Projects and Progress

 I didn't anticipate it was going to be a very productive trip because it got cut short by a full day by work schedules, but getting out of St. Louis when a winter storm is heading that way seemed like a good idea. No snow when we left, but while I was heading down to get coffee at the hotel the next morning this view greeted me out the window:

A very nice lady offered an extra snow brush she had in her car and we were off. It was beautiful scenery to drive through for sure, but still it was going to be nice to get on the other side of the mountains for warmer weather.

My projects for the trip included changing the hailing port decal on the stern. We love the name of the boat, First Light, so no need to change that, but the hailing port had to go. Fortunately, since the last time we did this my daughter and I bought one of those cutting Silhouette cutting machines and we were able to make quick work of the decal (thanks Amber!) We used Oracal exterior permanent vinyl and it installed really easily. The product info says it lasts up to 6 years. We'll see...the last ones we put on Kintala (at a cost of $125) only lasted a couple years before they faded. Excluding the cost of the cutting machine the decal materials only cost $30 and there's enough left over to do it three more times. Vast improvement. I picked up the machine on Facebook Marketplace for less than $200 and it was worth every penny as we use it constantly.

My next project was to continue to try to free up a frozen thru-hull valve. It's the thru-hull for the head overboard and it was completely stuck. Tim had sprayed it repeatedly the last two visits with PB Blaster to no avail. It was stuck in the open position so it was really hard to get anything to stay on the valve long enough to work on the barnacles. This time around I taped over the outside and then poured a bunch of Barnacle Buster in there over a day's time and then with a little help from a 2x4 and a hammer I was able to get the thing free. I'm still working it some more over the next visit to continue to clean it up and lube it, but I think we have averted a replacement, a big deal since a replacement would have been half a boat buck at $465 for the whole assembly.

Another project I wanted to tackle was a thru-hull map for the boat. This boat has a lot of thru-hulls and it's good to know where they are and what they operate in the event of a water-in-the-boat emergency. Fortunately, one of the previous owners of the boat took the time to put tags on each one to identify its purpose. Thank you whoever you were. A little time with Gimp and I had the map. If you've never used Gimp before, it's an open source Photoshop program. I really love it, it's free, and it's just as capable.

Next on the project list was Tim's. The hardtop over the cockpit on First Light is a wonderful thing, but the design and execution are sadly lacking. The framework was built sturdily enough, but they then laid 1/4" plywood on top and then covered that with a very thin Fiberglass sheet that was maybe 1/16" thick. The plywood and frame structure were then painted on the underside. None of the holes mounting the solar panels on top of the hardtop were sealed properly, so water soaked the plywood and it rotted, leaving the 1/16" fiberglass sheet as the only support. Not good. Tim took his trusty "Magic Tool" (our new absolute favorite can't ever be without boat tool) and with a scraper blade was able to carefully scrape the rotting wood off the fiberglass sheet. Then new plywood was covered in fiberglass resin and put in place. Next trip it will be faired, sanded, and repainted.

 

 

This is how thin the fiberglass sheet is.
You can see light through it and all the
wood isn't even sanded off yet.

There's still several other spots that he has to dig out and replace before he does the fare and paint. 

His other project was the repair of the port side settee on the flybridge. At some point in the history of the boat, somebody decided that there wasn't enough access to the space under the settee and they cut another access hole and attempted to make a functional cover for it. I say attempted, because the design was sadly lacking in structural integrity so when someone at some point stood on the settee–probably to fold up the bimini as that appears to be the only way to reach it unless you're freakishly tall–the top of the settee caved in and broke the lid support structure that they had added.

Here's the hole from the top.

It was all constructed out of plywood, none of which was sealed well and had soaked in the water that fills the channel you see here every time it rains.

Here's the other factory-original access hole forward of the added one.

The lid was also plywood glued to the cut out piece of fiberglass.

Tim spent two days grinding and sanding and building a new support structure. I painted the support pieces which he installed and then he scraped off the really old, ugly, decaying sealant from around the edge of the settee and painted the top of it. We're trying the Rustoleum Marine Topside Paint on this for the first time and so far I'm pretty impressed with it. I then ran a new bead of sealant (I loves me some Dow Corning 795. Best. Sealer. Ever.) Somehow I neglected to get a photo of the finished project, but it's probably best to wait because after we finished sanding and painting that side, it became quickly apparent that we were going to have to do the other settee because...well...you know how it goes when one part looks new and the rest looks like crap. I think someone once coined it as Project Creep...So next trip I'll get some finished project photos.

All in all it was a very productive few days, but it left very little time for ukuleles and guitar and drums so the music suffered a bit. We did manage to have time to spend at a birthday bonfire with our new friends Jay and Evan who have a boat they are restoring just down a couple boats from ours. (Happy Birthday Evan!) It was a fun evening and helped us to remember that the whole reason we're doing this is because the Cruising Community is absolutely the best ever.

Why?

Recently two of our sailing community wrote posts that summarized beautifully why voyagers sell everything, move onto a boat, and take off, and what the challenges and benefits of doing so are. I thought I'd share them both here (with their permission) because they're both very insightful.

