Retired...again

As of the first of the month I am no longer gainfully employed. And I am collecting social security checks for the first time. Which, I think, makes me more retired then the last three times I have been retired. A life of aviation work ended abruptly and I retired (1) to go cruising. And though we got in some good sailing the first time “retired” was mostly spent fixing Kintala & The Bear. Nearly out of money a friend offered a job. Kintala took up residence in a boat yard and I went to wrenching on other people's boats. When not on the boatyard clock, I wrenched on Kintala. Kitty partly filled retirement (2) beckoned and I went back to sailing and wrenching on just Kintala. But money was soon short once again and I was invited back to the boat yard. Many months later and with the kitty partly filled we went back to sailing and just wrenching on Kintala; which was retirement #3. But the partly filled kitty wasn't enough to go far. With money once again getting short and getting weary of Kintala, an aviation based opportunity came up that was simply too good to pass. I went back to fill the kitty.

 

Kintala, though by then a pretty well founded boat, was also getting to be more of a chore to sail then Deb and I, as a short handed crew, were comfortable handling, particularly on those dark and stormy nights. (Once an adventure, such nights had become life threatening.) The idea behind this most recent retirement was to get back on the water in two years, on a different kind of boat, and with enough cash to go for as long as we wanted. It was a good plan.

But then COVID hit and the world appeared to be losing its collective mind. In spite of the turmoil we landed in a very good living space with grandkids and family close by. Two years turned into almost five. I enjoyed being pretty good at what I was doing once again. Time in the simulator was augmented by a couple of chances to get back in the sky, all of which had the kitty looking as healthy as it ever had. Life on the water was still the goal, but “when” and “in what” were open to many a debate. Then First Light hit the market, caught Deb's eye, and we beat the next buyer by about 20 minutes with an offer that was accepted. The “in what” was answered but not the “when.” But we had a boat and it was time to head back "out there". Initial plans were made to depart for places wet last November, hook up with family living on their own boat, maybe spend some time in the Islands. But family on the water became family living within a day's drive of St. Louis. The idea of leaving all family for long stretches of time once again, something that had proven far more difficult than I had expected after my first retirement, was something we (particularly me) struggled with. But we owned a boat, and life on the water was still beckoning. 

So now I have retired yet again. But full time cruising on an open ended schedule is not the goal. Getting First Light safely to St. Louis via the Northern half of the Great Loop is the current plan. Once settled at a nearby marina, she will become our floating cabin on the river. A quiet place for Grampy-T and DeMa to enjoy boat living. A less quiet place when the the boat is crewed by grand kids. After years of cruising and now with our third boat, we know full well just how much it costs to “go cruising”. So there is a fair  chance I will be un-retiring at least one more time. I expect the kitty to be looking a bit anemic by time we coast into IL waters. We will see. How life will unfold many months from now remains the mystery it always is. We are heading back to the water; due to cast off in just a few weeks. After that? Plans, written in sand on a beach at low tide.  

Just a couple more...

...projects ticked off the list. One of the things that came up on the pre-purchase survey was the lack of the lower life-lines on the stanchions below the teak rails. The holes were there, the lifelines not. We had replaced ours on Kintala  long ago with Samson Amsteel and loved it, so I looked online for some on sale since it can be quite expensive. After searching a bit, I found this truck winch line made of Amsteel with an eye already spliced into it at literally half the price of just the line itself from a marine supplier. Same. Exact. Stuff. Fifty feet for $22.99 as opposed to $51.50 with no spliced eye. Sold. Tim spent a couple hours cutting and splicing and adding hooks to open and close the lifelines at the gates. Another survey item crossed off the list and it cost less than a B.O.A.T. buck.

Another thing that we wanted to do was to install an Acu-Rite weather station to replace the badly corroded barometer and clock that were on the boat. We bought the Pro model, and while we're very pleased with the capabilities of the unit (time, date, pressure, rainfall, humidity, wind speed, wind direction, forecast, moon phase, and historical figures), it will remain to be seen whether it can survive the rigors of the marine world. It's really intended to be installed permanently on land, not on a boat, but I've heard from several people that it has worked for them on their boats so we thought we'd give it a try. Time will tell and we'll include a review about it on the Reviews tab up above after we've had it for awhile. It is one of the weird adjustments you have to make when you go from sail to power - that insatiable need to know what direction and speed the winds are - and the lack of a masthead anemometer is a little disconcerting. We had originally hoped to mount this thing on the radar arch, but it expressly warned in the installation instructions against mounting too near things like radar, so we opted for the side of the hardtop. This does not put it in optimum position for accurate wind readings, but at least it will give us some idea.

