She's all pretty, including some deck polishing done today, and ready to splash on Thursday. Wooooo Hoooo!
Header 2021
Sunday, May 9, 2010
I'm a believer
Not very often that a product comes along that makes Tim say "Wow" but I believe we've found it. After being horribly disappointed with the performance of the 3M hull restorer we used a few years ago, we visited the PolyPrep and PoliGlow system booth at the Annapolis boat show in October and cautiously decided we wanted to try it. Being forever the skeptics, we realize that there can sometimes be a rather wide gap between promised and actual performance. So we were pretty thrilled when a box of the stuff came up for sale at our local yacht club annual yard sale for $10. Not near the risk of the full price if it didn't perform. This was the weekend to finally try it, and all I can say (and every person who passed by Nomad) is "Wow". Judge for yourself - remember that this is 1986 vintage fiberglass that until yesterday was chalky white oxidation.
She's all pretty, including some deck polishing done today, and ready to splash on Thursday. Wooooo Hoooo!
She's all pretty, including some deck polishing done today, and ready to splash on Thursday. Wooooo Hoooo!
Monday, May 3, 2010
Getting there
Nomad gets a sleek new bottom
I was down in the starboard lazarette drilling a hole in the forward bulkhead to run some new plumbing into the head, the goal being a shower in Nomad that actually works. I had various tools spread out on top of the holding tank, which is bolted against that same bulkhead and makes a good little work table if one is in that particular hole, when I said to myself, "Why is my shoe getting wet?"
Why was my shoe getting wet? Because the holding tank was dribbling on it though a small hole in the bottom, inboard corner. Not what I was expecting. Trailing out from under my shoe was a faint water stain leading to the bilge. Deb popped the cover off the bilge to discover that The Blob's little cousin was breeding down there. Not as lethal as the original 1958 movie version, but just as disgusting. Hours later the bilge was clean and dry, something that you couldn't say about Deb. She insisted on evicting the alien living in her boat, apparently betting that I would get my share of gross when it came time to pull the failed holding tank and not wanting to miss any of the fun. I won that particular bet. The holding tank popped out of the lazarette in about 10 minutes with nary a whiff of gross.
The errant holding tank
Being on a roll I decided to drop down in the port lazarette and figure out what we needed to make the water heater work. After all, what's the use of putting in a shower if all that comes out of it is cold water? Turns out what we needed to fix the water heater was a new water heater. (It seems 26 year old aluminum tanks and various liquids don't actually play well together. Who would have guessed?) Another turn, a friend had a brandy-new, still in the plastic, 10 gallon water heater for sale at the marina. It took a bit to find 10 gallons worth of space in a place that used to hold 7, but by mid-afternoon the deed was done and Nomad now boasts (or will when the high-tech plastic holding tank arrives) some modern plumbing to go with her new interior parts.
All of this is well and good...headliner, interior panels, steps, swim ladder, new life lines, repaired and painted hatch / seahood, overhauled prop, re-bedded stanchions, shiny bow sprit, cockpit grids, bottom scraped / sanded / painted, shower installed, head faucet replaced, holding tank, water heater, rigging tweaks, chafing tape...but the destination is getting the boat back in the lake. Countless excursions to various supply shops, endless trips up and down the step ladder, bilge dives, lazarette crawls, over births, under settees, from the tip of the bow sprit around and around the hull to behind the rudder post; about the only place I haven't been yet is up the mast. (I need to go up the mast, but up the mast while up on the hard? No thank you. I'll wait until Nomad is back in the water.) Though its just a couple of hundred feet from where she sits to the water's edge, the path between the two is much, much longer.
But we're getting there...
Monday, April 26, 2010
A good fit
I suppose I could bore everyone to tears and just list the work that Deb and I got done Fri/Sat/Sun, but that's no fun. I will say that the interior of Nomad is livable once again and it DO look good, if I say so myself. Though there is a thing or two left to do in the interior, major focus will shift to the outside of the boat so we can get her in the water as soon as possible. Nomad up on the hard is a thing seriously out of place in my life.
"Out of place..." It is an undercurrent that tugs at my shoes more and more. I'm sure some of it is due to still shaking off the winter, the boat still on the hard, weekends at the lake still hit or miss with my schedule. But I suspect part of that current runs much deeper.
Deb and I are charmed and have a life in St. Louis most of the people on our poor battered planet would love to wake up to each morning. There is absolutely nothing bad about this place we are in and suggesting any different would be even more boorish than a dry list of work accomplished. But sometimes I wonder if a good place can still be the wrong place. Maybe it isn't a matter of "good" or "bad," but simply a problem of fit and proportion. My hammer fits in the 4th drawer down in my toolbox, it won't go in the screwdriver drawer.
I think Deb and I are feeling that St. Louis, a good place with a good life and a lot of good memories, is also a place that doesn't fit as well as it once did. A day sail doesn't get us far enough off shore, a weekend isn't long enough to get to Cape Cod or New York, Annapolis or Charleston. (Can't sail from the lake to to those places anyway...bummer.) Flogging our days away so bosses and shareholders can get a little richer while we can pay an endless parade of bills (admittedly for things we do enjoy) doesn't seem as good a deal as it once did.
I am a bit out of place, but then some of you knew that already.
p.s. I went back to the marina Monday mid-day, stayed and worked until this (Wed) morning. The interior refit is complete, all that remains inside the cabin are a few repairs, repairs that can be done at the dock. I also pulled the winter cover and ran some of the sheets, just so she would look less like a project boat and more like a boat about to go back into the water.
