out about 50-100 miles from shore and the water is relatively shallow, 50-80 feet deep, depending. Shallow water tends to slosh and sloshing rocks the boat, which makes for a very, very uncomfortable ride. But, for a race along the coast, heading out to deep water won't do.

Our sail was fairly steady and quiet until the sun went down. About 8 o'clock the wind roused and it continued to build all night, to a high of a little over 20 knots. Most of the night it was in the high teens. It took some sail adjustments and slick helmsmanship to keep us on course. John wrestled with the sails and David did the cowboy-style steering as we lurched along. Feeling a bit useless, I went below for a nap.

When I came back up, the roiling seas that were pushing us along like a corkscrew had felled David with seasickness. I didn't feel so hot, either, but I am generally less affected than he is. I stayed up on deck and kept watch for Cap'n John, who was at the helm, while Brenda and Megan napped. We were blessed with a full moon, of course (the race is always held on the full moon), so we could see really well. There are lots of oil rigs on this trail, and a number of them are “dark” - no lights or whistles to alert you to their presence. A better chance of missing those rigs is one reason traveling under a full moon is a really good idea.

It's amazing how busy the Gulf is at night. In addition to the oil and gas rigs and the tankers and container ships (the big ships were much farther out than we were), the fishing fleet is hard at work. Thursday night, shrimp boats were strung out like bulbs on a string between us and Port A. They'd appear on the horizon as a really bright spotlight, then slowly grow and grow until the light spread out all around the boat, illuminating the deck and the huge insect-like arms on either side of the deck from which the nets hang. Morning Star must have passed 20 of these enormous growling trawlers. Shrimpers are working boats and have the right of way, so you have to keep track of where they are going.

When Brenda and Megan reappeared on deck, I went below again for more napping to quell my queasy stomach. Fortunately, with such a large crew of iron-stomached sailors on the boat, I had the luxury of sleeping it off.

The next morning I reappeared and did my bit at the wheel to relieve John and everyone marveled at the time we were making. Sure enough, Morning Star crossed the finish line at Port A almost exactly 24 hours after crossing the starting line in Galveston. We all just gaped – no one of us had ever made that crossing in less than a day and a half. We didn't know what to do with ourselves, but decided a hot shower would be a darn good start.

Island Moorings Marina at Port A is new and clean and was full of other shocked racers with time on their hands. The bathrooms had large tubs for soaking baths! I have never seen that at a marina. I took full advantage and let the salt dissolve away while daydreaming about the gossamer light of the full moon settling over the ocean, of the blazing canopy of stars that appeared when the moon set in the wee hours, and of the sunlight glittering on the waves as we bounced toward the finish. The clean ocean air had me drunk and sleepy and relaxed, which was a good thing because muscles I don't even have were sore after all that exercise.

We enjoyed the food and festivities at the Regatta party, won third place in our class, and swapped early arrival stories with the other crews. No one could remember such good weather for the race. Usually it manages to be on the same weekend as the first norther to arrive down here, but this year that norther won't show up until the end of this week. I take all the credit for that. Why not? Beginner's luck. 

Happy sailors on the deck of Morning Star.

Eight months and counting - still at it.

[Hilde's Log]

I cannot understand how the days can pass so slowly and the weeks blink out of existence in a snap. It's already been a month since my last post. I'd hoped we'd be farther along by now, but we've been working on small things or intricate things, and they don't finish up very quickly.

I've been sanding and varnishing some trim in the galley (the engine cover, for example), sanding and varnishing the plate rack, spice holders, and paper towel holder in the galley, and sanding and varnishing locker doors. Each door and each holder takes 2-3 coats of varnish on each side, and you have to sand and varnish one side and let it dry before you can turn it over to do the other side. In addition, the spice racks have pretty little rounded vertical wooden decorations that were a real pain to do!

I did manage to finish one bulkhead wall in the v-berth, but it's the only thing I can do in that area until we clear out the cushions, etc. currently stowed in there to keep the mess out of the main cabin.

First let me show you the galley. It's 90% done and I'm so happy with it. Bright, shiny, and clean!

This is a closeup of the spice racks, the plate rack, and the paper towel holder. They look great against the new white paint!

View of the whole galley. So much brighter!

Next, a couple of shots of some of the doors, in process.

Here are a set of 6 doors laid out for sanding on our port settee workspace. The three on the right are done. David had the clever idea of using a length of rolled cardboard to protect the surface of the settee. Great idea - wish we'd come up with it a couple of months ago.

