Fixing the Centerboard

After quite a long writing break, I thought it would be good to catch up on the blog a little.  The biggest bit of news is that I finally resolved Solitude III's stuck centerboard.  

A centerboard that goes down is a sight for sore eyes!

It was an issue that plagued me for well over a year and a half.  It started after a weekend cruise, when I noticed that the centerboard seemed to drop a little less freely than before.  Things slowly worsened, and soon I was needing to open the inspection ports and push the board down using the hand of a pair of channel locks.  It kept taking more and more force until, on day, it would not go down.

My first suspicion was that there was some flotsam jamming the board, but on inspection, I could find none. One day I dropped the boat into the water, pulled out all the ballast, secured a line to the masthead and hauled her over onto her side. I then waded into the water and set to work. Between prying with a screwdriver and applying excessive force, I managed to get the board ALL the way down. The was a little bit of seaweed and the like on the board and in the trunk, but nothing major. I cleaned it as best I could. I then tried running the board back in. Still very, very jammed. 

After eliminating lodged debris as a cause for my centerboard woes, I determined that there had to be  some water intrusion that was causing swelling.   The question was whether it was on the centerboard side or the trunk side.  It was getting toward the end season, so I parked the boat jacked it up slightly off the trailer and let it spend the next five months out of the water, airing out. 

After quite some time, I launched the boat and tried it again.  Still stuck.  From there, between the discouragement of having a stuck centerboard and having a total lack of time to actually make progress, things bogged down.

Careen-at-the-Dock

Finally, I got serious.  I built a new centerboard, and re-careened the boat.  Out came the old board, in went the new.  Except it didn't.  Stuck.  This time I came armed with diagnostic tools, namely a few sticks of varying thickness from less that 3/4 inch (the thickness of the centerboard) up to 1 inch (the original width of the trunk).  I probed carefully and determined that the wood at the bottom of the centerboard trunk had swollen.

The root cause of the problem was that, in my rush to finish the boat, I sanded through the epoxy/fiberglass in the neighborhood of the centerboard slot and didn't reseal it. The breach in the epoxy was just at the bottom of the keel, so water was getting lapped up via the "endgrain" edge of the plywood. The one "for sure" spot that I found was about `at the midpoint of the centerboard slot lengthwise, and actually on the outboard edge of the keel. I have been known to be a flagrant violator of maxims such as "always keep your sander flat against the surface" and "don't use a power sander on edges," and in this case, I was roundly punished for my transgressions.

After consultation with John Harris, I decided to strip the paint in the area, apply liberal doses of epoxy to seal it, repaint, and replace the centerboard with a 1/2" one covered with two layers of 'glass.  In addition to patching and resealing the one clearly obvious spot, I also overreacted and hit everything within 2" of the centerboard slot (around the keel, and yes, up into the slot) with several coats of epoxy.

You don't want to do this to your boat if you can avoid it.

For the resealing of the slot, I was able to jack the boat up off the trailer far enough to gain access. I used the careen-at-the-dock procedure to get access to the board for installation and removal.

After I got her back together, re-rigged, and in the water last night, I raised and lowered the board.  Smooth as could be.  I took her out for a brief test cruise, but the wind forgot to show up. It wasn't until a week later that I had another chance to go sailing.  The trip took me across from Coupeville to Port Townsend to sail by the Wooden Boat Festival (which I had not registered for, since I did not know I'd have an operational boat in time), but that's a story for another time.

Under Sail Again!

PocketShip #1 at the 2016 Wooden Boat Festival

It's been a while since I last posted, and there are quite a few things to catch up on, the major one being that Solitude III's centerboard woes have been rectified and sailing is once again a wonderful possibility.  When I get a chance, I will try to post some updates about what's gone on there. 

