The Slow Fade

  

"Summer has come and passed....."
                            -Green Day


    But, autumn has been pretty damn awesome.

   Actually, the whole season , from beginning to end, has been great, meteorologically and oceanographically speaking.

   After two reallydamncold winters with 95%+ ice cover on the Lakes, the water level has been high all season.

  At least 2 feet higher than 2012/2013.

   Usually,  the water level is highest in the late spring early summer, as snow melt and spring rains swell tributaries and upper Lakes- this year, weirdly, the water level in July was higher than June:

                                                                          -charts courtesy of  Fisheries and Oceans Canada


  ...  And pretty much stayed there through the middle of September, before gradually starting to fall.
 
 As an added bonus, the summer was relatively dry- enough rain to keep farmers happy, enough sun to keep beachgoers happy, and enough wind to keep sailors happy...mostly.


The  sunsets were absofreakinlutely spectacular.

   As the season slowly faded, I discovered that the sunrises were pretty damn amazing too, even if the fact that I was observing them meant that endofseason was looming:

     In September I FINALLY accomplished a task that had been out of my reach for two seasons.

     (No, it wasn't "writing another blog post", Smartass Reader.)

    When Good Old Boat  slated my account of our acquisition of  Karma, Tim, the Managing Editor, requested some high resolution photos of  Karma under sail.  clicking through the hundreds of pics on my computer, I realized I had NO high res photos of us under full sail.  There were lots of pics of us loafing along with the genny fully bagged out, there were low-res pics of us with both main and genoa looking full, fat and sassy...

     But no magazine-worthy, high-resolution, mainsail-and-foresail-as-Neptune-intended pics of Karma in full double-stitched Dacron splendour.

    So, the only pics in my international magazine debut article... are of Karma sailing half-assed.
   

     Sigh.


    Yeah, shut up-  even I can see the symbolism.

    Anyfail, September saw Jack and Hilary step up and catch some full sail sunset shots.  Thanks, guys!

 

   Speaking of full sails and Hilary, he started flying his assymetrical spinnaker this year, making him easy to spot on the lake:

  "What of Whiskeyjack?"  the faithful hordes ask.  "Have you forsaken the ass which formerly bore you?"

   Nay, my friends, and I report  that Whiskeyjack  is in good hands. 

   

   Phil has been sailing her ass off, on her ear, grinning ear to ear:

  She's still in the water, still on the dock, and due for haul out the same day as Karma, November 5th.

  Frank and Lorraine and Keara are also wringing the last few sailing days out of the season as well:

   By the last half of October the Dock was looking sparse:

     Sunday, SWMBO's boat Ereni came out of the water;

      By Tuesday, there were three-  Karma, Keara, and Whiskeyjack.  

     

     Sigh.

     Hurricane Patricia's walk of shame across North America forced us to move to the relative safety of virtually empty Dock Five to ride out the 50 knot gusts and 2 metre waves.  That's us, below, on the dock closest to shore.    The sunsets suck, but it sure is calm in there.

   The water level is up about 2 feet in 12 hours.

    We seldom see waves rolling deep enough, and strong enough, to make the dinghy dock hump.

      No shame here about leaving the dock- there were four freighters hunkered as deep in the Bay as their draft would allow.

  Tomorrow the three boats  leave the Marina for the season and start a new tradition- we move to the dinghy dock for the night, roll out the jack-o-lanterns and candy for intrepid trick or treaters, and enjoy one last night on the water.  Then it's under the bridge to the yard to wait for haulout.

   Then, six long months on the dirt begin.

  Sigh.

Thanks for checking in, and please remember to "Talk the dock!"

The Changing of the Guard, and A Tour

   "Meet the new boss.  Same as the old boss."
                                            -The Who



   The tired cliche goes something like, as one chapter ends, another begins...

   This time, however, out here on the Dock, we were still editing the previous chapter while writing the next chapter.

   That chapter is, finally, complete.

 
      Selling Whiskeyjack  is a bittersweet experience.  When SWMBO and I became her stewards, we purchased her with the goal of learning how to sail together, to figure out what we knew and learn what we didn't know, and then next year move up to a bigger boat.

      That was in 2008.