First coat of varnish on the back of each door. The gleam is irresistable.

The most wonderful thing David has done for me this month is make shelves for various lockers. I had some shelves in two of the lockers that he made years before, but they were plywood. The new ones are made out of starboard and look great! I didn't have shelves in my "bedroom closet". It was supposed to be a hanging locker, but the back wall curves with the hull, which means everything hanging in the closet was bunched up and wrinkled. So David's new shelves have transformed that locker from a fairly useless design into a great dressar.

 Nav station shelves for my kitchen gadgets.

My new bedroom "dressar" - with painting/work clothes tossed carelessly on the middle shelf.

Had to show off the bulkhead wall by the new dressar. As you can see, I haven't done the dressar itself. Looks horrible next to that glossy shine. It's strange - I'm not a big fan of glossy furniture in a house, but I love the gloss on the boat.











 





Here are my new shelves in the main cabin. Last trip, the canned goods went there. I'm not sure what will be in there this trip.









David has been dodging weather for his outside varnish work. The cockpit has 5 coats (one more to go) and the durade boxes (the boxes the cowls sit on top of - see first photo below) have 2 (at least 4 more to go, because they are always in the sun. We've had storm after storm, so it's been hard to get anything done.

The durade box/vent/cowl. Looks like an alien life form, doesn't it? This is a vent that lets fresh air into the boat. Yes, the cowl is definitely going to be painted.

The starboard side of the cockpit. Doesn't the varnish shine? You can see the difference between 2 coats (above, on the durade) and 5 coats here on the coaming.

Here is a winch block, all spiffed up. I've done this devil a couple of times (and there are two of them). My efforts never looked this good.



















David has also been working with our single side band radio. He has his ham radio license, so he's tuning in and figuring out frequencies. The radio intimidates me completely, being a push-button monster with its own logic. I need to get over myself and learn to use it. Eventually.

Cap'n Dave on the SSB

We got the portside rubrail repaired, a repair we've been needing to do for years. We hired that out! Good move.

This is the mend on the toerail. You can't really tell anything because it's such a good job! Before, the wood was cracked and the rubrail (the metal strip) was sticking out. Now we can varnish this bit, too. Oh, joy.

David has installed supports in the quarter-berth for the new shelves he will lay in there in a week or so. The quarterberth is our "garage" so the space needs to be easy access and and be able to hold a lot of stuff. 

This is the quarterberth, minus all the stuff usually stowed here. It runs along the starboard side of the hull, from behind the nav station to the stern of the boat. David's project is to make sturdy shelves for all the flotsam we carry here. You can see the two lengths of support rail (the pale wood strips) that will hold the top shelf. The electrics are also going to have to be moved.

 All of which is a long-winded way of saying - we're still at it.

She's starting to look good!

[Hilde's log]

Fewer than 9 months to go, and we are making good progress. For those of us who like to finish things, it can be pretty frustrating to have everything out all over the place all the time. We are forever hunting this or that thing that has disappeared into the mess. Yesterday I was far enough along to wash and replace items that go in the galley, and that lessened the chaos a bit. I'll let the pictures tell the story.

Portside work station

Starboard settee holding area...also known as the Bermuda triangle

Passageway

The galley is being redone and is serving as a work station at the same time. In the first picture below, you can see the new white walls. They have really lightened the interior. I haven't yet sanded and varnished the dish/spice/paper towel holders yet. As a point of reference, the second photo below is one of the galley "before". The third picture below shows it in use, covered with various half-finished doors.

The NAV station is almost done. There are so many parts to it! On the left is the NAV station locker "before" - icky, that is. On the right is the locker after varnishing the outside and painting the interior bright blue. You can see the contrast in the unfinished area. David is going to re-install my shelves here. It's where I store my galley appliances, like my small crockpot. On the bottom go our work / sailing gloves. Strange bedfellows on a boat abound.

 

 

Below is part of the NAV station as it was being stripped. Now look below to see it all shiny with new varnish. Still have to clear out the shelves above and below that hold the radio, binoculars, boat horn, etc.

 

Above is a glimpse of the worst/best job - fixing up the head. That's the floor. The part that slants up has been painteed. The bottom with the grate has not. You can see what a difference the paint makes! I need to sand and refinish the grate, clean out under it, and then paint the rest of the floor. David did most of the head lockers (my arms aren't long enough to reach the back) as well as the main cabin locker and the v-berth locker. As you can imagine, the whole boat reeks of paint.