I had a daunting list for this work trip over a full notebook page long. It was good to get at least 3/4 of it checked off, much more than I had hoped. The few remaining items will get pushed to the next trip, but for now we're feeling pretty dang good about the progress.

The size of a corner

The port side of the salon as viewed
from the cockpit outside

Long ago in a class room far, far away, a math teacher once claimed that a true corner has no size. Most of the things called “corners” are actually arcs or bends, gentle or sharp, but still a change in direction whose length is easily measured. A corner is an abrupt change, a break in a straight line or, (as he described it) an intersection of two lines. Lines he defined as being an infinite collection of infinitesimally small points without width, height, or length. One such a point defines any true corner. Thus a corner is a thing without a size. Not being any kind of mathematician I will not vouch for his claim.

The first thing we noticed the first time boarded First Light was a salon stuffed with furniture. The starboard side was filled to overflowing with an enormous couch, one so large that entering through the aft sliding door meant walking around the edge of the thing. The port side wasn't quite as stuffed, but an imposing chair along with the folding ship's table left little room to spare. A narrow path separated the two areas. And the color? Not sure what one would call it, but it and my eyes did not make friends. I am sure the previous owner was quite content with the set-up and to each her (or his) own. Still, the first thing we did after handing over enough cash to make the boat ours was hire a couple of fit young men to lift couch and chair off the boat, toss them in a truck, and take them far, far away. 

Two deck chairs took up residence on the port side, along with a stack of parts bins in one corner and the folding boat table sitting against the forward bulkhead. It was the only space on the boat for Deb and I to sit, eat, and practice music. The starboard side became home for the imposing collection of tools, parts, and materials needed to get an on-the-hard-for-two-years trawler ready for service. The pile went from steering station to aft bulkhead, was piled nearly as high as the windows, and nudged right up against the floor panels that lift to access the engine room. Not an ideal working or living arrangement. It is impossible to cozy up to the one you love when each is sitting in a deck chair feeling the wear and tear of a long work day. And there have been many a moment when it felt like I was spending more time rooting through a junk pile for some particular tool than was spent using that tool after finally locating it. I love working on a project sitting in the middle of a well organized shop. The boat was a seriously disorganized shop sitting in the middle of a project. Living happened along the edges...about the worst conditions imaginable for either shop or living space.

From day one Deb has been on the lookout for new furniture, and many an hour has passed as we looked online for something that appeared “right”. Nothing was found that fit the bill. This trip, while in a store looking for something else, a one-off outdoor couch set-up sitting on display caught her attention. The next day we drove over to take another look. Being an out-door thing it was made of wicker and, compared to the old couch, was light as a feather. In addition it was built with a massive amount of storage under each leg of the “L” to store the cushions out of the weather. Even better, the lids ride on gas cylinders. No need to hold them up with your head while rummaging around looking for something. Moreover it was a color that would look good on the boat, was a comfortable sit, and long enough for a nap. After a bit of debate the decision was made to fork over the listed $$$, rent a pick-up for a couple of hours, and take the thing back to the boat yard.

 

Lifting it onboard was a breeze, as was dropping it in place. One leg of the “L” fit the length of the port bulkhead to, literally, within an inch. The other leg of the “L” spanned the aft salon bulkhead just short of where the sliding door opens; thus making it a perfect place to sit and shed boots or shoes before traipsing deeper into the living space. The folding boat table sits perfectly in the crux of the “L”. 

Virtually all of the tools, parts, and supplies disappeared into just one of the storage sections. The other easily held the six sections of the back porch sun screen plus the exterior covers for both the front windscreen and the back door...with room to spare. I am not sure we could have sat down and custom designed something that fit this close or worked this well. And Deb stumbled upon the only one like it in the world while looking for something else. What are the odds?

