Mack is starting our new little nephew on his sailing education early. As in earlier than his move into eating solid foods. Because who needs to reach dietary milestones when there's an ocean out there and a wanderer's DNA in your bones. I feel like I'd take orders off Captain Potato way better than I do off Captain Mack. It's gotta be the baby afro...
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During those few hot days in August that we spent worshipping Kenutu's toe rail (aka varnishing the wood), it became clear that we'd need to bow down again soon to replace the caulk. Most of the caulk in the toe rail was broken into pieces and dried out or missing altogether. In some places someone had done a great job of putting new caulk all over old crumbly caulk. An uncaulked or poorly caulked toe rail is bad because water goes under there and rotting and bad bad bad. Luckily we live in Southern California so rain is a rare phenomenon and (fingers crossed) hasn't compromised the toe rail too badly. However, the weather guys were screaming rainy winter loud enough that I decided to get back on my hands and knees and work the toe rail. The first step was getting all the old crap out. There is no easy way to do this. I used a combination of a flathead screwdriver, a paint scraper, tweezers, puffs of air, and a fancy caulk tool that I bought. I also accidentally gouged the deck and the toe rail a few times but if anyone asks, no I did not do that. Removing the old caulk was one of the few instantly gratifying and fast boat projects I've done so far. It came out pretty easily, thanks to my abundance of tools, and then I washed the area down with a toothbrush, dried it with a microfiber towel, applied some primer recommended by the caulk maker, waited an hour or so to make sure it was really dry, and then caulked. See how fast and easy that sounds? I did some research (these forums and this article) on caulking the toe rail and discovered that you want something UV resistant, flexible, and able to bond to teak. Among the options were Dolphinite, 3M UV4000 (which took the place of the beloved 3M 101), Sikaflex, and LifeCalk. In the end we went with LifeCalk and LifeCalk Primer, both made by BoatLife and available on Amazon, mostly because it seemed the most forgiving. All in, this project cost about $60. And 12 hours. And 27% lasting neck and knee pain. The caulk goes in pretty easily if you push it along rather than pull it. I used the side of my finger to create a smooth curve and really smoosh it into the gaps. At one point I thought, oh, I'll use that soapy water on your finger trick so it doesn't stick to my finger. DON'T DO THAT. This caulk actually cures faster in water, which makes that technique a bad idea. After a steep learning curve, I carried a dry paper towel around, pinched the extra caulk off my finger, folded that edge down to avoid getting caulk everywhere, and went on to the next section.
Caulk definitely got way beyond the areas I wanted it, but that was pretty easily managed with some mineral spirits on a paper towel and some potential arthritis in my fingers. In the end, we were left with a solid bead of caulk keeping whatever toe rail rot we may have a secret from now until it reveals itself in a major way. Once upon a time, there was a windlass in Kenutu. This windlass was heavy duty, a Simpson Lawrence SeaTiger 555, which is a name that only barely conveys its heavy-dutiness. Sadly, the windlass was jammed, taking away Kenutu's ability to anchor. The owners of Kenutu thought that since they'd serviced the winches, they could handle an overhaul of the windlass. They unbolted the 40-pound hunk of metal from the anchor locker and soon realized they were dummies, for there were 10 gallons of unexplainable goo inside. And the smell. Oh, it smelled of instant defeat. Despite the obvious obstacles, the dummies felt empowered after a few internet searches offering up such clever ideas as "turn it upside down and fill it with mineral spirits and let it soak." Boldly, they pried off the base plate, revealing an ancient, pungent, creamy goo that made the first goo look like frosting. They donned gloves and plunged into the metal abyss to scoop out handfuls of gunk. After purging the innards, it quickly became clear that the dummies were going to need a professional. They again turned to the internet and found Tom Dessel of Coast Marine, a character who will henceforth be referred to as Asshole. They left a message for Asshole, who immediately called them back and arranged a drop off time to get the windlass repaired. On a nice morning in June, full of optimism and naive belief in professionalism, one of the dummies drove to Asshole's shop and dropped off the windlass and $260 cash. In exchange, she