In the meantime, I got Solitude over to the Wooden Boat Festival in Port Townsend for the first time in a few years.  PocketShip #1 was also there, and we managed a brief sail together, with the Geoff Kerr at the helm of ol' #1.  Sailing in company with PocketShip gave me the opportunity to really see her up close and in action.  Seeing her from that perspective renewed my appreciation for her graceful lines.   And sailing side-by-side within easy speaking distance, feeling the wind motivate Solitude forward, and seeing PocketShip gleefully surge forward under the same gust, reminded me of just how sweetly these boats sail. 

 

Here are a few photos of PocketShip from Solitude:

Centerboardless Sailing

A Taste of Heaven

Recently, many questions have been coming in from various quarters about the status of Solitude's centerboard.  So, after a lengthy period of silence about the issue, it is time for an update.  In short, the status can be summed up in two words: still stuck.

It it not totally for a lack of trying, though resolving the issue hasn't received a lot of effort due to competing priorities.  I had a go at trying to dry out the centerboard and trunk over the summer, in hopes that the suspected swelling would go down.  But, it was to no avail.  On the bright side, it did lead to my one voyage under sail this year.  When I dunked the boat to judge the efficacy of my drying efforts, I also was able to take her out for a short cruise downriver.  After turning around, I found that the wind was favorable for running back up river.  Unfurled became the jib, and carried on the wings of the wind was I.  It was short, but blissful.

So, now, I am resolved to build a new centerboard, and see what happens.  I have the new board cut out and read for lead, shaping and fiberglass.  Stay tuned.

A new centerboard.

Unchain My Heart (Or At Least My Centerboard)

To quote Dr. Henry Jones, Sr., "this is intolerable."  With the days getting longer and the weather turning finer, being precluded from sailing by Solitude III's jammed centerboard is becoming increasingly annoying.  Thus, fixing this problem has scaled my priority list with astounding alacrity.

I made my first attempt to fix the centerboard just over a week ago.  My goal was to check for any debris that might be jamming the board.  My original plan had been to careen the boat, and thinking it through all winter, I couldn't come up with a better idea.  But then, just a few days before I was ready to make my attempt, I realized that maybe I could get sufficient access just by heeling the boat over dockside.

Solitude III with all or her ballast and gear removed.

So, I dropped the boat into the water, pulled out the internal ballast, anchor, and other gear, secured a line to the masthead and hauled her over onto her side. I figured that with the 200 lbs of internal ballast removed,  I would be able to get to boat on to her side without any additional tackle.  Well, I was wrong, and that 100lbs of ballast cast into her keel kept her on her feet.  Fortunately, while I was struggling, a nice couple came by and lent a hand.  Soon, we had a 2:1 tackle rigged and between the three of us, got the boat heeled over to where her portlights just kissed the water.  The bottom of the centerboard trunk was still about 2" under water, but it was close enough.

In the end, she was actually heeled over a little more. 

With the boat on here side, I waded into the water and set to work. Between prying with a screwdriver and applying excessive force, I managed to get the board all the way down. The was a little bit of seaweed and the like on the board and in the trunk, but nothing major. I cleaned it as best I could. I then tried running the board back in. Still stuck. In fact, it was a pretty big struggle to get the board all the way back in the trunk.  Well, that was enough for one day.

The sticky centerboard is visible just beneath the water's surface

In my mind, I've eliminated lodged debris as a cause for my centerboard woes. So, it's likely that there was some water intrusion into either the centerboard or the centerboard trunk that caused the wood to swell.  I didn't really investigate it closely enough at the time, so I don't know whether it's on the board side of the hull side, though on reflection, I'm leaning toward the latter. If it was the board, I would have expected that spending a 5 months out of the water would have dried it out a little. On the other hand, the bottom of the centerboard trunk sits in direct contact with the keel trough on the trailer. Despite the cover on the boat, I can easily see the carpeting on the keel trough being continually damp throughout a rainy Pacific Northwest winter, and (assuming the not-unlikely scenario that the epoxy got sanded through somewhere around the centerboard trunk opening) water wicking up and into the sides of the centerboard trunk.

