As part of the "entertainment" on the boat, Mack does a lot of projects. Massive projects that require drills and take up space and leave behind tiny shards of metal. At the marina, it's less of an issue because, you know, there's plenty of electricity and dumpsters and shoes. But when you're out at a mooring ball or anchored (we haven't anchored yet because of a dickhead that stole our windlass/was hired to repair it and never returned our phone calls), it's a little more complicated. Since Mack loves his entertainment and won't settle for puzzles like a normal person, our recent trip to Catalina meant a complete replacement of the lifelines and their fittings. As you can see he is being very scientific with his measuring. You can also see that the old life lines are coated in a UV-protectant plastic that was all cracked, that they're pretty saggy, and that the fittings are sort of patina-ed. Apparently that coating was all the rage in the olden times but now the racer sailing types prefer uncoated stainless steel because you can see if it's starting to corrode or become compromised. At least that what Mack told me and I was pretty engrossed in my Cats of the World puzzle so I doubt I got all the details right. He ordered 7x7 stainless steel wire at 3/16" diameter (he thinks) from Defender.com. He also got some SunCor toggles, turnbuckles, and locking pelican hooks. Which sound like items found in a British pub to me. All in, the switch cost about $400 and took about 2 hours, which he did in 15 minute bursts throughout the weekend. You tell me which is the toggle and which is the turnbuckle. The pelican one at least looks like a pelican. You'll have to trust me because I didn't take a picture since WE WERE ON A VACATION.
Kenutu looks a bit sleeker with the stainless lifelines and everything feels more heavy duty in general. Especially the locking pelican hooks, which I kind of hate because you have to have two hands to pull the pin to unlock them and if you're hands are full when you go to board you mutter DAMMIT every time you see them latched. They're also a lot heavier so if one were to swing around if someone forgot to latch it, it could leave a serious mark. We also have to be more careful about hanging things like clips and hooks on the line since if a different type of metal encounters the stainless steel it might make it rust. But, I feel like I could tight rope walk on these things and they won't budge, which is all that matters if a rogue wave tries to spill one of us overboard.
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A guy a couple of boats over from us had some guys varnishing his woodwork, which made us really jealous. So jealous that we asked Jose, the guy doing the work, how much our varnish job would be. He said $800 and I'm pretty sure I rolled my eyes and said, "Have you seen these windows?" Our varnish looks 10,000 times better than our windows, which for me means it's just fine in its current state. After watching Jose demonstrate varnishing technique, we concluded we had all the skills needed to do the project ourselves. I did some research on varnishes and decided to go with Epifanes. Maybe because people loved it the most or maybe because people said it was super glossy or maybe because I get so tired of research making me crazy that I buy the most expensive one and cross my fingers. The first step was to sand everything down and clean it and wipe it with a microfiber cloth. I believe that is the first step to every boat project in existence, a first step that includes three steps and takes almost as long as doing the actual project. After we got the surface prepped, we taped off the wood. I'm a pretty good painter, so I rarely tape anything off. However, Mack was helping with this project and he tends to see the big picture more than the details. I used leftover blue painters tape and bought some extraordinary outdoor long lasting blue painters tape that was about $7 a roll. I won't do that again. The outdoor blue tape was thicker, but I don't think that made it better. It was harder to get it to conform to the weird shapes we were taping around. Then, when we pulled it off, it left behind a bunch of sticky, meaning even more clean up to do. Lesson learned. Once we got everything taped off, we mixed our varnish with thinner according to package instructions, which calls for a thicker coat at first and then thinner ones. We used Epifane's brush thinner to do the thinning. We used cheap bristle brushes, which were ordered off Amazon for like $9, and foam brushes, where were like $5 on Amazon, to lay down the varnish. Both brushes worked well while applying, but I noticed the foam brushes left some little air pockets on the surface of the varnish. Mack thought the foam brushes applied far better and used less varnish. I guess beauty is in the eye abilities of the beholder. We worked from the cockpit forward, in the hopes the cockpit would be mostly dry when we were done. After each coat, we sanded and wiped with the microfiber cloth. We applied one coat each day, which took about an hour with two of us and three hours on days when we had to go it alone. After about four coats, with angry knees and contorted backs, we decided we needed to go to Catalina for Labor Day and called it quits on the varnishing. Mack wants to do a heat gun method where you pull off alllllll the old varnish and start from scratch, where as I want to do the Amber method where you sand down the surface and keep building up the varnish by applying a few coats a year. I'm not sure which is better, getting down to the wood itself and starting over or building up the layers of varnish over time. For now, the wood looks better than it did, it's protected, and we're going sailing!
