The gelcoat chronicles

Jun 27, 2022 | Blog

Well, I haven’t checked in with you in awhile about my boat project because, frankly, I’ve been in approach/avoidance mode. Part of me is scared this project is too much for me, and the rest of me is saying, “Well. It’s just a bunch of learnable tasks, so get on with it.”

The “get on with it” part got the upper hand this week, and so I’ve been back at it.

Right now it’s 90 something degrees outside and not much cooler inside. I was at the boat really early this morning before it got hot, and now I am just here at home, quietly sweating and dreaming of Tuesday when it is supposed to rain. I guess I have morphed into a real PNWesterner.

One thing I accomplished since my last post: I was able to repair my mainsail with my sewing machine, sail patching material and polyester thread.

A bunch of firsts for me in that miniproject, but it turned out well enough. And it’s high up on the mast so I doubt anyone will notice. I felt like an old salt when I was done. And I’m kind of confident it will hold. I guess we’ll see.

The boat itself is a little more interesting – yes, let’s use that word.

Lots to be done there. This week I decided to focus on the mast and the hull. The mast is in the barn lying across some wooden horses. I’ve inspected the rigging with the help of some reading I’ve done on how to do this, and also with the help of a friend who is good with this sort of thing and knows what he’s doing (hooray for such friends!). So far so good. Things look OK. Some assembly required.

There is mouse nest material inside the mast (of course, I seem to have extensive mouse karma), and so I will have to hose it out. That’s next when I finish the hull. Then I’ll put the mast cap back on. It was missing and I panicked, but my friend quickly found it among the gear lying about in the barn. Whew. Now I can have fore and back stays like a real sailor. More on that soon.

Which brings me to the hull.

Passage is 40 years old or so, and built like a tank, and I am so grateful for that – and for the craftsmanship that went into her, by her original builder, by the man who cast the hull, and by my dad for just building everything in an incredibly stout and forward thinking manner.

But the old gelcoat (the once-shiny coating on the fiberglass hull) – the only word I can use is: forlorn. Oxidized as all get out, kind of a greenish color, but overall looking really sad. And I feared beyond help. In a worst case scenario, the gelcoat would just be too pooped to be revived.

However, I did some reading and YouTubing (rest assured that whatever project you have about anything, the interwebs have some advice about it), and I learned that polishing gelcoat is in theory well within the purview of this casual DIYer. So I bought the recommended random orbital polisher, cushioned pads, and the recommended polishing compound and finally got up the courage the last few days to attempt to polish the hull.

Now let me just say that before I read up (and read up and YouTubed up) on this, I had no idea of what a random orbital polisher was. So I’m just being honest about that.

But now I do own one, and know enough about it to toss that term around if I am talking shop with people and want to look like I know something. So far I have not had that opportunity, but I do go to Englund Marine a fair amount, so I imagine the opportunity will arise at some point.

About my bottles of polishing compound: I’ve felt a bit of anxiety about that. Because you cannot undo what you do with it. So I have proceeded cautiously to the point of at times barely moving.

By the way, Practical Sailor magazine is a fabulous resource for what things to get for this and that without spending every cent you have. It’s very empowering having them in my court. So I have taken their advice.

But bottomline, this is all a learning process. I am happy to say, though, in this case, it’s one with a very encouraging outcome so far…

Yesterday, I started out slow. I tried out the polish by hand, because one article I read said it was possible to polish it by hand. And the last thing I wanted to do was burn through the gelcoat with the polisher and ruin it.

But that effort did nothing except tire me out. And still the gelcoat was hideous. So I cautiously put some polishing liquid on the polishing machine and tried buffing the hull. Not much happened at first, and I despaired then that the gelcoat might be too far gone.

Then I read that I might need a tougher compound. So I went to an auto supply store and bought some fancy auto compounding polish. This morning I kept at it in slow increments, trying the new car polishing compound, little by little, carefully, alternating with the milder polish, and checking the reflection in between bouts with the polisher.

And, after awhile, a miracle happened. Oh my god, lo and behold. I had a divine moment when I looked at the side of the boat and saw: holy moly, a shiny spot! A genuine shiny spot! It was a glorious and gorgeous thing to see. I confess I did a happy dance right there in the barn. 

So I spent this morning learning my way around my random orbital polisher (I just like saying that), and learning how much it will take to get this hull to shine. And shine she will. I am amazed. And so grateful. And feeling pretty darn chipper about myself and my McGuyver skills.

Thank God for family, friends, and good old boats. I am blessed with each. And I am very, very happy.

(Note, this photo is of the sad old gelcoat before I did anything to get it to shine. Looking much more respectable now. “After” photos to follow.)

Ship Report Blog: Tragedy at Falcon Cove

Jan 13, 2020 | Blog

I’ve been thinking a lot about what to say on The Ship Report today about the tragedy on the beach at Falcon Cove near Cannon Beach this weekend. A dad and his two small children were swept out to sea by what seems to have been a sneaker wave. The two children died and the dad was still in the hospital Sunday.