Even with the deck chairs still serving as additional seating on the starboard side, the work space / disaster area has been utterly transformed into a near magical space. And thus it is that we turned a huge corner. (Sorry Teach!) No longer a shop, or a project; not just another boat...but a home. 

 

Vacation?

Flybridge ladders make great tool
benches it seems...

Back for another stretch of working on First Light. Even with good progress being made launch date is still just a fuzzy event lurking somewhere in an uncertain future. But time spent on the boat is more than just time spent working on the boat. Each time we climb aboard I am a bit amazed that this thing actually belongs to us. Even sitting on the hard I have come to love the living space. From the forward main cabin to the stern cockpit everything feels like just the right size in just the right place. It is fun to imagine being anchored in No Name Harbor, watching the party from the fly bridge while sipping sundowners.

Until that day, working on the boat really is what being at the boat is all about. We are chewing up vacation days to get it done, but it makes for a strange kind of “vacation.” About 10 minutes after the tools start to appear all thoughts get focused on the task at hand. Just figuring out an initial approach to some modification, worn out “this,” broken “that,” or uncovering some bit of carnage due to rot, is the first hurdle. In the aviation world, whole manuals are written on the proper way to do just about any repair or maintenance task required. It is a level of precision that most people walking down the jet way have no idea exists. But boats? By comparison the marine world is the wild-wild-west of repair, maintenance, and servicing. Walk around any do-it-yourself boat yard (and some open only to “pros”) and see. Pretty much anything goes, and everything has.

I assume it is different in the super yacht world, but I don't know anyone who sails in those rarified waters. In our case, there is no maintenance manual specific to First Light. No parts manual. Even if there were, decades of after market parts, modifications, and repairs make her a unique collection of bits, with quarks and weirdness hiding in places no one would have guessed. Accessory units like engines and generators have some good documentation, but it ends where the accessory and boat come together. For example, there are maintenance and parts manuals for the 4BT3.9 engines in First Light. But they say nothing about how those engines are mounted and melded into the boat to make for a working whole. The same can be said for just about every pump, valve, relay, wire, and switch in every system. Helicopters are often described as an odd collection of parts flying in close formation but determined to head off in their own direction at the first opportunity. In like manner, boats are an odd collection of parts engaged in synchronized swimming, with any part being heavier than water determined to sink at the first opportunity.  

Sometimes facing a new job it is a bit scary, with no real idea of how to get done what needs to be done. But then comes the figuring, planning, cutting, fitting, backing-up and trying again (accompanied by the appropriate language) and making it work. The hours disappear, tools get misplaced and rediscovered, a little blood normally gets shed (again accompanied by the appropriate language). The path toward the finish will take strange and unanticipated twists. Time is lost while sourcing materials. What looked like a good idea at first didn't take into account some bit of impossible access or a weird, boat determined, shape. Eventually it all seems to come together and when the sun sets it feels like it was a good and proper way to spend one of the days allotted to this life. And with each repair, each modification, First Light becomes a bit more “our” boat. Something ever more rare in our made-by-a-machine, they-all-look-the-same, buy-it-in-a-box, then throw it away, world.

But that same sunset also brings sore arms, an aching back, bruised hands, and legs that feel like lead after countless trips up and down ladders and in and out of hatches. There is also the feeling of never having enough days to spend. So each day gets pushed to its limit and necessary compromises are made. Time is always running away, with funds often dwindling away as well. Much as we hate to admit it, there is no promise of it all working out in the end. But that is the way of all of life so we carry on.

Working on the boat comes with the live-aboard life (for most of us anyway). But we don't live aboard so we can work on the boat. I remember a lesson learned decades ago from my life-long, professional truck mechanic Grandfather: "Getting it perfect is always the enemy of getting it done." From him I learned to be a hard core pragmatist with just a hint of OCD. First you have make it work. Then you make it as safe as possible. Then, if time and money permits, you can make it as pretty as you like. It isn't easy, and there are few hard and fast rules. Just remember that the goal is to be on the water as safely and comfortably as possible.

