Finished with Finish... For a While

Starting to feel like home...
Walls will fill, eventually, with artwork, pictures and maps
to break up that stark, raving white.

Anke on the settee... sitting room and bunk form an open, social space.

Dinette makes down into a snug double bunk or generous single.
Table was prep-o torched before finish, a technique shown us by friend JC Thomas.

Finished with Finish... For a While

One of the things you should never, never do is move into a construction site. Dust gets everywhere, tools mingle with the cutlery, stuff gets moved again and again, and, and, and...

So of course we did.

Not our first time, either. LUNA was only roughed in when we moved aboard at launch at the end of one November... neither paint nor heat as winter came on.

Now, it's summer coming on. Boat only partially decked and coppered. Plenty of sawdust yet to permeate our belongings.

Slow learners.

But ya do the necessary, and roll with the world as it surprises you. And it ain't so bad, after all. Mostly.

Last night we spent our first night in our new bunk. Lit a candle and sipped a little wine in celebration. Slept like babes and woke to that lovely feeling of being in our own home.

We can only imagine the movement of water beneath and around us. The darkling world silhouetted beyond our windows. The promise of a woodfire to blunt the morning's chill. But our imagination is alive and well...

And, now, we need a little bit less of it.




A quick video tour of the interior, to date

Pilothouse Windows

Pilothouse sides, windows roughed in

Pilothouse Windows

Slightly warmer temps have us back at outdoor work.

One of our favorite parts of boatbuilding is getting to the window cutouts. They transform a valley into a vista with a puff of sawdust. Our imaginations are taxed at a lower bracket, and we can practically see beyond our shed walls and across water.

After the sides were installed and framed, we cut the corners with a 3in hole saw. Then, with a flush cut router bit, cut the perimeters.

Note the hole cut is a skosh offset from framing
to avoid damage.

This is what results. If we were real router jockeys, we might cut all the way to the tangents, right through that little pointy bit.

But we're not. It's durn hard to see what we're doing for fine starts and stops, so we bail a bit short and clean up by hand.

With a sharp knife, trim each edge to fair, then bring the middle flush. Takes about a minute per.

BTW, this is a Mora knife. I prefer their laminated blades, but they're no longer dirt cheap. Their non-laminated, stainless blades are still great and can be found for under $10!

Here's the completed curve, shaved fair.

Once all are complete, it's ready to sand and finish before the plexi-glass gets installed.

These will be sliding windows, maybe with a double-glazed panels. Down in the forward cabins, they'll be double paned and fixed.



*****

Growing up, Anke was never allowed to sit on the family's kitchen counters. So naturally, sitting on the counters is an integral part of our pilothouse/galley view.

From here, we get a 360deg view and a vantage forward, over the mid-deck. We'll be installing the primitive, remote steering system from SLACKTIDE. It works well enough that we only have to leave shelter if setting or reefing sail. Mostly, we hope she sails herself.

Meanwhile, we sit on our counters, looking out our windows, the green world flowing by...

Navigating Foamy Seas of Fabric

That's some chalkboard, "Einstein"!

Every point on the mollusc is treated as a space-point, and every material point which is at rest relatively to it as at rest, so long as the mollusc is considered as reference-body.

From Relativity by Albert Einstein

Navigating Foamy Seas of Fabric

To those of us used to the Newtonian absolutes of 'rigid' plywood, turning to fabric is to enter the undulating reaches of Einstein's relativistic universe.

Fabric is visibly flexible. Roll out a strip of it, and it may lay straight. Or it may curve like a banana, one way or the other. Or snake both ways. It can fold, hump and pucker, too, leaving its two dimensional plane. Hang an end over an edge, and it has the tendency to siphon itself to gravitational equilibrium. Fortunately, in the era of synthetic threads, we don't have to worry about shrinkage in the temporal dimensions!

Foam - at least the cushy sort - isn't much better.

To tame the mollusc, we need an external reference... in our case, the straight edge of a long-ish table in the caretaker's cabin. Line up one edge of foam or fabric with that (and keep it aligned) and smooth it flat, and we've imposed a reference edge and a planar surface. After that, it's just a matter of layout, cut, fold, and sew to the lines.

Of course, folding is something we seldom do to plywood.

Spatial visualization of flat stuff folding into shape tries the imagination. Some folks have developed it more than others. But really, unless you're a genetic sport, it starts out hard. Practice makes perfect. Like learning a new dance, the first attempts tread on toes. First one is a mind-bender; second is not half-bad; third a piece of cake.