And we're also getting around to the trim on the outside! I use the royal "we" here - this is all David's doing. It took days of sanding to get the coaming clear of dirt, old varnish, stains, etc. This is two coats of Cetol clear (no color). Only 8 more to go. It's quite the challenge in this heat. He got it all ready and then had to wait a week for the random rain showers to disappear. Then it got so hot he could only put on the varnish in the morning after the dew had dried. Short time window. You can see the contrast with the toerail below.

I sincerely hope the next post will show everything DONE and us moved in. David says September 1. I'm more inclined to say October 1. I hope he is right.

Two ways to travel - RV v. Sailboat

Raven at the dock in South Carolina (the one with the white hull).

Our NuWay rig and GMC pickup.

We are working hard to get Raven ready for another spell of cruising. That means we will have to pare down from our luxurious lifestyle in a NuWay 5^th wheel back to a bare bones lifestyle on the boat. There is a lot to be said for both modes of living. In our travels, we have met several boaters who were heading back to land for a “land yacht”. I've yet to meet anyone at an RV park who was contemplating living on a boat, but there may be someone out there yearning for blue water.

I've lived aboard our 36 foot sailboat for seven years, and lived in the NuWay for almost three years. Back in 2003, we made a four month road trip towing a 17 foot trailer. Both the RV and boating lifestyles have lots to recommend them, and both have lots of drawbacks.

Space

NuWay: We have SPACE. Wow! Lots of space! We have three slides. You can swing a cat in the living room.

Raven: Very little space below decks. Everything is stuffed everywhere it will go. Hopefully you have pared down enough that everything is stowed properly. But in the cockpit – you have the entire ocean around you and the entire sky above you and generally not another person in sight. This is not a shabby view, and makes the space inconvenience a non-issue for me.

Multiple rooms

NuWay: There are three different rooms in our RV (the living/kitchen area, the bathroom, and the bedroom). I enjoy going from one to another…I love the privacy afforded by closing doors.

Raven: Basically one long room with a closed off head that is about the size of a bookcase. So when you get mad at your spouse, you end up steaming in very close quarters.

Light

NuWay: I love the light. In the RV we have lots of windows and we have 100 watt bulbs for reading, sewing, etc. The older I get, the more my eyes need this help.

Raven: It tends to be dark below (although our new white trim may help that). If I want light, I sit in the cockpit. I spend most of my time in the cockpit.

Conveniences

Nuway: Our RV has 'em!! I love the microwave. I can use all my electric kitchen appliances. I simply wallow in the luxury of an on-board shower. I truly enjoy my hanging closet. Making the bed is so incredibly easy.

Raven: No closet. All clothes folded and on shelves or in boxes. No shower, per se (okay we have one, but it's for desperate times). At the dock, it's the public restrooms and public showers. The good news is, I don't have to clean them. Making the v-berth? Ask David. He gets in there with the sheets and struggles and curses and I stay out of his way. I'm trying to think of a convenience on a boat and my ears are smoking. Oh! We do have a refrigerator. No, actually, we don't. The “refrigerator” is basically an electric ice box into which I can wedge some perishables. Nope, no conveniences on a boat.

Housework

Both: Although you wouldn't know it to hear me whine, there just isn't much in the way of a space to clean. The bad news is, you pretty much have to do it every day. But even if you have a slob attack and don't look at it for a month, you can do the whole “house” in about two hours.

You're not stuck

Both: If you don't like the park, the location, or the neighbors, you just move. Takes about an hour to pack up and an hour to unpack and there you are in your new location. This is an advantage for boats and RVs alike and it's a big advantage. It's a hard one to give up when you're thinking of moving back to a house or an apartment.

Travel

Both: Yep. That's the whole reason for both RVs and cruising boats for David and me. I know there are people who like to rush around the bay with big engines and people who like to fish, and people who like to meet friends and party, and people who live in RVs because they travel from one city to another for their jobs, but the only thing David and I want to do is see the world.

Adventure

Nuway: Not so much.

Raven: Heavens, yes. Life is 3-D technicolor when you're cruising.

Scenic parking

Nuway: Nope. All those ads you see with the RV parked next to a mountain lake? Forget it. Unless you have a little bitty trailer, you end up in big RV parks surrounded by other RVs. The view out your window is usually another RV.

Raven: Scenic “parking” when you are cruising is another story! No bad news here. I can't tell you how beautiful everything is from the water. Marinas tend to be to be parking lots, but we don't spend much time in them.