"Out of place..." It is an undercurrent that tugs at my shoes more and more. I'm sure some of it is due to still shaking off the winter, the boat still on the hard, weekends at the lake still hit or miss with my schedule. But I suspect part of that current runs much deeper.
Deb and I are charmed and have a life in St. Louis most of the people on our poor battered planet would love to wake up to each morning. There is absolutely nothing bad about this place we are in and suggesting any different would be even more boorish than a dry list of work accomplished. But sometimes I wonder if a good place can still be the wrong place. Maybe it isn't a matter of "good" or "bad," but simply a problem of fit and proportion. My hammer fits in the 4th drawer down in my toolbox, it won't go in the screwdriver drawer.
I think Deb and I are feeling that St. Louis, a good place with a good life and a lot of good memories, is also a place that doesn't fit as well as it once did. A day sail doesn't get us far enough off shore, a weekend isn't long enough to get to Cape Cod or New York, Annapolis or Charleston. (Can't sail from the lake to to those places anyway...bummer.) Flogging our days away so bosses and shareholders can get a little richer while we can pay an endless parade of bills (admittedly for things we do enjoy) doesn't seem as good a deal as it once did.
I am a bit out of place, but then some of you knew that already.
p.s. I went back to the marina Monday mid-day, stayed and worked until this (Wed) morning. The interior refit is complete, all that remains inside the cabin are a few repairs, repairs that can be done at the dock. I also pulled the winter cover and ran some of the sheets, just so she would look less like a project boat and more like a boat about to go back into the water.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Stuff
As you can tell by the frequency of posts on the subject, dealing with accumulated and precious "stuff" is probably the most pressing issue when one is transitioning from a land-based life to a boat-based life (see Stuff and Such Oct 07 as an example). It's probably the most asked question when people find out we're planning to do this, because most folks just can't imagine living without their 42" flat screen, 3 cars, 8 sets of dishes, 15 sets of linens, 6 junk drawers and the 14 appliances that litter the 300 sq ft kitchen..."How are you going to live without all your stuff? What will you do to keep occupied?"
We've spent the past week wandering around New England visiting grandbabies, living out of 2 suitcases and 2 back packs, traveling by plane, bus, train, and subway, and I can most assuredly tell you that I didn't think of all of the "stuff" at home once. (More posts with many pictures to come as soon as I can grab the time.) Cruisers have a mental framework that they deal in, a framework that has pared things down to what is essential to living, to what will enhance the essence of life without detracting from it. The few possessions that we have left are carefully picked to sustain the physical life and to remind us of the important things...diaries, logs, a few photos, a few books that speak to us. I've been mulling this all over once again while watching my granddaughters dig in the sand in Cape Cod and while watching my grandson sleep in his mama's arms on the subway and I was trying to figure out just how to put it into words that the non cruiser would "get" as my son-in-law says. When we got home late last night I was getting caught up on the sailing blogs I follow while waiting on laundry, and one of the cruisers put it in better words than I can so I'll just let you read hers to understand. As a little background, they decided to move back on land for a short time while their teenagers went to school and had a little social time with other kids. They had just found a house and put their total possessions (that amounted to a few suitcases) into it, when someone broke in and stole everything (see The Ultimate Purge). Recently the police found some of their things as well as the thieves and the police asked them to write an impact statement for the sentencing. Their experience has moved me beyond words and may help you to understand that while we are ditching a huge amount of our physical possessions, there still remains the need too have some tangible contact with past events and people we love. Here are her words: In Our Own Words.
And, if you're wondering at our classification of ourselves as "cruisers" when we're only living on our boat in the summer on an inland lake? Well I guess you've figured out by now that we've already left in so many ways.
We've spent the past week wandering around New England visiting grandbabies, living out of 2 suitcases and 2 back packs, traveling by plane, bus, train, and subway, and I can most assuredly tell you that I didn't think of all of the "stuff" at home once. (More posts with many pictures to come as soon as I can grab the time.) Cruisers have a mental framework that they deal in, a framework that has pared things down to what is essential to living, to what will enhance the essence of life without detracting from it. The few possessions that we have left are carefully picked to sustain the physical life and to remind us of the important things...diaries, logs, a few photos, a few books that speak to us. I've been mulling this all over once again while watching my granddaughters dig in the sand in Cape Cod and while watching my grandson sleep in his mama's arms on the subway and I was trying to figure out just how to put it into words that the non cruiser would "get" as my son-in-law says. When we got home late last night I was getting caught up on the sailing blogs I follow while waiting on laundry, and one of the cruisers put it in better words than I can so I'll just let you read hers to understand. As a little background, they decided to move back on land for a short time while their teenagers went to school and had a little social time with other kids. They had just found a house and put their total possessions (that amounted to a few suitcases) into it, when someone broke in and stole everything (see The Ultimate Purge). Recently the police found some of their things as well as the thieves and the police asked them to write an impact statement for the sentencing. Their experience has moved me beyond words and may help you to understand that while we are ditching a huge amount of our physical possessions, there still remains the need too have some tangible contact with past events and people we love. Here are her words: In Our Own Words.