      She suited us so well that it took 6 years of boat searching to find a boat that suited us any better.

      We wanted..  well, okay, we needed more space.

       Or one fewer dog.
 
        That was  the only improvement we desired over our doughty tank, Whiskeyjack.   Oh, and we had to stay on the Dock, so we couldn't go much longer than our Georgian 23's overall length.



        Damn hard to find a boat that fits that bill.

        We had to go to New Jersey to find one.

         Long story.
     
        To be told later.

        Whiskeyjack's  new owner, Phil, is the kind of skipper she needs.    He decided he wanted to sail, decided that going small, going simple and going now was the way to go, and he had his sights set on a Georgian 23, for all of the same reasons that drew SWMBO and I to the type:  Big enough to be comfortable, small enough to be manageable, cheap enough to be affordable.   He planned to sail on Lake Ontario, and wanted a boat that wouldn't cost a ton to move to a new home or to dock, and a boat that was cheap enough that, if he decided he didn't like this whole sailing thing, he wouldn't have a whole ton of cash invested.  He dropped by a couple of weeks ago to take a look, liked what he saw, made us an offer that was fair, left a deposit, and left, with the plan of action being to 1. Find dockage in Hamilton or Burlington or Oakville, and 2. Arrange transport, and then 3. We'd finalize the deal when he had all of his plates spinning.  He figured it might take until the end of the month.

      So, we waited, fingers crossed,  hoping that the deal wouldn't fall through.

        The  plates spun faster than expected.

       On Friday night money exchanged hands, papers were signed, and Whiskeyjack motored off to her new home....

         ...  Just down the Dock.

        Phil liked the marina so much when he came to look at Whiskeyjack that he decided  to keep her here for the rest of the season.

        Cool.


       So,  what is our new boat like?

       Different.

       First impression:  She is worn, but not worn out.
     
       So am I, so I'm okay with that.

 She is in need of cosmetic improvement, her gelcoat is faded and shows some stress cracks, the woodwork is dull, but her bones are good.  With the exception of the Dock pictures, the images  that follow are pre-purchase photos- you get to see her as we first saw her.

       She is tall.  We joke that her freeboard is more like "Free Bird":  It just goes on and on and on...

     

     ...  note the stepstool on the Dock.


    The  center cockpit layout means that virtually every foot of length is utilized for accomodation.  It also means that no one is ever going to describe an S2 8.0C as a "classic beauty."

     She isn't.

    We're good with that.  We don't choose a boat based on how she looks, but on how she fits our needs.

    The design is clever, but the feel is very different, since you are sitting on top of the boat,  rather than IN the boat.  but the visibility is fantastic.  No need to stand up to see over the cabin, this boat is designed for seated sailing...

   .... which is good, because the boom is low.  Under sail, the boom is about four feet above the cockpit sole.

 


     Underway, that bigass freeboard also means that she feels more tender than Whiskeyjack.  When she heels, 15 degrees feels more like 25 degrees, because you are further out on the lever from the fulcrum.  The cockpit  is long but narrow, which is ideal for me and my stubby legs to brace against the aforementioned exaggerated heel.

   The layout pushes the cockpit forward, so the mast is RIGHT THERE.  No need to lead lines aft- the halyards and reefing lines are already at the cockpit.

  The four step companionway ladder is steep, so as not to take up any more room in the cabin than necessary.  Down below there is more than 6 feet of headroom in the center of the salon....
...

...  and a stripper pole.  Not really, but the compression post is in the very center of the salon.

     It is a little, okay, a lot, like sailing your parents' basement rec room from the 70s- fabric covered walls, small windows, a pole in the middle...  but, once you get past the dated aesthetics, the layout works well for us...

      ...and the Escheresque v-berth upholstery grows on you.

      The v-berth itself is generous in size, with four large storage lockers underneath and a handy deep shelf above.  The mirror is hinged, providing access to the anchor locker forward.

   Ventilation is great- four opening ports, and a large hatch overhead help keep the air moving.

      The galley runs down the port side of the salon,  has adequate counter space and storage space, and a large toploading icebox.

 

 
    As I mentioned, cosmetically she needs some help.

looking aft, on the port side is the "tunnel,"  the passage to the aft cabin:

    The tunnel is also the nav station, with a small bench on the port side, and electrical panel and chart desk on the starboard side...   and a pencil sharpener.