Neighbors

Nuway: Your neighbors run the gamut, from “full timers” (RV speak for liveaboard) to vacationing retirees. Weirdly, our experience in RV parks and even in National and State parks is that there is little of the comraderie commonly found in a marina or among boaters when they hook up. I suspect it's because RV-ers are still fighting traffic and surrounded by too many people, while boaters are thrilled to see someone after a couple of weeks of lone sailing. Maybe.

Raven: Boaters are ridiculously friendly. Get togethers include raft-ups on the water, clumps of boaters in any marina, folks stopping by to chat on the dock...maybe it's because boaters are outside a lot, in their cockpits, or sitting around in communal areas in the marina. How do you make friends? You knock on the hull of your neighboring boat (from the dinghy) and say hi.

Maintenance

Both: Something is always going haywire and it always seems to cost an arm and a leg if you can't fix it yourself. The RV service shops we have encountered (this is only our experience) have done shoddy work. We did have one contractor (not aligned with any RV center) install new carpet and fix our flooring and he did a fine job. Marine service can be similar. It's hard to find the local knowledge to know who to hire when you arrive in a new place. It can be wildly frustrating. And for sailors, even if you can fix your boat, you are often in a remote location where you have to wait quite a while for the widget you ordered to show up.

Traveling Hazards

Nuway: In an RV, you are basically pulling a building behind your pickup. You can't see a thing behind you. The simple mass of the RV makes traveling at highway speed terrifying. And there's always that idiot who pulls out right in front of you with no clue as to how long it takes to stop one of these behemoths. Ours is only 33 feet, but it takes about three times its length to stop and that's slamming on the brakes.

Raven: On a boat, you have to know what you're doing and you have to keep a sharp eye out for those boaters who have no idea what they are doing, or who are too blasted on brew to know which end is up. There are lots of them, generally in small harbors. Weather is really, really crucial. Interpreting forecasts is vital to safety. “Traffic” on the ocean consists of enormous container ships that have no idea you are out there. 24-7 watch is imperative.

Fantasies

Both: I hope I am not the only one, but I sort of have this fantasy that life on the road/water won't plague me with stuff I hate doing, like cleaning house, being bored, paying bills, feeling blue, being bitchy, etc. No such luck. In fact, in a tight space, you tend to be face to face with all those annoyances you could avoid on land. It's all there, right with you, wherever you go, and regardless of whether you're in an RV or a boat.

So, which is better? I guess we vote boat. If you are in search of a good RV, let us know. Ours will be for sale soon and it's in great shape, thanks to my amazing husband.

More scrubbing and some shine at last

[Hilde's log]

Let no one tell you that refurbing a boat is not glamorous work. I post this photo of me in varnish/paint thinner protection mask to prove my point.

I've almost finished the port side of the salon, and have moved into the galley. Here is the galley before I tore into it:

You can see why it is time to do all this work, after 20 years of hard labor for the original varnish. Here is a closeup of the wood before I started:

Why it takes forever...I am scrubbing off the quick touch-up coat Raven's previous owner applied without (I think) sanding the original layer. That touch-up coat turned leprous and took a lot of scrubbing to remove. I do it by hand, being a dead loss at electric sanders.

The galley, mid-refurb. The wood on the right is done, except for the trim and the framing. The junk on the counter is going home with me to be sanded while the current varnish dries. I am also in the middle of a stack of drawers that are being re-varnished and having their insides painted.

And here is a glimpse of the future! See how the new varnish shines and brings in the light? It's worth it, just so very slow.

Meanwhile, Cap'n Dave labors on. His work isn't as easy to appreciate as new varnish, but it much more important in terms of actually being out and sailing.

He installed a galvanic isolator, which required several hours of work in a hot boat (all the electric had to be turned off), and then a long shower and a nap to recover. That was it for that Saturday. The galvanic isolator should make our zincs last longer and keep us safe(r) from weird wiring at questionable docks.

This stern light cost David several days of work. "All" he did was move it from the stanchion (where it blinded us at night and was blocked by the wind vane) to the back of the wind vane. This involved creating a new bracket (multiple trips to store, storage, etc.), wresting the rusted screws out of the old bracket, disconnecting and reconnecting the various wires, repairing those that were UV-cracked, and resisting the urge to whack it with a large hammer. In other words, a week of evening effort.

It can be overwhelming

[Hilde's Log]

Ten months, two weeks to blast off, more or less, depending on … everything.