Mack found a crack in our traveller car. After he told me what that was, my next question was WHY WERE YOU LOOKING SO CLOSE? A traveller is a track that the traveller car moves along to move the boom (aka the metal brace for the bottom of the sail) from one side of the boat to the other. It basically lets you align your sail with the direction of the wind and get the most out of it. To get the traveller off the boat, we had to remove the companion way (aka sliding roof door). To do that, we had to remove the wood slats that serve as the track for the companion way. To do that we had to drill out little wood circles to find a screw and then unscrew the screw. That was the easy part. Once we got the companion way door out, we had to unscrew the screws attaching the traveler to the deck of the boat. The boat designers kindly left about 2" of space to access these screws. Mack put all his weight into the screwdriver to extract them while I shoved my hand into the cramped quarters and held onto a ratchet and held the nut still. We had to do this 10 times. Of course the last one was a foot into the abyss and I can't remember how we even got it out. After we got it off, Mack sent me on a tour around Los Angeles to find its replacement. Actually I had a bunch of errands to run in far away cities ... had to get foam for the mattress from my favorite foam shop and had a doctor's appointment on the way other side of LA ... so I offered to swing by Upland on my day-long journey and take the traveller to Garhauer Marine. When I met Guido, it was all worth it. Guido's office had about 40 old travellers standing up against the walls. There were boxes full of clunky metal things and old papers and general old man chaos clutter. It reminded me of my grandpa's work sheds, places I'd linger for hours when I was a kid and find all sorts of gadgets and trinkets and leave smelling like keys. I told Guido I was here about a traveller, he looked at our old one and walked me into the workshop to show me this. Seeing this powerful machine made our traveller look pathetic. Weak and pathetic. Puny and ineffective. The slidy bits (aka the traveller car) on this sample went from end to end with a whisper of effort, like a well-greased roller-skate. Ours was like a creaky old woman's wheelchair. I texted Mack these photos, and Guido and I went into his office where he and Mack went over the measurements that he had sent with me to the shop. The final damage was about $900. And the heartache of knowing that our boat would be out of main sheet sailing commission for 4-6 weeks of summer. I left the shop with a handwritten invoice, crossed fingers, and this block. Mack spun those little black wheels for about an hour when he got it in hand. He couldn't believe how smoothly they rolled, which meant he was going to be blown away by how awesome the traveller car was going to be. After a week of spinning the wheel, though, Guido called and told us to send back this block because he was going to put a block on a spring so it wouldn't be flopping all over if there wasn't tension on the rope. Once the traveller FINALLY arrived, about 5 weeks later, it was time to install. We'd been sailing with just the genoa most of the summer, but we missed the main. Mack put down some butyl seal tape and set the traveler in place. Then we had to tighten the screws. Which meant shoving my hands back into a cramped, fiberglass adorned abyss while Mack shredded his palms driving in screws. The ratchet was NOT getting the job done this time, nor was the drill. We made a run to the hardware store and got a T-handle screwdriver and Mack fashioned an extension for the ratchet out of the cockpit table leg and some electrical tape. Once we had the right tools, we got everything locked in place. I still can't believe we were able to do this with JUST THIS MUCH SPACE to work. Once we got the traveller mounted, Mack skated the cars back and forth like a toddler with his Hot Wheels. We got the rigging back on the block, reattached the companion way slats, and have been enjoying some oh-so-smooth sailing.
We did some AirBnB'ing of the boat last month to try to offset some of the costs of repairs and slip fees. Of course, our marina caught on and threatened us with eviction for using the boat for "commercial purposes." Trying not to flush hundreds of dollars a month for a parking spot is apparently a commercial purpose. If you plan to rent your boat out, don't give the location or any indicating photos or else you'll get busted. You'll probably get busted anyway. But hopefully not before you make enough money to buy a proper dinghy! After having a dinghy that was chronically deflating on one side, one that was deflating and had a ripped open floor panel, and a hard dinghy that was a general embarrassment, this new Coast Guard-rated Newport Vessel dinghy is a dream come true. We were so excited about it we naturally assembled it in the middle of the living room.