Mostly.

As in all things, we looked for the KISS approach. No piping, fancy shapes, zippers (velcro, instead), etc.. We sewed a single join around the perimeters. At the corners, where excess gathers, we fold under as one would wrap a package in paper. Here and there we tack any floppy excess with thread and needle, or dart it out, as seems indicated.

A confused sea

Tips n' Tricks (from the Ignorant):

• Bobby pins can be used to secure hems for sewing... not as prickly as pins.
• Hot Melt Glue can often be used to tack things together... be sure to press the 'dots' flat before they cool!
• Woof and Warp (the long and cross threads in fabric) are freebie square and parallel... follow them and it's hard to go wrong.
• An Electric Knife cuts foam cleanly... the double bladed, turkey carvin' kind.

Dinette, cushions, left
Settee cushions behind
Folded Bunk (upside in), with ice blanket showing
Loose fit will snug up when finished with Hook n Loop

Salon Seats and Backrests:

These were all variations on a theme. Simple boxes in simple wrappers.

The only complication was that we wanted to use a second type of fabric for inboard faces. It was from SLACKTIDE's bunk, and we like to carry a bit forward from each boat. Also, we under ordered the blue nylon seconds by about a yard.  8/


Bunk:

Pretty simple in retrospect, but we burned a lot of braincells on this one.

First, our 60in cloth has to be joined to cover the 72in x 78in bunk. A longitudinal join, we figure, runs up where our sensitive upper bodies lie, like a miniscule bolster. A transverse join runs across our shins/calves, and seems much less intrusive. So that was our choice.

Our foam is open cell. Moisture travels downward and condenses at the first cool surface (the plywood bunk deck, in this case) and soaks the mattress from the bottom up. One semi-fix is to raise the mattress on a low lattice for airflow under, which evaporates and transports moisture. But also, we laminate a layer of close cell foam on the upper surface. This keeps moisture to the upper surface where it can harmlessly evaporate. Plus it firms the total foam, which we like for sleeping.

Next problem is that, to access the under-bunk storage, the bedding has to fold in half around the long axis. If the foam is a single block, this is AWKwaaaaard! But if we cut the foam into two blocks, then, if not compressed equally, we get a cliffy rift along the centerline.

Our solution was to cut the foam in two along the long centerline, then glue the close cell foam in a contiguous sheet to both surfaces, crossing the divide. We left the first foot to either side of the divide unglued.

Our cover unfolds to resemble a couple of bicycle panniers; two pockets topped by a flap that tucks between open and closed cell foam into that first, unglued foot.

The entire cover is made from a single strip 'scrolled' from one flap, down the divide face, across one bottom face, up the side face, all across the top face, down the other side face, across that bottom side, up the divide face and tucked between foams. End faces sewn together pillow-case style along the mid, end face (not shown). Whew!

 

The fabric and closed cell foam form a longitudinal hinge for folding the mattress over. Meanwhile, since it spans the divide, it eliminates that cliffy ridge. Result... works like a charm and comfortable!

Looks like we made harbor.

Interior Ready for Paint

Overview from forward

Interior Ready for Paint

Our latest strategy was to finish up the interior and get some paint on to hold our gains against encroaching winter. Well... the interior's complete - barring a few deets that can wait for spring - but its sub-freezing and frosting inside the shed! Paint will have to wait for the next thaw or an operational stove, whichever comes first.

So next come the decks. We hope.

In lieu of paint, we've tarped the hull over to keep the ply as dry as possible. But before we did, we took advantage of the rare sun for a few pics...


Kitty-corner Over-views

We're generally using the same layout as LUNA, which worked very well for us.

The entire living spaces are open to one another, as much as possible, to allow a roomy feel, long views with big angles out the windows, and a more or less contiguous social space.

The cook is 'part of the party', and there's plenty of room for a sous-chef. One to a few can lounge in the bunk (Anke likes the little bit of social remove, there)... participating while not being in the thick of it. If someone has had enough and wants to turn in, a curtain can screen it off.

The large side windows (much smaller one LUNA) keep the walls from closing in, opening the interior onto the world at large.

From forward, the main cabin divisions are the bunk, salon and galley (under the raised pilot house).