received an estimate repair time of 2-4 weeks and a promise to email a receipt. As his name may suggest, Asshole failed to deliver on all counts. In July, they called and emailed to check on the repair status. In August, they called and emailed to nudge it along and ask for a reply. In September, they called and emailed threatening to take it to the next level, legally speaking. In October, they called, emailed and drafted a letter to send via certified mail. In November, they emailed a way less cordial email demanding the windlass and including the phrase "if you have a brain in your head," and Asshole responded. Apparently the parts were ordered and it'd be done in two weeks. His name is still Asshole, so clearly that was a lie. In December, the windlass arrived in the same condition it was delivered to Asshole in June. And it arrived without the dummies' $260. At about the same time, Scott, who often sails with the dummies and laughs at their follies, was coming up from San Diego to visit and mentioned he had seen a windlass at Minney's during his stopover in Newport Beach. It was a boating miracle. The thing they needed, an almost 25-year-old hunk of metal, was actually available?!! They wouldn't have to drill other holes into the deck?!! Parts for this windlass sometimes make repairing it either impossible or not cost effective. This one at Minney's, though, presented an opportunity... a $700 opportunity. They could get a functioning windlass and keep the other for parts. Before they could even make a pros and cons list, it was bought and installed on Kenutu. The new windlass fits like a glove. It only took 6 months, but the dummies finally acquired the ability to anchor. And now, they must learn how to anchor. Here's hoping for more miracles in 2017!
Kenutu moved AGAIN. That girl just cannot commit to a home. This time she moved to Long Beach's Shoreline Marina, and for the first time since we got her, she finally lives in the same city as us. Before she could settle in, she had to be inspected. We'd never had to do that before so it was a little weird. The guy told us we needed to fix our running lights and get new fire extinguishers since we hadn't been turning them upside down a couple times a year. And we were like, now??? But no, it was an immediate requirement and we made our way toward our slip.
There weren't too many slips when we were ready to relocate so we ended up on what is affectionately called Repo Row. Being there is kind of twofold... there's no one around and there's no one around. I'm hoping we get a slip near some people who actually come on their boats since we learn a lot from them, but for now, we're enjoying being right next to the beach and, more importantly, living just a few minutes from Kenutu. Kenutu has a beautiful 150% genoa that we flew the first time we met her. When it whipped out, it was like a giant wind blanket, clean and full of opportunity. We've been sailing with the genoa quite a bit, but we don't always unroll the sail all the way since it's sometimes too much for the wind we've got. Well, we finally found the jib, and since some of the UV fabric that covers the genoa had started to flap we swapped the sails. I brought the genoa into the garage and started to seam rip out the sunwrecked thread and prep the fabric to be patched. About 75% of the way done, I got ADHD and decided to start sewing some of the pieces back down. I have a heavy-duty Singer sewing machine. I have sewn a boat full of cushions, including some that are vinyl. I am a professional seamstress. Obviously. Well, this is how far I got. I'm pretty sure my sewing machine laughed at me during the first stitch attempt. It couldn't even muster enough strength to go thru the sail. I tried manhandling it thru hoping that once it got going it would have some confidence. Yeah, the needle broke. Clearly I was out of my league and should stick to cushions. I bagged up the sail, apologized to Mack for ruining it by my overzealous seam ripping, and hauled it in to a shop I had talked to about a bimini cover. They sent me around the corner to Quantum Sails, where I met Olga. At this point, I'd just like to say thank god we live in a boat mecca so that these repair places are around the corner. Olga took a look at my sail and noticed that the luff tape (aka the fabric tube that threads the sail onto the boat) had started to fray. It wasn't totally in shambles, but she said that when it starts to go, it'll rip off like a zipper unzipping and who knows where your sail will end up. Olga knows just what to say to make you nervous. I saw what good luff tape looks like and realized the sorry state of ours. And the decision was made. The Sunbrella fabric was going to be patched and we were getting new luff tape.