We are working away on the physical tasks before us, the financial, retirement, and familial decisions we need to make, trying to take it steady and not get overwhelmed. Sometimes we do pretty well, other times not so well. There is just so much to do and decide.

I wonder why on earth we didn't do a lot of this stuff before, and the answer is probably because we couldn't see the exit, just the tunnel. We couldn't recondition the boat while we were living on her. Once we moved off, we found ourselves in the “go home and melt” mode. Working all day, running necessary errands after work, going home and making/eating dinner, all that seemed to preclude doing anything on the boat during the week. The same set of circumstances, without the goad of a timeline, allowed us to ignore the other life decisions that were yammering in the background. Then on weekends, other more interesting or pressing things stood in the way. It was easy to say “next weekend” because there was an unlimited number of them and we needed a break. Now we see the exit, and the number of weekends is suddenly very limited. It's easy to get overwhelmed.

I have mixed emotions about this period of time, this “suiting up for the next thing”. I don't really know what this next thing, this who-knows-how-long-and-where cruising thing, this living-into-the-last-part -of-our-lives thing, is going to look like.

Part of me is so excited, my hair's on fire, to paraphrase a friend who has a poetic gift for overstatement. To shake free of the schedule and the boredom and the routine...woo-hoo! I remember the spectacular scenery and sights. Is there anything more glorious than phosphorescence in a summer sea? Than the sun coming up in a molten-gold sheen over the water? Than the absolute silence of a still, star-studded night in an empty anchorage?

Part of me remembers quite well how exhausting it can be. How frightening some experiences are. How frustrating it can be to do the simplest chores, like buying groceries or doing laundry. How isolating it can be.

Part of me is worried. It's been ten years since we were out. I'm ten years older. I get tired more easily. I live with a chronic disease that requires a specific diet. Will I be up to the physical challenge? Will David? I remember the times when he had to do foredeck work in the middle of the ocean at 2 a.m. You can't always avoid those times.

If we go out and for whatever reason it doesn't work out, or when we simply decide we're done, then what??

Mix those mixed-up emotions with the long list of things that need to be accomplished, decided, and let go of before May 2017, and you can get Overwhelm.

When that day comes, ten months and two weeks and some days from now, it will be the same sense of leaping off into the unknown that we experienced in 2006, tempered to an extent by our experiences since then. It will be change, on a huge scale. And change, big change, can feel a lot like dying. Fortunately, I believe fervently in rebirth.

Cutting a Hole in the Cockpit Floor

[Hilde's log]

 

I have to admit, cutting a hole in the cockpit makes me really nervous. But if you must, this is what David did:

First, he measured it with painter's tape, which is not horribly sticky on the back and easily removed. Then he made sure (yet again) that he wasn't going to cut through things like bits of engine, electrical wires, etc. He used a heavy-duty jigsaw with a diamond-edged blade and cut all around the tape. Of course he was being good and wearing goggles and a filter mask.

Next, he eased out the cut, about 1" thick, fiberglass and composite, and gazed down into a big, black hole. Then he vacuumed like crazy to get up the dust and particles.

Finally, he plopped the hatch into the hole. The frame still needs to be bedded, but that shouldn't be too difficult. David told me the hatch would be flush, but it's got a bit of a rounded top. The handle does not stick up. When he wants to get in, he raises and turns the handle and that releases the dogs holding it down from below. 

David says the boat hull slopes quite a bit, so it will still be tricky to work on the engine. At least he will be able to see what he is doing. This hatch has been on his bucket list forever. Not so much mine. But then, I don't work on the engine!

The rest of the week is vanity work - teak. That's more and more a morning exericise as summer has arrived and below decks without A/C in 100 degrees is no fun. We don't run the A/C around the wet varnish because of the fluff and dust that tends to fly around when it's on. So it's sand in the evenings and varnish on weekend mornings.

Slow and steady wins the day (and drives me nuts)

 [Hilde's log]

This is our cockpit floor (looking forward toward the bow of the boat), with the new hatch rim laid out for size. It's a substantial hatch, made of cast aluminum, and quite heavy. When installed (which involves cutting a hole in the cockpit floor), it will be flush with the floor. Using this hatch, David will be able to access the back of the engine.

View looking forward to the V-berth. David was helping me sand prior to the second coat of varnish. You can see the contrast between the port and starboard sides and also glimpse the mess below. He's standing in front of the V-berth, which is jammed with cushions and boxes and who knows what.

The thing about boat projects is the time they take. 