And, if you're wondering at our classification of ourselves as "cruisers" when we're only living on our boat in the summer on an inland lake? Well I guess you've figured out by now that we've already left in so many ways.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Hell's gate
I am sitting within walking distance of the famous "Hell's gate" just off Manhattan Island, New York. "Walking distance," since I am inland visiting family, and they live just a couple of blocks from Astoria Park. Standing at the fence in the park has one looking directly out on a churning channel of water that looks to be in wicked motion either north-east or south-west, depending on the state of the tide. Watching the surging and twisting whirl pools and eddies makes it easy to see how this stretch of river got its name, and has given me a new appreciation for horse power and LWL. On her best day, broad reaching with her little 9.5 hp lung huffing for all it was worth, little Nomad still couldn't muscle her way against that current. (Not that the wind could ever blow that direction!) It has also given me a new enthusiasm for mastering the tide tables.
For you see, some day in the not-too-distant future, I hope to sail a boat on those tides. Northbound, (in the spring) toward Cape Cod and southbound, (in the fall) toward the Bahamas, or maybe Bermuda, someplace warm anyway. New York, though, will be a stop along the way. We hope to spend tomorrow visiting a marina or two, getting some initial idea of what will be involved in making the Big Apple a serious lay-over.
I think we might have many years of reasons to spend time near here, the kids love it. In just 24 hours of visiting I can see why. I am completely charmed by their neighborhood, their little New York apartment, (which is still much bigger than any boat Deb and I can afford to live on) and the life they are building. Though it would never work for me, for the first time in my life I understand how someone could spend their whole lives living in just one place. The river near-by may be "Hell's Gate" but this is as cool a place to live as I have ever run across.
p.s. On Sunday morning we walked to the playground for one last romp with Christopher. Low and behold a sailboat appeared in the water between Mill Rock Park and the point of land that holds Hellgate field. Bone in her teeth and running on the ebb tide she swept under the Triborough (Robert F. Kennedy) Bridge looking as if she was doing every bit of 10 knots. In just a few minutes she was past 20th Avenue and out of sight. Whoever was on the helm made it look easy.
P.s.s. I actually consider myself more of a C.L.O.D; cruiser living on dirt. (See above.)
For you see, some day in the not-too-distant future, I hope to sail a boat on those tides. Northbound, (in the spring) toward Cape Cod and southbound, (in the fall) toward the Bahamas, or maybe Bermuda, someplace warm anyway. New York, though, will be a stop along the way. We hope to spend tomorrow visiting a marina or two, getting some initial idea of what will be involved in making the Big Apple a serious lay-over.
I think we might have many years of reasons to spend time near here, the kids love it. In just 24 hours of visiting I can see why. I am completely charmed by their neighborhood, their little New York apartment, (which is still much bigger than any boat Deb and I can afford to live on) and the life they are building. Though it would never work for me, for the first time in my life I understand how someone could spend their whole lives living in just one place. The river near-by may be "Hell's Gate" but this is as cool a place to live as I have ever run across.
p.s. On Sunday morning we walked to the playground for one last romp with Christopher. Low and behold a sailboat appeared in the water between Mill Rock Park and the point of land that holds Hellgate field. Bone in her teeth and running on the ebb tide she swept under the Triborough (Robert F. Kennedy) Bridge looking as if she was doing every bit of 10 knots. In just a few minutes she was past 20th Avenue and out of sight. Whoever was on the helm made it look easy.
P.s.s. I actually consider myself more of a C.L.O.D; cruiser living on dirt. (See above.)
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The One
A co-worker of Tim's had been single for a long time and a lot of their time in the cockpit was filled with his conversations about the state of his dating life. Each new girl that happened along seemed to be "the one". A few weeks ago we attended his wedding to a lovely bride, and from the look in his eyes she was indeed "the one".
I feel a bit like this sometimes as Tim and I look at boats. We have a list of qualities we'd like to have in our final choice and even a scoring system to try to determine how each boat stacks up against it. All well and good for a mechanical unit, but after listening to all the old salts at the marina expound on the virtues of various sailing traits, hulls, berths, heads lifelines and engines, I keep coming back to the same idea in my head, the one that says I need to love this boat. A modified fin keel, good solid dodger, bulkhead table, and separate shower are all well and good, but ultimately there has to be a connection, a smile on my face when I see her at the dock, a knowledge that this is home. We haven't found "the one" yet, but just like Tim's coworker, I think you'll see it in our eyes when we do.
I feel a bit like this sometimes as Tim and I look at boats. We have a list of qualities we'd like to have in our final choice and even a scoring system to try to determine how each boat stacks up against it. All well and good for a mechanical unit, but after listening to all the old salts at the marina expound on the virtues of various sailing traits, hulls, berths, heads lifelines and engines, I keep coming back to the same idea in my head, the one that says I need to love this boat. A modified fin keel, good solid dodger, bulkhead table, and separate shower are all well and good, but ultimately there has to be a connection, a smile on my face when I see her at the dock, a knowledge that this is home. We haven't found "the one" yet, but just like Tim's coworker, I think you'll see it in our eyes when we do.
Firsts
One nice thing about boats. They're never boring. The past few weeks have been a long list of "firsts" but perhaps the most memorable one was today. Tim did his first line splice and it turned out awesome:
OK so you might not think this is such a big deal, but all sailors know that this is some sort of a rite of passage. Cruising vacationers generally do not learn how to splice a line. Voyagers, on the other hand, realize that this is a valuable skill to know, and most perfect it. (New sailing term for the week: fid - noun Nautical. 1. a wooden or metal pin for parting strands of a rope.)