A couple weeks later, the sail was done. The $775 repair did not feel good, but it felt better than the $2000 that a new genoa would cost if ours decided to rip apart and fly away. Now we just gotta get the UV fabric applied to the jib and maybe we'll finally be sail ready. Kenutu did a little harbor exploration in anticipation of her upcoming move. We'll be leaving Holiday Harbor and relocating to Long Beach's Shoreline Marina. Finally, our home and our boat will be in the same city! We wanted to make sure we knew how to get her to her new slip since the Port of Los Angeles is like a tangled water maze with bridges to consider. The days are sooooo short right now, but we took advantage of the afternoon off and sailed to our new neck of the woods at 2 knots. The sun kept the November afternoon nice and toasty, which was good since Capt. Mack was dressed like it was July. The water was calm and glassy. The autopilot freed us up to walk around and allowed me to scrape some old caulk out of the toe rail (that saga is coming later). After about an hour of creeping along we spotted the new whale mural that let us know we were in the right area. It was about 4:30 by the time we got eyes on Long Beach, so we turned Kenutu around and headed home. Which was pointed directly at the sunset. Which started out as beautiful and only became more mind bogglingly stunning as it went on. I laid on the upside down dinghy on the deck and did my best to soak up all the pretty that was happening. But then, as the sun went down, the wind whipped up and the cold rolled in. Mack fired up the motor to save us from hypothermia. Kenutu just keeps on giving the most amazing gifts.
When we got an autopilot on our last boat, it revolutionized our sailing. It lets whoever (Mack usually) is on the helm enjoy the dolphins on the bow with everyone else or go below to use the head or forward to help with the sails. Before we had the autopilot, that job belonged to Amber, which is how autopilots now earn the name Amber Jr. Kenutu's wheel had a locking mechanism that held the wheel in one spot, but that didn't do much for maintaining your course. Well, Mack found us a Raymarine ST4000+ autopilot for $800 on Ebay and Amber Jr. is now performing live. With some help from Scott, he drilled a hole in the cockpit and wired the computer to the boat's electronics. Initially they were going to use a hole cutter, but it didn't like cutting very much. Scott got crafty and use the drill to make a punch out hole. Sometimes he's helpful. Especially at those times when we're at Catalina and I want to go snorkeling but Mack wants to do huge boat projects. Our batteries are in the same lazarette that serves as the autopilot mount, so I think they got the autopilot wired in to the instrument fuse that powers all the gauges below it. The thing that actually turns the wheel also needs power. To accomplish that, Mack taped a wire to a rope and thread it up the stanchion (fancy word for metal tube) connected to the binnacle (fancy word for the steering column). Mack eventually wants to mount all the electronics and gauges on the thing that holds the wheel, so they left a little rope pulley to more easily access power later on. Smarties. The autopilot was super easy to install and has a pretty good reputation for being reliable. You can also set waypoints on your chart plotter and the autopilot will follow your course accordingly. Mack told me that one person online said they sent their boat "ghost mode" on its way from one harbor to another far away and then flew to their destination and waited for their boat to arrive. It's probably a lie and you should never do that, but if it's true, this is one amazing autopilot. So far, Amber Jr. has earned every single dollar we threw at her.
I am addicted to television. I have been my entire life. On demand streaming has only made it worse. On Gypsy, our last boat, I instituted a no television policy because I didn't want screens to lure me away from the boring brilliance of being on a boat. Well, Scott put a television on Gypsy and Mack got jealous and now we have this. That is an Insignia television that has 12V DC capabilities. It is now hanging from the bulkhead (aka wooden wall that everything on the boat is tethered to) thanks to this television mount. The television was like $110 at Best Buy and the wall mount was like $80. So for less than $200, my worst nightmare came true.