As far as next steps go, I'm planning on trying to get some ventilation going in the centerboard trunk and see if that helps.  I will then dunk the boat again and (unless the problem has magically gone away), do some more careful measuring and diagnosis.   More to come.

Back in the Water

The past few months have been rather soggy around here, but in the last week or so we've started to get a dose of seasonable weather. Thus, it was only a matter of time before Solitude III again took to local waters for an after-work sunset cruise. 

I had planned on working on unjamming my centerboard over the winter, but have not yet actually done so.  I was hoping that maybe something had mysteriously changed, or that with a little persistence I could get the board down, but alas, it wasn't to be.  That slab of plywood, that creator of lateral resistance, that enabler of upwind sailing, exerted all of its stubborn will to remain in the full upright and locked position.

I wasn't going to let this ruin my day, though, no sir!  I have no need to be purely a purist.  A sailor's biases against the dread gasoline beast hindered me not from harnessing its propulsive might to get me away from shore.  Happily did the little noisemaker purr as I left the dock, steadily did it chug as I turned my bow down-river, bucking the 3 knot current created by a monster incoming tide, dutifully did it push, as I entered the golden waters of the Sound and headed into the sun. 

I had no particular destination, but rather a plan to get as far from the shore as possible before my turnaround time.  The seas were calm, the air was warm, and the sky bright and graced with wispy clouds.  Onward I went, no, onward we went, Solitude and I.  But we were not alone for long.  Just as it was time to turn around, I heard a sound, distinct and instantly recognizable...the breathe of a whale.   I spun my head around and caught sight of the great mist of water that had been sent skyward by the whale's exhalation drifting slowly back to the surface.  Then another, and another.  I found myself in the midst of a pod of gray whales, apparently tempted away from feeding around Hat Island by tastier morsels in the vicinity of the mouth of the Snohomish.  For a while, I just took it in, as the whales surfaced and dove around me, each time spouting a column of water skyward as they came to the surface, and occasionally displaying their magnificent flukes as they headed for the depths.

Too soon, I had to leave and return to terra firma.  It was a good start to the season.

PocketShip Community

One amazing thing about the PocketShip design is the number of builders who have chosen to write about their building experiences.  Indeed, looking through my list, I count at least 19 PocketShip blogs and online photo galleries, not counting the handful of threads on pocketship.net where people regularly posted their progress.  I haven't heard a recent estimate from John Harris about the number of PocketShips in existence or under construction.  A couple of years ago, the number was around 50.  Let's say that's doubled to 100.  That means almost 20% of all PocketShip builders blog about their experience! 

PocketShips Naoned, Tattoo, and PocketShip #1
(photo courtesy of Pascal, via pocketship.net)

In addition to sharing the story of their experiences building this boat, these blogs serve as a valuable resource for other builders.  Stuck?  Check out the blogs and see how others dealt with your problem.  Need inspiration?  Check out the blogs for photos of completed boats (or check out the new PocketShip photo gallery on pocketship.net.)  Need an easier way to do some particularly onerous task?  Check out the blogs, maybe somebody figured something out.  Looking to poach some cool ideas to customize your boat?  Check out the blogs and steal liberally!

Maybe I'm a boat nerd, maybe I'm a PocketShip aficionado, but I try to keep up with all the PocketShip blogs.  I think its fun!  It is interesting to see how others approach building their boat, what challenges them, how they face their challenges, and what they think about their building experiences.  It also makes you feel a sense of community, in that we are united by the common experience for building this boat.  That's pretty cool.

Living Dreams

Just over three years ago, I set out to build a small sailboat, and also endeavoured to record the ensuing events, thoughts, emotions, and experiences in this blog.  This marks the 100th post in this blog.  As such, it seems an appropriate time to take a retrospective at all of the events chronicled so far...