 

The electrical panel is simple, reflecting the simple systems on this boat.

Underneath the nav station lurks the drivetrain, a Yanmar single cylinder diesel.  Access to the workings is AMAZING. The entire nav station can be dismantled, allowing one to easily work on any part of the engine and transmission.

  The aft cabin has a full size berth for two running across the transom, hanign lockers on both sides, a nightstand, bookshelves, and two lockers under the mattress.  

      The unsightly glue and fuzz covered panle to the left of the picture is, apparently, where a TV was mounted.  We are debating how to finish this blemish.  For now, however, we simply live with it.

    Above the bed is another large tinted acrylic hatch, which opens onto the boat's aft deck, or "back porch"

There are also two opening ports on the transom.  Ventilation in the aft cabin is just as good as in the salon.

   To the right of thhe companionway ladder is the head.  One of our "wants" when we were looking for our next boat was a head that was separate from the v-berth.  We got it.

   As with the nav station, the head is tucked under the cockpit, so headroom when using the head is limited. But, head room improves to over 6 feet at the forward end of the head, so at least one can stand up to wash one's hands or brush one's teeth.

   8 metres of length and not a square inch wasted.

She is also 8 metres of new projects.  When she arrived on the Dock, she had no usable weather cannvas, so the first order of business, in the opinion of SWMBO, the ginger, was repairing NextBoat's  existing dodger and installing a bimini.  

 Done and done.  

   Next we needed to replace the depthfinder, install a chart plotter, build and install a table in the salon, a table in the cockpit,  install our grille on the stern rail, replace the galley stove, create some storage for propane canisters,  find a way to get more leg room in the head...

Stay tuned.  

Low-Buck Launch: Splash 2013

       "She's as pretty as she's ever gonna get..."
                                         -Living Color

     
      Brazil, Buenas!

      I've been parsing the percentages here at D6C Mission Control, dissecting the demographics, noodling on the numbers, always looking to get more people to Talk the Dock!  and have discovered some cool stats:

      A significant percentage of readers are from outside of North America- UK, Australia, Holland, Brazil, Russia, Romania, Nigeria...

     Okay, some of the hits might be actual readers, not searchbots.

      Yeah, I might actually find a way to make some money from this gig, too.

      Diddling the data, I realized that it's entirely possible that some of the rituals and requirements of Great Lakes sailing are completely foreign and incomprehensible to many from outside of North America.

     Like the spring sweat-equity extravaganza known as "splashing."


    I figure a little background info might help.  Locals, feel free to skip to the good stuff.

    Okay, if you can't find any good stuff, just skip to the average stuff.

    Shut up, smartass.  Just scroll down to the part that says "SKIP TO HERE"

    Background:

       This is four-season country.  Here on the South Coast of Ontario, Canada,  it gets cold in the winter, warm in the summer, and rains in between.   The water often freezes all winter, and the marinas, by and large, are not equipped to allow boats to stay in the water year-round.  So every fall boatyards are busy hauling boats out and storing them on the hard, then each spring the process is reversed, and the boats get relaunched, or "splashed."

     As spring is a time of renewal in the natural world, so it is in a boat owner's world as well.  The weeks, days, and hours of spring prior to a boat's splash are filled with scraping and sanding and painting and patching and fixing and varnishing and swearing and yelling and drinking.  The "Northern Nautical"  version of the 80/20 Rule becomes the practice in boatyards far and wide:  80% of the maintenance a boat will receive all year is accomplished in the 20 days prior to her being splashed.

   Then you do it all over again next year.

  It's worth it.

   SKIP TO HERE

      In splash seasons past, we have painted the deck, painted the topsides, stripped the bottom, rebuilt the top end of the engine, installed electronics, refitted the galley and cabin, varnished our asses off and generally made improvements  and revisions that were cosmetic or convenience related, not critical  to operation.

    This season was different.

    Climbing aboard to compile this season's punchlist of projects that we couldn't afford to do but couldn't afford to ignore, I checked the steering gear, and found ...

   ... blocks that were in bad shape.

