The Early Bird

Velcro Beach
No LL

Yesterday a bunch of dangerous thunderstorms and potential tornadoes passed by. One went 10 miles north of here and another 10 miles south of here. That seems to happen frequently. Vero seems to be a little island of tranquility on stormy days. (Knock on wood.)

This morning the weather is splendid. I'll put on another coat of paint on the boomkin parts.

The splendid weather is supposed to continue into tomorrow. That means the space shuttle pre-dawn launch scheduled for 04:39 tomorrow should be a go and it should be spectacular. I'd like to row the dinghy over to the beach and watch it from there. Libby too would like to see it. She also frequently mentions how magical it is to row a boat in the dark and calm of night. We'll see how much enthusiasm remains when I try to wake her at 03:30 tomorrow.

The Boomkin Project

Velcro Beach
No LL

What the heck is a boomkin? That question stumps many experienced sailors. That is because very few sailboats have boomkins. W32s do.

The boomkin is an extension that allows the backstay to be connected behind the stern. It is the stern equivalent of the bowsprit which allows the forestay to be attached forward of the bow. Both are intended to allow larger sails than could otherwise fit.

The boomkin and the bowsprit are structurally critical pieces. If either breaks while under sail, dismasting may result. We have heard of both cases on W32. Morning Mist, a boat we look at in 2005, had been dismasted when her boomkin broke. Pygmalion broke her boomkin last year in San Fransisco bay, but captain Jay lowered the sail quick enough to save the mast.

For several years, I've been varnishing the boomkin every year, but each year it becomes worse. The bottom level of varnish separated letting water in. Water causes rot and rot causes weakness and that can lead to broken boomkins. This year I resolved to repair it thoroughly.

The obstacle to boomkin repair is complexity. Removing the boomkin means taking off the backstay, the monitor, the stern pulpit, and solar panel. That's a major job, especially while the boat is in the water. After much thought, I found an easier, albeit longer, method. The boomkin has two pieces, port and starboard. My solution was to remove and repair only one side at a time. Even that wasn't easy. It took half a day to remove one side, and half a day to put it back.

Once removed, I used a blowtorch and paint stripper, and sandpaper, to strip the pieces down to bare wood. Then I painted on a coat of epoxy resin to encapsulate the wood and to protect it from water. On top of that I put four coats of marine white enamel paint. I hope the paint will last longer and do a better job of UV protection than varnish.

The whole project is taking much longer than I thought because of rainy weather. I can't paint on rainy days, and recently we had rain on part of almost every day. It has been 3 weeks since I started, and I have 1 week to go.

p.s. I'm also doing the same epoxy resin and paint job on the bowsprit, but without removing it.

p.p.s. I usually don't endorse products in this blog but I'll make an exception. Up to now, I've been using Interlux and/or Petit brand topside paints. I've had nothing but trouble both with adherence and with abrasion resistance. I also hate the sky high prices. West Marine charges $45 per quart for topside paint. Acting on a tip from Peter here in Vero, this time I went to Lowes hardware store. They carry Rustoleum brand marine paints. Their topside enamel paint is only $12 per quart. So far, it spreads and covers much better than the Interlux or Petit brands. It is excellent paint. I'll have to wait a year or more to report on its durability.

Close up of the starboard boomkin. Note the flaws in the varnish. Also note all the hardware mounted on the boomkin.

Working on the boomkin project. Most of the work had to be done from the dinghy. I only dropped one washer and one screwdriver in the water so far (better than average).

Water

Vero Beach, FL

No LL

Every morning at dawn, Libby goes down to the river. There she bathes and washes the clothes by beating them on the rocks. On the return trip she carries the day's fresh water in a big pottery jar balanced on her head.

Whoops, got carried away there. That's not how we live. It is something I read in National Geographic Magazine. On the other hand, the way we really do live may seem primitive to you.

We carry about 75 gallons of fresh water onboard. With that, we can go for 30-60 days depending on how careful we are. The main choice is to use fresh water or salt water to wash the dishes. In places like Vero, we use fresh water. In the Bahamas we use salt water.

When our water is exhausted, I have to go and fetch more water. No I don't have a pottery jug, but I do have several 5 gallon plastic jerry jugs. It takes 15 jugs full to fill up if we're completely empty. Our water tanks are under the floor in the main cabin. Each jug must be lifted up on deck then lowered into the main cabin. The chore of fetching the water and filling the tanks takes 1 to 3 hours, depending on how far I have to travel in the dinghy to find the water.

In the Bahamas, water is expensive ($0.50/gallon) and low quality. We try to bring all the water we need before going there. An onboard water maker would be nice, but they're too expensive for us.

In places like Vero and Marathon, I fill the jugs at the marina. It takes a lot of trips to fill so many jugs. When we're on the go on the East Coast, we generally fill the water tanks at the same time we buy diesel fuel. That eliminates the fetching chore. When we stay at a slip in a marina we also fill the water tanks.

We use foot pumps to pump fresh water in the galley and in the head. We have no running water and no hot water onboard Tarwathie. If we did have running water, our use would double or triple simply because one wastes more. Libby misses having hot water, but that's not very practical for Tarwathie. Therefore, to wash dishes we heat up a pan of water on the stove.