It is a strange mix of skill, means, patience, personality, and creativity. I am happy to be back at it again. Even if it does make for a strange kind of “vacation.”

Espacios Útiles

Six months ago I started working on Duolingo to get my Spanish back, motivated by my grandchildren who are doing the lessons as part of their homeschool curriculum. A good part of my childhood was spent in Viña del Mar, a small coastal town in Chile, but as the years back home in the US progressed, the fluency was lost. I was also interested in the challenge as a way to keep this aging brain engaged. So, since boat projects are getting intermixed with my daily Duolingo lessons, the title of this post is Espaciós Útiles, or Useful Spaces.

One of the things you find yourself tackling when you purchase a new-to-you boat is making the space yours. Different people live in different ways, and their space reflects that, but those ways may not fit the next owner down the line. For the most part, First Light has been taken care of and arranged by previous owners who paid a great bit of attention to detail and quality. For this I am eternally grateful, especially after the experience that was the purchase of Kintala. But we live a bit differently, so some of the spaces require modification.

One of the examples of this are the storage areas. You might have read the post from a couple trips ago where we modified two hanging lockers on the boat into a shelf-filled closet (because we absolutely never hang any clothes on the boat) and a pantry (because there was zero food storage space in the galley.) Now I needed a safe and sturdy place to store my Sailrite machine and sewing supplies. The Sailrite is many things, but light is not one of them. As a result, it must be secured so that it won't tumble into anything when underway. First Light has a very large storage cabinet under the lower helm seat, perfectly sized for this purpose, but it required a shelf addition to accomodate the supplies. A few strategically placed shelf supports and a plywood shelf did the trick nicely.

 

I still have plans to repaint the interior of the cabinet at some point, but for now the project got crossed off the list.

The next space was one in the spare pullman berth on the port side. At one point, someone had installed a washing machine in a cabinet space there but the washer had long since been removed. Someone else had installed some sliding basket drawer things, but I found them highly unusable because it wasted so much of the storage space. It also bothered me that there was no door for the cabinet. So I built a couple shelves and (after three iterations) custom built some doors for the cabinet. This process was a real challenge because I wanted the doors to open toward the berth rather than towards the door so that you could access the cabinet from the hallway. Because of the handle on the storage compartment under the berth and the frame for the mattress, the doors couldn't open completely with my first two designs. After a bit of moving this and cutting that, I ended up with something I'm happy with. I still have to put the stain and finish coat on them to match the rest of the woodwork, but that will have to wait for warmer, drier weather. I also am in the process of changing the way the cabinet door opens under the berth. It currently is installed with self-stick velcro, and the self-stick part of that equation isn't cooperating. I've installed a proper hinge but still need a new handle that will clear the bifold doors for my new cabinet. All of that will have to be handled on the next trip as we're about out of time on this one. 

The first iteration shelf installation

The original hanging baskets

 

 

 

The doors without the upper trim

 

The doors with the trim installed

I still have to come up with a latch solution for these doors. I think I will use a magnetic catch on the left side, but only another trip to Lowe's will decide that. For now I'm pretty happy with the progress, and we have a couple of cabinets with much more useful space.

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.

Boat Projects and Old Man Winter

This is our  last night on First Light for this trip. Today we finished up the last of the winterizing tasks—the A/C. Getting the engines, genset, and A/C winterized were the "must do" items this time around. (We swore we were never going to have a boat somewhere that required winterizing again, but this is how cruising plans go...) It took several days of effort and multiple trips to cobble together the stuff needed to get it done. First Light now carries a pump for A/C winterization, a gizmo for doing the engines, and a modified plunger / pipe set up for the deck wash.  If we ever have to winterize the boat again, it will take us about two hours. Having a clue as to what you are doing is an amazingly good thing.

A quick-disconnect fitting goes through the  board
for the hose going to the bucket full of
antifreeze. The fitting extends into the sea
strainer. If we were actually going to do
this frequently, we would make a much better
model of this prototype.