And can I just say having a TV on the boat is AMAZING. We can watch movies, Mack can play video games, we watched the presidential debate there instead of at home. It (so far) has only come on at night, when it's too cold to sit outside, and it has made the boat so much more like a place to live rather than a place to visit. I know it will be a struggle to pick up a book rather than watch tv, but it will also be a blessing for long, overnight sails or riding out bad weather. It's on this amazing (and surprisingly sturdy) mount that lets us angle it or pull it out from the wall so it can be seen from everywhere. Yeah, I'm a convert. But I'm still a televisionaholic and like all aholics, admitting it is the first step in controlling it. Remember how we repaired our cockpit flooring using Gorilla Glue and Mother Nature immediately balked at us? Well, Attempt 2 was made using epoxy, thanks to my friend Ali coming to visit us and needing something to do in between reading books. Normally I wouldn't subject my loved ones to boat projects when they're on vacation, but Ali is notorious for project slayings. She designed and painted an entire room of furniture for my nephew. She built floral bouquets out of sea shells and ribbon flowers for my sister's wedding. She puked peppermint schnapps all over my deck when she was 15. So not only does she have a knack for this kind of tedious work, she also kinda owes me. Since Ali was going to be doing all the work, we decided to do things right this time. We bought new dowels to replace to broken ones and went with headache-inducing epoxy. When Mack and I were at work, Ali was doing work. She was hunkered down on the patio mixing epoxy in paper cups and probably feeling all kind of crazy knowing she had mere minutes to place pieces of the floor grate puzzle into place. We were getting paid, but she was not. I love my friends. After a few days of working in bursts, Ali had managed to get the pieces back together, including the weird tiny pieces. And she was just as creative with weights as we were on Attempt 1... Flower pots, rocks, and kettle bells are a woodworkers best friend. Also, I'm a lousy gardener, so pay no attention to my dying plant. As a reward, we took Ali to meet Kenutu. We did not take her sailing in it because, if you haven't deduced yet, we are mean, terrible friends who work when people come to visit us. Mack gave Ali the tour, showing off his most favorite area UNDER THE FLOOR. He is obsessed with that dark smelly abyss. I felt pretty good about this floor repair, optimistic even. When I picked up the large sections they felt like a solid piece of wood as opposed to a delicate warbly grate. The little sections were even sturdier. They felt like you could drop them and they'd stay intact. Ali had done an awesome job. And then came Mother Nature, who apparently has a personal mission to destroy this floor. It held up longer than the Gorilla Glue fix, but nothing about it was permanent.
So you know what this means? Attempt 3. I'm emailing Elegant'sea right now to find out who this Owen guy is and see if they'll share their plans for their cockpit flooring with me. Hopefully they'll be as good a pal as Ali was! Since the last time we went to Catalina it was too cold and overcast to do any swimming, we decided to redeem summer over Labor Day weekend. We rallied Scott up from San Diego and took off under cloudy skies and with no wind. Along the way we saw this guy. He's sort of a sail boat/pirate ship/Chinese fishing boat. But there he was, out in the Pacific, floating like a champ and giving us something interesting to talk about. Since we didn't have any wind, we kept the jib (aka front sail) furled (aka rolled up). I camped out on the nose of the boat dangling my feet off the front and feeling the water spray my toes when all of a sudden one of my favorite things in the entire world happened. Dolphins ran over to the boat and swam right underneath me, playing in the boat's wake and generally just being magical creatures of joy. A little over halfway there, the clouds started to clear up and we pulled out the sails to catch some wind. Scotty took the helm. Mack took a nap. I took pictures. We also ran the macerator while in the shipping lane and watched lots of ground up pee and poop spew out the side of the boat. It was disgusting and satisfying and liberating, for it means from hence forth, there will be pooping on the boat. As we entered Two Harbors, we saw boats upon boats upon boats. Boats were anchored. They were moored. They were tied to each other, 3 to 4 in a row. They were driving around. It was so busy it didn't even look like Isthmus Cove to us. We puttered in on the motor