Looking aft and port
Salon dinette, and galley counter and wetlocker/head on the right

Looking aft and starboard
Salon settee, and galley stove and workbench on the left

Looking forward and starboard
Galley stove, salon leanbank and s'brd bunk leanbank on the right

Looking forward and port
Galley counter, salon dinette, bunk platform and port leanbank on the left

The Bunk

The bunk itself is 6ft6in long by 6ft wide, with wall to wall storage, under, accessed by large platform/hatches. Port and starboard are two full length leanbank/lockers, and an approximately 2ft square window. The 'blank space' over the leanbanks and ahead of the windows will eventually become bookshelves.

Let the Wild Rumpus begin!

Salon

This word embarrasses me, actually... sounds so yottie! I'd call it a 'living room', but it seems no more so than the others. Now that Anke has (5ft8in) standing headroom, it's not even a 'sitting room'. So, in the interests of tradition and clear communication, 'salon' it shall be.

To port is a near 3ft wide dinette ('table') and seat/lockers which makes down into a generous bunk for one or a snug fit for two.

Windows above, the entire length
Note the cleats running around the gangway for platform

Opposite is a 6ft6in settee (see 'salon'... it's really a 'sofa' or 'couch') /locker, with a leanbank as per the bunk. The settee locker lid is hinged to a narrow flap... the lid can be slid inboard with the flap laid flat for a full, 2ft single bunk.

Settee... note hinged flap outboard of the seat

Lid slid inboard with flap down to make bunk

Not shown is a removable sole... normally this lies flat against the inside face of the hull. It can be raised to the cleats lining the gangway, and, with the dinette made down, the entire area becomes a single platform, contiguous with the bunk platform. Great for slumber parties or spread-out projects!


Galley

 The galley is the most complex space, and remains that with unfinished business.

To starboard and forward is a woodstove mounted in an alcove formed by an L-shaped woodbox. Wood can be added at the top and removed from the bottom. In winter, it holds about a week's worth of wood (at least for previous stoves with smaller fireboxes).

Starboard and aft is a 4ft x near 3ft workbench, with storage under (yet to be arranged). Anke's herb garden (she's got the green thumbs) will live on the workbench top, but can be moved for sun or convenience.

Stove to left with L-woodbox behind and under
Workbench to the right, with storage under

To port and forward is the dedicated galley area, with a 4ft x near 3ft counter, extended by a near 3ft x 2ft flip up counter (see below). Forward will be a double sink, with one basin inboard and the other outboard (these will be built from ply... the designer order a stainless sink too big to fit!). Under will be miscellaneous stowage for big, liquidy stuff (water, fermenting wine, gallons of vinegar and soap, etc.) with cunning storage as needed (the hinged flap is for skinny storage inboard of the sink... toothbrushes?).

Port and mid-galley is under-counter storage with a door closure. The door will have a rack of a dozen quart jars with various dry-goods. Low down is an open bin for large, seldom accessed pots and the like (canning pressure cooker and supplies, hand mill spares, ???... maybe some spuds, too). Over this will be a set of four drawers - two shallow, two deep, and 18in wide x 2ft6in long - to be divvied as seems fit.

Port and aft is the wet locker/head topped by a flip up counter. When horizontal, this extends the galley counter, when flipped vertical, it makes a wall for the 'head' (see Getting aHead for a full description).

Galley port side and gangway seen from forward

The gangway has an 8in raised sole, with room for quart jars under. Aft is the battery box, which also forms the first of three steps (incomplete). It extends from the inboard face of the hull 18in upwards (10in rise over the sole) x 2ft7in wide x 18in long. Should have plenty of room for the battery and electrical panels with room to spare for tools.

 *****

So there you have it... our humble home to be.

Getting aHead

By Jo Hudson
from the SEARUNNER Construction Manual by Jim Brown

Viewed objectively there is nothing more absurd than the usual sea-going toilet of the modern production yacht. What expense and engineering, what a profligate use of space and materials, what a baroque concoction of pipes and valves and pumps and skin fittings, what a sop to over-developed human sensitivities, all for the purpose of transferring a small amount of matter a distance of about twelve inches, from here on the inside of the hull, to there on the outside of the hull.

-- From Mingming and the Art of Minimal Ocean Sailing by Roger D. Taylor


Getting aHead

To date, Anke and I have never built an enclosed Head into one of our boats.

Our boats are small to begin with. Partitioning a chunk off for a room that's in use for a few scant albeit imperative minutes a day seems to needlessly cramp our style. The walls block the view (high crime, in our book) and crowd the remaining space.