It's maddening, for those of us used to computer quickness. It reminds me of my impatience, years ago, when the office got its first laser jet printer. Realize that I am of the generation that saw long legal documents hand-typed, when changes were typed on a separate piece of paper and then carefully cut and pasted into the original document. When the laser jet arrived at the office it was light years faster than the dot-matrix printer (which was the huge improvement over cutting and pasting and MAG cards). I caught myself standing at the laser printer saying “Oh, come ON” to documents that printed about 1 page per 2 seconds. 

All of which is to admit that wanting stuff done fairly quickly is a weak link for me. Now that we have an actual exit date, I am rarin' to go and am blocked by all the stuff that has to get done first.

Waiting is part of what you do when you do anything on a boat. Every last task takes doing a bit and waiting, doing a bit and waiting. The teak refinishing is 2-3 hours action and 2-3 days waiting, and you can't do anything else while waiting for it to dry because any mess will end up stuck to the sticky finish. Installing the hatch means ordering it and waiting two weeks for it to arrive and then waiting for good weather and time off for the installation.

Then there is chore reshuffle – when you discover you can't finish chore number 1 because chore number 26 has just muscled its way to the top of the list. Case in point: turning the boat around in the slip so David could more easily access the wind vane (he is moving the stern light to the back of the wind vane - formerly chore #2) and realizing the teak on deck is so awful it has to be moved up to chore #2, right after the hatch, lest we get kicked out of the marina for ugly boat trespass. We had it far down on the list because it wasn't necessary for us to get back aboard and because we didn't really have to look at it, but now we have to get presentable both to prevent issues with the marina and to salvage our pride. But it means that putting the stern light on just has to wait (again, no sawing, etc. around wet varnish).

The most common block to getting anything done is the "where the hell is the ___" syndrome. That is when you are all set up to do something that requires this, that, or the other tool and one of them is awol. It's either in storage, at the rig, hasn't been purchased, or (my favorite) it's right there on the boat but you can't see it because other project bits and pieces have covered it up.

Chores for this week: hatch install, sand and put on the 3^rd coat of varnish below, and, now, bleaching the gunnels to begin the deck teak refurb. Unless of course, something else comes up.

So we do a little bit and go home. Do a little bit and go home. Slow and steady. Oh, come ON.

Eleven months to go....

[Hilde's Log]

OMG. We are actually prepping the boat.

We've been living off the boat in an RV (so much ROOOOOOM) for about 2 ½ years now, and she's suffered. Boats like to be used, lived on, and loved, and we've done none of those things.

Do you remember how hard your last year of anything was? Senior years at high school and college come to mind. Last month of any pregnancy? Time just seems to stretch to the horizon. It takes virtual decades to get to the end and then (*SNAP* like a rubber band) you're there.

We're in the molasses stage of ending our work careers. We thought we'd done that back in 2006, but then got mangled in the Great Recession of 2008 and had to claw our way back to solvency. Almost there….11 months to go….

So we are prepping the boat.

I know, I feel a bit like the girl who cried wolf. But this is different. Really. David and I are about to reach the Golden Retirement Age(s) and we've crunched numbers. It's doable. Before, when we were ready to pull our hair out and leave, it just wasn't. We added and added and came up with needing to die at 73. Or 80. And die after a decade or so of absolutely no health-related issues. We couldn't afford health issues. I still can't afford health-related issues; David was recently excited to receive Medicare benefits for his one dermatologist appointment.

But now, after eight very long years of working and not touching our savings...we can do it. Next May.

This is me applying the first coat of varnish down below. You can see the contrast of the sanded surface to the new glossy varnish! Like getting your nails done. I am doing all the woodwork below, except for the starboard side of the salon, which David did last fall. It's looking great!

What you can't see are the boxes and bits and rags and tools and crap all over the place, the v-berth stuffed with everything we took out of the salon, the utter turmoil of house remodeling. Be glad you can't.

This is the port side, behind the settee. The top piece of wood is newly varnished. The bulkhead to the right is ready to be varnished as soon as the top piece has all the coats applied. The horizontal slats don't need an upgrade (thank goodness). Because this is not a strip to the bone situation, just a re-do, we're talking 3-4 coats, not 6-10. It takes two full days for the stuff to dry, so it can be a lengthy process.

David is plugging away at all the upgrades and fixes and repairs that need doing. His next project is a hatch in the cockpit so he can access the engine, etc. without having to be Gumby and slide down inside the very skinny and claustrophobic lazarettes.

So think of us and send us some energy on Wednesday evenings and every Saturday and Sunday as we move forward.

.