Sovereign Nations

We’ve been living on the edge of civilization for a couple weeks now.  The public dock, Knightville Landing, provided us with free water and dinghy landing.  It is also the center of pubescent life for South Portland.

Check out how they’re all waiting their turn in a neat, tidy line.  These are good boys.

The large ships coming through the bridge and up the river gave us good doses of adrenaline periodically.

Here’s the same ship, passing us alongside.

And here’s a closeup.  A crop of the bow so you can get the scale of this vessel.

The red spot in the hole at the front of the boat?  That’s a person.  For real.

Meanwhile, the boat sat at anchor.  Well, at anchors.  We settled in and realized that wind and tide were pulling us out into the channel and in where the bottom shallows quickly.  We got ourselves solidly hooked on the bow and then put a smaller anchor into the dinghy and rowed it out behind.  With one anchor off each end of the boat, we swung gently like a hammock without getting in the way of anything like TransFighter.

I (Dena) started work at EqualityMaine or Mainers for Marriage Equality, depending on whether we’re working with donations or campaign funds.  It’s a good organization as far as I can tell, though phone canvassing is as hard as any other out-bound call center work for the most part.  I’ve got the script down pretty well, and the rest is a lot like counseling with an agenda.  I’m supposed to draw people out on their concerns about same-sex marriage so that I can assuage those fears and counter the arguments.  It works sometimes.  At least a couple times a night, I get someone to move from somewhat opposed to somewhat supportive of gay marriage.  I could be doing worse work.

But it’s so, so different from sailing around and hiking and working on the boat a little.  A little painful, in fact.

As therapy, we worked on the boat last weekend.  After working on the deck, we had some areas that were painted but slick, so we painted them with non-skid.

Before:

During:

After:

And we finally put non-skid on the cockpit sole.  That’s been a long time coming.

And then it was my (James’) turn.

Dena put in the good word and after a week of shooting blanks into the local Portland job market, I decided that the do-gooder work was a worthy endeavor.  So I interviewed with EqualityMaine and quickly went to work for the Republican Tea-Party Radical Right-Wing opposition to Dena and we called each other all night.

Just kidding.

Good evening.  Is this…?  Hi, my name is James and I’m calling Mainers tonight across the state to talk about some very important issues we have coming up in the November election.  I’m speaking specifically about marriage between same sex couples.  Would you say that you are strongly supportive, somewhat supportive, somewhat opposed, or strongly opposed to same sex marriage?

“Fuck you, faggot.”

I pull the phone away from my face and say, “Really?  I just got a fuckyoufaggot.”

Ellen says, “Oh, James, I’m so sorry.”

She sounds so sincere that it genuinely breaks my heart.

“No, Ellen, it’s okay.”

Okay.  I can do this job.

Especially since we come home to this.

As weird as this shit is, you have to admit that it’s amazing.

The work schedule is 1:30pm to 9:15, so mornings are nice.  We have our coffee and read a bit and eat breakfast before we ride to the YMCA, work out, shower, and head to the office.  The loveliness of the industrial area started to wear off, but the big ships never got old.

The goo started building up on the bottom of the boat and on the anchor rodes.  We realized that the shit processing plant didn’t smell horrible all the time, but enough to prove that it was part of the environment.

That is post-processed shit on those pilings combined with a hundred years of fuel oil runoff and whatever it is that those tankers are carrying.

And so we determined that it was time to leave.

We pulled up each anchor and moved to the public dock.  A good scrubbing and full water tanks made us ready to go, but first we wanted one more picture.

And then we went sailing.

Heading out of the Fore River under full sail, the boat performed absolutely flawlessly.  She settled into a course that took us straight to our first anchorage in Maine – right off Great Diamond Island.  We dropped the Bruce in about 18 feet of water and immediately settled in and went swimming.

The water was freezing and the perfect sailing wind caused just enough chill to bring the 75 degree day below our Chesapeake-acclimated threshold.

It was wonderful.  The water was clean and clear and the boat had shed her beard of toxic slimy growth from the Fore River.

Another easy sail back to Portland and we puttered around, checking our new anchorage for swing room.  As soon as we dropped anchor, it buried deep and we are now firmly tethered to the ground 25 feet below us, right off Pomroy Rock.

And we’re plugging into it.

I (Dena) applied for, interiewed for, and got a job canvasing for Mainers for Marriage Equality.  Being as though you’re on this blog, I’d like to assume you know that means yay gay marriage, not sneaky code for marriage for only the “right sort” of people.  Yesterday was the interview and job offer, and today…

We went sailing!