The board has a rubber backing and wingnuts that
run down on the screws to hold it in place on the
sea strainer for the engine raw water.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I struggled with the aft cabin doors for the better part of three days. The doors work better than they did,  but are still not right. And there was still the puzzle as to why the doors were so screwed up in the first place. But we think the puzzle has been solved along with a chance to make the doors actually work as they should. Deb, while searching through one of the piles of stuff stashed around the boat, ran across a bag of bits matching some of those we found on the doors.  It turns out the doors have already been fit with an aftermarket kit, likely installed years ago. As the years went by, and wear and tear accumulated, they deteriorated to barely working.

This leaves me with two ways of looking at the last few days. One? We spent the better part of three days' time running around in circles with little to show for hours of effort. Two? We were working our way though a maze, figuring things out and parsing together ancient history with few cues. The better part of three days is just how long it took. I think I'll go with option two. When working on an older piece of equipment that has seen endless upgrades, hacks, replacements, and modifications in an industry where there is no tracking of such things? And on a piece of equipment that is new to you? Time spent wandering around in the dark is inevitable. In many ways, this is like rebuilding a classic motorcycle or antique airplane. When it comes to this kind of work, we have all heard the saying, "You can have it, fast, cheap, or right...pick two." But when it comes to the kind of repairing and rebuilding required on something like an old boat, one that needs to be safe for traveling and comfortable for living on? You can do it done right, but fast and cheap are not options. It will take all the spare time you have and all the money you can spare. 

New door kit parts are on their way, so the next time we tackle the doors we will have a much better idea from where we are starting and the direction we need to go. We got a little cosmetic work done on the inside and I had a chance to get  more comfortable with the engine room. Likely a good thing since I suspect I'll be spending a lot of time in that space. There are exhaust hoses to replace, heat exchangers (3) to pull, have overhauled, and reinstall, and alternator belt covers to reinstall. I'm not sure why they were removed. The idea of working around running engines in a bumpy sea (something that is certainly possible) with those belts exposed does not give me warm fuzzies. 

Most important, we are ever more pleased with the idea of First Light being a part time home and looking forward to having her on the water. There will still be trials and hurdles before we are floating down the ICW somewhere. But we have figured out a bunch of things and have a good idea of the next bunch of things we need to figure out. Meaning this has been a good bunch of days. 

Thanks giving...

We have been on First Light for a few days, digging into the "TO DO" list while burning up vacation time I was about to lose.  It has to be admitted I am slow getting back into the swing of all things boat. The first time I un-retired was to a boat yard for a Florida Summer workout. That stint included gutting and rewiring a Sport Fisher from fly bridge electronics to bilge pumps, anchor windlass to trim tabs. In between was every knik-knac a rich person wants: AC, Heat, TV, fancy lighting, sound system, electric head, router, and a humungous battery bank to make it all work while at anchor. (Don't ask me, I thought it was insane as well.) It was a big and involved job that took months.

The second time I un-retired was back to the same boat yard, a stint that lasted a year. No single big job, just a relentless stream of engine, electrical, electronic, fiberglass, and general maintenance work. This last time I un-retired was to an air-conditioned box stuffed with airplane parts that get fooled into thinking they are actually in the sky. The tools required to fly the SIM are an i-Pad filled with approach plates and lesson plans, and a pen. Indeed, in the going-on-three-years that this un-retirement has lasted, about the most difficult mechanical thing I have done is adjust the de-railer on a 21 speed bike. Something even easier than it sounds... and it sounds pretty easy. So being surrounded by more tools than most people now-a-days have ever seen, with a list of projects months long? It is fair to say I am feeling a bit out of practice. So I decided to hold the engine and wiring work for later and get warmed up with something simple.

Unlike Kintala, First Light has more than one way into the boat. The main one is two giant sliding doors that make up most of the aft wall of the salon. The second is a smaller door next to the (Inside!) helm station. After sitting for the better part of two years, all needed both hands and a bit of grunt to open and close. Why not start with something easy like cleaning and lubing the tracks? That was three days ago. 