It comes with oars and a foot pump and a hard floor and a bench. It has a inflatable keel so the nose of the boat is lifted when it's going over waves. It was made with super strong plastic. It was about $900 on Amazon. Thanks to our AirBnB guests for making this happen, no thanks to our marina managers. Kenutu went out for a bit yesterday. Only a bit because the meclizine I normally take for short trips did not cut it. I went to lay on the deck on my newly fashioned custom deck cushions and when I came back to the cockpit it was all over. Someone give me a lobotomy or something to end this motion sick crap. Despite the brevity of the adventure, we got to see quite the site once we were back in the harbor. The Irving Johnson, a boat conceptualized in the 1930s but not built until 2002, was coming in from a sail. We counted 18 crew members and circled around the tall ship to get a better look at her. Even with her sails tucked away, the Irving Johnson was divine, a playground for pirates and conquerors and explorers. Or, in reality, actors on Sharknado and love-seekers on the Bachelor. I later learned that this 110-foot wooden ship, which was built in full view of the public out of South American Purpleheart hardwood (do you see how educational this blog is?), was beached on a sandbar in 2005. She got pretty banged up and took on a lot of water, but after a $2 million infusion, she was back in commission, teaching "troubled youth" about team work and problem solving. And if their experience is anything like ours, they're also learning how little they know about anything and just to chill and be a sponge. The Irving Johnson is emblematic of the things I love about boats. She was an idea nearly a century ago. Then she became a real life "maritime ambassador of the city of Los Angeles." Then she ran aground and tried to sink. But in the end, after a little love and a lot of money, she's back at it and will probably be at it for another century. Also, she is beautiful and strong.
Deep in the recesses of Kenutu's cockpit lazarettes we found the solution to a boating emergency. A rusted mess of metal that would be a tiller if our wheel broke off or we somehow became unable to steer. It's kind of a big deal. We had some random white spray paint left over from some paint thing we never did, so Mack broke out the sander and started stroking the pole. Yes. That is DURABLE COVER MAX TECHNOLOGY in a spray paint. Come on, Krylon. Put down the energy drinks and the thesaurus. It's spray paint for goodness sake. Painting the emergency tiller was a little fix, probably a non-essential one, but it looks way better. And that means it was worth it. Especially since now we know where it is.
This past weekend we recruited our pals Dustin and Lena to make the voyage to Santa Catalina Island. They're both rock climbers and outdoorsy types, and since they'd been living out of their car as they made a move across the country, they were primed for boat life. Lena did a little sailing back in college too, so she helps Mack do all the maneuvers and I get to be on my drugs without interruptions when she's around. The day started out foggy, but we were hopeful it was just a marine layer that would burn off before noon. Lena and Dustin brought us some awesome and giant breakfast burritos from a food truck, which we ate as we were pulling out of the harbor. We were off for Kenutu's second overnight voyage! In anticipation of the trip, Dustin, who we'll be calling Dave for my enjoyment, and Lena watched some videos and discovered a song called 26 Miles by the Four Preps. Now we can't really even mention the island without breaking into a chorus of "romance, romance, romance." You, too, deserve this affliction. As we made our way out to sea, the fog seemed to become a thick cloud cover. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing because the sun can get pretty intense. But the waves, which were much bigger and confused than we'd expected, were bad. Really bad. We tried to raise the sails but despite the action of the ocean, there wasn't much wind. And then Dave came up from the salon the color of an avocado and puked so violently over the lifeline I snuck my finger into his belt loop so he wouldn't fall into the ocean. We turned on the motor, drugged Dave, and did our best to speed things up. The waves were so crazy we actually had to surf them a bit. I took the helm through the shipping lane, but I got us pretty far off track wrangling the waves and turning north to avoid going between two container ships. Captain Mack finally had pity on poor puking Dave, booted me off the helm, and Lena and I decided to check out the view from front of the boat. The view wasn't bad, but the extra bouncing up there sent Lena to the cockpit to barf alongside Dave. Romance, romance, romance! Unlike Dave, Lena ralphed and rallied. And me, oh, I was TOTALLY FINE! Yeah, Queen Motion Sick here wasn't the least bit queasy. Having Dave and Lena puke was a little validating, since Mack sort of thinks I make up my nausea or that it's all in my