YEAR OVER YEAR
Cheap vodka and surprises
On the first day of 2026, I was just about to toss an empty bottle of cheap vodka through STEADFAST’s unzipped doorway when two yellow gloves appeared at the top of her ladder. Between the year’s end and Mother Nature’s Arctic blasts we’ve been the only folks in the boatyard for days, and I definitely did the whole “what are the chances?“ double take. Without a traditional greeting, the voice just behind the hands was an octave above its normal tone. “Holy f*#k you did a great job!” I laughed out loud in surprise and when Steve appeared from below, the visitor’s sentiment was repeated exactly (and then one more time at the end of the conversation; let me add that this man knows of what he speaks), heartfelt, and oh-so-very-appreciated. “You’re so much closer to be being done!” he told us.
I nodded with an unexpected wave of emotion, blown in through the doorway like the biting north wind. That evening, after an exquisite hot shower (our joys are simple), I sat down on this very Mac and delved into the thousands of photos I’ve taken with both Canon and phone over the last twelve months. It occurs to me, each time I do this, how complex, layered and impressive big wooden vessels can be; there is so much hidden beneath the planking. So many steps, so much time. Here’s the bow one year ago and yesterday. Nineteen months ago today, we investigated the tiny brown spot that led us here.
Port side, one year ago and yesterday.
Starboard side: new purpleheart stem (front of the vessel) was installed one year ago.
The views from the interior during the rebuild are even more striking to me.
Eyebrows did raise when our visitor took in the multiple 1.75liter bottles of the least expensive 40-proof grain alcohol we could find to winterize the plumbing. “We’re serving the same thing at the launch party,” I joked.
We are truly SPARRING WITH MOTHER NATURE this year in much of North America. I added a fourth layer and paid another 50.93usd for kerosene to keep the workspace warm enough to function. Winds here peaked at nearly 50 knots last Friday and have been consistently above average as a string of cold fronts sweeps through. The day before, our sky was deep azure and clear as crystal with a chill wind that indicated it would not be that color for long, although it’s amazing what the sun can do. The solar power created through our plastic enclosure is remarkable, forty degrees warmer inside than out when conditions are right.
My workboots were propped up on the sawhorse which is used as a table and as legs and a sawhorse and a roller for the planer. Pretty handy, that thing. Purchased at the beginning of this land-dwelling adventure for 34.95 from some horrifyingly big box store so we didn’t have to make them ourselves; after all, we weren’t going to be here very long. There’s a little burro emblazoned on one corner. Not a horse, a burro. For a moment, I ponder why and then I ponder why on God’s green earth that could possibly matter and direct my gaze elsewhere. On the very long list of things that don’t matter, that could be right near the top. I then contemplate a fleck of fiberglass resin on my sunglasses that I fear is irremovable and will need to be ignored. Epoxy resin is as permanent as permanent gets and any attempt at removal would surely lead to extra scratches and a curse or two. Of course, that’s the whole point of this project, isn’t it? To make STEADFAST as permanent as she can possibly be. To make her outlast me, the Sailor and most of you perusing this story.
“I’m quitting after this last three feet,” he told me above the din of the air compressor, grinder, fans, and constant, mellow classic rock at the highest volume the thirty year-old speakers will handle. The sailor was sanding the sunny side waterline so that it didn’t cure too much and make that task (even more) difficult. A whole lot of curving surfaces come together at STEADFAST’s waterline, a whole lot of forces, both inside and out, and you already saw that he did, in fact, smooth our bottom. A thick, intimidating layer of snow-white fiberglass dust covered every imaginable surface.
“I feel lazy,” I called through the plastic. People, myself included, pay money to meditate, do nothing, relax, reflect and regroup. On this particular day, I wasn’t comfortable. I had just dropped lunch down the line used for that purpose, descended the ladder and sat in my now-a tad-rickety teak rocker, but I wasn’t working as I have come to know boatwork. I don’t grind the fiberglass to its desired finish; that careful work is not in my skillset nor my job description and Steve was just as dusty and worn out, maybe even more so, than I was last week when we finished the application. “That stuff is awful,” I had told him, stripping off my TYVEK suit for what I thought would be the final time. I shouldn’t have lamented having nothing urgent to accomplish; as soon as he finished, my work began in the doo-rag of the week.
Many of you don’t know that my Sailor Steve Uhthoff retired from a successful career in yacht repair, rebuild and refit as well as keel design. Some of you Annapolitans might remember the notorious Steve’s Yacht Repair and more recently Annapolis Fiberglass & Gelcoat based near and within Jabin’s sprawling marine operation. “We did that work because no one else wanted to, I liked it, and I made money doing it,” the hard labor was a trade-off, but who thinks of these things when life is happening full-tilt, full of challenges and a desire to be the best? That business sold just after he and I met in 2019 so he could venture back out on the water, see if I was worthy of such a life and also decide if it still brought the same joy he remembered. I’m not sure worthy is the main description I would use for me.
We’ve come a long way, year after year, project after project. I can’t say that I wouldn’t change a thing, now, can I? That might be a lie. In this case, neither one of us knew what we were in for, but it’s all gonna be worthwhile. BTW he’s a Marine Surveyor, too. I think folks have wondered how on earth we could possibly have completed this venture, and so now you know, as they say, the rest of the story. Well, no, but you have a sample chapter with a few surprises.
See you next week in our usual time slot. ~J
Do you believe that my work is share-worthy? If so, please do! It’s easy to pick another water-lover in your life and forward this email, or simply ‘restack’ with the little arrows below. I appreciate your creative comments and encouragement, especially last week when all those MILESTONES were tumbling around! Thanks for whatever support you send, in whatever way you send it. ~J
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SPARS & SPARRING
These stories often come to me out of the darkest darkness, late at night, on watch, when the sound of the unseen sea can be either unpredictably raucous or quietly hypnotic, when the motion of the vessel can either rock you gently to sleep or jolt you awake, adrenaline flowing. I couldn’t possibly hit all the right keys under the latter conditions, so …
The gust of emotion you describe ... yeah. It's something you feel when there's finally light at the end of the tunnel in a long, arduous project - you're not done yet, not by a long shot, but it finally feels as if you might actually make it.
That's a priceless feeling, but hard-earned, to say the least.
Happy New Year!
Bottom of the ninth, yet? Rounding third base, heading for home, the crowd (us) are on our feet cheering you on!