We do laundry at coin laundromats. Libby knows, by memory, the location of every reachable laundromat on the USA East Coast. We can go for a week before needing a wash. In a pinch, we can stretch double that time at the expense of personal hygiene. On the ICW we are often forced to pay $50 to $100 for an overnight stay at a marina just to do laundry. We hate that. If we had a bigger boat, we could keep two week's worth of clothes on board and thus halve the frequency of laundromat runs.

Laundry by hand? With or without boulders in the river, we've never done that. In Europe, I used to wash my underwear in the bathroom sink of my hotel rooms, then hang them to dry on the little clothes-lines they supply. I hated that.

Those who cross oceans on sailboats refer to laundry as "our dirty little secret" There are no laundromats and fresh water is too precious to use for laundry. I've read that some cruisers wait for a rain storm, then they plug up the cockpit drains, throw all their dirty clothes out there, and dance naked while stomping on them. Sounds like a naked Lucy Ricardo. The more common and simple solution is seldom discussed. It is to become nudist for the duration of the passage.

Showers? I'll address that another day.

Vero Scenes

Vero Beach, Fl
No LL

That melodica is my new onboard musical toy. It's small and non-electric. I love it. I'm gradually remembering all the songs I learned to play on an accordion 45 years ago. It's amazing how durable musical memory can be. Here I play a little jig while Libby obliges by dancing the jig.

We spent a very nice evening at the free bluegrass concert with our friends Stephan, Lori and Charlie.

Wonder which way the wind blows? These little guys on the beach at Vero leave you with little doubt.

That marvelous tree, or cluster of trees is not a banyan. It is a magnificent rubber tree. According to the owner, it was almost completely destroyed in the hurricanes of 2004, but within 4 years it recovered completely.

The neighborhood between the marina and the beach is marvelous. The houses are 30-50 years old and their landscaping and gardens are breathtaking. We love just walking up and down those streets admiring the horticulture.

Comfort Onboard

Vero Beach, FL

No LL

Recently we were invited aboard several other boats here in Vero. Most of these boats are considerably bigger and more expensive than Tarwathie. Nevertheless, we felt crowded and claustrophobic onboard. Libby and I agreed that we would have a hard time living aboard some of those boats indefinitely. They wouldn’t be comfortable enough.

Recently, I wrote about Tarwathie’s cabin arrangement. No doubt, skillful yacht design enables feelings of comfort. Today, rather than yacht design, I’d like to talk about the human needs for comfort onboard a boat.

Volume light and air: If you are confined in too small a volume, it feels claustrophobic, and claustrophobia is a very unsettling feeling. Last week we had dinner onboard a boat similar in size to Tarwathie but with a main cabin only about 60% as big in volume. It felt very claustrophobic. Plentiful natural light and air circulation act to mitigate feelings of claustrophobia.

Places to stand, sit, lounge, and pace: Some of our earlier sailboats didn’t have full standing headroom. They would be intolerable for living aboard. The tallest person needs to be able to stand erect and stretch without bumping his or her head. There also needs to be places to sit, and to lounge. In my book, lounging means sitting as in a recliner chair with one’s feet elevated. On Tarwathie, Libby and I can both lounge simultaneously and in comfort. That’s critical. Neither one of us has ever felt particularly comfortable lounging in bed.

I’m also personally addicted to pacing. When I worry or when I’m thinking I really need to pace. I don’t need much room, I used to pace in an office cubicle. Tarwathie offers me more pacing space that my cubicle ever did.

Freedom from clutter: An all too common mistake onboard boats is to allow every horizontal surface to become covered with clutter (i.e. small objects). That robs those spaces of their multi-use capability, and it adds to the feeling of claustrophobia. Seeming to understand that instinctively, Libby and I always keep Tarwathie more clutter free than any of the houses or offices that we ever owned. It’s important.

Freedom to act independently: At various times of day, we lounge, or cook, or read, or use the computer, or work at crafts, and sometimes just stare out the windows. There is enough room in our cabin for each of us to choose what to do without coordinating the activity with the other. It's a matter of personal space, and lack of personal space would likely erode a couple's relationship rapidly.

Nice sleeping space: The sleeping arrangements must be comfortable for both parties. Surprisingly, we find that claustrophobia is not a factor when sleeping but that the thickness of cushions is. We sleep with the ceiling only inches above our heads leaving no room to sit up. That doesn’t seem to matter. Horizontally, there’s no room to lie without cuddling. We can’t sleep with each person on his/her own side. That suits us fine. On the other hand, on our first year we enhanced our cushions with a springy underlayment (more about that another day). That made it much more comfortable to sleep on. It’s important.

Something we lack is comfort in the cockpit. We almost never hang around in our cockpit except when under way. It would be a great enhancement to have a better cockpit, but the deficiency doesn’t seem to bother us greatly.

Ease of going ashore: Unless we are under way, we spend a significant part of every day ashore. If there was anything that made it difficult or inconvenient to get ashore, that would be a big deal.

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Obviously, comfort is a matter of personal choice. What works for us may not work for everyone. Nevertheless, I suspect that our needs are pretty ordinary if not unique.