Anke and I are mostly alone together, and quite comfortable with our nitty gritty. When friends come along... let's just say things are 'up close and personal'.

So a little more privacy would accommodate the sensitivities of our guests, not all of whom are as... um... earthy as others.

On the other hand, the one thing we've always longed for but never had was a Wet Locker; a place to let our raingear drip dry. Heads are traditionally not too bad for that purpose, though their ventilation is often wanting.

To that end we came up with the following:

Note the Head/Wet Locker at the lower, right (port, aft),
outboard of Companionway steps.

What we're looking at is a row of coat hooks along the wall, outboard of a section of flip up counter. This allows space for hanging outdoor gear, especially raingear, where it can drip harmlessly to a well-sealed floor.

The counter, when horizontal, extends the galley counter by (about) 3ft. It also doubles as the port, pilothouse seat, from which we can steer the boat under cover (workbench shares the same role, opposite).

When flipped vertical - hinged along its forward edge, it locks into position to form a partial wall. A curtain may be drawn across the inboard face, and voila! A semi-enclosed head!

It's not as isolated as the typical Head, but visual privacy is ensured. It's positioned under a pilothouse window, so ventilation is better than most. It's still a bucket affair, but a two bucket compost system isn't out-of-the-question. (Here's a great resource on DIY composting toilets from one of our readers).

Set-up and -down take but a matter of seconds, for those in haste.

So this has been a paper possibility for a couple of years, now, and I've been drawing them into Triloboat StudyPLANS. But if anyone's built one, I haven't heard... until now.

So here's a sneak preview of the as yet untried system, at the roughed-in stage. Stay tuned for trial and error to come!

Looking aft into to the portside Galley.
Head/Wet Locker aft.

Looking kitty-corner at Head/Wet Locker

Anke holding counter vertical...
will eventually have a barrel bolt into a small, partial wall outboard
(Mirror on the underside?)

Oh God!

  

Scrounged hinges...
installed 'upside down' to reduce gluteal hang-up
(the pronounced hinge curl could otherwise bite us in the A**
while sitting on counter)

Sitting Pretty
(and able to look out,, 360deg)

Search Keywords: head marine head nautical head head alcove tiny house bathroom compact bathroom

A Pictorial Review

Our Humble Laboratory

Curvy Bits: Nailers and Bulkhead Beams

Cheat Sheet... note bevel angles drawn along sides

Deadflat Plates ready to turn and join upright...
After the first one, they are flipped onto loose copper plates which are then
nudged into position and fastened in place.

End Sections... note transverse kerfs to ease bending.
We'll flip 'em, join 'em to the Deadflat and later add their 2nd course of
planking, underlayment and copper.

Lower S'brd Wall and first Bulkheads standing.

End piece about to get joined

All of our projects seem to attract a 'Ship's Cat'!

Three stages of retro-fit SIP (from left to right):
I'm adding the inboard layer of 1/4inch ply,
Middle layer of 2x XPS foam (blueboard),
Inboard face of 1/2in hull, with 2x framing.

As of yesterday... both walls on, Whiskey Plank in sight.
Note Port Wall before Doubler Plates...
1ft lower course visible below upper, 4ft course.
3/4in Doubler Plates (visible aft) provide protection
and act as a Butt Strap, joining the two courses.

Glued, Ply/Frame Construction

Sizing for the different situations around the boat.
We decided 1 3/4in nails over 1 1/2in for better bury.
3in spikes (left) are sized for mechanical assistance to glue.

Praise the Glue but pass the Fasteners!
- George Beuhler

Nail where you can; screw where you have to; bolt where you must.
 - Cap'n Pete Culler

5200
- Name of a DIY boat on the Port Townsend beach

Epoxii vincit omnias (epoxy conquers all).
- A boatbuilder friend's mantra


Glued, Ply/Frame Construction

Glue holds our boats together. Glue. Glue, glue, glue.

I have to keep reminding myself!

If one is to follow GB's advice, fasteners must be sized to function as if without glue. In other words, if the glue fails, the fasteners must take over. Completely. Otherwise we just wast money.

The problem is that both glue and fasteners are spendy items. For many of us, if we invest in one, there's less available for the other.

The holding power of simple, embedded fasteners is technically a function of surface area, but practically, it's linear, and proportional to the mass of the fastener and holding strength of the woods involved. Piddly, that is.