head. Nope, it's a real condition shared by many people. People who don't have drugs. Drugs are awesome and I love them. Eventually we made it to our mooring ball, which took about four attempts to tie off to. Kenutu is a heavy girl, and she doesn't slow down by pulling on a rope. Instead, you get her bow tied off and her stern starts swinging the totally wrong way. Eventually Harbor Patrol came and helped us stop looking stupid, but I honestly don't know what we could have done differently. Ask Mack, I'm sure he has all kinds of ideas. Once we were stable, we noticed these miniature lobsters floating around in the water. I was sure they were baby lobsters, but Mack did some research and found out they were tuna crabs. The water had been unusually warm, so they'd come farther north than they normally do. Unfortunately, the water had turned cold again and these little fellas were beaching themselves trying to get out of it! When I finally jumped in, with a wetsuit on mind you, I knew exactly how they were feeling. I managed to clean the bottom of the boat when we went to Catalina in March, but this time I managed to get down the ladder, regret it, and climb back out. The skies were too gray and they made the water too damn cold for human or tuna crab occupancy. Since there was no swimming to be done, we decided to blow up the inflatable dinghy and head to shore for a hike. Dave wanted to look for some rocks to climb and we wanted to scout the back side of the island in case we ever get the gumption/knowledge about anchoring to go there. It's not Catalina without some dinghy drama and this trip delivered. The inflatable dinghy not only had a leak, but it's floor was also ripping off at the nose of the boat. It basically scooped up all the water we rowed over and put it in the boat with us. We had to take our shoes off and roll our pants up to row the 30 feet to the dinghy dock. And we had to row fast so it wouldn't sink before we got there. Then we had to dump out the water and cross our fingers that it'd be there after our outing. After a little bit of wandering we headed back to the dinghy and hoped it would hold all four of us. It did! The girls took over rowing duties because the boys were terrible at it, and we made it back to the boat without being completely submerged or soaked. I put on warm socks and we ate some of the best veggie burgers ever made thanks to my awesome new birthday grill. We had an awesome night's sleep. Well, WE did. Dave and Lena were the first to enjoy Kenutu's "sofa bed" and let us know that the cushions drift apart when you lay on them. Dave got to sleep with his arm in a crevice all night. The second day brought more cloudy skies... and a test I had to take. Not wanting to risk my laptop, I hitched a ride on the shore boat to the bar to use their wifi. After my test, it was time for some Buffalo Milks and another delicious cocktail that I saw a bunch of dads pounding. I guess it was Dad-Daughter weekend at Two Harbors, and all the little girls were running around playing while the dads drank and tried to endure. I can't remember the name, but this drink was better than the Buffalo Milk. Also a million calories. Which is why I studied this hike map too. Everybody eventually came to shore, probably to poop, and Dave went to look for climbing, Mack went back to have some private time with Kenutu, and Lena and I decided to walk along the leeward side of the island. We found lots of other mooring balls in other coves, each managed by a special yacht club. And we got a beautiful look at Kenutu from above. Isn't she gorgeous? Romance, romance, romance. The sun peaked out for about 8 minutes, so we headed back to Kenutu to do some swimming. Luckily, the dinghy was still there, mostly inflated, and only 1/3 full of water. We dumped her out and did our highly motivated rowing to get back on board. This is when I made my swim attempt and quickly regretted it. Dave showed up from his hike, so we rowed over, picked him up in style, and employed a new technique of holding up the vinyl at the nose of the boat to try to keep some water out. Look, we lived. Sometimes that's all you really need to accomplish. Dave wasn't able to get enough of a climbing fix, so Mack coaxed him into going up the mast and changing out lightbulbs on the spreader. We rigged a ridiculous shopping bag containing screwdrivers and light bulbs, and Dave rigged his rigging and got hoisted up the mast. I laid down on the deck and watched the evening's performance. For our last night, I made some linguine with clam sauce and toasty bread. It was amazing. We polished off a bottle of wine, and Mack devised an ingenious way to open another bottle using a screw, a drill, and some channel locks. Romance, romance, romance. The trek home was infinitely better than the trip over. Everyone was drugged properly, and Dave kept us on an excellent course that gave us full sails and 6-7 knots of speed. We flew the first 15 miles before the wind gave out and we had to turn on Perky. It was just the type of sailing that makes you fall in love.
