Wow. Good thing I wrote this in Word... This was Tuesday's blog entry.
The new boat, Haven, is on its way to getting an inside painting on Thursday and Friday, so there’s unfortunately little besides sanding for most people involved, either inside or out. Today I spent most of my time sanding down epoxy on floorboards to prep them for painting, and became intimately acquainted with the music of the band One Eskimo, out of fear that I would smear fine epoxy powder all over and inside my iPod if I tried to change the music. Speaking of fear, I now keep my bare skin as far as possible from any solvents, lest they dissolve something unpleasant into my bloodstream. Roger recounted once waking up in a hospital with “a bloody EpiPen” in his chest after he dripped epoxy on himself and cleaned it off with a bit of acetone, which just washed it into his skin.
The new boat builders have their own end of the boatyard, both physically and culturally. (They definitely act differently than the other yard labor. Maybe they think they have the cool job – and it is very interesting – despite the amount of fiberglass sanding they do.) This end has been particularly dusty since I started my project. This week about five people have been sanding fiberglass inside the boat at all times. I joked earlier about sawdust and fiberglass raining down on you at all times in small quantities inside the boat, but today especially the air was a little opaque. We have masks and everything, but I avoided being inside as much as possible. Yesterday I pulled some fabulous wires through the boat while avoiding the sanders, and escaped soon afterward to blow the dust off myself. (I’ve attached a picture of myself and my wire pile, and then one of just the wires, because I’m not sure the first one captures their full glory. Notice how many of them there are, how neat they are, how well labeled they are… An interesting result of threading these wires through the boat is that I could now tell you about most of their destinations and the functions of whatever they attach to. I also attached a picture of Vic, smiling as usual, and a photo of a once-totaled boat leaving the garage after months of repairs.) The boat builders use the pressurized air tubes to blow dust off themselves before breaks. It’s great fun. They usually power pneumatic sanders and wrenches and make your clothes ripple as I imagine hurricane winds do. I created a few dust clouds today by turning these things on myself.
Peter returned on Monday, emphatically telling stories about the Oregon International Offshore Race, which he had just participated in. Half an hour into the race, a breaching humpback whale dismasted L’Orca, a 35-foot boat belonging to Jerry Barnes. This humpback whale was a celebrity at Schooner Creek last week. The whale left some blubber on deck, but otherwise seems to have escaped unharmed. It turns out that L’Orca just left the boatyard a few months ago in a rather pristine condition. The owner prided its French name and particularly wanted to point it out to Pascal le Guilly. Now when you christen a boat, you use up a whole bottle of champagne by breaking it over the bow in a ceremony of sorts – naming a boat is a big deal – and Jerry was naturally disappointed when Pascal told him, “it’s not French.” Here’s a link to an article in le LA times on the incident (I believe they got the length wrong, as the Oregon Offshore blog has the boat as a Beneteau 35, a 35-foot vessel.) OK… in French it would be l’orque, so I suppose it’s close enough.