Dreaming

Let's talk for a moment about dreams, for why do people build and own small pleasure craft if not to satisfy some sort of dream?  For some it is the dream of building something, something beautiful, something useful, something physical and real.  They are in it to participate in the joy of creation.  Others dream of the places they'll go, the days spent thrashing upwind, spray flying, and the cool nights in a quiet anchorage.   They dream of sailing back in time, enjoying discovering new lands and seeing new things, voyaging where others seldom go.  They look forward to a future of anachronistic adventure.

For me, it was both.  The call of creation surely beckoned.  My being yearned for the primordial joy of losing one's self in the most basic of human arts, using one's hands to turn raw materials into something useful.  This alone would be motivation enough for a project like this.

Yet, there was more.  Reinforcing that motivation, and sometimes even overwhelming it, was the desire to live out the dreams of simple times on the water.  Close your eyes!  Just think! Imagine sailing into port on a summer evening, sun dipping down toward the horizon, a warm, gentle breeze caressing the skin and filling the sails.  Imagine a blustery autumn day, the oranges of land, the sky still blue despite clouds rolling in ahead of the coming storm, the steely grey of the water, punctuated by whitecaps, the thrill as your doughty vessel plunges forward, undaunted. Imagine swaying peacefully at anchor, experiencing quiet and peace, perfect and still, reclining in the cockpit, gazing up from at a million stars that you never existed.   The soul is stirred!

If you have to ask why to build a small wooden boat, you will probably never understand.

 

Reflections on Creation

 

So, animated by dreams, I set out to build a small sailboat.  The boat of choice was a design called PocketShip, penned by John C. Harris.  He designed PocketShip not for a customer, but to be his personal boat, a boat to meet his needs and wants.  It turned out that this manifestation of its designer's dream spoke to the dreams of others as well.  The reaction of others to this design was so great, that John Harris made it commercially available through his company, Chesapeake Light Craft.

A CNC-cut kit is available for this boat from Chesapeake Light Craft, but I eschewed in favor of building from plans.  As another PocketShip builder wrote, "I couldn't really tell people I built my own sailboat if someone else cut out all the parts."  If that sounds a little prideful, it is.  Building from a kit requires 95% of the time and 99% of the skill that building from plans does.  But, for me, there was an emotional need to start from scratch.

I first took pencil to plywood in early November, 2010, laying out the shapes that would define this thing that I was creating.  Two weeks later, those shapes began to emerge from the sheets of plywood.  The result was a collection of strange geometric figures that would have been at home hanging from the walls of a gallery in the Museum of Modern Art.

Soon, epoxy started to flow, welding these elements more and more complex compounds.  Sheets of plywood became a centerboard trunk, basically a glorified box.  More wood was added and that glorified box became a keel, still more two dimensional than anything.  Still more wood and that two dimensional keel became a three dimensional shape, a shape clearly recognizable as the hull of a boat.

Wood was added, epoxy and fiberglass applied, and everything was sanded smooth.  More wood, more epoxy, more sanding.  Over and over, wood, epoxy, sanding.  And each time, things became more real, more finished.

That is not to say that it was one, easy, uninterrupted process.  Errors were made and solutions had to be found.  Motivation had to be maintained when the appearance of progress was scarce and the resulting gratification lacking.  And then there was the time everything ground to a halt because of fear.  Fear that the boat that was taking shape would not live up to the dream.

For me, it was the big epoxy fillets that hold the boat together.  These are not just an important part of the structure of the boat, but they are also exceedingly visible in the cabin of the boat.  And I had a vision of them being perfect.  Perfect.  I wanted people to gaze upon them in awe.  I wanted superlatives heaped upon my handwork.  And yet, when I looked at the work that I had done, I didn't see the perfection I was looking for.  So, I tried to correct it.  After several perfunctory efforts at sanding them into perfection, I became disheartened.  And afraid.  Afraid that I could never bring my work up to snuff.  Afraid that the dream could not be translated into reality.  In my despair, I found myself working on the boat less and less, until, finally, all work stopped.  For months.