We went to a boat show last year that had this. It made me have wants. I decided it was time for our deck to have some lounging areas so I hoarded some JoAnn's coupons, bought some outdoor fabric, and broke out the old sewing machine. I kinda measured the deck and decided that two cushions butted up against each other between the grab rail was my best bet. Mainly because finding foam wider than that would be impossible or expensive. I also decided to make a couple cushions with backs that could lean up against the salon windows near the mast. This makes no sense? Okay, here. The striped cushions were patterned "on site" and kind of just finagled into existence. They have a zipper so they can be washed. The blue ones were modeled after patio cushions I studied during a trip to Target University. I ended up having to hand sew a chunk of the blue ones since I had to sew the fold between the back cushion and the butt cushion. I'm sure if you inspected them you'd give them two sits at best, so don't do that. They're fine. And look at that gorgeous contrasting piping!
So far we only had one blue one blow off during a really gusty day in Catalina. It floated, so I grabbed it out of the water really quick and since it was outdoor fabric, the water rolled right off. I've since bought some of those Velcro cord wrap things, and I plan to sew them onto the seam to attach the striped cushions to the grab rail and the blue cushions to the mast or the vent or each other. Haven't decided what yet. When we're underway, the dinghy usually rides on top of them, which keeps them secure. I've noticed that the striped ones get condensation on them before the deck does in the evening, but other than that, it is awesome having a place to lay down and look up at the stars. When we're sailing, I like to cram myself on one of the blue ones and put my feet up on the dinghy and take naps. It's been great to have an extra place to hang out too, since only so many people comfortably fit in the cockpit. Thank you, boat show, for giving me such good ideas to steal! Boat repairs are often merely attempts. We've learned that everything takes 42 hours longer than expected, and we're learning that the sun and water means that some repairs are simply reminders that you are dumb and weak and know nothing, Jon Snow. We decided to pull out our grated cockpit flooring to clean it and the fiberglass underneath. It came out in about 30 pieces instead of three. But we're optimists and like projects! So we carefully collected all the baby pieces with their respective parents in garbage bags and took them home for a fix. After cleaning the cockpit floor, in work clothes of course, we took on the teak. Mack bought some Quicki II, which is apparently okay for the environment and came with a magic brush. We hosed off the teak, applied part I, gave it a scrub, let it set for a few minutes, then repeated with part II. Mack had thought about possibly varnishing it, which looked nice on a little sample piece, but after doing a little more reading he found that the varnish makes the teak slippery, which is a sin. We got it all cleaned up, removing old glue and putting the puzzle back together, and Mack glued it back together with Gorilla Glue. Yeah. Don't do that. Teak is an oily wood, which is a special consideration in everything, but Gorilla Glue is worthless in sun and watery places. I think the fix lasted a week. After gluing it together, we put on some teak oil and wow! It looked fantastic. (Kettle bells and heavy rocks are excellent for clamping wood pieces together. Very professional) Attempt 2 will use some kind of epoxy or something to bind the pieces. Attempt 3 will be a new, rebuilt floor. Because this one on s/v Elegant Sea is so beautiful and I covet it.
Remember how we were living large with a refrigerator? Well, the freon charge didn't last long after we finished our mojitos. About a month after getting the fridge fixed, we noticed that it was slowly getting warmer and warmer. Reluctantly, we accepted the fact that the charge was going to cost us some more. Thor, our fridge guy, had anticipated this may happen, and had kindly given us a quote for $900 to replace the compressor and cold plate entirely. That plus labor. So for us to have ice and carry perishables on board, we threw in another $1200. God that hurts to write. THIS IS WHAT TWELVE HUNDRED DOLLARS LOOKS LIKE ON A BOAT. Not one bit sexy, is it? Thor moved our thermostat to the port wall to keep us from bumping it when we reach into the fridge. He also wrote the numbers back on it so we wouldn't have to do our usual guessing method. You see that frosty cold plate? That actually keeps ice cubes frozen. Mack has integrated a fridge check as part of his usual "checks" where he shoots his thermometer at various things in the boat. That boy loves his thermometer gun. Even though it was an expensive investment, a fridge definitely makes boating more comfortable. You can have cold beer on hot days and are able to make much better food when aboard. Since the cold beer and good food are highlights of our sailing adventures for me, the pain of paying that much money will be worth it in the end. For now, though, we're going to need to freeze our accounts for a while.
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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 |