and looked for our mooring ball. Which had a boat called Dionysus tied up to it. Wait, what? Mack radioed the harbor patrol to kindly ask them to evict that guy and make way for Kenutu. And that was when we found out that actually the mooring ball we'd reserved after attending an Indian wedding party with an open bar was in Catalina Harbor, just on the backside of the island. The BACKSIDE. We circled out of Isthmus Cove and started heading to the point and making the 2-4 hour trip to the backside of the island. Mack made the reservation but somehow this blunder was all my fault, just so you know. It ended up being a lovely trip. I dangled my legs off the aft port side (aka back left) and soaked my toes while we watched the coast go by. We found a roomy beach with lots of divers on it. And as we rounded the point we found where all the fisherman go. And a giant rock covered in bird poop that was pretty extraordinary. Getting in to Catalina Harbor was leaps and bounds easier than Isthmus Cove. It was busy but far less cramped. We made our way to the mooring ball, which did not have a boat attached to it, Scotty reached waaaaayyyyy out over the edge to grab the needle, and we officially made it. Since this was our first trip to Catalina with a proper dinghy, we decided to grab a beer and take a sunset cruise around the harbor to look at the other boats. There was a 1987 68' Irwin Ketch that had a freaking hot tub on its deck that we were very jealous of. It's for sale for $400,000 if you're interested. I look them up just in case I may be able to get a digital tour. Once back on board Kenutu, I set out to making some dinner. Grilled tuna steaks on my awesome grill. Unfortunately these were not from a tuna that I caught, but I did buy a new fishing pole for trawling and put "Catch a Tuna" on my bucket list. Also on that list is "Learn How to Filet a Fish." We watched some pelicans dive for fish as day turned to night and then we saw the milky way creep out from the darkness. We'd never seen the milky way on Catalina before, so that was pretty amazing. We went to sleep in the path of a crazy wind which jostled Kenutu left and right, but we woke up in the same spot and made a mental note to pick a mooring ball a little more protected by the cliff next time. In the morning we made coffee and got to work. Mack got started on some projects he wanted to do (changing out the lifelines and zinc and installing an autopilot), and Scott and I got to the important work of RELAXING. At one point we all decided it was time to go to shore for a Buffalo Milk and a Painkiller, so we piled into the proper dinghy and electric motored right on over to the dinghy dock. A little hike later and we were at the bar, looking out at all the chaos and noise and activity going on at Isthmus Cove, and thanking our drunk selves for reserving the wrong mooring ball on the backside of the island. I managed to get Mack to hike around with me a little bit so we could get a better look at our girl. Sometimes he is all work and no play, so this was no small victory. We walked up a few trails to an overlook and there she was. My god, she is beautiful. It helps that the harbor she is in is also breathtaking. We are some lucky little assholes, I tell you what. The next day was especially rough. I had to go swimming and the water was cold. It took me like 5 minutes to get used to it and I could only swim for like 20 minutes before I started to freeze. But I found a reef full of fish and plants and sting rays and sea urchins and even a lobster! Someone asked me if I saw the leopard shark! I hadn't, thank god, but how wild that there was one to be seen! Mack ran the engine when I got back on board and I got to enjoy a nice hot shower after my cold swim. I bundled up for another windy night and started making some linguine with clam sauce for dinner. We ate by the lantern and slept listening to the sounds of the sea. In the morning, I woke up and looked out the port window to see this. Given our extra sail time from the backside of the island, we packed up pretty early and got underway. As we rounded the point, I was on the helm (aka driving) and saw some crazy going on in the distance. It wasn't a boat this time, but instead a wacky dolphin having a freak out. We got Kenutu home in no time at all, sailing at about 6 knots most of the way. After we hosed her down and got her tucked in for the night, we went home and did the same for ourselves. It was a Labor Day well spent.
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AuthorTwo people dumb enough to think anything is possible and smart enough to bumble their way into discoveries. Archives
September 2018
CategoriesMates |