A 'clench', rivet or bolted fastener improves the situation immensely, but only so long as the metal of the shank remains substantially intact. Over time, even noble metals deteriorate, leaving 'icicles' to shoulder the burden. More shank diameter is expensive. Over the years, one of the most expensive refits is to 'refasten' a wooden vessel... something we've seen a lot of in other's boats.

One more consideration is that fasteners, of themselves, don't make a water tight joint. They require some mastic, gasket or caulking, none of which are known to be permanent.

Anke and I put our faith in glue.

The grip of glue on wood is proportional to area, a squared function vastly superior to mere linear ones. Glue's holding power is measured in PSI (Pounds per Square Inch), and modern glues are way the heck up there. With any appreciable area, standard fasteners' holding power is quickly dwarfed (same goes for lashings, BTW, multiplying turns for total tensile strength).

Tape and glue methods are the next logical choice. Unfortunately, resins are generally the only reasonable choice, and they are expensive, messy, and toxic. In addition, fillets and fabric take high volumes of glue, compared to films.

That leads us to quick and dirty, glued ply/frame construction. Frames provide gluing faces and material integrity for joining sheets into girders.

The goal in glued ply/frame design is to maximize the glue surface area, within reason, and complicate it, if possible (I'll get back to this).

The quality of the wood frame (now only supplying gluing surface) can be much lower than structural frames (such as a deck beam, which must support weight). All it has to do is hold together... it needn't be stiff, or hang on to its fasteners. Tight knot grades with high annular ring counts (mostly to resist rot) are fine.

Let's look at the chine logs, for instance - a 2x4, say, framing the hard, inside chine.We observe the following:

• The bottom/side connection is the highest stressed join in a box barge. We want this one to stand up to anything the sea, and some of what the shore, can throw at it.
  
• The 'weakest' face is the 2x face... the 4x face has nominally twice the holding power (a bit more, in fact). We might consider whether a 2x2 would be just as strong (is more than the weakest link a waste?), with half the material. Or should it be beefed up to a 4x4? [2x2 has worked for us up to 32ft LUNA].

• All joint rigidity is supplied by (ply) sheets joined into girder arrangements. Until this girder fails, the chine log itself is not substantially stressed. Once it's failed, the hull's come apart and the gig is up (we engineer to prevent this!).
  
• Complicating the joint adds glue surface AND mechanical strength to the joint. For this reason, Anke and I favor 'doubling plates' along the lower hull sides. These complicate the joint and 'double up' side thickness as anti-puncture insurance. Side impact above the bottom would have to 'peel' the doubling plate, as well as sheer the glue before failure.
  
• Fasteners do no harm and contribute mechanical strength, especially in sheer (across the join like a pair of scissors, aka shears). The copper plate helps distribute stress, as well. While we don't rely on either of these, they add a layer of security.

Section View of Bottom/Sides.
Note outboard doubler plate overlapping bottom...
... nearly doubles glue area and complicates joint from line to L.

So the role of fasteners - at least in terms of hull construction - is, for us, to provide clamping pressure until the glues set. Clamps are expensive and slow, and often very hard to arrange.

We prefer ringshank nails... they have holding power near that of screws but are much faster to drive. Because of copper plate, we use bronze to the top of the doubling plates, and stainless above. Stainless for relative economy.

(Hot Dip) Galvanized is an economical choice, but is more likely to cause problems down the line. Still, for a 'low road' boat, it's a big contender, and if it came down to a choice, I'd go galvanized and get out there!

The opening illustration shows how we size our fasteners. Everything's going into either 1x or 2x framing. Ply thicknesses vary by use.

Obviously, we don't want the fastener so long as to poke through. Reasonable bury is a good thing, but can be lower if used only for clamping/sheer support. Too much is expensive waste.

In our case, we had a choice between 1 1/2in and 1 3/4in nails for middle cases. Some were only clamping/sheer, but others could conceivably be called upon to resist pulling (acting in tension). Rather than order two varieties, we went with the longer ones.

One thing we try to do is keep the variety low. Each variety represents a chance to run short, while one fastener for several jobs means 'round-up' can be applied to the next job. Even if it costs a bit more per fastener, it tends to save in efficiency.

Glue is tougher. Manufacturers give coverage values (in square units), but whether it's applied a micron thicker or thinner makes a big difference (we're applying by eye, of course). We tend to round up quite a bit. Extra glue, if any, can usually be sold at the end of the project, or kept on for future maintenance.