As you have by now realized, Tim has not been flying much, and as a result has been filling his time with all things nautical. Another first this week - he built a new section of cockpit grate to fill the vacant spot left by removing the captain's seat at the aft end of the cockpit. Here it is during the building process. I promise to have pictures of it finished and installed.
Add to the list of firsts the headliner replacement last weekend and the side panel replacement and the seahood re-bedding and the new Dyneema lifeline making and at the moment I guess I'm pretty satisfied. Now if we could just get her in the water...
OK so you might not think this is such a big deal, but all sailors know that this is some sort of a rite of passage. Cruising vacationers generally do not learn how to splice a line. Voyagers, on the other hand, realize that this is a valuable skill to know, and most perfect it. (New sailing term for the week: fid - noun Nautical. 1. a wooden or metal pin for parting strands of a rope.)
As you have by now realized, Tim has not been flying much, and as a result has been filling his time with all things nautical. Another first this week - he built a new section of cockpit grate to fill the vacant spot left by removing the captain's seat at the aft end of the cockpit. Here it is during the building process. I promise to have pictures of it finished and installed.
Add to the list of firsts the headliner replacement last weekend and the side panel replacement and the seahood re-bedding and the new Dyneema lifeline making and at the moment I guess I'm pretty satisfied. Now if we could just get her in the water...
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Boat parts go ON
Baby Michael has arrived and is safely at home. Deb and I head to Cape Cod next week to meet our new Grandson, then to NY to spend time with his cousin. Little Nomad will be on her own for the next couple of weekends. We didn't quite get all we wanted done this weekend. (Note to self; it takes 4 cans of headliner adhesive to finish a 27 foot sailboat, not three.) Still, the V-berth, starboard side and forward port side of the headliner are installed, leaving just one aft port side piece and the head to do. Deb thinks two more weekends worth of work will see Nomad afloat once again. I'm thinking more like three. (We have committed to being the committee boat for the club race on May, 15. We may have to borrow a boat!)
Even though the interior of Nomad still looks like a workshop, the fresh headliner makes it look like a new workshop. A big job that was more than worth doing. It was also kind of fun; contortionist, sweaty, stinky chemical, fiberglass-fuzz-in-your-eyebrows, I-really-hope-I'm-not-screwing-this-up, kind of fun. But I wouldn't hesitate to do it again, if needed, on our next boat. (The "not-screwing-this-up" part benefited from Deb's expertise working with fabric and, oddly enough, my years of gluing de-ice boots onto airplane wings. That's a cross-over skill I never expected!)
For the next two weekends my job changes from "boat-hack" to Grandpa-T. I suspect the urge to get on a boat full time, to spend summers off the coast with my girls and their families, will get a bit of a boost after this visit. Maybe next summer?
(I just found out our committee boat gig is in July, not May. So we won't have to borrow at boat after all...at least I hope not.)
Fresh New Headliner in the V-berth
Out of glue. Have to finish the next visit.
Even though the interior of Nomad still looks like a workshop, the fresh headliner makes it look like a new workshop. A big job that was more than worth doing. It was also kind of fun; contortionist, sweaty, stinky chemical, fiberglass-fuzz-in-your-eyebrows, I-really-hope-I'm-not-screwing-this-up, kind of fun. But I wouldn't hesitate to do it again, if needed, on our next boat. (The "not-screwing-this-up" part benefited from Deb's expertise working with fabric and, oddly enough, my years of gluing de-ice boots onto airplane wings. That's a cross-over skill I never expected!)
Temporary workshop
For the next two weekends my job changes from "boat-hack" to Grandpa-T. I suspect the urge to get on a boat full time, to spend summers off the coast with my girls and their families, will get a bit of a boost after this visit. Maybe next summer?
(I just found out our committee boat gig is in July, not May. So we won't have to borrow at boat after all...at least I hope not.)
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Thrash and thrash again
The big news of the weekend is no news from Cape Cod. Baby Michael, grand baby #4, is due any minute but he is keeping Mom, Dad and the rest of us cooling our heels for now. Rest assured, even when thrashing on the boat, cell phones are kept close at hand.
And thrash we did. Deb power-washed the bottom of the hull and then disassembled the head faucet. (That thing is outrageously expensive for something made out of plastic parts. One would think it had "Cessna" stamped on it somewhere!) I worked on the cabin top, sea-hood, companionway hatch and sliders. When Deb got done doing what she was doing the boat looked a lot better. When I got done doing what I was doing the boat looked exactly the same as it had when I started. Ah well, at least the hatch works better now.
We came home last night. Some of our projects are waiting on parts while others are waiting on weather. Headliner glue and bottom paint need warm and dry, which were in short supply this weekend. (The cold and wind made Deb's task with the power-washer the toughest duty of the weekend.) But this morning some other stuff we had on order showed up. I spent an enjoyable afternoon with a Docto,cutting wheel and drill motor making dust and shinny new interior side panels for the V-berth and cabin.
(Never underestimate the joy to be found in a compressor and a drawer full of air tools! Sometimes I think I should have stayed in the shop and out of the cockpit. I have to admit though, generally they pay pilots better than they pay mechanics, and mechanics work a lot harder. I wonder, can you fit an air compressor on a 38' live-aboard?)
