In the eye of the beholder

The month has gone by remarkably quickly. It felt that progress had slowed: we didn't manage too many sessions working on the boat and a couple of those were truncated by watching the Super 15 finals. Had you told me a few years ago that I would get fed up with watching Rugby, I wouldn't have believed you, but it has become a grind. Not helped by the dismal efforts of the Hurricanes, I suppose. Let's hope the World Cup will bring back some sparkle.

We did actually achieve quite a bit. Fitting the beautiful oak gunwales suddenly transformed a hull into a boat. Now apart from the tholes (rowlocks) and the rudder, the outside is pretty much complete (though we are still searching for inspiration for the ornament on the prow). The planks were 'filletted' - a bead of filler smoothed into the joints along the length of the boat - to ensure a watertight seal. We also spent a fair amount of time sanding. The discovery that the excess epoxy from our previous gluing and filling scraped off easily when we applied a paint stripping heat gun was a great relief and time saver.

Last night, though, was possibly the most satisfying session since we laid the first plank: we applied the first coat of the protective epoxy, with stunning results:

Shiny

It really does look this good: I think the great debate as to whether to paint or not has reopened. If you click on the picture you can zoom in pretty well and you'll see there are blemishes, including, of course, the scarph joints on each plank. However, there is an element of character and an honest portrayal of our first attempt at boatbuilding, which maybe should not be covered over... We shall see.

Full Frontal.

Quick update, having sanded and planed and planed and sanded, the gooey mess that was the laminated stem looks like this.

No more glue.

As you can see, the hog looks a little off-line, and the boat needs a jolly good sand. The slight kinks are exaggerated by the shortening effect of the camera. They are hardly visible to the naked eye, and when we row, only fish will see it.

The Hog and Stem.

Sounds like a pub on the Thames somewhere, in fact it probably is.

Time for some more technical stuff.

We shaped and glued the Deadwood, as you all should know having read my previous post. Next step was the shaping and gluing of the stem, followed by the outer hog. For those who haven't built a boat before, which includes Chris and I, the outer stem is the bit at the front and the outer hog is the bit at the bottom.

That wasn't hard now was it?

Having decided to paint the hull, we decided that we could save ourselves the painful process of shaping the outer stem and mold the stem out of bits of off-cut ply. The trick being to build up the shape by laminating the strips of ply until we had enough depth.

Gluey Mess

Here's the first few strips of off-cut ply, it's pretty messy isn't it. The next picture is a bit of a close up of the mess, it serves to show that we are now confident we can make a bloody big mess and still get it looking good again.  By the way, we stuck about the same number of strips of ply to double the width.

Close up mess.

We set to the planks with our second hand planes, having established that Brendan's electric plane was far too dangerous - we risked "shaping" the boat through to the inner stem, otherwise known as creating an "hole in the boat" (Sorry for using all these technical nautical terms). I agonised over an upgrade to my $25 Stanley No 4 plane. They do this natty 170 mm plane that fits snugly into the palm of your hand. It also removes $120 from the palm of your hand. It would have been perfect, but having spent a whole blog renovating my plane, I was determined that we could do it. We also used Chris's wooden block plane, that I suspect was stolen from the early settlers museum.

Anyway, plane we did, and sand, and plane, and sand. You get the message. I have the results on another photo. But I am thinking I might go and see if my home brew has matured sufficiently for me to drink without nausea.

Piccies tomorrow.

Deadwood

One of my favorite TV shows, with Ian "Lovejoy" McShane swearing like the proverbial trooper.

Also, the bit at the bottom of the boat at the stern that forms a seamless joint between t'ransom to the outer hog. We have moved on from planking to a bit of woodwork. If you thought the planking was slowgoing and hard work,  prepare for some long gaps between blogs. This is the bit that moves from fitting kit prepared planks to a jig, to a more freehand approach to boat building.

Here is a picture of our first bit of real woodwork.

Having decided to paint the hull, the glue blobs will disappear.  And we'll give it a bit more of a rub with the sandpaper.

All the concerns we had about it looking a bit bulbous around the stern have been allayed by this little block of wood. This really makes the difference. Unfortunately, Chris won't let me glue one to his head, so he still looks a tad bulbous.

Looks good though, doesn't it.

Radio Silence

It is almost a month since we posted. Progress has been slow, thanks to the distractions of work and the fact that my boys, like the Queen, seem to have two birthdays each.
However, what we have done has been good and very satisfying - having emerged from the repetitive routine of the planking, it now feels as if each bit we add is a big step towards completion. Joe is preparing some pictures of what we've done - watch this space...