Remember to count the gluing surface, not what's being joined. For example, hold up three fingers, representing three layers of ply. Count the spaces between them (two) to find the gluing surfaces, and multiply area accordingly. A bottom, say, made up of three layers would take two times the bottom surface area in glue... not one or three.

Anke and I are somewhat outside the pale, when it comes to glues. We use three kinds: 3M5200 for exterior hull joins (all around the permimeters); TiteBond III for faces wider than 2x, (non-structural) filleting, sealing, foam and bonding fabrics; Gorilla Glue for sheet lamination. This combination has worked well for us, and so far (knock on ply) we've never had a join fail.

But I've never run into ANYONE else doing something similar in cruiser-sized boats. Epoxy/polyester folks are happy with their choice, especially the tape 'n' glue crowd.

It's all good.




*****

When using fastetners, here's a cheap trick to multiply their holding power:

Angle every pair of fasteners slightly toward or away from the other. 

This means the force required to pull one is opposed by its partner.

Make sure the join is tight before driving, as any gap will be impossible to close. Often, you can walk a quick clamp down the line as you go, one set per pair of nails.

Virtual Boatbuilding

 

Puzzle Box

A goal without a plan is just a wish.
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry


Virtual Boatbuilding

To build for real, it helps to build in your mind, first.

Working out the order of construction in your head(s) influences your choices of materials, tools and infrastructure (sheds, jigs, power supply, etc.). It streamlines and coordinates effort, promoting efficiency. It keeps the horse ahead of the cart.

Believe me, we need all the help we can get!

Here's a general order for upright construction:

1. Set up the Worksite - Shed, workbench, building jig.
2. Build (and assemble) the Deadflat - This makes a large, flat work surface.
3. Build and frame the Bulkheads - We'd best know ahead-of-time how furniture will fit, down-the-road!
4. Build and frame the Sides - Let's say, full length.
   
5. Erect Bulkheads and Sides - Got an order pictured? A method??
6. Complete the Bottom Ends - Vague, very vague... a solid plan required here.
7. Build Furnishings, Room by Room - Line 'em up, knock 'em down.
8. Deck the Hull - With blows and pucky, falalalalaaaa, fala, la, la.
9. Build Superstructures - Trunk Cabins, Hatches, Tabernacles, etc..
10. Finish - Putty 'n paint, to make 'er what she ain't.
11. Detail Work - Handrails, Coamings, CapRails, Hardware.
12. Launch - What's your exit strategy?
13. Rig Aloft and Alow - Masts, Sails, Hardware aloft; Stove, Cushions, Bedding, etc., alow.
14. Liquidate your Land Assets - Worksite, and whatever else you can part with.
15. Sail over the Horizon - Bet we had this part in our heads from day one!

Straightforward, in many ways. The first six are those requiring the most thought. They're the big, heavy puzzle pieces that must all be made to fit together. After that, it's pretty much a down wind reach.

If short-handed, the Bottom and Sides can be built in a modular manner... this means in small, interlocking parts that can be positioned and assembled in manageable bits.

Finish can be a floating step, working as we go. 

One of our mentors would end each work day with an hour of painting. He'd mark off where he was going to be gluing one piece to the next with a heavy hand, pressing an indent line into the plywood surface. Then he'd paint outside these lines and a little bit over the line. Next day - paint dry - he'd assemble and glue, using the indents to position his work. 

By not deferring finish issues to the end, he was able to launch as soon as carpentry was complete. Taken in one go, Finish is a sizable and somewhat daunting task.

We've manage only a bit of this... it takes true organization, and a daily dedication to shop cleanliness that we have yet to achieve. But it's an option.

*****

A clear picture in our mind(s), and at least one, workable solution in hand for each problem is strongly recommended before our first cut. 

We can wing it, here and there, especially if there's no shortage of materials available, or if we have general experience with some particular aspect. But there's a danger in this... amazing how often some unlooked-for conflict will blindside us if we haven't pictured every detail.

Visualization aids - paper and pencil, mainly - are handy. I personally like a roll of butcher paper, and a block of quarter inch graph paper. There are a lot of balls to juggle, in boatbuilding. Cheat! Consider keeping a notebook of the latest and greatest solutions. What's fresh in the moment of victory may slip away in the next round.

One thing I find... when the elegant solution comes, you know it's right. If an approach feels awkward, keep at it... think out of the box... something will occur to you.