I talk about safety a lot on the Ship Report and I usually mention it when something like this happens, as a cautionary note. I hope the message of safety reaches people.

I can’t imagine the torment this father will go through in the aftermath of this event. What’s called for now is compassion in the face of unspeakable loss.

But I do have a few thoughts that might be useful, beyond the usual safety warnings: Saturday I felt distraught and sad about this, and I know from reading social media posts that other people felt it too. That’s the thing about living in a coastal community. We’re tight-knit here, like it or not, and we feel what’s happening to one another. When a boat goes down, or a person is lost overboard, or people get swept out to sea, we all grieve. And we’re grieving now, again. It’s a price we pay for living in this beautiful, dangerous place.

To get some perspective, I drove to Cape Disappointment Saturday and did what I have been telling you all to do when these storms hit: I went up to the Visitor Center on top of the cliff and went to the big observation room where you can look out over the Columbia River Bar. I was able to sit alone for awhile and stare out the window at the mouth of the river. A line of breakers 20 feet high was creating a formidable barrier to anyone wanting to cross. No one was.

As I sat there watching the water closely, I was struck by the raw, seething, tremendous power in it. We see it somewhat in the gorgeous photos people take of giant waves exploding in the air at Waikiki Beach, or in the pounding surf you can hear for miles away. As I looked at the water roiling at the base of the cliff, and churning out on the bar, I could feel the immense, overwhelming energy there. That force is part of our experience every time we get near the shore, or venture out in a boat. It’s the force that sinks ships and fishing boats, pounds beached vessels to bits, and drags buoys off their moorings. It’s more powerful than any of us. And it’s your companion on every beach walk, every boat ride, every trip to the coast.

The confusing thing is, on Saturday, despite all the warnings, it just didn’t look that bad out there, even though it was. When I was there, there were no towering waves, like in a movie, and for someone unfamiliar with the ocean, it looked like a stormy day like many others. But out there, the ocean was full of wild energy waiting to be expressed in potentially destructive ways.

Please don’t ever forget that the ocean is there, that it’s bigger than you, and does not necessarily have your best interests at heart, or care that you came there to have a good time. The warnings are not for the timid, for those who are easily scared off. They’re for everyone, even the strong and young, and there’s no shame in heeding them.

If we have any adventurous spirit in us at all, we’ve sometimes put ourselves in situations where, had the wrong thing happened, we could have died. I know I have. If we’re still here, we’re fortunate. Dan Haag, head of the Manzanita Visitor Center, said it best in a Facebook post this weekend. Find a loved one and hug them tight. I’d add this: please do your best to keep them off the beach when conditions are severe. That’s love in action.

And, a heartfelt thank you to our first responders who stand ready to go into harm’s way at a moment’s notice. That’s love in action too. We are fortunate to have them, the Coast Guard. and local law enforcement rescue personnel. They do their best for us every day, no matter what, without judgment. Another big thing to be grateful for. That’s all I have right now. Be safe out there, and take care of each other.

—

Green, Yellow and Red Columbia River Bar status

Jan 7, 2020 | Blog

I had a question on social media recently about a reference I made to the Columbia River Bar being on Yellow status. Someone had not heard me talk about this on the Ship Report, and was confused. So I thought my blog would be a good place to explain this.

The three colors refer to the relative accessibility for ships seeking to cross the waters at the mouth of the Columbia River in Oregon and Washington. Cargo ships come and go regularly there and are accompanied on board, by law, by bar pilots, trained marine professionals who have decades of ship handling experience. They know the river by heart and can safely guide ships in and out.

The pilots have jurisdiction over ship traffic, and they work with the US Coast Guard to safeguard the waters  on the bar for large commercial vessels. There are three potential statuses the bar can have on any given day: Normally it’s on Green status, which means business as usual. When the weather worsens, as it often does in fall and winter, to the point where it might be hard to control a ship entering or leaving the river, the pilots raise the status to Yellow, which means ships are allowed to cross on a case-by-case basis. Some under-powered ships may be asked to wait until the weather is better. If things really go to hell in a handbasket, so to speak, the bar will go to Red status, which means that conditions are too dangerous for all but a few very hardy and maneuverable ships to cross. Decisions on this are up to the pilots.

You can see the status of the Columbia River Bar for ship traffic anytime by going to the Columbia River Bar Pilots website, at  www.columbiariverbarpilots.com

For recreational and smaller commercial vessels like fishing boats, the US Coast Guard has jurisdiction over bar restrictions and closures. Here’s a link to Oregon and Washington bar status links per the USCG:

https://www.wrh.noaa.gov/pqr/marine/BarObs.php

Questions? Email me at ships@shipreport.net

–  Joanne