Friday afternoon I had a chance to go sailing for an hour or so with Schmitty, Anna, and Berry on Schmitty's "Alcestis." While it was so good to be back on the water, I was dressed for doing manual labor while shielded from the north east wind. By the time we picked up the dock lines my teeth were chattering hard enough to test the new crown I got put in last week! Still, one should never pass up a chance to go sailing.
I have to admit it is a bit odd to be working so hard on Nomad driven mainly by the idea of selling her. Not right away of course. It will (probably) be a year at least. And when we do sell her it will be to move off the land and onto a bigger, more capable boat, to start our full-time sailing adventure. (Keeping in mind, that is our plan. One should not make too many assumptions about what life will bring.) All this thrashing has brought up a bit of a new concern for me as well.
I knew nothing at all about sailboats when we bought Nomad, but I would not have guessed at the kinds of things we have found to repair / upgrade / replace; and she is a 1986, factory boat that has spent her whole life in fresh water. Given the amount of work needed just to keep her (or get her) in the shape I find acceptable, just how much work would be involved in an early 1980's salt water boat? (The kind that looks like will best fit our budget.) If we buy such a boat as our home will we spend a year in the yard, spending money like mad, trying to make it into something we feel secure living on? Should we move "age" up near the top of the list of things to consider? Quality of maintenance, not year of manufacture, is what is important when it comes to airplanes. I am sure the same is true of boats. But I can look at an airplane and its maintenance logs and get a good feel for what shape the machine is in. (A skill that didn't keep me from taking a job flying a Poppa-Oscar-Sierra Citation V! A plane, by the way, that spent much of its life near salt water...which didn't help its Poppa-Oscar-Sierra status at all.) Given the harsh environment endured by a salt-water boat, and the complete lack of formalized maintenance records, I'm starting to see age as a potentially serious problem.
I'm simply going to ignore things like Mickey-Mouse wiring, plastic faucets that cost a fortune, self-tapping screws chewing the snot out of parts everywhere I look, and cheap hose clamps keeping water out of the boat. I'm not sure how such things got into boats in the first place, but they can all be replaced as necessary. Things like companionway hatches that simply drag across the the cabin top, fiberglass to fiberglass, do kind of baffle me. I expect that kind of "engineering" on a child's toy, but can you imagine a car where the door ground the paint off the roof every time it was opened? K.I.S.S. has its good points, but sometimes I think boat manufacturers take it a bit too far.
Anyway, more thrashing to come with bottom paint and interior install now near the top of the list.
And thrash we did. Deb power-washed the bottom of the hull and then disassembled the head faucet. (That thing is outrageously expensive for something made out of plastic parts. One would think it had "Cessna" stamped on it somewhere!) I worked on the cabin top, sea-hood, companionway hatch and sliders. When Deb got done doing what she was doing the boat looked a lot better. When I got done doing what I was doing the boat looked exactly the same as it had when I started. Ah well, at least the hatch works better now.
We came home last night. Some of our projects are waiting on parts while others are waiting on weather. Headliner glue and bottom paint need warm and dry, which were in short supply this weekend. (The cold and wind made Deb's task with the power-washer the toughest duty of the weekend.) But this morning some other stuff we had on order showed up. I spent an enjoyable afternoon with a Docto,cutting wheel and drill motor making dust and shinny new interior side panels for the V-berth and cabin.
(Never underestimate the joy to be found in a compressor and a drawer full of air tools! Sometimes I think I should have stayed in the shop and out of the cockpit. I have to admit though, generally they pay pilots better than they pay mechanics, and mechanics work a lot harder. I wonder, can you fit an air compressor on a 38' live-aboard?)
Friday afternoon I had a chance to go sailing for an hour or so with Schmitty, Anna, and Berry on Schmitty's "Alcestis." While it was so good to be back on the water, I was dressed for doing manual labor while shielded from the north east wind. By the time we picked up the dock lines my teeth were chattering hard enough to test the new crown I got put in last week! Still, one should never pass up a chance to go sailing.
I have to admit it is a bit odd to be working so hard on Nomad driven mainly by the idea of selling her. Not right away of course. It will (probably) be a year at least. And when we do sell her it will be to move off the land and onto a bigger, more capable boat, to start our full-time sailing adventure. (Keeping in mind, that is our plan. One should not make too many assumptions about what life will bring.) All this thrashing has brought up a bit of a new concern for me as well.
I knew nothing at all about sailboats when we bought Nomad, but I would not have guessed at the kinds of things we have found to repair / upgrade / replace; and she is a 1986, factory boat that has spent her whole life in fresh water. Given the amount of work needed just to keep her (or get her) in the shape I find acceptable, just how much work would be involved in an early 1980's salt water boat? (The kind that looks like will best fit our budget.) If we buy such a boat as our home will we spend a year in the yard, spending money like mad, trying to make it into something we feel secure living on? Should we move "age" up near the top of the list of things to consider? Quality of maintenance, not year of manufacture, is what is important when it comes to airplanes. I am sure the same is true of boats. But I can look at an airplane and its maintenance logs and get a good feel for what shape the machine is in. (A skill that didn't keep me from taking a job flying a Poppa-Oscar-Sierra Citation V! A plane, by the way, that spent much of its life near salt water...which didn't help its Poppa-Oscar-Sierra status at all.) Given the harsh environment endured by a salt-water boat, and the complete lack of formalized maintenance records, I'm starting to see age as a potentially serious problem.