So this is what's been keeping me up nights. Ordering and reordering in my head. Copper Plate doesn't exactly simplify things.

But it's a winning battle!

Flush Hatches in DIY Ply

Looks like this when put together.

Most real sailors advise not to go barefoot. HA. Muh dawgs cain't breath! If it's warm and sunny, the clothes come off; and that means gumboots, too.

But I do hate stubbin' my toe, or worse, turning an ankle. And Anke and I love to sleep on deck, of a starry night. Hatches in the cockpit, mounted proud, are rain on our parade.

So, one day I was envying fiberglass and metal boat flush hatches out loud when it came to me! A plywood sub-deck is the key. Or at least a key.

Considerations include the following:

• The cantilevered trough/coaming structure is inherently weak... it needs considerable beef.
• The trough has to be wide enough for easy (and frequent) cleaning.
• The trough has to be deep enough to keep water from spilling over the coamings.
• A gap under the hatch lips allows debris to drain without binding.
• The hatch has to have enough room to be raised - angling up, over and leaned back along one edge.

In SLACKTIDE, we built a set, and - despite beginners' mistakes - they work very well, despite needing work on the first four points.

Downside is that these are relatively complex, especially with ply/foam/ply decks. They add considerable building time and material. But, given that we dislike footwells and want a big hatch for access to the main hold,  the results are worth it to us.

Shows the two main components;
Deck and Transom with on-edge framing, and the SubDeck Assembly
The larger opening is about 3ft6in square.

The on-edge framing provides most of the stiffness. The flat, SubDeck framing should be strongly joined (glued and fastened) into it, and it, in turn should be strongly joined to any structure available. A large hatch will need a bulkhead, mid-span, to add further support. We'll put ours under the gap between hatches.

Joinery is a matter of preference... hatch lips and coamings could be ship-lapped or dove-tailed, for example. We tend to just use simple overlaps, edge gluing and nailing. Fast, has never leaked, and if something bad happens to it, it's easy to repair. We'll fillet inside corners, in some cases, but not often.

Main thing to remember is that when two pieces meet, the uphill one should overlap the downhill one. Water is thus encouraged to flow by the joint. If ship-lapping, the lowest laps follow this rule.

To tell the truth, that 1/4in ply SubDeck is mainly a contiguous membrane to cover our lazy joinery at the bottom of the trough. If you're a real boatwright, you can approach the trough/coamings in a number of more elegant ways.

One bit not shown... the end of the trough tends to dribble down the transom, meaning we have to 'wipe our beehinds' often. We've been meaning to fit some copper (flashing) to form a small spout out clear of the transom.

This aft draining hatch isn't totally necessary - the usual thing is to use a drain hose. But they are a pain when they clog. If you do use one, consider a straight shot of tubing that can be poked clear with a rod (1/4in all-thread works as well as anything's going to... the threads help grab obstructions).

If built right, you probably won't need a gasket for inshore sailing. But it doesn't hurt. We like to mount them on the underside of the Hatch itself, so that it will press down on the coamings. Neoprene works best, but closed-cell weather stripping is cheap and easily replaced. If you can find an old wetsuit, they work great.

So there ya have it... if you end up sleeping out on one of these... sweet dreams!

Rethinking the Rig

Our first shot at SJR Ketch...
Looks good, but doesn't feel right

Second thoughts are ever wiser.
- Euripedes

Rethinking the Rig

In a previous post (Rig o' Morale), we introduced a variation on Slieve McGallister's SJR (Split Junk Rig), and the above ketch sailplan.

But a few points have been gnawing at me:

The mizzen (after sail) is most valuable to us as a maneuvering/weathercocking sail. Efficiency is welcome, of course, but not a prime consideration.

To leave anchor, for example, we raise mizzen, haul anchor, drift back on backed rudder and back mizzen to fall off reliably on our preferred tack, then raise main and sail off. No muss, no fuss, even with dangers close at hand. For sailing backward, again, we're backing sail and steering with rudder reversed. Occasionally, we'll leave the mizzen standing for a riding sail. We'll often drop the foresail, haul the mizzen close and drift, bow into wind of virtually any strength. This stops our headway, and eases motion for such chores as bailing the dory.