The doors do, in fact, now open with one hand. But… the main doors aft still don’t match edge to edge when closed. The latch doesn't latch and there is a gap in the middle. Simple fix, right? There has to be a ride-height adjustment on the door, just adjust it. Yeah. It came off missing one of two identical bits that the door edge rides on. A bit that apparently disappeared into the great blue somewhere as it isn't anywhere near the scene of the crime. Fabricating a new bit is no big deal, but a new bit identical to the old bit isn't going to fix the problem. The door will still ride too low. Fix? The old bits were 2 x 1/4 x 1/8 inch and glued to the carrier. Make new ones 2 x 1/4 x 1/4 and lift the door edge another 1/4 inch. Easy but...why are the doors that far out of whack? 

The boat has been on the hard for two years. Can things have shifted that far? I don't think so, but it is possible. Is there some hidden structural problem with the doors that went undiscovered during the survey? I don't think so, but it is possible. In any case several attempts proved that the gluing the new bits in place proved inadequate. Some very careful sizing, drilling and countersinking was brought into play to mechanically support the adhesive. 

 

 

Edit: We have since found this piece in a bucket of spare parts that might be missing from the doors. Anyone with previous experience please chime in...

 

 

 

The red arrows are
pointing to the gap

I did discover an actual structural problem while working on the doors. The (Inside!) helm station door has delaminated along its aft edge and there is no seal between the door and the cabin. It is an open no-toll highway for cold air (It's going to be 29º tonight) and insects. I have no clue how the door actually comes out of the track to be repaired. Is isn't something we will have the time for on this trip so figuring it out can wait until later. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We haven't been entirely stymied. The salon ceiling had ugly, broken, white accent strips that made the place look like a decrepit hunting trailer. They are now brown accent strips on a white ceiling sporting shiny hardware—pleasing the little bit of mechanic's OCD I carry around in my brain and evidence that we have actually accomplished something. Lines have been added to keep the flybridge drain water from staining the aft cabin wall with new lines replacing those on the flybridge cover.

Newly installed hoses down the side of the window

We have also figured out why the hatch to the flybridge is so hard to open. Someone did a excellent job of routing out the track to a very tight tolerance with the slide brackets, apparently unaware that wood swells when it gets wet. A bit of sanding should take care of it. 

The green arrow points to the slider
and the groove it rides in

We also did some work in the galley while mounting an antique coffee grinder that Daughter Middle's In-Laws gifted. It looks cool while serving our admitted coffee snobbishness. 

Deb has been busy as well. One survey squawk was the lack of a barrier between the AC and DC portions of the breaker panel. Not something that was required when this boat was built. Several different marine electricians have suggested that the only fix is to rebuild the entire panel to meet the requirement. Something completely out of the question. We have come up with a different way to insulate the AC from the DC. One that includes a flexible insulation barrier fit and around the wiring maze and held in with snaps and/or Velcro. Since the sewing machine is still in St. Louis, the project won't be finished till the next trip and photos will be forthcoming. 

She is also the computer / wi-fi / screen / phone / i-pad wizard. She bought some kind of magic stick that ties it all together so we can sit and watch a movie at night on our (to us) big 25 x 15 inch screen. Not sure it will get much use anchored out in some pretty spot with little hint of my human family near by.  But it is kind of fun while sitting on the hard with nothing but other project boats to see though our giant salon windows. 

The transition from cruising to being land-bound was jarring. Truth to tell, the only thing making it tolerable was the blessing of having taken up residence so near some of those we love most in the world. We are as fully assimilated back into land living as we are ever likely to be. Enough so that any abrupt shift back to cruising would have been a bit bumpy. That transition will be far more palatable spaced out over the months as we turn this old boat into our new (and part time) home. Another blessing for which to be grateful during this Thanksgiving week on the boat.

The Road to Home(s)

Early Sunday morning we headed out for our first trip to First Light as owners. We were going to do it in one day again, a killer trip of 15 hours and change, but at least this time I would be able to help drive some. We were greeted with a nice sunrise to start the day. We chatted about what we would be ticking off the list, but we both agreed that this trip would primarily be a reconnaissance trip, a first date so to speak, us dancing warily around the boat to see if perhaps we might just have learned something from our previous experiences. I really have no interest in writing another book about our mistakes.