I'm simply going to ignore things like Mickey-Mouse wiring, plastic faucets that cost a fortune, self-tapping screws chewing the snot out of parts everywhere I look, and cheap hose clamps keeping water out of the boat. I'm not sure how such things got into boats in the first place, but they can all be replaced as necessary. Things like companionway hatches that simply drag across the the cabin top, fiberglass to fiberglass, do kind of baffle me. I expect that kind of "engineering" on a child's toy, but can you imagine a car where the door ground the paint off the roof every time it was opened? K.I.S.S. has its good points, but sometimes I think boat manufacturers take it a bit too far.
Anyway, more thrashing to come with bottom paint and interior install now near the top of the list.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
The what and the why
There is no way to avoid it, we spend a lot of hours working on little Nomad. Much of the work is pretty serious stuff, engine cooling systems, electrical charging systems, bottom paint, re-bedding life line supports and bow pulpits; the kind of stuff that makes the boat work better and sailing her safer. (Though I tend to play it down a bit, it is possible to get seriously hurt on any sailboat, even on our little lake.) Jobs like replacing the step carpet, water damaged and moldy side panels, head hoses, and headliner, keep her cleaner and dryer and a more healthy place to spend one's days. New interior lights make her cabin that much more inviting. And all that teak work? That just makes her pretty.
We spend a lot of hours working on the boat, but not near as many hours as we spend working at jobs to support the boat, and the house, and cars and bikes... We enjoy all of those things but sometimes I wonder about the "degrees of separation" between what I am doing and why I am doing it. When I work on the boat there is no separation at all between the what and the why. My hands are in direct contact with my goal, get the boat in the water and enhance my experience of living on her for the weekends. When I'm at work, sometimes, I am not at all sure just what I am doing sitting at this desk, and I sure as stink sometimes wonder why.
Living on a boat, I imagine, is not the only way to have such an intimate connection with a life. A farmer might pull it off, a rancher, maybe a mountain man. But I have never been any good at making things grow, I don't really care for animals, (particularly ones that are much larger than I am and can kick me into next week) and there are no mountain men any more. I do machines, and have a killer case of wanderlust. At the end of a "boat-work" day I can pour a Rum & Coke and sit right down in the middle of what I got done that day. And then, if I want, I can pull up an anchor and head off somewhere else. (Unless we are on the hard!)
I suspect I am more than a little out of step with my world. From our first days at school we are taught to find our place in a complex society where the bit we learn to do can be added to the bit someone else has learned to do, all the bits added together, run through an even more complex medium of exchange and distribution, and somehow it adds up that most of us can pay to have a roof over our head and food on the table. It works pretty well too, modern society taking better care of more people than at any time in all of history. (Well, recent history might be an exception. The bits aren't adding up as well as they used to.)
But sometimes my bit doesn't seem to make a lot of sense, and how all the bits add up to credit card bills and house payments, a little vague. The bit I do this morning will be forgotten by lunch, the bit this afternoon lost in the haze before the drive home ends. Come evening I am not exactly sure what I spent the hours doing, or why it was worth one of my allotted days. In fact I can't think of anyone, anymore, who works for the shear joy of doing what they do. And that may be the saddest thought I have had in a while.
But it also explains my fascination with working on Nomad. I love working on our little boat, and not just to get her back in the water. I enjoy making her work a little better and look a little nicer. And when she does splash and make her way into the lake once again, she will be a tiny spec of form, function and joy moving across the water. In fact, I am of the opinion that every boat that hoists sails makes that day a better day. In the scales of the world having a good day or a bad one, a set of sails pulling hard in the breeze offsets a lot of ugly.
We spend a lot of hours working on the boat, but not near as many hours as we spend working at jobs to support the boat, and the house, and cars and bikes... We enjoy all of those things but sometimes I wonder about the "degrees of separation" between what I am doing and why I am doing it. When I work on the boat there is no separation at all between the what and the why. My hands are in direct contact with my goal, get the boat in the water and enhance my experience of living on her for the weekends. When I'm at work, sometimes, I am not at all sure just what I am doing sitting at this desk, and I sure as stink sometimes wonder why.
Living on a boat, I imagine, is not the only way to have such an intimate connection with a life. A farmer might pull it off, a rancher, maybe a mountain man. But I have never been any good at making things grow, I don't really care for animals, (particularly ones that are much larger than I am and can kick me into next week) and there are no mountain men any more. I do machines, and have a killer case of wanderlust. At the end of a "boat-work" day I can pour a Rum & Coke and sit right down in the middle of what I got done that day. And then, if I want, I can pull up an anchor and head off somewhere else. (Unless we are on the hard!)
I suspect I am more than a little out of step with my world. From our first days at school we are taught to find our place in a complex society where the bit we learn to do can be added to the bit someone else has learned to do, all the bits added together, run through an even more complex medium of exchange and distribution, and somehow it adds up that most of us can pay to have a roof over our head and food on the table. It works pretty well too, modern society taking better care of more people than at any time in all of history. (Well, recent history might be an exception. The bits aren't adding up as well as they used to.)
But sometimes my bit doesn't seem to make a lot of sense, and how all the bits add up to credit card bills and house payments, a little vague. The bit I do this morning will be forgotten by lunch, the bit this afternoon lost in the haze before the drive home ends. Come evening I am not exactly sure what I spent the hours doing, or why it was worth one of my allotted days. In fact I can't think of anyone, anymore, who works for the shear joy of doing what they do. And that may be the saddest thought I have had in a while.