For each of these tasks, SLACKTIDE's flat-cut, low-lift, high drag mizzen has been perfect. Picturing these maneuvers with an extremely high-lift sail, with a large balance (area forward of the mast), jiblets cut full with a loose leech... well, it gives me pause. The high-lift can kick in abruptly, turning a backed sail into a driving one... a willawaw in close quarters could get tense. The large balance moves the mizzen's CE forward, reducing its positive effect aft. The jiblets are likely to flog in irons, which is hard on the sail and nerves... no problem for normal sailing, but... well... we're not normal!

If we want, therefore to go back to a good ol' unsplit, flat-cut mizzen, it reduces the balance by about 4ft, vacating considerable 'airspace' over the hull. Our sailplan is already snug, partly to avoid micro-burst surprises, and also as we don't like to handle very tall/heavy masts. So we want to fill that gap, at least to some extent.

Schooner rig (main mast at the forward end of the pilothouse) would do the trick, but the less efficient, after sail would be far bigger than it needs to be for our needs, and a relatively expensive tabernacle is required to deck-step the tall, free-standing mast. Also, the sheets sweep the cockpit (doable, but annoying), and we'd then want a driver (transom mounted sail) to improve balance, induce weather helm and take over maneuvering (more gear/handling/maintenance/expense). So we'll stick with ketch.

How to close the gap?

First way is to grow the mains'l, extending the battens from 18ft to 20ft. This is as long as one can get commercial lumber, in our parts. We generally prefer shorter battens for higher sail aspect ratio on a given height and less weather helm. But with this design's long mid-deck, we'll make the stretch.

Second, we'll reduce the mains'l balance to 25%. Slieve's first sail set in this proportion. He felt that more, up to 35% would improve performance (subsequent experiments confirmed this), and handling by reducing sheet stress. But even at 25%, the rig performed and handled well. We'll be rigging six part sheets, which will easily handle any extra sheet stress.

Another consideration is that our favored sailcloth comes in 60in width (5ft). At 25% balance, the jiblets can be made from one swathe, while the body can be made from three. Material efficiency!

 As a trade-off, this arrangement sounds reasonable to us.

The result now looks like this:

Note the mizzen slot is gone.

Since these changes, I'm breathing easier. That tight feeling I've gotten - trying to picture our first sailplan in an emergency exit, after dark in rising wind - it's gone away. Confidence is high. Without realizing it, that SJR in the aft position had been working at me.

Funny thing with design. We doesn't always know exactly what we want, or why. Things feel right, or not, and it may take a while to figure out why or why not. But it's almost always worth the effort.

And changing our minds on paper is cheap!

The Dark Side of DIY

Harboring a Drudge

I gave ya one,I gave ya two
The best that rotten ol' boat would do
Ya won't be happy til I've given' ya three
But I'll be damned if you'll get me!
From The Ways of Man by Gordon Bok


The Dark Side of DIY

I once took a battery of aptitude tests for a range of 'skills'. I confident and capable with all of these (pretty rudimentary). And being good at multiple-guess, I was breezing my way through. 

But then I came up against this one section...

Oh, I was competent, but that was the problem. So I have to admit that I cheated.

Here's the deal. I had little control over where I would eventually be assigned; I would be stuck where a) I showed 'competence' and b) they needed me.  If I scored equally well across the board, it stood to reason, that I could end up in any field in which they had a short-fall.

Here's what the aptitude test looked like:

OOCOOCOOOCOOOOOCOOOCOOOOCOCOOOOOOOCOOOCOOOOOCOCOOOOCOOOOCOO

A whole page of this! In each line, they wanted to know how many C's - a) 12, b)13, c)14 or d)15? Please mark clearly with a number 2 pencil.

My sight purpled with a vision of spending years of my life in a windowless cubicle, doing whatever task for which that aptitude would recommend me. 

The thing is, I'm good at this sort of masochistic detail, but I loathe it!

So I fudged every third-ish answer by one, one way or the other, praying that I was being random enough to evade detection. The final scores showed a satisfying dip at that aptitude... clearly, detail was by far my worst feature.

Now what, you might ask, has this got to do with boat-building?

Well... we're going to be building remote. We'll have a shot at one - maybe two - deliveries in the course of the project. Every sheet, piece of wood, stick, foamboard, nail, glop of glue, smear of paint - not to mention tools, gloves, brushes, trowels, spreaders - not to mention shed materials, generator, fuel - not to mention our daily bread (by which we do not live alone) - all this and more, more, more needs to be counted, recounted, shopped for (on-line), ordered and transportation arranged.

Design is fun. Building is fun. Sailing is outrageously fun.

But did I mention that I loathe counting it all up???