 

From Wendy Vanderveer:

Here are a few "truths":

 

-Moving aboard will not fix a weak marriage, but will probably make a good marriage stronger.

 

-Life aboard is a lot simpler in many aspects, but with that comes a need to be very patient. Need to wait for weather, tides, parts, provisions, workers, crew.....

 

-Unless you have a fat wallet need to be very self reliant. Many times the best/only mechanic, plumber, electrician, rigger is the person you see in the mirror. That being said the cruising community is very diverse and if you ask the anchorage good chance you will find someone to help/teach you a missing skill, or lend you a needed tool.

 

-Life is much simpler and closer to nature. For some too close. If you need lots of comfort then LA [ed: liveaboard] life might not be for you.

 

-Living on a boat is more environmentally sound than living in a house. Smaller area, smaller carbon footprint. Lot less consumerism as impulse buying disappears and most items aboard need to be multi use.

 

-There are bad days. Stuff breaks, rough seas, bad weather, leaks, occasional isolation, fatigue, cold, hot, wet, anchor drags or worse boat upwind drags. But for most folks these items are more than cancelled out by the incredible good things. 

 

-If you do try it the hardest part of cruising it tossing off the lines for the first time.

 

Recognize that your boat will NEVER be 100% ready and accept that. Make sure the critical stuff works and work on the little stuff along the way. There are always days/places you will hold up for a spell and dedicate some of that time to boat chores.

I guess the only way to know is try it. Take at least one year, anything less is too short, to decide. If it's not for you, don't waiver, swallow the anchor and sell. Don't think of it as a failure but as a try at something that just doesn't work for you.

 

 

And from Alison Peters Brennan (with whom we spent a summer in the mooring field in Beaufort, SC):

 

We sold our home on the water a few days ago, always a happy day in a boat-owner’s life, but a sad one nonetheless. Robert and I both feel relief and regret, but new beginnings keep life anything but dull! 

 

In hindsight:

 

ALL IN [ed: their boat, a 1994 Hunter Legend] was a catharsis for me from some very difficult, emotional years, and many of those close to me never thought I would make it three months aboard given these adversities, not to mention lack of sailing experience. I surprised myself when she not only provided instant amnesty from those former hardships, but also unearthed a gale of strengths through healthy adversity. Life on a boat is not easy, but its many rewards make it a simple choice.

 

Not everyone was happy about our departure from land at first. Our friends and families worried, and we all knew things would never be quite the same. But in a few short months, they stopped asking “Where are you?” every week because they knew we were ok (or they got tired of asking because it was not easy to keep up!) Not only was all just fine, most of the time it was fantastic. Curiously, that wasn’t always easy to keep hearing, for some, as we found out!

 

Livaboard life is inexpensive waterfront property and priceless views. Unparalleled scenery from remote anchorages. Daily dolphin sightings. Manatees and rays and turtles and coral reefs. Breathtaking sunsets and stunning, quiet sunrises. Being lulled to sleep by waves against the hull and awakened by fishermen heading out. New foods from the sea. New recipes created from no-provisions necessity. Finding beach treasures. Making new friends in new places, and re-uniting with them in others. (More about that in a bit.) We never once took for granted “living the dream,” and only sometimes longed for land living and it’s conveniences. Eventually those close to me knew I was a mermaid at heart.

 

But boat life is a constant challenge. Learning to live, sleep and store (beach treasures, not to mention necessities) in small places. Finding systems to not have to do handstands locating something at the bottom of your refrigerator. Staying awake when it’s your watch. Trying to sleep when it’s not. Knowing if to eat, when to eat while sailing. Cooking while underway. Hell, making coffee when underway. To full-throttle (not particularly remarkable in our 37’ monohull) for a bridge opening or to slow enough for the next one. To go for the Bahamas crossing with companions or wait for a better weather window. To arrive before dusk to acquire an ideal (depth-, current-, and wind-related) spot in a sometimes crowded anchorage. To dinghy to shore with rough water or sit on the boat and get nauseous from it. Remembering to write in your ship’s log before settling in with a forget-all drink. Double-checking, no, triple-checking your anchor before settling in with a forget-all drink. Trying to find your boat in a crowded anchorage on a dark night returning from that long Mexican Train game with a few cocktails at a friend’s boat on the other side of the harbor. Checking the weather every 10 minutes. We have to get up early to make the trip, to make the tide, to miss the storm, to make the bridge opening…… When does the tide turn again? No more drinks for you. 

 

It goes without saying that nothing during our sailing escapades would have been worth of any of this if it had not been for the birds-of-a-feather friends who made permanent nests in our lives. They are, by far, the best about the live aboard lifestyle. It doesn’t matter where you meet them, whether it be in the marina laundromat, over the radio requesting help, or at one of the many sailor get-togethers that are held in almost every port, one’s sailing friends remain in our hearts and souls forever, on land or at sea. Ours know who they are, and we wish to thank each and every one of you for your excellent company, your expertise, your tools, your shared meals, your shared homes and boats (especially over this past summer) and especially your camaraderie and love through the years! We shall meet again. Not sure when or where, but tides and currents, and streams and bridges unite people and reunite people at the most uncanny moments.