But it also explains my fascination with working on Nomad. I love working on our little boat, and not just to get her back in the water. I enjoy making her work a little better and look a little nicer. And when she does splash and make her way into the lake once again, she will be a tiny spec of form, function and joy moving across the water. In fact, I am of the opinion that every boat that hoists sails makes that day a better day. In the scales of the world having a good day or a bad one, a set of sails pulling hard in the breeze offsets a lot of ugly.
30 Hours of sweat and smiles
It has been a bit slow in my little part of the aviation world so I headed out to the marina Friday after lunch. It seemed reasonable to get a jump on the project list before the forecast rain, wind and cold moved in for the weekend. I expected nothing more than a pleasent "work weekend" so pulling into the marina and finding various friends in full party prep was a pleasant surprise. I went to thrashing on little Nomad for the afternoon. But when Deb arrived after her workday tools were laid aside and we joined the assembled. One of the marina's favorite families was celebrating a combination 12th birthday for a daughter and 27th anniversary for Mom and Dad. (Fortunately I had tossed an unopened bottle of The Captain into my bag and was able to offer my bit for the party.)
Dinner consumed we loaded chairs, coolers and sundry support material onto a trailer towed behind a equally laden pickup truck, and headed off for an impromptu bonfire. A bunch of us sat in the chairs, on the trailer, for the ride. (Please keep hands and feet...) Work the State has been doing at the park produced a huge pile of brush and somehow we had permission to set said pile on fire. (At least someone claimed we had permission from somewhere, which was good enough to this bunch of fun loving pyromaniacs. Besides, the group includes a working Fire Chief from one of the nearby towns...we were covered.)
Drinks provisioned and chairs set to windward various small flames were applied around the perimeter. Within minutes the largest fire I have ever seen that didn't involve sirens, flashing lights and hard working fireman, filled the night sky like some kind of erupting, baby volcano. It was impressive. (And is probably still burning.) The tales, laughter, stories, and general levity one would expect when a group of friends gathered for the first time after a long, cold winter, filled the night. There was even the occasional Tom-foolery as a chorus line of the slightly inebriated tried to kick a giant tree trunk back into the flames. (A effort doomed to failure, the line driven back by the intense infra-red saturating exposed skin.) The first ad-hoc party of the new sailing season could only be described as a roaring success.
Around midnight most of the revelers had disappeared into various boats, bunks and campers. With Nomad's interior being far from inhabitable Deb and I crashed on the clubhouse floor. This morning work resumed and, added to what I got done yesterday, several items were knocked off our list. The interior steps are back in place and look pretty good (if I do say so myself). Steps for the swim ladder have been mounted as well, which turned out to be a real job. The original plan of mounting the steps with self-tapping screws was abandoned when the ladder stripped the hardened steel threads off the first screw I tried to install. Who knew boat swim ladders were made of such tuff stuff? Measuring, drilling and burring 12 holes to mount 3 steps ended up taking hours and costing several shattered drill bits. Once the holes had been drilled each screw had to be cut to just the right length to take an acorn nut; sharp bits of steel hanging underwater to slash bare tootsies striking me as a bad idea. It got done though, and coming dips in the lake to counter summertime sweltering temps will no longer require risking a broken leg to get back on board.
Dinner consumed we loaded chairs, coolers and sundry support material onto a trailer towed behind a equally laden pickup truck, and headed off for an impromptu bonfire. A bunch of us sat in the chairs, on the trailer, for the ride. (Please keep hands and feet...) Work the State has been doing at the park produced a huge pile of brush and somehow we had permission to set said pile on fire. (At least someone claimed we had permission from somewhere, which was good enough to this bunch of fun loving pyromaniacs. Besides, the group includes a working Fire Chief from one of the nearby towns...we were covered.)
Drinks provisioned and chairs set to windward various small flames were applied around the perimeter. Within minutes the largest fire I have ever seen that didn't involve sirens, flashing lights and hard working fireman, filled the night sky like some kind of erupting, baby volcano. It was impressive. (And is probably still burning.) The tales, laughter, stories, and general levity one would expect when a group of friends gathered for the first time after a long, cold winter, filled the night. There was even the occasional Tom-foolery as a chorus line of the slightly inebriated tried to kick a giant tree trunk back into the flames. (A effort doomed to failure, the line driven back by the intense infra-red saturating exposed skin.) The first ad-hoc party of the new sailing season could only be described as a roaring success.
Around midnight most of the revelers had disappeared into various boats, bunks and campers. With Nomad's interior being far from inhabitable Deb and I crashed on the clubhouse floor. This morning work resumed and, added to what I got done yesterday, several items were knocked off our list. The interior steps are back in place and look pretty good (if I do say so myself). Steps for the swim ladder have been mounted as well, which turned out to be a real job. The original plan of mounting the steps with self-tapping screws was abandoned when the ladder stripped the hardened steel threads off the first screw I tried to install. Who knew boat swim ladders were made of such tuff stuff? Measuring, drilling and burring 12 holes to mount 3 steps ended up taking hours and costing several shattered drill bits. Once the holes had been drilled each screw had to be cut to just the right length to take an acorn nut; sharp bits of steel hanging underwater to slash bare tootsies striking me as a bad idea. It got done though, and coming dips in the lake to counter summertime sweltering temps will no longer require risking a broken leg to get back on board.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Boat parts go on...