The dark lines are the fillets that "weren't good enough"

Salvation finally came in the form of the 2011 Wooden Boat Festival in
Port Townsend.  There my eyes were opened.  I saw fillets.  Real life fillets.  Fillets by professional builders.  Fillets on display boats.  And they weren't any better than mine.  Reality smashed my illusions of perfection, and allowed me accept my work for what it was.  Good enough.

Dreams are just that, fantastical imaginings of a nonexistent reality.  There are no flaws in dreams, a fact which must be recognized when translating dreams to reality, for reality has imperfections.  Those imperfections must be embraced, for the disillusionment resulting from maintaining an impossible standard of perfection will surely kill any dream, any joy, any love.  Flaws will exist, disillusion will be experienced, and it is ok.  You have to make the decision to look past the flaws, to choose to love both the good and the bad.  And you move on.

And move on I did.  The cabin got fiberglass, a sole, and a coat of paint.  The decks went on.  The topsides were stitched and glued.  Piece by piece, the final form of the boat emerged.  Soon, the boat itself emerged from the garage, briefly, only to be flipped over and immediately put back in.  More fiberglass, more epoxy, more sanding, a blues song or two, some paint, and again the boat went into the sunlight, and again it was flipped over and returned to the nest for more of the same.  The next time she emerged, it was for real.  After a brief flurry of rigging action, the boat was ready to fulfil her raison d'etre.  To be a vessel of the sea.

A Dream Being Fulfilled

The act of launching Solitude III on September 4th, 2012. had all the trappings of a dream fulfilled.  Construction of this vessel was complete and I was sailing on her.  Yet, really, launching the boat was just a milestone.  The adventures just started; the dreams are still being fulfilled.

Solitude III has been in the water over a year now, and oh, the places we've gone.  Those dreams of sailing adventures the help fuel the building process are coming true.  There have been early morning sails, after-work excursions, all-day adventures, and sunset cruises.  There have been solo adventures and trips with friends and family. 

So far, sailing has been confined to waters near home, though that has not limited the the adventure.  From the vantage point of a small boat, you see the water from different, more intimate perspective, and allows one to see familiar sights with new eyes and with new wonder.

  
And that's not the end of the story.  The voyages and the adventures have just begun.  The dreaming continues.

Timeline of Major Events (So Far...)

2010
20 September - Ordered the PocketShip plans
12 November - Construction begins.  Bought plywood and started laying out the parts
25 November - Cut out first parts.  Very first part was the doubler for the cockpit storage locker.

2011
19 April - Keel laid.
13 May - Hull stitched
26 June - Hull glued
July-September - Afraid of sanding
October - Interior fiberglassed

2012
January - Decks installed, topsides stitched.
May - Topsides complete and fiberglassed. Rubrails installed
June - Mast constructed
July - Boat flipped.  Hull 'glassed.  #1 hit song, "Boatsanding Blues" released to international critical acclaim.
August - Hull painted bright red.  Boat flipped upright again.
30 August - 2nd-tolast coat of topcoat on upper hull.  Trailer purchased.
31 August - Painting complete.  Transom and rubrail varnishing complete.  Boat licensed
1 September - Keel box built for trailer.  Installed grab rails, drop board retainers and bow eye.
2 September - Installed lots of hardware
3 September - Boat onto trailer.  Spars installed.  Standing and running rigging setup
4 September - Boat completed!  Maiden Voyage!!!!!!!!!!
5 September - Day of rest.
6-9 September - Wooden Boat Festival in Port Townsend
December - Voyage to Langley

2013
February - A German builds Solitude III in two days!
March - Sailing with Gray Whales
May - Overnight cruise to Edmonds
September - First salmon caught
October - Jammed centerboard demands attention!

Rigging a PocketShip

In response to several inquiries, both via email and on pocketship.net, I've put together a short tutorial video on how the quick and easy process of preparing a PocketShip for launch. Enjoy!