One of the most frequent debates we are having is whether to paint the hull or to apply a more natural wood-and-varnish finish. The scarph joints are pretty good, but do they add character, or serve as a slightly embarrassing chronological record of our progression up the learning curve?

I have always been reluctant to paint, but Joe came across this picture of the Badger's little brother, the Mole, which has gone a considerable way to convince me that a painted finish doesn't have to look like Tupperware.






What do you think, dear blog reader?

The last cut is the deepest.

I did my last scarf joint the other day. I just thought I'd say.

Chris did the last let in the bows.

I planed the last plank last night.

Chris was commenting, as he often does, that it's almost a shame that we've got to the last plank, because we've got into quite a rhythm in terms of scarf/glue/prepare/glue with the planks, and seem to have finally got the hang of it. He's right, it takes about 10 planks to become competent in planking. The benefit of this is that the later planks are above the waterline and therefore obviously more visible to the punters. The drawback is that our early work is below the waterline, so we'll probably sink.

Before

After.

The last scarf - Actually not one of my best, clearly familiarity does breed contempt.

The Doldrums

 Someone asked me last night - "what happens in the doldrums?" The answer is nothing.

Nothing happens

A number of things have transpired to slow down progress on the boat.

• I've got a huge project on at work.
• Chris has been a bit "poorly"
• Chris has been working in the bay of islands, when he's not been "a bit poorly"
• My son broke his motorbike, so we've been replacing the engine.
• Its winter, the garage is cold.

So, call this blog a stopgap, our very own boat-building doldrums.

In the meantime, let me tell you about Harry's bike, it's a tale of bad luck and worse judgement.

Harry, last in line to the O'Neill hundreds, has been pestering for a scooter, I flatly refused. They are pathetic, dangerous and require no skill or training. I wasn't having it. I said, if you get a bike, you get one with gears that keeps up with the traffic and you get some training.

Going Nowhere.

Having had his day with  Andrew Templeton, and got his license, we went on the hunt for a bike.

It transpired a guy at work was selling a GN250 - a very nice specimen too. (I think the GN stands for Go Nowhere). Here's a picture. So, I know the guy, and he gave me a very good deal, everyone was happy. Having got Harry kitted out in a load of expensive safety gear, I send him on his way.

Obviously, it all went horribly wrong, his bike broke and I had to buy a donor bike and replace the engine - to hear the full story, read the next bit. If you just want to know about the boat, and all things wood. Skip it. 

For a few weeks, all goes well, and then Harry and a mate decide to go for a proper ride. To date, Harry has been riding too and from school, a mere 2 or 3 kilometers. Barely getting the engine warm, which, as you will see, is quite a telling point.

So, Harry and "bray-bray" ask me to recommend good ride. I tell them to go up the coast to the Pauatahanui inlet (pronounced in-let) and up over Paikakariki (pronounced pie-cock) hill. Apparently the ride went so well, that they decided not to take my advice and come back down SH1, but go back the way they came. About halfway up the hill, Harry noticed a distinct lack of Braden in his mirrors, a little bit worrying if you've been over Paikak hill, there are some rather terminal drop offs. So Harry goes back in search of a break in the No 8. safety barrier. It transpires it's just a petrol issue. So Braden gets on the back of Harry's bike and they go in search of fuel. A series of envents involving a lift with a policeman, an argument with a grumpy - no, you can't put petrol in a 2 ltr coke bottle - petrol station attendant ends with them back on the hill with darkness not far away. They decide to go back the short way.

5 minutes into the journey, just enough time to get onto the busiest bit of SH1, you know, the really narrow bit at Pukerua bay, everything stops on Harry's bike and he pulls over into the gutter. Numerous attempts to restart the bike failed, and I ended up driving up on a rescue mission. I used all my mechanical skills, which involved staring at the bike and scratching my head, to no avail and we hid the bike in the bushes and came home.

The view from Paekak hill, it really is worth breaking down for.

 
 Motor-Ad picked up the bike, and discovered that there was only 130mm of oil in the bike, it had run dry, over heated, gone blue and broke. Apparently you need 1.5 ltrs of oil, something we didn't check when we bought the bike. There is a school of thought that would suggest that when you buy a bike off a guy who says - it's serviced regularly and goes like a dream, you'd think it would have some oil in it. There is another school - buyer beware.

Harry and I now know how to buy a knackered bike with a good engine, remove and replace an engine, and most importantly, how much oil you need in a GN250.  We now have -

1. Really nice GN250 with a nice engine
2. A knackered GN250 with a hole where the engine was.
3. A GN250 engine with no bike, that rattles when you shake it.

And a half built boat.