...and boat parts come off.
Schmitty, (our world class marina manager) had a busy week. We noticed last weekend that someone had painted a dashed white line from the road to the bath house, under the bows of Nomad's row of boats. The great State of Illinois (apparently spending some stimulus money) is laying new sewer lines in the campground. The white lines on the ground suggested that the marina bath houses might be included in the new plumbing. Indeed they are, but the State waits not for sailing season and a whole row of boats sat in the way of progress. With digging due to start tomorrow they all had to be moved, cradles, ladders, anchors and all. It was a pleasant surprise to find that little Nomad now sits right in front of the marina's work shop. (Never underestimate friends in high places, thanks Schmitty!)
Which helped the work go a bit easier today. Spring has apparently taken a "spring break" of its own. Though it isn't really winter again, with drizzle, a stiff breeze and temps in the mid 40s, the marina would not make any one's "places to go" list this weekend. It certainly wasn't the best of days to be working outside, but I really wanted to see some parts go back on the boat. We fumbled a bit with gloved hands and cold fingers and I made a few extra trips up and down the ladder to pick up dropped washers and assorted bits. When she wasn't up in the V-berth helping mount the bow pulpit, Deb started pulling the carpet off the steps in the companionway. The plan was to install some non-skid and get rid of the old, smelly, dirt encrusted fabric. But with the carpet removed the steps were just too trashed to leave in place, so...boat parts come off. The steps have taken the place of the bow sprit in the shop, next to go under the palm sander.
Still, little Nomad looks a little less like some forlorn project boat now that her bow sprit and pulpit are back in place. With new mica backing plates (cut on Barry's band saw located in the warmer shop, thanks Barry) under the bow pulpit stanchions to help spread the load, she may even be a bit better than factory. And, since the mica came from the toolbox of a friend who works on the jet, (thanks Randy!) with aircraft quality mica under her deck, Nomad will probably be a little faster as well, don't you think?
While up on the bow bolting some bolts, a marina friend wandered by (Deb and I weren't the only people working in the drizzle) to ask when the boat would be for sale. Apparently word has gotten around that we hope to have both the boat and the house ready for market by the end of this year. "Maybe next spring," we told him. He kind of smiled, "So many people talk about going, but you two are actually doing it."
It is a nice thought but I had to remind him that we haven't left yet. It is a plan. It is a plan we are working hard at seeing through. But so far it is still just a plan. I am a firm believer in working hard for a goal. I know well that without a vision nothing of value ever happens. But vision and work cannot account for everything, it also takes a little luck. And so far, Deb and I have been pretty lucky.
After all, some boat parts did go back on today.
Schmitty, (our world class marina manager) had a busy week. We noticed last weekend that someone had painted a dashed white line from the road to the bath house, under the bows of Nomad's row of boats. The great State of Illinois (apparently spending some stimulus money) is laying new sewer lines in the campground. The white lines on the ground suggested that the marina bath houses might be included in the new plumbing. Indeed they are, but the State waits not for sailing season and a whole row of boats sat in the way of progress. With digging due to start tomorrow they all had to be moved, cradles, ladders, anchors and all. It was a pleasant surprise to find that little Nomad now sits right in front of the marina's work shop. (Never underestimate friends in high places, thanks Schmitty!)
Which helped the work go a bit easier today. Spring has apparently taken a "spring break" of its own. Though it isn't really winter again, with drizzle, a stiff breeze and temps in the mid 40s, the marina would not make any one's "places to go" list this weekend. It certainly wasn't the best of days to be working outside, but I really wanted to see some parts go back on the boat. We fumbled a bit with gloved hands and cold fingers and I made a few extra trips up and down the ladder to pick up dropped washers and assorted bits. When she wasn't up in the V-berth helping mount the bow pulpit, Deb started pulling the carpet off the steps in the companionway. The plan was to install some non-skid and get rid of the old, smelly, dirt encrusted fabric. But with the carpet removed the steps were just too trashed to leave in place, so...boat parts come off. The steps have taken the place of the bow sprit in the shop, next to go under the palm sander.
Still, little Nomad looks a little less like some forlorn project boat now that her bow sprit and pulpit are back in place. With new mica backing plates (cut on Barry's band saw located in the warmer shop, thanks Barry) under the bow pulpit stanchions to help spread the load, she may even be a bit better than factory. And, since the mica came from the toolbox of a friend who works on the jet, (thanks Randy!) with aircraft quality mica under her deck, Nomad will probably be a little faster as well, don't you think?
While up on the bow bolting some bolts, a marina friend wandered by (Deb and I weren't the only people working in the drizzle) to ask when the boat would be for sale. Apparently word has gotten around that we hope to have both the boat and the house ready for market by the end of this year. "Maybe next spring," we told him. He kind of smiled, "So many people talk about going, but you two are actually doing it."
It is a nice thought but I had to remind him that we haven't left yet. It is a plan. It is a plan we are working hard at seeing through. But so far it is still just a plan. I am a firm believer in working hard for a goal. I know well that without a vision nothing of value ever happens. But vision and work cannot account for everything, it also takes a little luck. And so far, Deb and I have been pretty lucky.
After all, some boat parts did go back on today.
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