NOTHING ON A BOAT IS STRAIGHT OR SQUARE
And None of This is Optimal
On the last day of the year we stood on rearranged scaffolding, mentally preparing ourselves to keep tackling and jousting, bracing against the wind and for the repair tasks at hand, contemplating the angles, the bevels, the curves, the lengths, the thicknesses, all of which varied disconcertingly. It was sunny but the biting north wind was gusting nearly 40mph (35 knots), bringing a storm. While none of this is optimal, it could always be worse.
As we assessed, the dark was gathering. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that verb work as well with darkness as it did that night, but I assure you, it was gathering. A full fifty minutes after true sunset, the temperature was dropping precipitously as the sky swirled with threatening, summery-looking storm clouds. I watched Mother Nature demonstrate her most ominous, overbearing elements. The cold is manageable, but the wind…winter wind is formidable.
We were facing the port side as that is where the next steps have begun, replacing the planks. After four years, port and starboard finally come completely naturally to me (I call sailing terminology my third language). It was a lovely revelation that I didn’t have to translate them in my brain any longer, port, left, starboard, right, when facing the bow from the helm. I’ve now moved on to Portugese because, sooner or later, STEADFAST is going to head down the coast of South America until I see a penguin. That is the goal. It was a week of resolutions, after all, so what better time to plan and dream?
Regardless of a milestone that perhaps only I can truly appreciate, a far bigger revelation, and not for the first time, was the complexities of wooden boats. Just last week I told you “I had no idea what I was in for!” and at the risk of being completely redundant there is simply much more to know, understand and consider than one might think as NOTHING ON A BOAT IS STRAIGHT OR SQUARE. Decks may seem flat but are actually crowned, causing bevels below and in every one of hundreds of seams. Hullside planking may look horizontal but it curves with the shape of the vessel, and those edges are beveled, too, to allow room for our HIGH COTTON (read about caulking, if you wish).
Here is a simplified cross-section sketch of the sheer, where the hullside meets the deck at a supporting vertical frame, and all the elements thereof. This is one of a hundred and eight such joinings, each with eight separate yet connected wooden components. The newly replaced knee and stem are far heftier if not more complicated than these (check the October archives for detail).
Everywhere around us came the unmistakable clanging of rigging on masts, rhythmic but jarring. Fifty feet above our heads a line of our own had loosened and I could feel it, somehow, chipping away at the hard-won white paint, part of last year’s sweaty project when we painstakingly replaced the top six feet of STEADFAST’S main spar. (WoodenBoat Magazine published my story, a photo-essay piece). That was nothing compared to this! (I would have added even more exclamation points in this post, but thought better of it (!!)).
When we discovered the destructive rot in her 90-year-old oak stem last July, and spent weeks uncovering the problem, I must say that I hadn’t felt completely compelled to learn how to build a wooden boat. Not in my wheelhouse, as they say. I’m a writer, gardener and retired chef who is unexpectedly taking an immersion class in boatbuilding; not the far simpler fiberglass boats of today, but the complex entities of old. Full immersion. I’m sure there are innumerable other nautical terms we could come up with….care to offer one ??…please do….
The original pre-full-discovery estimate for repair was two months, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas. Our latest plan? SPARRING WITH MOTHER NATURE will be Yachting once again by the Summer Solstice, back on the water, back where we belong. Next week I will discuss, in more depth, the scope of the project as we go forward, which combines the bow repair and the extensive refit which we chose to undertake. (!)
A friend popped over to see us and commented in amazement that STEADFAST appeared perhaps even more disassembled than when he had seen her last fall. I guess we’re used to her, now, but he’s right. There are more planks missing than there were months ago; it’s all part of the process. And we did mention that if he had extra time on his hands he was most welcome to assist…that offer stands.
As these thoughts swept through a never-quiet mind and my cheeks chilled, (all of them) the clouds scudded across the sky at a dizzying rate, making me feel like the earth itself was somehow going faster in order to create such an effect. Mother Nature’s powers are visible, notable, intimidating. If you’re not intimidated, know that I think you should be.
The New Year’s Eve lightning show on the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay, USA, was one of the best I’ve seen; with dime-sized hail combined with raindrops so dense they obscured the streets of old downtown, drenching revelers and washing even the back alleys clean. Thunder boomed as three separate fronts crossed the water, two hours apart, the final one a boisterous welcome to 2025.
Happy New Year to all of you!! I had a tremendous boost in all sorts of subscriptions this week and am absolutely thrilled and honored about that !!
Please don’t forget to admire any and all dynamic skies.
Here’s January 2nd’s stunning daybreak shot: this week I’m hibernating. STEADFAST, a ketch, sits in the middle of the photo, winter blanket glowing.
One of my readers made a great comment (thanks Lori!) that our project was fascinating, and it certainly can be. For folks interested in a diverse wealth of knowledge in regard to boats, Phil Friedman is a respected resource and supporter: For Yacht Builders, Buyers & Owners
RESOURCE: Gerr Marine, established 1983 by David Gerr, Naval Architect, Elements of Boat Strength is one of his many works.
*** This book is currently residing on our coffee table, propped open.
FOR ALL MY MOUNTAIN & DESERT DWELLING FRIENDS …ARE YOUR EYES CROSSED? OR IS IT ALL GOOD? I’M IMMERSED! Thanks for staying aboard!! It’s an exclamation point sort of edition this week(!!). ~J
Nice to hear from someone who relates so well, Larry from the Cruiser's Net said the same. Patience is a virtue for certain.
Thankbyou as always for chiming in. It's a pleasure. J
“She’s worth it,” I told him, smiling but abraded by his overstep. “This is my home.” (J.W., 8/4/24)
Lately, when I read your posts and think about the scale of your task (and the fact that it will wind down), Trace Atkins' "You're Gonna Miss This" comes to mind.
You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast
These are some good times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you're gonna miss this
"On the last day of the year we stood on rearranged scaffolding, mentally preparing ourselves to keep tackling and jousting, bracing against the wind and for the repair tasks at hand, ..."
There is such a tug and a pull with a task that is larger than ourselves, that we want to finish right now ... soon ... sooner rather than later. Fatty Goodlander once wrote, "Only build a boat if your ultimate payoff is building a boat. If you want to get to sea, there are far easier and cheaper ways." And yet, "What's in the way is the way ..." You are regenerating a living thing, linked to the past through people and nature (I dare say that there are timbers in Steadfast that were living trees during the Civil War; perhaps the Revolution and before). You are blessed to become part of her. Not just her history, but a soul linked to her future through posterity's past.
I'm feeling the itch. Maybe a small tender or slightly larger rowing boat (something I can hide from my wife before she realizes what's happening - ha ha). But the real question is how? And how long? I often say, "Modern methods for modern boats." But I have that itch to immerse myself in that creative process that does not lend itself well to timeframes and deadlines - going slow to go fast. In some small way to place a piece of my heart and soul into a creation that transcends us. There is nothing quite like launching a boat you built yourself. The "joy of slowing down".
I remember the sadness I felt when I finished the oars, the final woodworking task on ALKI. (She's stitch-and-glue, so the genuine woodworking projects - cutting bevels, shaping wood, shavings, rather than epoxy dust - were moments to treasure.) Standing there, looking around the tent where I'd spent the better part of four years, where I'd spent COVID, and just like that, I was done. It was so abrupt. All the planning, preparing, rearranging, tackling - and suddenly it was time to go sailing - a truly joyous affair, but different.
You are not Sisyphus when you are fortifying yourself to tackle and joust and brace for "...areas I will never see again..." These too, "... are some good times ..."
Happy New Year and Cheers!