    Okay, looks like steering R&R just moved to the #1 position on the "To-do" list.

      Upon further inspection, it looks like the blocks themselves are in decent shape- it's the wood under them (the block blocks?)  and the mounting hardware that is shot.

     So, the usual drill ensues-

1.  Measure

2.  Remeasure

3.  Cut scrap wood (for new block block blanks)

4.  Trim and shape

5.  Sand

6.  Cover in Epoxy

7.  Sand

8.  Varnish

9.   Test Fit.

10.  Utter Profanities

11.  Re-remeasure.  For Sure.  This Time.

12.  Repeat steps 3-9.

13.  Install

   Ahhh, step 13- that is always where it falls apart.  

    To bolt on  the new block blocks I have to UNbolt the remnants of the old block blocks, and the operative word here is bolt, which implies a nut, of which none can be seen in the pictures above and you know WHY? 

     Because they are hidden down HERE, that's why!!

   Oh, you can't see the nuts in question?  That's because they are waaaaayyyy back there- behind the engine, and above the fuel tank:..

    

     ...About 5" out of reach from the quarter berth, and I am about 4" too fat to slither in there.  

     (Yes, Astute, Critical, ABYC-versed Reader, all of the hoses leading to/from the tank and the cockpit drain hoses should be double-clamped.  More on that in a minute.)

     So, obviously I need to make another large hole in my boat.

     My new Matrix drill/driver/saw earns it's keep:

      Drill a hole, snap off the drill head and install the jigsaw head, turn a small hole into a bigger hole, snap in a cover plate...

     

    Snap the drill head back on, drill some smaller holes, swap out the drill bit for a Phillips head bit and drive some screws.

     

           Last time I had to drill a big hole in my boat and install a deck plate it took 40 minutes.

          This time it took less than 10.

     Now I can reach the nuts  AND the hose clamps.

      With the old block blocks removed and the well cleaned up, I threw some paint at it, installed new blocks  and put it all back together:

     

     Clean up the displaced caulk and the paint slop and she's as good as new.

    Not a moment too soon:

     

   When I inspected the blocks last season, I figured they would last until the end of the season.  They did...barely.

  That wasn't the only Whiskeyjack wood that had seen better days.  The swim ladder treads could no longer be tread upon.  

      I figured I'd repurpose Whiskeyjack's old galley locker doors into new treads.

     Splintery mahogany wouldn't be an ideal choice if the treads were to be left bare, but since they are going to be finished bright, I wasn't worried about slivers.

      Turns out I didn't have to worry anyway.

       I lit up the table saw and made the first cut and discovered...

     The doors weren't solid wood.

     Without missing a beat, I immediately resort to Plan B, and in hindsight, a Better Plan:  Cut up a couple of the companionway boards from DonorBoat.

       (Y'know, you'd figure that if I am able to seamlessly adapt to Plan B when Plan A gets in the weeds thanks to years of failed Plan As, I'd have learned to just turn my Plan Bs into my Plan As. 

        Hasn't happened yet. 

         Likely won't. )

       A couple of trips along the router table...

       Chuck a spade bit in the Matrix, measure the spacing, drill each tread, cut to fit the swim ladder rungs, shape...

      Varnish, and install.

      Here's the deal:   Preparing the boat for spring splash starts immediately after the boat is hauled out for the winter.  But the early stage, say, oh, October through March, is devoted largely to planning and procrastination.   Once the snow melts off the deck, effort is expended on exploratory sanding and scuffing  of  brightwork and hull.  

     Weather is both a factor  and a convenient excuse-  if it is too cold or too wet to paint or sand or varnish, one can rationalize taking a day off.  

      Upon setting the splash date with the yard, however, the clock starts ticking rather loudly, and excuses are no longer an option.  Nothing less than an ark-construction-inspiring deluge, or surprise snowstorm  will interrupt the -every-spare-moment pace of  splash prep, culminating in a late night/ early morning frenzy of  effort that doesn't end until Whiskeyjack  is in the slings.

      And each year, as I watch Whiskeyjack settle into the water,  I promise myself that next year, I'll be more organized, better prepared, and procrastinate less.

     Yeah, right.

    And then, it's done.  

     And it's all worth it.

   "Talk the Dock!"