Photo Bombed

I am always on the lookout for ways to get new and different photos to support these blog posts.  Pursuant to that goal, on a recent after-work sail, I set about playing around with a feature on my camera that lets me control the shutter from my phone.

I waited until the sun was going down, set up the camera on a tripod on a deserted section of dock, got the phone and camera talking to each other, hopped in the boat, got the sails up, and set up for a beauty pass. The strength and direction of the wind was perfect for my purposes, filling the sails majestically as I set up on a reach for my run past the camera. My finger was on the trigger as Solitude entered the frame. Just then, out of nowhere, a stupid little plastic motorboat came out of nowhere, pulled up right between Solitude and the camera. Not wanting to ruin my opportunity at the shot, I spilled the wind from my sailed and tried to slow down enough for the stupid little plastic motorboat to get out of the way. But the yokels in the stupid little plastic motorboat decided to slow right down too. They finally drifted past me, just as I was sailing out of the frame. Giving up, I sheeted in the sails, snapped a photo (just because), and bore away to make another pass. Unfortunately, the camera's batteries had started out low, and by the time I got back into position, they were done for. So, that stupid little plastic motorboat had robbed me of my chance of getting the shot that day. Oh well, there's always next time.   

Imagine what this shot could have been with proper composition and no stupid little plastic motorboat.

Bowsprit Cam

From the same people who brought you "Gaff Cam,"  here's a new view.

Small World

The Pacific Northwest has been suffering a heat wave recently.  Hoping to beat the heat, a friend and I went out sailing the other day.  A wise choice as it was cool enough on the water to actually enjoy a magnificent day!

I had forgotten to top up the fuel in the outboard's massive 1/4 gallon tank before leaving the dock, and we were just exiting the Snohomish River when fuel starvation struck.  As I bound towards the motor, jerry can in hand, I looked up and, much to my surprise, saw a Devlin Winter Wren bearing down on me.  I recognized her instantly, Nil Desperandum, with Captain Larry Cheek aboard.  Larry wrote about his experiences building Nil Desperandum, and reading his blog provided both motivation and a voice of sanity when I was building Solitude.   I've met Larry and his wife briefly in person and been aboard Nil Desperandum twice at the Wooden Boat Festival.  And now, here he was, circling his boat around me, asking if I needed help!   What a small world!  Thanks for standing by to render aid, Larry!

Fortunately, I was quickly able to splash of gas into the tank and  get the noisemaker up and running again.  Shortly thereafter, the engine was silenced again, this time deliberately, and my friend and I were enjoying a great day sailing!

Nil Desperandum, under sail.  Larry is modest about her, but she sure is a fine looking boat.

Sunshine

We have a lot of cool, gray, wet days here in the Pacific Northwest.  But the sun does come out from time to time.  And it turns out that when it does, living through the gray and the drizzle is well worth it.  The daylight hours are long.  The most sophisticated man-made climate control apparatus can only dream of making achieving the temperatures and humidity that we get naturally.  The wind carries the fresh smell of the sea, with just a hint of sweetness of land that it picked up as in funneled in through the Strait of Juan de Fuca and tumbled down in the the Puget Sound basin.   All around, the waters turn a sparkling blue, the greens and browns of the land pop out, and sparkling white snow capped peaks form the backdrop.  Yes, sunny days in the Pacific Northwest are nothing short of idyllic.

Of course, the natural thing to do when blessed with such a day is to take to your boat and surround yourself in the glory of it all.  Yea verily, it would be ungrateful, almost immoral, not to enjoy such a blessing by gliding about under a full spread of canvas!

Yet the perfection of the moment is always fleeting.  For, at least during the spring, these days never come on a weekend, and the tug of responsibility that comes with remembering that work comes again tomorrow compels one to return to the dock.  Which is well, because lacking coercion, it is quite likely that one would never turn for home.

Link to HD Version on Youtube



I was playing with Time Lapse video...