Hiroshi Sugimoto - Seascapes
Hiroshi Sugimoto - Seascapes
Did you get my email?
I’d love to have the table-top, if just for something to base my rebuild on.
And yeah, I did. The foam under it is godawful. I’ve been trying to scrape that glue down, but I think I’m just going to go over it with a few coats of thick paint. Thought about making a thin wooden ceiling over the interior of the hull, but don’t really want the extra weight.
Good luck to you too! Do you have an email address?
I love okoume - built a kayak out of it in high school - but it’s well-known for rotting easy and is not at all fungus-resistant. So I got the heavier stuff. And a big big piece of mahogany for the stringer. But I’m going to be replacing the braces with a laminated arch for strength.
I like the little stock table fittings that it came with, for a dining table that can go in the main cabin or in the cockpit. Mine came with the legs, so I get to build my table in whatever shape I want. I think it’ll be a two-part folding one that slots in as a shelf above that starboard berth when I’m not using it.
Definitely let me know if you set up a page. It’s a good motivator, if feeling like (a tiny slice of) the world is watching you works for you. And just fangirling the Mahina, I’d love to see how it goes.
Wait, THE MAHINA? Did you buy it in La Conner? I was kicking myself for jumping on Gandalf and missing my chance to own Mahina when I saw it for sale.
And I won’t be adding a dinette. We’ve had a Coronado 25 since I was a teen and it has a dinette, and I hate it with a passion for eating underway, especially when all 4 of us are aboard. Much better to sit facing amidships where you can brace yourself against the roll. What I might add, since I’ll be single-handing most of the time, is a large chart table that’ll fold down over the starboard bunk in the main cabin, which will also be my workbench.
Any bermuda rig sailors out there? -Sara
I recommend picking up books about sailors and reading them. Maiden Voyage by Tania Aebi is one I definitely recommend, and anything by L&L Pardey. They’ll have all of the contemporary lingo and will do more to help you fake it than just getting a list of names for things.
So I tore poor Gandalf apart a little more. But fear not! The time for rebuilding is at hand! My next step is to pressure wash the interior and then build a new main bulkhead. I went to Port Townsend for some high grade marine plywood, and wound up foregoing the okoume I meant to buy for some heavier-duty, more rot-resistant hydroplex (Yes, that’s a wood) and a huge mahogany beam. The beam and bulkhead together are the vital strength at the heart of my boat - they take the compression, weight, and motion of the mast and transfer it all out to the entire diameter of the hull.
The old bulkhead was so rotted at the top that I had trouble getting it out without wrecking its profile, which I need to make the pattern for the new one.
On the eight day, Elizabeth didn’t bother with her noon sun sight. She lay in the shadow of her drifter, watching the hateful star glow through the thin cloth of the limp light-airs sail as it passed the zenith. There hadn’t been so much as a gasp of wind since yesterday; finding her location could wait until there was. She was tired of plotting points so close together on her chart that the paper was beginning to wear through.
Rolling over onto her belly, she stared over the edge of the deck into the water. Her reflection stared up at her, distorting in slow, greasy ripples as Sorcerer rocked on the endless, endless swells. She grimaced at them, baring her teeth, and spat into the water. “I see you,” she whispered at the swells. “You bastards. Where’s your daddy? Bring me that wind.”
The round, slow waves, product of a storm somewhere, of course had no answer for her. They just rolled on, and her little boat rolled with them, her mast writing dizzy loops across that white-heat sky.
And the water beckoned. Near the coast, back when she had had wind, it had never been tempting. It was still polluted there, every wavelet carrying a lace of floating black ash. But out here in the doldrums, it at least looked pure, blue-green, with the hateful sunlight cooled into long, converging rays of gold-laced emerald. So clear that when she looked past her hovering face, she could see a single pilotfish drifting in Sorcerer's shadow, twenty feet down or more, Its bold black stripes were as clear as if she'd landed it on her deck. She thought of her fishing rod and glanced aft to where it was stowed on the stern arch, but that was a whole dozen feet away, and the idea of getting up to get it felt as if she were considering crossing half the world. “You should have found a shark,” she whispered to the shoe-sized fish. “At least you'd be going somewhere.”
(The prompt seemed a good place for me to begin exploring my alternate-reality version of the cruise narrative. Everywhere Gandalf and I go, so too will Sorcerer and Elizabeth. The difference is, the world she lives in is ending.)
I don’t reblog tattoos very often, but this is some real shit.
That’s fucking awesome.