Arriving at the marina the next morning, we both looked on First Light with some cautious optimism. We worked the whole week ticking projects off the to-do list to make the insurance company happy. Mostly electrical things were being done but, being who we are, cleaning had to happen in between. One of the things bugging me was the underside of the cockpit hardtop which had developed a fairly decent coat of mold. While Tim pressure washed the rest of the boat to get the NC swampy green slime off, I had him hit the underside of the hardtop and absolutely nothing happened. The mold resisted. I had brought along my new favorite All Purpose Cleaner by Better Life, an ecologically sustainable cleaner, and decided to give it a shot. Wow. I was completely amazed because usually ecologically sustainable = no worky. It took a minimal amount of elbow grease and an hour or two, but the results were absolutely worth it. It comes in a quart sprayer and then also in a gallon of concentrate that lasts a really long time. If you're looking for a completely impressive and affordable boat cleaner that's kind to the environment, try it out.

It only took one night for me to feel completely at home in the V-berth. The bed is super comfy thanks to a very high-end custom mattress. After the toe-tootsie V-berth in Kintala, it was nice to actually be able to stretch out all of my legs on my side of the bed. There's good ventilation as well between the four portlights and the overhead hatch. Only time will tell whether the bow will be noisy at anchor. Fortunately, there is a very good anchor snubber at hand that should minimize the anchor noise.

Even with the lack of water in the tanks (she's still winterized and we're going to keep it that way for now,) the galley is wonderful. We bought a new electric tea kettle to heat water for coffee, which performed flawlessly. There's already a functioning microwave, something I never thought I would want or need, but reheating stuff quickly on a night passage is something desirable it turns out. The plan is to possibly get rid of the stove/oven combination and go with an induction stovetop and a Ninja Foodie air fryer/oven and make the existing oven space into more cupboards.  There isn't quite as much usable storage in the galley as I would like, and the areas are oddly arranged, but we have plans to add shelves to the hanging locker in the pullman berth and turn it into the same kind of pantry that I had on Kintala, which was enough to last us for several weeks.

Our biggest challenge is going to be the fact that our diet has completely changed since we were cruising before. Since we both gained a tremendous amount of weight in that six years (too much time at anchor baking cookies and bread...) we worked hard at losing it when we came back to land and don't want to go down that road again. The new diet is highly plant-based and requires a huge amount of fresh produce. The Norcold fridge/freezer performed well, but it is limited in space so we will have to make more frequent runs to the store. The Norcold was not up to the ice cream task, though. It froze bottles of water easily and kept them frozen, but the ice cream was very soft. In its defense, we did turn the fridge off periodically when we ran the vacuum and pressure washer because the electric at the marina is limited to one 30 amp circuit for the whole row of boats on the hard and there were other people using power tools so we were trying to be considerate. As a result, we can't really say the ice cream test was very accurate. The fridge portion did very well with everything we put in it.

In order to keep the suck-to-fun ratio properly in balance, we did find time to spend with our friends Alex and Diann of Yacht-A-Fun fame who introduced us to some new friends, Danny and Doris on SV Unicorn which is on the hard just down from us at Duck Creek Marina. We had some good beer, excellent food, and much needed laughs. Alex is a great tour guide, giving us some historical background on the city as we walked around for the annual MumFeast, a walking tour of restaurants in the historical area of New Bern, a tour that included several musical happenings and, of course, ended at an ice cream shop.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When we first started talking about transitioning to a trawler from a sailboat, I admit to being somewhat concerned. Sailors have this "thing" about them, something you can only really understand if you've experienced that sudden hush when the engine is killed; the sails fill and the boat surges, the water slipping by the hull with a soft swish. I was worried that somehow we would lose that connection with the water that made Kintala so much a part of us, so much our home.

After spending this past week on First Light, it became readily apparent that what made Kintala our home wasn't the big white flappy things in the air, it was us.  We were back in the groove, working easily together, reading each other's thoughts before they were uttered. The space that is First Light fits us well, but it is only a shell to hold that which makes it a home—the two of us.

So, for the time being, we'll make the road trip back and forth, each direction taking us to a place we call home. Our land home where seven of our eleven grandchildren live, and our boat home which promises to get us back to the four grandchildren cruising in Florida. Anyway you look at it, the destination at each end is as good as the one at the end of the rainbow.

Now if I could just figure out where we're going to put all these ukuleles on the boat...