Caught up on chores and with a job starting soon, we were able to turn our attention back to the most important thing.  We hadn’t had an opportunity to test the rig since we had the mast put back on, but today, the conditions were perfect.  Strong but not overly strong wind, warm but not blazing, and busy but not too many boats on the water.

First off, we had to check out a new anchorage spot.  The general anchorage right off Portland’s Old Port is incredibly busy in the summer.  The ferries kick up a  lot of wake, but even more bouncing results from the dozens of pleasure boaters who don’t feel the need to keep their speeds down through the anchorage.  We got people motoring 10 feet off our stern kicking up a wake that would knock us over in the cabin.

We weighed anchor and toddled further up river.  Nosing slowly into every spot that seemed like a possible spot to anchor, we made our way under the Casco Bay Bridge and into a strangely lovely industrial area.  Before long, we’d identified our new home and marked it on the chart.  It was time for fun!

We hoisted sail at the mouth of the Fore River where it meets Casco Bay.

Even though the day was perfect, we started off with two reefs in the sail, making sure not to overstress the rig in any way.  Then we shook out those reefs in the lee of Little Diamond Island and she took off like a rocket.

All’s well in our little world.

The rig performed beautifully and everything felt and sounded solid.

Not only does she sail perfectly, the radar kicks ass and the VHF brings in the signal like a dream.

Job complete.

On the way back, we checked out one last anchorage on the leeward side of the peninsula that forms Portland proper.  It’s also downwind of the shit processing plant and the smell drove us away as soon as we got the anchor set.  Down anchor, up anchor.  No sweat.

Back in the Fore River, we crossed under the Casco Bay Bridge again and set the anchor in one shot, really solidly.

Settled in, I called the owner of a water taxi here in town.  Not only did he sound enthusiastic about hiring me for the taxi, he also brought up two other possible jobs as well.  At this rate, we could have 3 jobs each by Friday!

We walked across the bridge pictured above into Portland, holding the image of our beautiful boat for as long as we could see it.

In celebration, we had malai kofta and a lovely conversation with the waiter about India.

On the way back, we heard a marimba band.  This town is cool.

Remember when we said the fog had devoured us?

The fog stayed with us until about 1pm, though we managed to charge our batteries with the solar array even through the mist.  Once it burned off, the heat built quickly and we jumped overboard for a refreshing swim (in water we’re told is 10-15 degrees warmer than usual).

So there we were, sitting in the cockpit, enjoying our boat at anchor and a shot of rum each.  We were drip-drying , when we spied the tiny island to the northeast at the mouth of the bay.

“It’s Christmas Island!” exclaimed James.

“It is?” queried Dena, credulously.

“Well, it has a single, tall conifer, so it outta be.”

Consulting the chart, we discovered that the little pokey piece of land is actually named The Nubbin.  So of course, we had to make clit jokes and we had to go visit!

As we approached, the island’s bird population took noisy flight, protesting our invasion.  We pulled around to the northeast side of the island and shoved the bow into the kelp beds until we could get our feet on the rocks.

Traversing the slippery kelp wasn’t the easiest thing, but once we got on the dry land above the high-tide mark, we were inundated by the smells of a bird sanctuary.  A US Coast and Geodetic Survey marker dated 1941 is inset on the highest point.  We carefully inspected what there was to inspect.

Discovering new territory always makes me (James) feel like the “king of the world”.

The single tree is taller, but there are many more of these flowering bushes.  Anyone know what they are?

The island is such a small nubbin that our circumnavigation only took about 10 minutes, even stopping for photos.  We both marked our territory and then climbed back into our Tinker and toddled back home.

We’ve hauled our three boats out of the water a total of 7 times.  Each time, it’s been fucking miraculous.

For the two weeks we had our boat on the hard at Yankee Marina in Yarmouth, ME, we worked 10-14 hours a day, every single day, rain or shine.  We woke between 5am and 7am and went to bed as early as 9:30pm one night, but mostly between 11pm and midnight.

So when we say that it is hard to give a detailed, blow-by-blow account of each thing we did, it’s because we did so much.  The projects were multifaceted on every level, but really it came down to two major projects.  One – the sagging, rotten deck.  Two – the broken bulkhead below.

Rather than tell this story in painful detail, here’s the last two weeks in pictures.

This is the crack in the bulkhead, before we pulled the mast.  As you can see, it is completely separated along a vertical axis and cracked horizontally above right through the fiberglass, creating a sag where the mast wants to pull through the deck.

This caused cracking all throughout the coach roof.

Once the mast was pulled, the compression system removed, and the step unbolted, it was time to make the cuts.

We set the Skilsaw at 1/8″ and cut along the sagging seam of a previous repair.  In an attempt to salvage whatever intact core material we could, we carefully chisel and pried the top skin upward.  The second goal was to keep the top skin intact in order to use it again rather than recreate it.

Instead of a tidy edge and an intact skin, the previous owners had done a very strange repair that forced us to clear the entire area of rotten material.  We also couldn’t use the skin, because it had been drilled through dozens of times by a (probably different) devious owner who was trying to fix the rot by the “drill and fill” method, whereby you make holes and force some epoxy in, hoping it will seal off the rotted parts…this is putting a bandaid on an ax wound.

When you’re dealing with fiberglass, it’s best to stop and clean every 10 minutes.  Being as though that’s not a realistic working method, you have to live with it.  We did a pretty good job.  We kept up with it the best we could, cleaning the whole boat over and over again while living in “the desert” as that portion of the marina yard is known by the workers.

All the chemistry we use requires a clean, dry surface.  That’s another reason all of our work was two-fold – make the mess, clean it up.  After creating the clean slate in the picture above, we cut two pieces of azek (pvc lumber) for the new core.  We laid fiberglass on the bottom skin to reinforce it and then epoxied the azek down on top of that.

The odd pieces of azek are forcing the core pieces to conform to the curve of the deck.

Once the new core was glued into place and firm, we started the demo below.  This time, we used the grinder to take the bulkhead off completely, including the tabbing that holds it to the roof.  Last time, I chiseled the bulkhead out from between the two layers of tabbing.  This is much stronger.

Measure twice, cut once.

James in the desert.

Once we had the new bulkhead piece cut to fit in place, we had to sketch out the curve we wanted for the hatchway.

Our new hatchway.

Abovedecks, we used the same 3/4″ marine-grade plywood to create a new, solid base for the mast step.  Actually, we bought a half-sheet of the stuff and ended up using it all!

The other thing shown by the picture above is the smooth transition between fiberglass skin and azek core.  We increased the thickness of the core under the mast and made the plywood base a little thicker too.  We want this thing to be solid!

We bought biaxial fiberglass, which means two layers at 90 degrees sewn together rather than woven, with a fiberglass mat backing sewn on as well.  This is thick stuff and both torsionally and compressively superior to fiberglass cloth – the stuff we used before.

The four layers are laid into place and cut in decreasing size.  This allows us to grind it smooth without going through any layers except at their edges.  Once the pieces are prepared, start pouring on the epoxy.

Two of four pieces epoxied…

All four layers in place, epoxied, cured, and ready to grind.

By the way, we used a gallon and a half of epoxy resin on this project.  Some above, some below.

When this is stuff is ground down and finely sanded, it creates an all-encompassing powder that coats the lungs and makes everything taste like plastic.  Yum.  And since the powder consists of tiny glass fragments, it creates rashes that burn and itch like hell for weeks.

It must be ground and sanded or it creates sharp pokey things that cut right through clothing and skin.  We not only want to keep our clothing and skin intact, we also want to have a smooth, even surface once the paint is on.  That means grinding, sanding, and as seen below, fairing.

The brown parts are an epoxy fairing compound that sands easily and makes a smooth surface.

We also got to do all that down below.  From grinding fiberglass in our living area, through cleaning it as well as possible out of said living area, to more sanding and grinding than we ever want to do in a space where we create food.

Just through the hatchway in the photograph above is where we sleep.

Yep.

But oh, it does look good with a fresh coat of paint.

Or, in the case of the deck, with several coats of paint, a mast step, some hand rails, a solar panel power inlet, and a couple solar vents.  She’s ready to go.

The paint in the head looks great too, but the smell of marine grade chemical just won’t leave!  The electricity was dangling while we did the job and it’s not all the way back together in the photo above.  We couldn’t finish lassoing all the cables into zip ties until the mast was in place and its wiring brought into the mix.

Oh yeah.  We also bottom-painted the dinghy and rebuilt the solar panel that goes on it while underway.  (Remember the Delaware Bay?  We never want that to happen again.)

This is us.  Exhausted, exhilarated, and thrilled to be underway again.

We got put in the water around 9:30am, the mast was upright by 10:30, and we had her tuned with the boom and sails on and everything by noon.  After a couple hours of motoring down the Royal (Pain-In-The-Ass) River, we settled back in Broad Cove and got eaten by fog.

The Beginning.